#E-Coat Market | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

haztory · 5 months ago

Text

october 17th ♡

– ceo!kuroo tetsurou x assistant!reader; timeskip au, slow burn, mutual pining

– summary: It’s October 17th. The day of which you can never get a semblance of peace. It’s the start of volleyball season.

part one

a/n: i saw the hq movie and remembered my roots. it's kuroo time. love that man. (w.c.: 6.4k)

It’s October 17th, your desk calendar tells you.

Marked in a quick circle in bold red pen for emphasis. Not like you could forget it, what with the building buzz that seems to escalate with every hour and the excited greetings bubbling in the office. And certainly you couldn’t forget the date with your boss reminding you of it every single chance he could get.

It’s October 17th. The day of which you can never get a semblance of peace. It’s the start of volleyball season. There’s a tally sheet in your mind that holds eight marks— one for every time he’s mentioned the damn day— and it’s not even time for your second cup of coffee.

The most wonderful time of the year, according to Kuroo.

There’s a pep in his step as he juggles his briefcase and files between hands and skips towards his third meeting of the day. His phone is tucked between his ear and shoulder, swarmed in the air of chaos and yet, there’s a wide smile on his face. Toothy and eager, almost maniacal. An exhilarated man, the ringmaster of madness, preparing a show for thousands with only coffee and sheer enthusiasm running through his veins.

The tiles beneath his feet practically turn golden as he passes by.

He stops before your desk on his way out, phone dutifully tucked yet ignored as he meets your gaze with burning excitement. The chatter on the other end of the line is audible, and he really should be listening to it, but instead his focus is maintained on you. You raise a brow in question, fingers hovering over the keyboard to your computer and e-mail to the finance department woefully on hold as your boss stares at you.

Tufts of his hair are pulled in various ways, the standard for a busy morning, and the sleeves of his white button down are rolled up to his elbows displaying the veins that no doubt pulse excitedly; But the most revealing part of him, the most captivating part in his day of havoc, are his eyes.

Honey auburn that burns alight in sheer joy— the kind of happiness that he wants you to revel in, hopes to convey in the intensity of his gaze. Sticky honey brown that coats the inside of your stomach and fills you with warmth. A gleam that can make flowers bloom with just his simple gaze.

Slowly, he points his finger towards your calendar that’s displayed clearly for the regular passerby. Fingertip presses the red circle on the paper, emphasizing the words scribbled inside of it detailing the events of the day.

1st Day of Volleyball Season!

His smile splits his face into two. You add another tally to the sheet.

Indulging him with a grin would be encouraging juvenile behavior, so it takes everything in you to bite back the tugging of your lips and instead roll your eyes. It doesn’t deter him. He all but clicks his heels together as he prances out the door, throwing his fist holding his briefcase in the air with a silent cheer, and answering whatever question was posed to him on the other end of his line.

It’s October 17th, Kuroo’s favorite day of the year.

Yours, too.

Although, you would never tell him that.

The starting game of MSBY vs. Tachibana Red Falcons is a match predicted to be vicious and brutal. Considering Japan’s top players had more than proved themselves to be powerhouses during the Nations League Tournament over the summer, the star power and media attention given to the players has given the entrance game to the season an anticipation that could not be tamed— not that anyone in the marketing department would want it to be.

The players this year have been nothing short of top tier athleticism— a detail that so graciously fell into the JVA’s hands and became their capitalized advertisement.

An unmatched season! A trial of power and speed! Japan’s best players go head-to-head in the best playoffs Japan has ever seen!

Kuroo practically played the lottery every morning with luck like this.

The Ariake Arena fills up like a lightning flood, waves of bodies decorated with black and red filling seats with heightened excitement. It vibrates throughout the stadium, transcends beyond the high beams and open space. It fills and suffocates until all that can be seen, heard, and felt is pure, unadulterated energy. It’s a straight shot of adrenaline to the heart. It’s the taste of a sweet memory.

The sound of excitement from guests and vendors steadily rises and Kuroo buzzes in place. His shoes tap incessantly on the wooden floor, fingers flutter with anticipation as he adjusts, then readjusts, the now wrinkled tie across his neck. His cheeks ache from the endless smile that pushes on them.

Carefully moved chess pieces, endless phone calls, and retina-burning contracts with sponsors have finally gotten him here: To the sweet smell of cool conditioned air and freshly waxed floors, to the sounds of chants and joy, to the sight of his successfully pitched logo printed beneath Miya Atsumu’s smug face on the large banner tacked on the left side of the arena. The veneration on his face is one that finds itself familiar to veterans. Standing on the shining hardwood of the court, his hands finally find rest on his hips, his gaze stilling at the sight of his months-long work.

Pride doesn’t really do much justice to the feelings inside of him— but damn if it isn’t a close enough guess. His hard work finally actualized, but it’s only just really beginning. This is where his fun begins, the shining light, the gentle reminder of how much he loves his job.

October 17th, the best day of the year.

“We need to see the players before warm-ups begin.” Kuroo says after a moment, not even needing to spare a glance backwards to see if you’ve heard him. Such is the consequence of having a good assistant, one that, even with all the eye rolls and dragging sighs, is always a step ahead of him.

“Coach Foster said that he could spare us ten minutes before he gives his locker room speech. Coach Sato said the same.” You tell your boss, stepping beside him as his eyes follow the movements of staff members dragging carts of volleyballs to their respective places. An approving look settles on his face, a delightful perusal.

There's a tablet held in your arms as you notate on a timetable, presumably a schedule with detailed notes that Kuroo has to be on in order for the evening to go well. Probably one you've put a lot of time and effort into. Knowing you, it’s probably color coded. A schedule that he would do well by both you and the company in abiding by.

He shoves his hand between the tablet and your fixed stare, wiggling his fingers obnoxiously in front of the work that holds your dutiful attention. "Stop paying attention to that and look around you. Smell the air! What is it you smell?"

The excitement held so passionately in his eyes bore into your unimpressed ones. "Stale popcorn and lemon cleaner, Kuroo-san."

"So negative, I think the long work days are finally getting to you."

"And whose fault is that?"

"Not mine. You love me too much to quit." He grins. He gestures his hand outward, panning it across the stadium to the sight of guests filling the seats. "It's the smell of anticipation! The promise of a worthwhile game! How can you not be excited?”

A ping resounds on your tablet that draws your gaze back down to the schedule. It’s a message from the volunteer coordinator. You write a note in the margin—volunteers in break room at 8:45, give thanks and gifts at 9.

"It’s hard to be excited when you keep yapping in my ear about what day it is." You mutter distractedly.

"You're telling me," Suddenly his fingers are poking into the skin of your cheeks, lifting the skin upward in a manufactured smile, "You look frightening."

You swat his hands away, your own palms connecting with his in a vicious slap. "If we don't get started now you're going to be late in meeting the President of the JVA at his box seats."

Kuroo waves his hand nonchalantly. "Ah, he'll wait for me. I am the reason we’ve got a turnout like this. It's the least he could do."

You roll your eyes, formality lost as you address your boss. "It's about the principle of it, Tetsu. He'll be upset."

"Have you forgotten what day it is? How can anyone be upset on this day?"

You stare at him in violent silence clearly exposing the extent of your disdain for him at this moment. It’s a futile endeavor. Your stare only fuels the fire of his need for provocation tenfold. His smile widens, teeth bearing a shit-eating grin. With little remorse, you tell him, "You're very annoying when you're happy."

His head tilts backward in a laugh, lean and tall figure elongating with the motion as he, genuinely, finds himself amused. “And you're even meaner than usual when I am. C’mon, let’s pay the Jackals a visit.” Accompanying the turn of his body, he taps the tip of your nose with his slender finger and begins a trek towards the main entrance leading to the corridors of the arena.

“No.” Your quick retort is the popping of a balloon. He deflates, hands thrown upward in exasperation as he turns around to face you once more. You swear he stomps his feet.

"God, what now?"

“Favoritism.”

He balks with a furrow on his brow, “Pardon?”

“Favoritism. It’s obvious to everyone in this building who you’re rooting for, so we need to minimize those details before someone catches wind and decides to tell the press that the games are rigged.”

“Now, that is an outrageous idea. No respectable reporter would use my words against me.” Kuroo smiles, annoyingly, confidently. To which your stare only digs further into him, the infamous memory of last year’s season playing quite clearly across your face in which his sarcastic comment about players salaries made headlines and resulted in a week of endless phone calls to your office.

“JVA DIRECTOR STATES DIV. ONE PLAYERS WILL NOT RECEIVE SPONSORSHIP BONUSES AFTER ASTOUNDING SEASON AS ‘WE DON’T PAY FOR MEDIOCRITY AND THESE PLAYERS SUCK, OBVIOUSLY’.”

It’s the conveyance of death in your eyes alone that really gets him going. Truly, there’s no one more impressive than you.

“I said, respectable.” Kuroo emphasizes, hardly batting an eye as you walk past him.

“C’mon. Coach Sato is waiting with the Falcons.”

“The favoritism allegation is ridiculous. Ask around the office, no one is able to tell that you’re my least favorite of them all.” He follows you into the hallway without prompting like the well-trained dog you’ve made him to be, “That’s how good I am.”

You turn back to look at him, “Oh, sure. So the names Bokuto and Hinata don’t mean anything to you?”

Biting back a smirk, he says, “I have no idea who you’re referring to.”

—

In the aftermath of a worthwhile game and an impressive start to the season, the stadium quickly finds itself abandoned. Scores of people taking to the street to celebrate their win or drink their sorrows away, their raucous din and lived delight exiting with them, leaving only a barren arena—save for the remaining staff who dutifully tidy the empty aisles and clean the floors. Yet, even with their humble presence, it’s quiet. Only the light echoing of shoes and brooms on the floor, the rolling of carts, the sounds of vacuums filling the space and providing life.

And standing on the second floor of the arena, leaning his body against the railing overlooking the court, Kuroo finally gets a second to just look.

There are very few times in which Kuroo is quiet. Or rather, there are very few times where he gets the chance to be.

It’s hard to walk the line between professional and man, not that he does a good job at it on a regular day. It's an all-consuming persona and his job demands the full devotion of mind, body, and spirit despite the relative nonurgency that comes with being a Marketing Director. And while he’s never been known for his outstanding polish as a young professional— particularly within the confines of his office— Kuroo has never not been one to commit. What is demanded of him is what he gives, and more.

These days he’s finding it almost impossible to switch the hat of boss for the one of man. The lines between the two become even more blurred with each passing day that he spends another sleepless night in the office, attends another soul sucking meeting that could have truly just been an email, brown noses at people with titles and credentials that he cannot bear to remember for the sake of money.

Humanity slowly depletes when met with the four walls of an office that never changes shades. Moments like this are brief allowances. The empty stadium is conducive to the quick slip into a memory, the removal of the permanent hat for the other one.

The game played not even an hour ago is replaced with that of what he remembers. The once erratic beat of his heart before the blown whistle, the feel of burning muscles in his calves, and the sting of the ball on his skin; He can almost taste the salt of the disappointment of a lost match, and the sweetness of the joy the game gave him. If he tries, Kuroo can recall the last time that he was on a court just like the one before him and remember just how wonderful it once was.

The sweet memory of it all. A sliver of happiness that he keeps stowed away in the back of his mind, meant only to be pulled out in times of emergency. When life gets too loud and work becomes exactly what it is—work. It’s the needed reprieve, the gentle vice. But much like everything else these days, it lasts for only a lingering moment before it fades into the nothingness of everything else.

There isn’t one particular thought that he can train on. He couldn’t even tell anyone what exactly it is that he thinks about, for it all blends together into the great variation of everything. A hectic whirlwind of things that fall over one another as they fight to take his attention.

The game schedule for tomorrow, the invoices he needs to have approved, the mountain of unread emails relating to a media sponsorship that needs to be finalized by the end of the month, the leadership training that he needs to attend next week. Seeing Bokuto and Hinata before the game was a slip of the hat into the relative calm of youth that he remembers so fondly, he should probably try and hang out with them more. His social life is already pitiful. There’s also the fact that he has to go grocery shopping since he just ran out of instant noodles, unless he wants to have takeout again—but he’s already racked up quite the bill this month in takeout alone and he hasn’t been able to go to the gym enough to counteract those great decisions. He needs to return his sister’s phone call, something he keeps prolonging, not because he doesn’t care to know the details about his nephew’s birthday party next Sunday but rather because that will inevitably lead to the discussion about their father’s well-being and truthfully, that’s not a can of worms he’s willing to open just yet. And also—

“Hey.”

Kuroo’s head snaps towards the intrusion, towards the voice that cuts through the storm of flying thoughts and stills them in their rampage.

You stand behind him, your blazer thrown over your purse and the sleeves of your dress shirt rolled up to your elbows. Your hair is no longer the neat style you had at the beginning of the event, but instead the reflection of a long work day. Your own work hat stowed somewhere deep in your purse, in favor of someone he’s rather fond of.

“Hey.” He returns, surprised but pleased. He had figured at the end of the game you would have made haste with the exiting crowd. Your duties done for the day, the schedule you made him stick to like glue finished and completed. Any other person would have run for the doors and be home by now.

But, here you are. Standing with a content smile on your face and a softening in your eyes as you meet his gaze. (Truthfully, he should know better. You’ve never been one to just leave without telling him, whether directly or through email, for home or for a date. Hell, you all but yell your plans in his face just to reduce the risk of confusion. But he assumes, still, that you’re smarter than him. That you know when to call it quits on a work day and head home.

He conveniently forgets that, above all, you’re good at your job. You never listen, too stubborn and insistent on doing your duties even when he tells you to go home early; to not worry about the final details on a draft or a missed message; tells you that he can handle it. That’s never been you, because aside from being fantastic at being his assistant, you’ve been committed to your craft no matter what it is. You care too much about your job and the things it affects.

Because that’s who you are. It’s who you’ve always been. It’s what he knows to be true and violent about you, and it's what he’s been able to see blossom since working with you. So, of course you’re here. Waiting for him, because that’s what you do. Commit to being there for him, through and through.

Because you’re his assistant, of course.

Just his assistant. That’s all.)

He stands straighter, manners not entirely drilled out of his subconscious, even if he was distracted. A beat passes, he looking at you and you looking at him, before he, finally, extends a hand— inviting you to join him. You do, settling next to him on the rail, and gazing over the object of his fixation.

It’s a content silence. The inhale of the aftermath, the exhale of the preparation. One you both know the extent of, have shared too many late nights for. There’s great relief in being able to revel in the fruits of one’s labor, but there’s something all the more satisfying in knowing someone else was basking in that reward too. In not being entirely alone, despite the job often making him feel.

This is your moment just as much as it is his, something he’s never been more convinced of.

Much of the success belonging to him would be nothing if not for your firm foundation, the depth of your support for not only him, but the game. The wondrous, joyous game.

It’s only a moment or two of the stillness between you two before you gently disturb it.

“Today went well.” You tell him.

He gives an affirmative hum, a small smile befalling on his face. Folding his arms across his chest, he tilts his head from side to side in consideration. “You don’t think the banner was too big?”

“It’s no bigger than it usually is.” You shrug and he hums again.

Another beat, then he says, “Did you notice the photo?”

“On the banner?” You ask.

“Yeah.”

“I did.”

“Good.” He says, resolutely, looking over the arena once more as two staff members begin folding up the commentators chairs on the sidelines of the court, “You chose it.”

“I know.” You say. He smiles again, a happy and content one; and you would tease him about it— (about the fact that he’s smiling as though this were a great victory fought between the marketing department and the photography studio, one that he emerged victorious in fighting tooth and nail for your input instead of the reality of the situation.

It was a cloudlink sent to his email on a Tuesday afternoon, filled with prints of various D1 players that he was asked to provide input on. A task that he, then, delegated to you by calling you into his office on your lunch break and having you play eenie-meenie-miny-moe with him. With a sandwich held firmly in your hand and Kuroo pecking at his snack bag of trail mix, you point to the smug face of Miya Atsumu.

“It’s because of the smile, right?” He had asked, his eyes squinting and head tilted to the side as though that would give him better understanding of the man’s face. “He’s a great player. He just has the look of a winner.”

“I don’t know. I just think he’s hot.” You tell him simply.

Kuroo chokes on a peanut. You laugh. He sends your choice over to the graphic design team.)

—but you let him have the small win. Four years of working together has taught you which of the battles to fight, and truthfully, there aren’t that many that you don’t give to him. Admitting sucha thing, however, would be a violation of everything you hold dear to your job so you obviously omit that.

Kuroo speaks once more, his voice soft as he continues to regard the court. “You did a good job today.”

There’s no tease in him, no wry smile or setup for a joke that you’re clearly walking into. For all intents and purposes, Kuroo Testurou stands before you as a man with more than his guard down. He stands honestly, made soft and tender by the trials of a hard work day and the victory of his labor.

The kind of man you know him to be, that you hold such deep admiration for.

“Thank you, Tetsu.” For fear of disrupting the quiet that surrounds the arena or fear of shattering the genuineness of the moment, you respond in kind. Equally gentle when you tell him earnestly, honestly, “So did you, but that’s not new.”

You feel it before you can even see or hear it. The turning of the tide, the impending slant of his smile; The red alert alarm that you have built into your head for Tetsurou’s moments of snarkiness blaring loudly.

The taunt is on its way and you begin a rebuttal before he even opens his mouth. Kuroo’s face contorts into an exaggerated look of disbelief.

“We were having—”

“I cannot believe it—”

“—a nice moment!”

“—Is that a compliment I hear?”

Rolling your eyes, you turn your head away from him. “If you’re going to act like that—”

“No, no! Can’t take it back. You said it already.”

“Nope. I formally recant my statement—”

“Ooh, big word—”

“—I forswear what I said—”

“—Forswear?! How do you even know what that means?”

“—You did an adequate job. Actually, you did exactly what was expected of you. Nothing more.”

“C’mon, give me some credit. You weren’t expecting me to land that invite for that GQ party next month. And how did I do that? Remind me one more time?” Kuroo leans his head towards you, tapping his ear repeatedly.

“By doing your job.” You insist and he throws his head to the side in hurt.

“By being the best at my job.”

“They invited you because you were badgering them in the box seats. What did you bribe them with?”

He levels a steady smirk at you, “Sounds like someone doesn’t want to go.”

You gasp, eyes narrowing, “You wouldn’t.”

“Admit it, then.” He grins.

“Admit what! That I kept you on schedule for the day so that you could actually do your job and get us the invites? Then I will admit that I did my job excellently.” You poke your finger into his chest repeatedly and he laughs.

He agrees with a small nod of his head, smiling widely, knowingly. “You did.”

“I did.” You affirm. “And with enough time to factor in potty breaks. Plural.”

Kuroo laughs again, incredulously, “Potty. Who even says that anymore?”

“Me. Your lovely, amazing assistant that you are definitely taking to the GQ party.”

Kuroo’s gaze fixes on yours, held firmly as the grin lingering so resolutely on his face reaches up to his eyes. The conversation peters out into another gentle silence, ambers meeting yours in a steady embrace, and voicing what remains to be said. Held tightly by the reciprocity of your own gaze.

It happens, then. The quiet kindling that has become so familiar between he and you. The settling of a warmth between the space that has been occurring more frequently; Found only in times like this. When laughter dissipates and ease takes over. When it becomes glaringly obvious that you enjoy your boss’s company a little more than you probably should, and that he doesn’t necessarily mind you all that much. There isn’t much to say about it even though your tongue feels heavy in your mouth and fiction dictates that this is the moment where someone should say something.

But what is there to say at this moment to the man who signs your paychecks? Who eggs you on in ways that no one would even bother to do? What could you express other than profound admiration and deep annoyances over his character? What could you tell him that he doesn’t already know?

(Maybe the truth that is buried deep within you. One that you haven’t admitted to yourself because honestly, you aren’t even sure you believe it yourself.

There’s bound to be affections shared between two people who work in such close proximity as you two. Regard, appreciation, fondness— but not that. No, it couldn’t be that. That would be ridiculous.

Because he’s your boss, of course.

Just your boss. That’s all.)

“You should go home,” Tetsurou is the first to break the stare. Fortunately, too, lest you become too absorbed in your thoughts and do something stupid like risking getting lost in the eyes of amber. He turns his attention to his hands on the railing, his thumb tapping repeatedly on the metal. “Get some rest. You deserve it, keeping me in line and all.”

He bumps his shoulder into yours.

“Are you heading home soon?” You ask.

He shrugs, before looking to the court once more. “In a minute. I’m going to stay for a little longer. Not ready to go home yet.”

You hum, “Then I’ll stay with you.”

There’s a beat of silence, one that, when you glance towards him you expect to see filled with amusement. Maybe a tease on his tongue once more about how hard you work, about how miserable you’ll be in the morning for staying up past your bedtime. Instead, you see only the calm stillness of his face, eyes fixed resolutely on the empty court before him.

He leans forward onto the railing, bracing his elbows against its fixture, watching the scene below him as though it were the most interesting thing in the world. Four janitors taking a break from their waxing of the floor to play a quick, and sloppy, game of volleyball. Soft laughter echoes throughout the room, broken apart by low mutterings of commentary on their plays that sends the four older men into even further laughter.

Then, “Sometimes I wonder what my life would have been like if I went pro.”

To learn of other people in the course of a years-long friendship is natural, rightfully expected— and while there is much of Kuroo that you do know and can recite off the top of your head, the willful admittance of intimate details, especially in quiet times like this, is always surprising. Especially when coupled with the contemplative silence that follows his words, the genuine wonder, the longing written on his face as the rose thoughts of a first love bloom in the cracks of a fallen smile.

In the softening of his eyes and the deep sigh that he releases, you realize that there’s a Kuroo Tetsurou that you don’t know.

Not for the first time, and certainly not for the last, you reach out to find him. You ask, softly. “Why did you stop playing?”

His eyes remain trained on the court, as though the answer were laid upon the hardwood floors. “It was time. I loved the game but, I don’t know. Just didn’t make sense for me to keep it going. There were other things I needed to do, and playing professionally would have taken up too much time.”

You can almost see it, then. A younger Tetsurou, even more chaotic and rowdy than you know him to be, with hopes and dreams that exist somewhere in the great web of could have been’s, cast to the side because of the “other things”. You don’t pry, not when he’s already being so forthcoming as it is, but you make a note. Store it away in the folder lodged deep in your mind dedicated to the man.

“Would you be happier if you did?” You ask, albeit hesitantly. Not entirely sure what you would do with the answer.

He rolls his broad shoulders gently, like a tide rolling in under itself, swayed under its own pressure and maybe that should mean something. “Well, it’s not like I’m unhappy. I’ve got a good life, good job, good people. I’ve got it all.”

He spares a quick glance to you. So quick you wouldn’t have caught it had he not already been the centerpoint of your fixed stare, but truthfully, when is he not? When is he not the center of your gaze, your life, your world? Everything in your routine seems to start and end with Kuroo Tetsurou.

“But I can’t deny how much I miss the game.”

—you don’t mind all that much. Especially not when he’s like this. Open, sensitive, and wanting to talk. When he actually takes the time to chew his thoughts out and speak them into existence rather than continue his sordid and pointed teases.

You lean forward onto the railing. “Do you think you would have made it far?”

He adjusts his figure next to yours. His crooked elbow touches yours, but he makes no move to remove it. “Well… I hate to brag, but…”

You scoff. “You do.”

“Maybe. Maybe not. Hard to say.” He shrugs his shoulders wryly. “In another life, I’m still playing.”

It sounds sadder than he intends it to be, but it’s the truth. And you get it; have your own could-have’s stored deep in the recesses of your mind, your own forgotten dreams about who you wanted to be that haunt and plague in the twilight of hard nights where sleep is elusive and quarter-life crises spring forth in the darkness—but it’s not all bad.

“Well, in this other life, if you’re playing and I just so happened to know you,” You tell him, “I would be your biggest fan.”

He huffs at that. Looking at you with a tilt of his head and a handsome smile on his face. “Oh yeah? And if you didn’t?”

“I’d be Miya Atsumu’s biggest fan.” You say simply.

“You already are.”

“Yeah, but I know you have jealousy issues so I just don’t say anything about it.”

Tetsurou nods his head. Amused. “Well I’m glad to know you, then.”

It happens here, again.

The quiet kindling, the lingering warmth. With hopes and dreams laid out before you, and the brief allowance into the depths of his intimate details he holds tightly under the weight of himself, do you find the familiarity of the man again. The one you know, the one who laughed so hard at your banana costume that milk came out of his nose. The one who canceled all of his meetings for the day when you broke your pinky finger in the office and who stayed with you in the hospital until a cast was put on.

The one who smiles at you so gently, as if you are someone important. The one you can’t help but smile right back at. Kuroo Tetsurou, your boss, a friend.

Movement in the corner of your eye draws your attention to the court. The janitors that were once playing amongst each other slowly begin to stray from the court, picking up their brooms and exiting towards the sidelines. Looking at Tetsurou, you find that he’s still looking at you.

“They’re not closing the stadium for another hour. And it looks like the janitors have had their fun.” You say, “Wanna play a quick game?”

His brows raise to his hairline, “You know how to play?”

“We had to choose a sport to play for gym class back in high school and it was either tennis or volleyball. So I guess you can say I know a thing or two.”

“Ah, a professional.”

“Mhm. I’m here to give you a run for your money.”

Tetsurou pushes himself off the railing, standing to his full height as he accepts the offer. Towering over you at his 6’5 height, he begins rolling up the sleeves of his dress shirt, cuffing the white material until it reaches the crook of his elbow. A quick glance to the revealed skin is only a firm reminder of what you had pointedly forgotten. Long slender fingers attached to a thick and veiny forearm, sculpted through years of volleyball practice and continued exercise.

If he wanted to, he definitely could have made it professionally. You almost choke on your spit.

“Oh, I’m counting on it.” Tetsurou gives you a smile that rivals the smugness of Miya Atsumu in that stupid banner and you know for a fact that in that other life, you would’ve been Kuroo Tetsurou’s biggest fan whether you knew him or not— and not because he was a good player.

—

“You need to lock your elbows.”

“They’re locked!”

“No they’re not. Look at this,” Tetsurou steps underneath the net, approaching you in long strides before tapping his fingers against the elbows of your interlocked hands. He watches with little impression as your arms swing easily with his force, “Noodles. How are you supposed to receive with this?”

“I’m trying but it’s not comfortable!”

“So you’d rather suck?”

“Kinky.” You say with a waggle of your brows and he rolls his eyes.

“Stop it. Here, you need to—” Without a second thought, he steps behind you, wrapping his arms around your torso and fixing your hands. wrapping your right hand over your left and running the length of his warm touch down your forearms. Innocuous and gentle, but stiffening as you breathe in the musky scent of his cologne and the faded scent of his aftershave, and feel the hard planes of his chest press against your back.

“Straighten your elbows,” He mutters, voice heavy beside your ear. “And keep them locked. Helps you to have a steady receive for any kind of ball. If your form is perfect then you can always pass the ball using this part, here.” His right index finger touches the surface of your forearm, running between the length of your elbow and wrist to accentuate his point.

It isn’t a matter of fireworks when he touches you, the exploding kind that has butterflies and goosebumps erupting over the expanse of your skin. It isn’t as though your eyes have suddenly been peeled open and the realization has struck you hard across the face like every romance story that preaches about the magic of the first touch, the electricity of meeting hands across the table, the sudden realization of knowing.

No, this is entirely different. A comforting touch, not uncommon, but intimate and while it doesn’t have you reeling in revolutionary realization, nor does it have you fanning yourself from the flames of sudden desire, his touch does, eerily, have you sinking in further. There’s no fluttering and flustering with the confusion of flooding feelings, but rather, it has you looking at his hands with a slight furrow.

Wondering, when his hands suddenly got so soft, yet so firm. Wondering, in what part of the intertwining of his life with yours did his touch suddenly not only become okay, but felt as though it belonged?

Were this any other man, you would have a harassment claim sent to HR before he could even get near you. But it’s Tetsurou; And when his slender fingers wrap gently around your wrist, turning them upward slightly, you don’t go rigid in his embrace, but instead fall into it. Settle into his grasp, entrust yourself in his hands.

Because how could you not?

“Like this?” You ask, quietly. No need to exert volume considering he’s right next to you. In search of approval in how you’ve adjusted your hands, you turn your head to the side to look at him, only to realize how close he is to you. Eyes able to see the steady pulse of the clench in his jaw as he focuses on your form, the sharp angle of his jaw, the closely shaven hairs of his stubble.

“Yeah, just like that. Good.” He answers, before removing his hands and bracing them against your shoulders, straightening your posture for the receives that you are no longer focused on getting.

If Kuroo Tetsurou turned his head to you, there would be nothing stopping his nose from bumping into yours. You must be silent, too caught up in the overwhelming nature of it all because he’s suddenly stiffening from his position over you. Then, at a speed you’ve never seen him move before, he’s rescinding his body entirely from you. And it should sting. The speed at which your boss acted as though you physically burned him, his body essentially repulsed from touching you.

He’s putting great space between you two as he ducks back under the net to his side of the court, yelling over his shoulder, “T-that should fix it. Try, uh, try now. Try serving.”

“I thought I was receiving?” You ask his retreating figure and he stills, considering for a moment, before waving his hand in the air— obviously embarrassed and confused at the fact that he’s just jeopardized everything and made his assistant uncomfortable.

“Whatever, just give it back to me.” He says, frustratedly.

And you allow yourself, just for a brief moment, to store another could-have in the sanctity of your fantasies. One where he isn’t your boss, and you aren’t his assistant, and you are able to admit to the true and honest parts of yourself—

“Nice return! See? Better already.”

—you rather liked the way he touched you.

a/n: HEEEEELP i love him your honor. sorry for always ghosting. i wish i could say i wont, but i know i will. lol

#kuroo x reader #kuroo tetsurou x reader #hq x reader #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu drabbles #hq fluff #kuroo tetsurou fluff #kuroo tetsuro x reader #kuroo tetsurou

284 notes · View notes

astarionancuntnin · 5 months ago

Text

Die For You (Chapter 5)

summary: astarion takes care of you following the events at the ball.

rating: E (smut chapter!)

word count: 4.5k

pairing: astarion x you (fem!reader)

cw: 18+. smut, hurt/comfort, soft!ascended astarion, flashbacks of traumatic events (from previous chapter), consent is hot, soft dom!reader, porn with feelings, power play (if you squint), passionate lovemaking, light teasing, p in v, blood/vampire bites, creampie, aftercare. full list on ao3

Masterlist

previous chapter

read on ao3

next chapter

or keep reading down below~

But if I touch you, would you feel it there?

Could I trust love even if I'm scared?

Oh, I wish I could give like I'm longing to give

Oh, I wish I could live like I'm longing to live

The ride back to the palace is dreadfully quiet, with nothing but the sound of the wheels against the ground as the carriage is being moved around. The night is cold, but you still have Astarion’s coat covering your shivering form and his arm wrapped around you protectively, providing you with a reassuring warmth. You’re still shaken by what happened and how helpless you were in that moment. Hells, you were strong – maybe not as strong as Karlach – but you were able to hold your own on the battlefield and yet you got overpowered by this poor excuse of a man? How could this happen? How did you let yourself get in that situation? Despite not wanting to think back on it, you remember what Astarion had told you that first night spent in the cells. Was it true then, that his spying on you assured your security during all those months spent apart? Were you truly as hopeless as he envisioned you? Were you not as strong as you believed yourself to be? And gods damn, how did he manage to capture you so easily back then, and why had you not confronted him about that too?

You’re taken out of your rumination as you reach the crimson palace, and he brings you to your bathroom where he calls for Amedee to prepare a bath for you before dismissing her to take care of you himself. He opens a drawer filled with the best essential oils the market can offer, taking the time to pick the right one. He approaches you and tugs at the lace down your waist, which makes you turn abruptly, still anxious from your earlier confrontation. He softly asks, “May I?” and waits until you give him a few nods, unable yet to speak, to undress you with the utmost care. With your outfit now disposed of on the floor, he takes care of removing your jewellery, placing them aside on the nearest table, before letting your hair cascading down your back. You stand in your most vulnerable state in front of him, with your crossed arms barely covering your chest.

He moves between you and the bath, holding out his hand to help you in, his eyes never leaving yours. “Come now, love.” You stare for a few moments at his inviting hand before taking it to help lower yourself in. The relief is almost instant; all the tension in your muscles leaves as you make contact with the warm bath water and the scent of lotus flower hits you all at once, allowing you to relax. He reaches for a sponge that he dips in the bath before pushing your hair aside and lightly scrubs your back and shoulders. With the silence shared between the two of you, your mind goes back to what happened earlier, replaying the scene in your head over and over again, wondering: what could you have done differently? In another reality, was there any way for you to avoid what had happened? Deep down, wasn’t this your own fault for voicing an opinion at the wrong time? You could’ve avoided that encounter and that dance outside altogether if you hadn’t spoken just at this moment, you could’ve avoided it if you just kept to yourself for once, Gods dammit, why did you always have to open your damned mouth?!

The emotions overflow you and soon, a sob escapes you; you hate how all of it is making you feel powerless, how this single experience is making you question your whole identity. You hate how it happened so fast, how preventable it all was, but most of all, you hate yourself–

“Shhh, it's okay, you’re alright dear.”

You had almost forgotten about Astarion up until now, his voice yet again grounding you back in the present, bringing you back to safety. You sniffle, trying to calm the tears enough to speak up. Your voice is tainted with a roughness from your previous cries, “Why didn’t you kill him?” You don’t really wanna talk about what happened, but it was unlike him to let someone like this go unharmed.

“There is a time and a place for such things; a ball with the most influential figures of Baldur’s Gate was not it.” He says, dipping the sponge back in the water and squeezing it over your shivering shoulders to bring them some warmth. “Then again, it didn’t stop him from attacking you,” he grunts, “but believe me, I won’t let this bastard get away with this. All in due time.” He takes a deep breath, bringing your hair back to soak it with the help of a small bucket. The anger in his voice created a strange contrast with the attentive care he offered you.

“How did you know I was hurt?”

“Your blood, dear. I could recognize it from miles away.” You bring your hand to your neck where the knife has been; it had completely slipped your mind that you had been cut. “The second I smelled it I… I expected the worst. I came as quickly as I could.”

A sudden guilt washes over you, thinking back to the previous month. “I don’t understand why you’re doing all of this… I’ve been horrible to you ever since you brought me here.”

“A little, but wouldn’t you say I deserve it?” You hum quietly through your tears and a smile appears on his lips for a just moment. “I wasn’t exactly… gentle, in my approach, but I stand by what I said about wanting what’s best for you. I don’t see why I would go back on my word, now of all time.” He continues, now soaping your hair.

“Even after knowing I would leave eventually?”

“My feelings for you remain the same no matter where you go, darling.”

You nod thoughtfully; he might’ve been terrible in his approach, but he’s also shown countless times how much he cared for you, even after many months apart. It makes you think back to the first discussion you had with him, in the dungeons. “I still can’t believe you had me kidnapped.”

“Can you really blame me?”

You turn around abruptly, almost offended by his question, “Yes? What prevented you from just coming up to me to talk, y’know, like a normal person?”

“Well, to be fair, you had been avoiding me like the sun at the reunion, I wasn’t expecting you to willingly talk to me. You have to understand my side darling; it felt necessary.”

You sigh heavily, leaning back against the wall of the bath, “All of this because you couldn’t move on.”

Your tenacity makes him smile again. There you were: the fighter that he loved, the woman who stood up for herself. “I did really try, if you must know. I wanted to respect your choice to part ways, move on and build my empire with someone who matched my ideals!... And never have to see you again.” His extravagant tone suddenly changes to a serious one, “But I couldn’t bring myself to commit to anyone else. Every time I tried, I would look at them and I could only see… you. You were never afraid to stand up to me, unlike the others.” He chuckles, “You still do.”

You stay silent, taking in his confession, as he washes out your hair before standing up with a clean towel.

“Let’s get you ready for bed, hm?”

You look at him with tired eyes before raising yourself from the water and linking your arms around his neck as he picks you up. You find yourself observing his face for any sign of malice, anything that would tell you that his intentions weren’t pure, and you can’t find any. You’re not sure if it reassures you or terrifies you the most; to know he has been truthful all along and that you outright refused to see it. He lays you down on your bed and moves away to search your wardrobe, looking to find you clothes for the night. As he makes his way towards you with a dark blue satin night robe, you find your voice again.

“I know you said all those things, but you could have anyone else so easily… Someone who doesn’t argue with you constantly…”

He lays the dress at your feet and sits on the edge of the bed. “My sweet, if I wanted someone who blindly agrees to everything I say, I could have anyone. Turn another spawn and choose them as my obedient little puppet. I could have a thousand like them. You, on the other hand, challenge me everyday. No one could ever come close to you, my love.” He sees your eyes looking away, and he reaches for your cheek, stroking it softly. “When I saw you at the reunion for the first time in what felt like an eternity, I wanted nothing but to have you back. I crave you like I crave the sun’s embrace, Gods, I was alive again after hundreds of years and yet, I’ve never felt more alive than by your side.” He drops his hand to take yours, holding it firmly, and you look back at him. “If I could have anyone, I would still want you and only you. If you just let me take care of you, we could be so good together.” His voice is low and deep, it resonates through you, draws you to him. “Isn’t this what you want?”

Your gaze falls down to his hand with yours, avoiding his eyes, and you groan, those conflicting feelings frustrating you. “I don’t know what I want, alright? I–” You trail off, your words escaping you. “When I left you, it’s because I felt you had changed. I thought I had lost you to that ritual, that the man I loved was gone, but now…” Your eyes find his again, and he looks at you with a kindness you missed. When you speak again, your voice is but a whisper. “I don’t know anymore… I spent so long regretting helping you through the rite of ascension, I really thought it had turned you into a monster, I–” You close your eyes and a silent tear streaks down your cheek. “I thought I had lost you.”

He reaches out to wipe it away and you open your eyes to look back at him. “Oh darling, I never left. It was always me, simply better.” His voice is the softest you've ever heard. If you weren’t looking at him when he spoke, you wouldn’t believe the words came from him. “What I did, I did for us. With my powers, I can assure both of us security, forever, and that’s all thanks to you.” He pauses, drawing you closer to him. “You gave me everything. I will spend every day of my eternal life thanking you for it, in every imaginable way. Whatever your heart desires will be yours.”

You hold his stare as much as you can through your stressful blinking. He’s gotten incredibly close to you and you feel your chest rise higher as your breathing quickens, the tension between you two becoming unbearable.

You look into his eyes, and you see it then: there he is, your Astarion. The same vulnerable pale elf you had ventured and shared nights with all these months ago. Under these layers of newly acquired powers was hiding the man you fell in love with, and tonight you had found him, at long last. You let go of a breath you didn’t realise you were holding in and your eyes quickly dart to his mouth, lips still parted from speaking up, and in an instant, your lips meet in a passionate and rough embrace. All the tension, the longing and lusting leaves your chest, pouring into this kiss. Your hands get lost in his hair, pulling him in as he pushes you down against your bed, his hands landing next to your head.

You’re gonna regret that.

Panic settles back into you, the memories flashing back into your mind and you push Astarion away, breaking the kiss suddenly as your breathing quickens and your eyes get lost elsewhere. You’re back in the garden, with the nobleman from the party.

“Darling?”

His weight upon you, the dagger against your throat, his hand sliding up your thighs.

“Love, look at me,” he tilts your head upwards, and you snap out of the flashback, finally back to Astarion. “Hey, it’s me. You’re here. You’re safe.”

You sigh heavily, your breathing coming back to you gradually. The emotions within you are overwhelming; you’re terrified and enraged, yet, with Astarion you’re reassured, you’re content, you’re… in love.

Look at how much he cares for you, you think to yourself. He wishes for nothing but your wellbeing. He wants to be yours, and only wishes for you to be his. Isn’t this what you’ve always wanted?

“Do you want to stop?” he asks, worried by your lack of words. “Just say the word and we can end it there.”

You blink quickly, briefly not trusting your vision following the last seconds that happened and your hands sneak their way over his face, caressing his cheeks. The softness of his skin, the surprising warmth emanating from him…

You shake your head; you need this. You need him. “Stay with me…” you whisper, your voice trembling. “I don’t want to be alone… please.”

His hand covers yours, and when you look in his eyes, you see what he's trying to say with unspoken words: anything for you, you have nothing to fear with me, I've got you my love.

As the tears overflow you, you bring him back into you, crashing your lips together. Your kiss is messy, with your tongues dancing with each other, both of you wanting more of the other, your teeth biting and pulling, with his fangs grazing your lips everlightly, drawing out the slightest drops of blood just to have a taste. He groans in your mouth at the taste of your crimson and his hips grind against your leg, pressing his growing erection on you as his carnal lust awakens.

“Gods, I’ve missed you,” he says, with a ragged breath.

You feel as if you were possessed, your arms flying to the helm of his shirt, pulling to free him from this cage that his clothes provided, yearning for his touch that you couldn’t wait any longer to feel. Without breaking contact, he quickly removes the rest of his own clothes and discards the wet towel you were previously wrapped in, revealing your delicate skin underneath. The second both of your clothings are off, you push Astarion down on the bed, climbing over him and pinning him down by his wrists.

“There you are, my little spitfire,” he purrs.

When you see a grin forming over his lips, you can’t help the smile forming on your own lips. You pause to admire him, taking in the sight of his dishevelled hair, the lust in his eyes; you missed this, missed him.

You close the gap between your bodies, laying your forehead against his, and say your next words through a ragged breath, “You have no idea how much I want to ravish you.”

“Take what you need, darling. I want you to have control, to feel like you’re in charge of your own body again. I might not have been able to stop what happened tonight, but I want to be the one who empowers you once again. I want to help you like nobody could for me. Tonight, your word is my command; I am yours.”

To have him at your fingertips, following your every word… His words stir something within you, to see how utterly devoted he is to you makes you want to truly make him yours. You can barely believe the opportunity he’s giving you, given the last time you spoke about the subject was after your visit at moonrise towers. You never had the chance to have another talk about his boundaries, but that was also before he became the vampire ascendant. You take his hands to guide them over your thighs, intending on taking up on his offer, “Touch me.”

“How,” his hands remain still on your thighs. “Don’t be shy now, little love. Tell me exactly what you want.”

You lean over him again, your lips barely apart, and you whisper your next command, “I want your hands to caress my skin.”

His hands start moving over your strong thighs, touching every inch there is to discover.

“Guide me,” he whispers. “I’ll only do what you instruct me to do.”

“Move over to my waist.”

His hands travel higher, sneaking over your hips ever so slightly.

“Where to next?” He hums.

“Up and down my back…” He reaches for the highest point of your back, down to the frontier of your ass, only grazing your cheeks.

“I want to feel your nails on my skin.”

His grip on you changes, with his nails now softly scratching over your skin, “Like this?”

You close your eyes, focusing on the sensation. “Mh, harder.” His nails sink into you and you throw your head back as your back arches. “Ah– Just like this…”

Your breasts are now hovering near his face and with each breath you take, they draw closer to his mouth. He could easily cave into his desires and devour you right then and there, but as promised, he waits until you give him his next instruction. Luckily for him, you needed this as much as he did, and neither of you were patient people.

“Now your mouth… over my breast,” you reach out to grab onto his hand scratching your back to put it over your boob. “And squeeze this one.”

As he lifts himself up, his mouth latches on your nipple that he relentlessly sucks on, while his hand massages the one you had guided him to. His fangs lightly scrape over the soft skin of your breast and you softly cry out before giving him your next command.

“Lick your way to my neck,” your voice is but a whisper by now.

Slowly, his mouth leaves your boob and he leaves a faint trail of saliva over your chest as he makes his way to your precious neck. Your hips rock back and forth, only slightly, relishing in the delicious friction you get from his length between your wet folds. Astarion wasn’t going to complain, but he felt like you could take it further, should you desire it.

“If you want something else, you can take it,” he purrs against your neck. “What's mine is yours.”

The temptation to simply take him in was too good to resist, but it’s not something you would allow yourself just yet. The friction it provided over your clit was almost better than having him inside you, and his reaction was even better. Teasing him brought you more satisfaction than you expected and you intended on drawing it out as long as you could. He growled against your neck, only nibbling on your skin there and you could feel how his hips jerked in reaction to your teasing. With your next order on the tip of your tongue, you’re taken aback from the realisation that you wanted this from him. There’s a part of you that’s terrified of what might come out of this, but the rest of your being desires nothing more.

“Bite me.”

He leaves your neck to look into your eyes, not believing the words you had just said. He needed you to say it again, to confirm he didn’t imagine it out of pure madness. That you, the woman he desired most, desired him just as much; just like you used to. Then, when you see the way he looks at you with devilish want, you allow yourself to take what you’ve been wanting for days. You lift yourself up and you position him over your entrance before slamming your hips down, crying out as you take him fully in one thrust. He groans loudly when he enters you, throwing his head back at the feeling and you take this chance to grab his luscious hair and pull back, hard. When he looks back at you, his eyes have gone dark with lust and the thread of control holding him back has gone so thin that it threatens to break at any moment. You repeat your command between two breaths, reasserting your dominance over him.

“Bite… me.”

You guide him towards the spot in your neck where you missed him most before releasing your grip on him. He kisses the spot in the crook of your neck that he knew all too well one last time, finding your pulse and sinking his fangs into your soft skin. As he drinks you in, your mind blanks out, completely lost in the euphoria his bites provided you, and all of a sudden, you’re back at your days spent camping, when this was moreso about necessity, when you gave yourself to him, when you would’ve given him everything. He’s still drinking when the next words slip past your lips between two breaths, completely unaware of the effect they would have.

“Tell me… tell me you love me.”

His teeth leave your skin and he pulls back to look at you, as if he was looking for something you weren’t saying out loud, and if he wasn’t looking at you then, he wouldn’t believe what you had asked of him. Nevertheless, he complies; as he is yours forever more, and you were his for tonight.

“I love you.”

Your half lidded eyes are completely lost in the sight of him with your blood on his mouth, and before you can think about it, your lips are on his, tasting him, tasting yourself, taking everything he has to offer, but also offering yourself to him. You didn’t want to let go, to break the proximity you had longed to share for so long, but the lack of air forces you to pull away. When he looks at you again, you’re stained from your blood, and two fine lines drop from where he bit you.

“I'll take down the moon and stars for you.”

He grabs onto your hips as he begins to thrust upwards, and you let him, too dizzy to think of taking back that control or giving him a new command. He could have the reigns now, you had proved to yourself that you were whole, and this experience brought you even closer to him, the closest you had ever been.

“I'll love you until the world burns down.”

Closer than this and your bodies would fuse together, your minds would meld as one, losing yourself into the other. Ultimately, love, no matter how twisted it had become, had brought you back together against all odds.

“I would burn it down for you if you just asked.”

And you loved him, gods, you hated how much you loved him despite all he had done, despite capturing you to bring you here. You promise yourself that you will bring it up again, make him right his wrongs, force him to–

“I love you.”

One of his hands finds its way to the back of your neck, cradling you closer to kiss your skin between each declaration, and it pushes aside any thoughts you previously had. He repeats himself with a ragged breath, and each time he tells you he loves you, it's with more and more conviction. His pace gets more frantic as he lets himself come undone for you.

“Love… I’m close…” He says, panting.

You pull him into another kiss, knowing you’re nearing the edge of ecstasy too and you’re reaching for any more contact you could have. You couldn’t care for words anymore, but you knew what you wanted, and you would take it, regardless of what he had done in the past. For tonight, you forgave him, and you accepted this form of apology from him.

“Fuck, ah–”

Feeling him shooting his hot seed inside of you is your unbecoming. With a few more strokes, along with his cock twitching inside of you, you finally go over the edge. As the world becomes silent, you scream in pleasure, finally letting go of all those feelings you had bottled up over the last days. The build up in your belly reaches your heart, and there’s something of an explosion in your chest, fireworks in your head, and you see stars for a mere moment. When you come down from your high, you let yourself fall over him, completely spent, with your head hiding in the crook of his neck.

You stay like this for a while, with him still inside you and you resting on top of him, allowing yourself to catch your breath, and he holds you close as if you were but a fleeting image that was going to vanish, but by now, you had no intention of leaving.

The way he strokes your hair aside so casually makes you yearn for more of it. It feels so intimate, the tenderness of it all making you feel as if you had never been apart, not for an instant.

“So much for getting you clean earlier, mh?” You laugh quietly in the crook of his neck; had you known the night was going to take such a turn, maybe you would’ve waited before taking that bath. “Now, let me take care of you, the way you deserve it.”

You groan, too tired to care about getting clean, and when he sees that you had no intention of getting up, he lifts you up himself to carry you to your bath. He calls on Amedee once again to get new warm water, and this time he hops in the bath with you to clean you up. You hum, content with the way he cared for you so dearly, and once you’re both clean, he takes you out of your bath to dry you up. He carries you back to bed where he tucks you in and the moment he turns to leave you stop him.

“Stay with me tonight.”

“Eager for more, are we?”

“My word is your command – remember? Stay.”

Your words are direct, but your voice is soft and your eyes are almost pleading with him; he can’t find it in himself to refuse you. As he joins you in bed, you hold him close, resting your head over his chest once again, and you let yourself be lulled to sleep by the unfamiliar sound of his calm heartbeat, along with the crackling of the fireplace.

Can I move you? Can I soothe your fear?

Could you trust love, if I prove it's there?

Thank you for reading! Comments, reblogs, and likes are very much appreciated <3

tag list (comment or message me if you want to be added!): @grimistheangerinmystares @silverfangmarks @roguishcat @nyx-knox @anacdoce @jwera

181 notes · View notes

ohnococo · 10 months ago

Text

Eyes On You | MMA Fighter!Sukuna x F!Scientist Reader

Summary: Sukuna takes a keen interest in you after a meeting discussing having him promote the protein powder you helped develop.

Notes: A one shot within the mma!au, though this isn’t part of the main canon of Fight Night. A request for @rosemaydone321

Warnings: public sex, mutual masturbation, rough sex, cum shot

You hated being dragged along for these sponsorship meetings. It wasn’t your thing: sucking up to clients, listening to them negotiate fees, nodding the approval you’d already detailed and reviewed with legal in emails over the product claims in the ad copy. That didn’t stop you from getting dragged along though. Kusakabe, the company’s marketing lead, absolutely insisted that you added an air of legitimacy to the product just by sitting there. You drew the line at his suggestions that you wear a white lab coat to these meetings. There was no need to give some performance of your job, because it was simply something you did and did well, not needing to add niceties or fakeness to bolster your accolades. Not like most of the other people in this room laughing louder than they needed to, smiling wider than necessary.

Not the subject of this meeting though. In lieu of making conversation and underhanded suggestions of sponsorship requirements or costs, his focus was on you through most of it, face unamused by his manager’s banter. He seemed much more interested in watching you squirm under his gaze. You aren’t exactly sure what it was he seemed to get out of it, brows raised, peering down his nose at you as he leans on one hand and waits for your side of the table to agree to what he wants without even having to be the one to ask for it. It feels like he’s judging you, staring into your mind at every little thing you were thinking. It makes it hard for you to listen, not that you really needed to. All they asked was that you “look smart” and “use some science-y words.” All your years of education and experience to be told to look smart when you were smart. It almost made you regret getting into the health and fitness business.

The only thing making these meetings semi-tolerable was at least knowing Kusakabe was good at dealing with these people, having done press management for fighters himself in the past before deciding it was too much stress for the pay. He had to put out less fires this way, now he just helped the company push protein powder via sponsorships and deals. Or in this case, a very important brand deal with a highly sought after man like Sukuna. His being reliable, and doing most of the talking, made up for you being forced to be here rather than where your costly degrees had given you access to. It still didn’t make his client-facing persona any less grating though.

Sukuna leans forward, picking up his glass of water on the long table separating you and your coworkers from him and his management, and Kusakabe makes a show of acting impressed by him to pay him a compliment. It was usually what these men liked most.

“God, look at the size of his hands! No wonder you’re a menace on the ground.” Kusakabe mimics wrenching an opponent’s arm back, but Sukuna seems to be too concerned with watching you intently to be plied by the praise. Though from how disinterested he seemed the entire meeting you were beginning to think flattery wouldn’t work on him anyway. Kusakabe nudges you, encouraging you to join in, “Can’t claim that’s because of the protein powder, can we?”

Sukuna’s lip curls into a sneer, and you feel a small sense of camaraderie that he was just as put off by the charade of it all as you were, though you note this was the first time someone hadn’t been taken in by Kusakabe.

You’d have to tease him for it later when he lets the facade slip on your way back to the more comfortable lab-based aspects of your job. He knew the product inside and out. Not on a chemical level like you, but he was knowledgeable.

You found his penchant for playing dumb exhausting though, and since Sukuna seemed to as well you take the chance to speak your mind for once. “Don’t be stupid.”

For the first time since this meeting had started, the large man across from you actually looks amused, lifting his head from where it was resting atop his hand with the smallest hint of a smile.

“Don’t mind her. You know how brainy types are, right?” Kusakabe deflects, trying to recover from his parried compliment.

That wipes the smile off of Sukuna’s face, and he turns his steely gaze to the man next to you. “She’s right. You were being stupid.

Kusakabe looks frightened for a second, with your new client’s ability to intimidate even without threats, then his business brain kicks in, forcing that fake smile back onto his face as he laughs nervously. “Of course I was!”

He was, really. A claim like that would be preposterous. It was already a stretch for them to try and act like any of the considerable musculature before you was due to your product anyway. A body like that wasn’t built by a year’s worth of free product and the promise of a sizable check…

From the corner of your eye you can see Kusakabe deflate a little, before redoubling his efforts with Sukuna’s management, having noted they were much more receptive than the brooding man who was the guest of honour here.

The meeting wraps up without further incident, except for you spending the majority of it trying to look unbothered by Sukuna’s unwavering gaze. As Kusakabe walks you back to your little hideaway many, many floors down from the fancy meeting room, he places a lollipop into his mouth in lieu of heading outside for a cigarette to calm his buzzing nerves.

“If I didn’t respect you so much I’d have asked you to show a little leg to make that whole thing easier for me.”

It catches you off guard, “Firstly, if you respected me you would have kept that little thought to yourself. Secondly, what are you even talking about?”

He twirls the sweet by its stick on his mouth, pulling it out to gesture at you broadly. “I’m talking about the sexy eyes you were getting the whole damn time. Typical meathead, thinking with his dick.”

“Sexy eyes? Do you mean scary eyes? He looked like he was going to eat me alive.”

Kusakabe laughs as he leans against the wall while you press your keycard to the sensor for the entrance to your floor, “Yeah he wanted a taste of you, all right.”

The door beeps, then the locks click signifying your entry was permitted. Kusakabe’s, however, is not, so he waves at you over his shoulder as he heads back towards the elevator, “I’ll let you know when they decide on the deal.”

“I don’t care.”

It was all the same to you, and while your interest might have been piqued despite the brutishness of being ogled for nearly an hour and a half, your job there was done. Whether he promoted the protein powder or not, or made an appearance in a few commercials or print ads, had nothing to do with you past this point. Hell, it technically didn’t have anything to do with you before, but Kusakabe was adamant your quiet presence made a difference.

When Kusakabe approaches you in the lobby three days later, walking alongside you as you make your way to your car to head home, you think maybe you might care just a little. Enough to see it through at least. He looks serious, disappointed even, feigning having to deliver bad news, before he’s breaking into a smile and patting your back the way he always did when asking you to celebrate a victory that wasn’t yours.

“We did it. Sukuna’s team is signed on.”

“You did it.” You assert. No amount of money would have made you go on all the networking luncheons and meetings he spent his time in to soften people up. One was your limit, agreed to after a lengthy begathon from your coworker, so you let him ask you to come to a celebratory meal with the rest of the marketing team as usual, so you can also shoot it down as usual.

“Well, how about food and drinks tonight to celebrate, eh?” He acts like he might make it sound appetising by phrasing it like that for the dozenth time. But then he adds, “Their team is coming too. Sukuna insisted on paying. He asked us to bring everyone from the meeting too, and that includes you.”

This was a little unusual. It was a rarity for anyone other than the direct lead to be invited out, even if it was his company card getting thrown on the table for it. You can’t say you aren’t interested, even if the thought of being watched through the whole meal intimidated you. So you say yes, and Kusakabe is taken aback, smiling wide and patting you on the back like it was some feat to actually get out of either your lab, your office, or your home.

—

The meal is as insufferable as the meetings usually are. The ass kissing is somehow even more intolerable now that you know the contracts are signed so it was all even more unnecessary theatrics. Sukuna seems more focused on people in the room other than you, bordering on outright ignoring you, save for a few glances down at you in your seat across from him at the table.

It forces you to reckon with the fact that you had possibly been a little self-indulgent, coming to this meal to see him, to see if he was as interested as Kusakabe had seemed to think. You did trust his judgement after all, he had a good read on people, but now you’re just confused. It closes you off from the room even further, starting to feel awkward as your coworkers are drinking fast, bordering on making themselves a nuisance with their boisterous talking and laughter in the little reserved room of this restaurant.

Once they’re shuffling round seats, talking to each other, taking shots, cheersing again and again to a supposedly great fortune this year long contract - with a hope of renewal - would bring, you’re just sitting quietly at your seat in the corner, waiting for Kusakabe to finish his loud story to one of Sukuna’s team so you can say goodbye and leave.

Then, your interest is piqued again, as Sukuna breaks off from the few people he was speaking with, coming to sit down next to you. He peers down at you and you find yourself sitting up a little straighter, blinking when he speaks as if he’d made some sudden frightening movement.

“Are you always so quiet?”

You couldn’t tell if he was trying to be rude or not, but you answer honestly. “Yes.”

It surprises him that you don’t come up with some defence, and that you were comfortable with your quietness, his brows raising gently as he appears to be scanning you head to toe all over again. It has you feeling tense, swallowing hard as he’s silent, though not in the same way you were.

He catches that, smiling with a predacious twinkle in his eye before he leans a little closer than necessary. “Don’t be scared. I only hurt people who have it coming.”

You don’t know if it was supposed to intimidate you, but it worked. It made your hairs stand on end, your mouth feel dry, but it also made a familiar heat pool low in your stomach. He’s caught onto something that lets him know that too, flashing his teeth at you.

“I said don’t be scared.” He says it like an order, leaning back in the seat he’d taken, looking out at the room and you take the opportunity to try and calm yourself a little without being obvious about it.

He crosses one leg over the other, putting an arm over the back of your chair. “They’ll be shitfaced by the end of the night. Half of them already are.” He swings his head slowly to look down at you, “Why aren’t you?”

You shrug. Because it didn’t interest you, maybe. Because you were bored enough that it couldn’t even help anything and would leave you with a hangover that wasn’t worth it tomorrow morning. You don’t tell him any of that though, deciding that you didn’t want to volunteer any unnecessary information right now.

So you answer with the same question, “Why aren’t you?”

There it is again, that smile that would be outright terrifying if you were one of those people that ’had it coming.’ Then, he tempers the smile, running his tongue over his teeth before relaxing into a more neutral expression.

“If I’m partying I’m not holding back, and this is technically business. But,” he leans in, close enough that you’re holding your breath, eyes wide, “maybe we can have our fun some other way…”

You lick your lips, trying to keep your breathing under control, trying to temper whatever had clued him in to his effect on your body before because by now you were absolutely soaked. He doesn’t let you have that control though, bringing a hand up and brushing your lower lip with his thumb and tilting your head up towards him. He’s so close you’re sure he’s going to kiss you, but instead he speaks.

“You need to do something with all that nervous energy, or you’ll wind up passing out.”

He’s mocking you, you know he is. You don’t exactly like to feel so frail in front of him but you can’t deny how your body was reacting, or that you might just be considering letting him kiss you within eyeshot of several of your coworkers. But he doesn’t. He pulls back and stands, eyes barely visible with how low he has to look to gaze down on you.

“I’m going to the bathroom.”

Then, he just walks away, leaving you blinking, unsure of why he’d announced his departure with such weight. You catch up to his thinking as he stops at the entryway to the little private room you’d all been dining and drinking in, and quirks his head to the side, raising his brows in a face that wordlessly communicates, ’well?’ before he’s walking away.

It leaves you blinking again, swallowing hard, looking around the room as if to ask what you should do. No one was looking back, all involved in their own discussions. You take a breath, wondering why you suddenly felt the need to confer over something you very much didn’t want anyone else here to know you were even considering. Then, you realise even as you stand to follow along the path Sukuna had taken, it was because you knew it was probably a very, very bad idea.

When you reach the bathroom, you see it’s unlocked. You grab the handle and take a deep breath, half hoping he’d been joking, that he hadn’t even come into here and instead walked outside to get some air and laugh at the dirty little scientist who really thought he was inviting her to fuck in a public restroom. The door is only open a little before Sukuna is in view, very much waiting for you as he’d said, and very much stroking his frankly intimidating cock.

With the way your blood rushes downward between your thighs you almost feel lightheaded, and it’s as if your legs are moving of their own accord as you enter the bathroom and shut and lock the door behind you.

“Anyone could have come in here and seen that.” He laughs at the way you refer to his monster of a cock as that, but it doesn’t stop his slow strokes.

“But you came in here.” He’s still mocking you. And you’re still taking it, responding by grabbing at his shirt, and looking up at him. It spurs him on to release his grip on his cock and kiss you, one hand in your hair the other on your hip.

The force of his kiss borders on painful, teeth clashing with yours, tongue pushing into your mouth like it was his to claim. Then he’s gripping your ass, hoisting you up onto the sink, and only parting from your kiss once his hands migrate downward and feel how wet you already were. He spreads your legs wide, shoving your sensible grey dress upward to unveil the wet patch on your panties and smiling wickedly.

“Were you this wet in that meeting?” His eyes flick upward to meet with yours, and you feel defensive, like he was accusing you of being unprofessional.

“N-no.”

“Don’t lie to me.” He tugs your panties down, hard enough you have to reach behind yourself to grip the sink and keep yourself from sliding off. “I thought you were supposed to be smart.”

That doesn’t help the defensiveness bubbling up inside you, competing with the arousal. “I am.”

He gives you a pitying look, like he wasn’t so sure anymore, “Then be a smart girl and get that cunt ready for me.”

He takes a step back, resuming his slow strokes on his cock, waiting for you to perform for him. Your fight is gone with the way his words have you letting out a horny little whine at the sight of him touching himself. He lets out a pleased groan at that, and if you hadn’t already cast caution and logic aside for a moment you’d be embarrassed at how enthusiastically you begin moving your fingers through your wetness for him. He nods approvingly, picking up his pace a little as his silent encouragement only makes you go further, bringing a knee up to perch one of your feet on the sink, giving him a better view as you circle your clit and let out a stifled moan.

He doesn’t let you work your way up like that for long though, “Go on, fuck that cunt open for me.”

His words are only getting filthier, and it makes your head spin, letting a louder moan slip out as your mind goes blank and you do just as he says. You didn’t know you could be so needy so fast, knuckle deep with two of your fingers, rocking your hips into your movements the best you can without slipping from your precarious position. He flicks his wrist, twisting his hand as he strokes his cock, and his deep groans have you sliding a third finger in, knowing your fingers will hardly approximate his girth. The obscenity of it all is getting you close, breath hitching, eyes struggling to keep focused as your legs get shaky.

Then he’s got you by the wrist, pulling your hand away, and replacing your fingers with his cock in one steady push. You wrap your arms around him, moaning and clutching at his back, squirming until he has to hold your hips still to bottom out inside of you properly.

You’re so full that it’s like you can’t think, mind needing to reset as your body takes over all the work for you, rocking against him, begging him with soft whines until he’s chuckling at your desperation.

“All of your little coworkers are going to hear us if you don’t keep quiet.”

His words are undercut by his actions, as he starts fucking into you in long, deep strokes, only speeding up to snap his hips against yours just as he’s bottoming out, and you find yourself taking it happily as he hits all the right spots inside of you.

The force of his thrusts has his pants slowly shifting from his hips and down his legs, heavy belt buckle hitting the tile floors with a clang as they pool around his ankles. His pace is unaffected, the more pressing matter being your pussy squelching obscenely around his cock.

“Oh- oh my god, oh my god…” you’re clinging to him, despite being in no danger of falling now that he was gripping you so tightly, mouth open and incapable of stopping the little whines coming out with every thrust.

He puts a hand over your still open and panting mouth and chuckles, low and breathy, “Not such a quiet little mouse now, hm?”

You’re still talking now, babbling into his palm about how good it feels, how bad you need him to make you cum. Even with how muffled it is you can still feel how it’s making him throb inside of you, and you clench around him. His hand on your mouth, large enough that he was gripping your entire jaw, and the other hand firmly locked onto your hip, are the only things keeping you from being a fucked out puddle on the floor, too close to do anything but take it as your moans get higher and louder.

As he starts climbing towards his end as well, he doesn’t even pretend to hold those sounds in anymore, releasing your face to have his other hand on your hip, and you resume your desperate talk unrestrained as he fucks you hard enough your head is left lolling. You’re lucky enough to have him obliging your every request, namely because they all centre around begging him to keep fucking you. He does it happily, until he’s growling his approval as you grip him tight, creaming around his cock as he fucks you right through your orgasm until he’s right on that edge himself. Suddenly he pulls out, pulling your dress higher and out of the way as he pumps himself roughly til he’s cumming hard, coating your pussy and thighs.

You lean back, until you’re against the mirror with the faucet uncomfortably pressed into your back, catching your breath, watching him squeeze out the last of his cum as he takes in the view of his handiwork. Then, when the stars behind your eyes have dissipated, and you look down at the mess, the reality of what you’ve just done settles in.

“Oh God…”

Sukuna only smiles at you and helps you off of the sink onto your shaky legs to begin cleaning yourself off. As you both make yourselves look presentable, something you’re putting much more effort into than him, he offers you a playful, “You’re welcome.”

You shoot him a look, much less warmed up to him now that the haze of lust has worn off.

He pats you on the back, then runs his hand down until he can squeeze at your ass. “You look much more relaxed.”

He takes a final look in the mirror and gives you another smile, still hungry despite having his appetites satisfied. “Looking forward to working with you.”

#my writing #reminder minors and ageless blogs get blocked #mma!au #mma!sukuna #ryomen sukuna x reader #sukuna x reader #sukuna #mma fighter!sukuna

159 notes · View notes

wheelsgoroundincircles · 5 months ago

Text

1981 Cadillac Evolution I

Fashion Victim: The 1981-83 Pierre Cardin Evolution I

French-Italian designer Pierre Cardin found worldwide fame with his exuberant approach to women’s fashion, but the skills didn’t necessarily cross over to the automotive world.

The creator of mod chic and the bubble dress, Pierre Cardin (1922-2020) first made his name as a ladies’ fashion designer—one who then aggressively extended his brand marketing into consumer goods of all kinds, from perfume to sunglasses and eventually, automobiles. For American Motors he designed the 1972 Cardin Javelin with its memorable neon-striped upholstery, and in 1978 he whipped up a line of specially trimmed Cadillacs. But easily the wildest of his automotive enterprises was a customized Cadillac Eldorado called the Evolution I.

Cadillac Cardin Convertible

As we can see above, the most remarkable feature of Cardin’s restyled Eldorado is its radically extended nose, which was facilitated in part with fenders and bumpers borrowed from the Oldsmobile Toronado, the Eldo’s GM E-body sibling. It’s an odd look, especially given the front-drive E-Body’s relatively short dash-to-axle distance.

The rear end styling was rearranged in a similarly arbitrary manner, with the Eldorado’s classic vertical taillights replaced with a slim horizontal lamp assembly that spanned the width of the body. Cardin’s sales literature boasted of “30 coats of hand-rubbed lacquer” and other fineries.

1981 Cadillac Evolution I

Luxury upgrades to the interior included elaborate two-tone leather upholstery, front and rear consoles, and a Quasar video player with a Sony TV in the rear seat. Pierre Cardin Automotive originally planned to produce 300 examples of the Evoluution I, with a gold plate on the instrument panel to testify to the serial number. But reportedly, only around 100 vehicles were delivered in the 1981-83 model run, including one Hess & Eisehnart convertible conversion. One likely reason for the limited popularity, we theorize, was the price: a hefty $58,000, more than three times the cost of a standard Cadillac Eldorado. As far as we know, this would be the fashion maven’s final foray into the automobile business.

Evolution I ad

#Cadillac Evolution I #Cadillac Evolution #Cadillac #convertible #car #cars #pierre cardin

40 notes · View notes

nordschleifes · 1 month ago

Text

chapter one — likes y cicatrices

➝ 2024 looks to be charlie's year, both on and off the track. hoping for an even better season than the previous one, she is certain that fernando's third title is within reach. however, it also brings thoughts about which future she wants with her boyfriend.

➝ word count: 3,4k

➝ warnings: none

➝ author's note: finally, the second part of charlie and fernando's story is now available for you all. updates will be released regularly, with the next one expected in november, as i’ll be at Interlagos at the end of this month. i hope you enjoy it, and by the way, happy birthday, charlie!

As she stood in the entranceway to the Aston Martin F1 factory, Charlie Whitlam couldn’t shake the strange feeling she had — it almost felt like her first day there. She flexed her fingers, hands jammed into the pockets of her black coat, trying to keep warm in the January breeze filtering into the building’s vestibule. She bit her lip nervously, trying to tell herself there was no reason to be so nervous — she’d been with the team for three years now, that was just another day in the office.

But she was, mostly because of the man next to her, typing something quickly on his phone before putting it in the pocket of his green jacket

— They're coming — Jimmy said, as he picked up the camera hanging around his neck — You remember what you need to do, right? ?

— Greet Fernando and walk down the corridor next to him, right? — Charlie replied flatly, her eyes glued to the factory's entrance door.

— Well, yeah, but try to make it look natural. People will notice if it looks too staged, you know?

— I'll greet him the way I always do.

— By kissing him on the mouth? — Jimmy said, making her snort.

After the two weeks she had spent in Oviedo with Fernando, Charlie returned to the factory only to discover that her and Fernando’s relationship had become the topic of most of the workplace gossip. Articles in tabloids and on F1-related news blogs about her and Fernando,, as well as the picture that Fernando had posted of her on Instagram, graced the screens of almost every computer and smartphone at the Technology Center.

When she returned to work following the Christmas holiday, she noticed that her colleagues treated her in a markedly different way, especially when talking to her one-on-one, almost as if they were trying to hold back asking her about her and Fernando’s relationship.

It was irritating, to say the least.

— What, you really think I would kiss a driver on the mouth?

— You already do, don't you? — Jimmy retorted, cocking an eyebrow.

— I mean, sure, but not in a PR video.

— It’s not like it would be that weird. We all knew.

Charlie shot the team’s art director a glare.

— What do you mean, ‘we all knew’?

The man smiled.

— Okay, at least the marketing department knew.

— How on Earth would you have known?

— Because we saw all the photos I took of the two of you last year. In fact, I saved some really great ones for TikTok…

— You’re not going to turn my relationship into material for a TikTok, or whatever. — Charlie said, bluntly — I'm here to win races, not to be the subject of some F1 romance story… I’m not some lovelorn idiot.

— Sorry, I just see what the camera sees, Charlie — he said, causing Charlie to glare at him — And there's no point in looking at me like that, it's true! You two look like two idiots in love…

Charlie clenched her jaw and turned her attention back to the door, feeling a bit uncomfortable. It wasn't like she wasn’t in love with Fernando — it was quite the opposite — but the way her coworkers’ view of her had shifted made her uncomfortable. It was as if the person she was — the professional, the engineer — before her and Fernando’s relationship went public had been erased, leaving only Fernando Alonso’s Girlfriend in her place..

Simply being known as someone else’s girlfriend wasn’t in her plans.

— They’re here — Jimmy said, as a green Aston Martin DBX707 pulled into the drive at the entrance. He fiddled with one of the settings on his camera — Remember, make it look natural, okay?

As she watched the passenger-side door of the SUV open, Charlie felt her stomach jump when she saw Fernando climb out. He said something to the driver as he got out, and had a bright smile on his face. It was the same smile he had before he kissed her that morning as they woke up in bed together at her flat.

As he passed into the entryway, Fernando walked towards her as if there was a gravitational pull between them. Charlie took her hands out of her pockets, preparing to greet him professionally, yet casually, as Jimmy instructed, but as he drew closer, Charlie felt like she was suddenly stuck, her mind blanking on what she was supposed to do. It was clear the driver felt the same way.

— Hi — Fernando said softly, after a few seconds.

— Hey.

There were a few more beats of silence, but it wasn’t uncomfortable, quite the opposite. It was familiar, almost as if they were alone, her eyes saying everything her mouth couldn't say.

"You look stunning today".

“I wish I could have stayed with you in bed longer this morning.”

"I love you".

— That’s it? — Jimmy asked.

They both glanced at him, clearly confused.

— What do you mean? — Fernando asked

— Is this the way you greet each other?

Charlie looked at Fernando hesitantly. It was obvious they didn't greet each other like that, especially when they were alone. When Fernando arrived in England two days earlier, after nearly three weeks away from her, she had given him a… Much warmer welcome.

— Well, no — Fernando admitted — Last time, she was wearing something much more… Interesting.

Charlie’s eyes widened, and she playfully punched him in the arm.

— Fer!

— What? I didn’t lie.

— Jimmy doesn't need to know that…

— Not even that we didn’t go to the bedroom…

— No — Charlie said abruptly — That’s something else he doesn't need to know.

Jimmy couldn’t hold in his giggling, which made her a little uncomfortable. Charlie hated being seen as a joke. She didn’t mind joking around with her coworkers, but she’d always been a bit sensitive to being the butt of the joke at work, given that she was almost always the only woman on her team.

However, she swallowed down her discomfort. There was no sense in making a fuss, not right now.

— Okay, if we can't greet each other the usual way, how do you prefer, Jimmy? — Fernando asked, as he took Charlie’s hand and gave it a gentle squeeze, as if he sensed that she could use some support.

— Well, certainly not the way you just did — he said, looking at his camera . Then, he looked up at the two of them — Seriously, that was weird. I can’t use any of that.

— Are you sure? — Charlie asked

— Absolutely. Now let's try this again and, please, try to be natural.

It took three more takes to get something that was convincing without being too wooden. During the second take, Charlie stretched her hand towards Fernando, intending to shake his hand, but instead, he proceeded to envelop her in a hug. When Jimmy finally declared that he was satisfied with the footage he’d gotten, Fernando couldn’t resist the urge to give Charlie a kiss to her temple.

They walked side-by-side through the corridors of the factory toward Charlie’s office in Engineering. Mercifully, Fernando’s presence caused a bit of a buzz in the office, as her coworkers gathered around to talk to him, having not seen the driver in a few months.

Charlie, grateful for the distraction, sat in her cubicle, not paying attention to Fernando or the interested questions from her coworkers. She still had a job to do, after all.

She was still lost in her own thoughts as sat at her desk, her eyes eventually finding the photo of her with her grandfather, Jamie, both of them smiling with the disassembled engine on the kitchen table. Charlie had always loved that photo, because of how neatly it summed her up as a person. She loved cars and engines, a love given to her by one of her grandparents, who both treated her as someone worthy of love and affection, not a mistake or a burden.

— Oh, there’s nothing in here with me — Fernando said, jolting her thoughts back to the present.

— What?

— There’s no photos of us.. Not even on your computer.

Charlie felt her cheeks heat up as she realized that the picture of the car on her computer’s desktop wallpaper was the AMR-22, with the number 5 on its nose. She hadn't even thought about changing it, which was all the better, given that she would like to keep her relationship as private as possible.

— I didn't want to give the others a reason to talk — she murmured.

— Well, now that they're talking anyway, I think we can leave discretion aside, yes? — Fernando said, taking a pen and a green Post-It pad from her desk. He smiled as he scribbled a message on the top sheet, before peeling it up and sticking it next to the photo of her and Jamie.

The handwriting was clumsy, a little slanted, but the words were clear, the meaning filling Charlie's chest with something warm and overwhelming.

“Te quiero, tu Fer”.

— Better this way, right? — he asked, with a small smile.

— Much better — Charlie replied.

They chatted a little more before Fernando announced that he was going to the simulator.

— Good. Once you get to grips with the new car, we need all the feedback you can give us.

— Do you want a full essay, or just a summary? — he asked, sarcastically

— On a Power Point — Charlie replied. It made him laugh, which made her heart feel quivery.

— Do you think I'm George, to do that?

— Well, you two are close, I wouldn’t be surprised if he taught you how to make them — she said, grinning.

Fernando playfully squeezed her shoulder in response.

— Unfortunately, I haven't had my class with him yet.

— What a shame��

— But I'll make something, if that's what you want.

— Perfect — Charlie said, as Fernando gave her a delicate kiss on the forehead before he turned and headed towards the hallway that led to the simulator, Jimmy following diligently behind.

Not for the first time, she wondered how Fernando — or any of the drivers, really — managed to put up with the madness of having attention on them constantly. Even at their office there was a microphone or camera trained on him at all times. Charlie had asked him about it once, mostly wondering how she would deal with the reflected limelight she would get, but he simply said that “he was already used to it” and that she “shouldn’t worry about it”.

“Why shouldn’t I worry, Fer?”, she thought, clenching her jaw.

The first time that Charlie got an idea of what Fernando’s day to day life was like was shortly after he posted the first photo of them on his Instagram. In the comments of the post,he saw hundreds of comments saying that she wasn't as pretty as the other women he had dated, that she was just an “amigaALO” or worse, that they should have a “mini Nano” soon.

The idea sent a shiver through her body.

She was thankful for the foresight she had to make her profile private, and that would not be changing any time soon.

— So, it looks like you didn’t die? — someone asked, the tone of their voice joking and light. Turning her head, Charlie found Raúl looking at her, leaning against her desk.

— Not yet, if that was your expectation.

— Maybe not an expectation, but I thought there might be a chance — the performance engineer said, crossing his arms — See, with you out of the picture, I might be able to step into race engineering.

— I'm sorry to frustrate your plans — she said, giggling.

— Although, if there's anyone who can deal with Fernando, it's you — Raúl smiled.

— You think so?

— Definitely, especially now that you've become Mrs. Alonso...

Charlie rolled her eyes, shaking her head.

— Not Mrs. Alonso…

— Not yet, Charlie — Raúl said — But it's a matter of time...

— If you say so — she said, turning her attention to her computer screen to glance at her email inbox. Then, Charlie looked back at her colleague — Now, can we talk about work?

— Of course… Mrs. Alonso.

The rest of the day was dedicated to correlating all of the data from aerodynamics and from simulator sessions done by Felipe and Stoffel earlier on in the break. It wasn't a simple task, especially when Fernando was starting to adapt to the new car, with a long simulator session that afternoon. The data was all over the place, and everything was still very unpredictable.

It was already dark outside in Silverstone by the time Charlie decided she couldn’t focus any more and it was time to go home for the evening. . She thought about asking Fernando if he wanted to go with her, but spotted him recording something on his phone next to Jimmy, so she decided to let him know via WhatsApp that she would be waiting for him back at home.

The drive to Northampton was uneventful, with traffic much calmer than at other times of the year. However, unlike the motorway, Charlie felt like there was a miles-long traffic jam in her mind, complete with cars honking and drivers shouting things at each other, all because of what Raúl said. The Instagram comments were one thing - she didn’t know those people, after all, but she worked with Raúl's every day.

Charlie expected it when she and Fernando decided to start dating, as suddenly as all of it came along — she had anticipated being the subject of scrutiny from people around the world, across news sites and social media, but knowing that she was under similar scrutiny from the people she saw every day was worse.

She knew Raúl probably didn’t mean anything by it, but it didn’t make it any less terrifying — that there were so many people watching them, full of expectations, wondering if she would be the woman that would finally make Fernando Alonso settle down and put a ring back on his finger, if he would finally trade his steering wheel for pushing a stroller. It was even deeper than that, she’d seen the news articles about him and his former relationships — soon, she’d see questions about whether or not she would be the one to give Spain the next Alonso to stand on the top step of a Formula 1 podium.

“Is this how Diana felt?”, wondered.

As she stepped into her flat, Charlie kicked off her shoes and dropped her bag haphazardly on the sideboard in the entryway, sinking into her sofa with a sigh.

The funny thing about thinking about all that was that Fernando had never talked about marriage or children, not even before they started dating. It probably wasn't even something he was considering at that moment or in the near future or even with her.

Charlie had long decided that she was not fit to be a wife or mother, especially given her history with her own mother. She never had any desire to have children. She was sure it would eventually come up and she and Fernando would have to talk about it, but she didn’t know how he would react. He’d made comments to the media in the past about being a father, and he was married a long time ago, but… Perhaps keeping those ideas away from them would have taken the driver a while to realize that she wasn't the person his fans expected her to be.

Maybe keeping those ideas away would keep the end at bay.

Charlie smiled into the darkness of her sitting room as she felt a lone tear run down her face. She felt pathetic, crying over possibilities and scenarios that only existed inside of her head, even more so to get upset about what Fernando’s fans would think of her. After all, Fernando was not in a relationship with his fans, and it shouldn’t matter what they think. But, at that moment, she felt crushed by expectations that were both known and unknown to her.

Running a hand over her cheek, she took a deep breath, trying to push down the lump that was tightening in her throat. Inside her own head, Charlie could hear Hannah, her therapist, telling her that she needed to keep her focus on what was real in the here and now, not on some imaginary ring or a baby in her arms. What was real was that they loved each other.

“And that’s enough for me”, Charlie thought to herself.

She was putting the finishing touches on dinner when Fernando finally arrived at her flat.

— Nena? — he called from the doorway.

— Kitchen.

A few seconds later, he appeared at the kitchen doorway a wide smile on his face, kissing Charlie on the cheek as he approached.

— Good evening to you too — she laughed, as she felt his arms wrap around her waist.

— How are you? — Fernando whispered in her ear. She felt the bristles of his beard brush the shell of her ear, sending electric chills down her spine.

— Good, and you?

— Better now with you here.

The sentence filled her belly with butterflies.

— How was it in the simulator? — Charlie asked, trying to ignore the way his beard scratched her skin as he placed delicate kisses on the crook of her neck.

— Very good. I think we have a car to compete for the championship.

She dropped the spoon she was holding in the sink, turning to Fernando.

— Really? You think the car is competitive? I spent all day working with the data and it felt like it was all over the place… Do you really think we can compete?

— I do. And we will win, nena.

She grinned, feeling like she was much more at ease as she plated up the pasta she was making. She asked Fernando if he wanted dinner, and he accepted, following her out to the dining table.

However, as she went to put the plate down, she frowned, spotting a large black bag with a red-and-white Bell logo on it. The size and shape indicated that there was a helmet inside.

— Fernando, how many times do I need to tell you that you can't keep putting your things on the dinner table? — she asked, as she turned toward the kitchen, where he was rummaging through a shelf for parmesan cheese.

However, upon seeing the source of her irritation, he simply responded with a grin.

— I put it there because I didn't want to forget to show you — Fernando replied, leaving the cabinet open and walking to the table.

— Show me what?

— This — he said as he unzipped the bag theatrically presenting its contents to her.

The helmet was the same design that he had almost always had, with red, yellow, and blue stripes — the colors of Spain’s flag and the blue of the Asturian flag — the sponsors' names followed the lines, forming a cohesive design.

— Your helmet?

— The new one, yes — Fernando smiled — I asked them to leave it at the factory for the photo shoots, but I wanted to show it to you first.

She glanced at it for a few seconds, puzzled.

— But it’s the same as last year.

Fernando looked surprised, but his expression gave way to an almost sheepish blush

— Well, yeah, much of the design remains the same, but I added an important detail.

— You did?

He took the helmet from her, turning it over in his hands so that the right side was facing Charlie. She noticed the new addition right away, next to the attachment point for his HANS device. The spot normally occupied by a small cross now had a familiar-looking red rose.

— A heraldic rose? — she stammered.

— The rose of Lancaster, more specifically. It's on the coat of arms of Northamptonshire, in the same way that the Cruz de la Victoria is on the coat of arms of Asturias.

— Why?

— Because I wanted to have something of yours with me in the car at all times. And you know that you are my rose, don’t you?

— Full of thorns?

— Beautiful, Charlie — he corrected her — And with some thorns, but it's not like I'm afraid of them.

The feeling growing inside her was confusing and overwhelming. It was stronger and scarier than anything she had ever experienced in her life, but at the same time, it felt good. So good that she hugged him tightly, ignoring the helmet that had been left between them.

— Thank you, my dear — she whispered.

— I have to thank you, baby.

— For what?

— For making me dream again when I thought I didn’t need to anymore — Fernando replied.

— Does that mean you dream now?

— Yes. And my biggest dream now is to have you with me forever, Charlie.

Even though she smiled at him, the sentence left her with a bitter taste in her mouth.

“Forever is too long, Fer”, she thought.

#nordswrites #fernando alonso fanfic #fernando alonso fic #fernando alonso #formula 1 fanfic #formula 1 fic #f1 fic #formula one fic #f1 fanfic #formula one fanfic #formula one x oc #formula 1 x oc #fernando alonso x oc #f1 x oc

19 notes · View notes