#I took a break for 2 days and came back with nothing but this
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julymusings · 2 days ago
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dark chocolate cherry
i want to bring you flowers from the mountains, bluebells, dark hazels, and rustic baskets of kisses. i want to do with you what spring does with the cherry trees.
or; your boyfriend shows up when you just want some alone time [3.2k]
jason todd x fem!reader; reader gets her period and describes painful symptoms; just fluff; jason "words don't come easy so here's acts of service" todd this is supposed to be earlier in the relationship which is why he's still a little shy but i think she knows he's red hood? idk man. i was just going with it; can you guess what inspired this? (everything is awful) and this is like…not that good
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The day started at 2 AM when you woke to shooting pains in your abdomen and blood everywhere. It continued until 2:45 while you cleaned yourself, changed clothes, put on a fresh pad, took some painkillers, and changed the sheets. It paused for about an hour until you woke up again at 4:00, courtesy of Gotham’s patented night-life that had taught you to completely tune out the sound of police sirens. Tonight, however, they weren’t tuning out.
The sirens quieted at 4:10, by which angry tears collected in the corners of your eyes as you flopped around in bed in an attempt to get comfortable. No matter what you did, there was always something wrong; the pillow was too hard, the blanket was too scratchy, the position hurt your arm.
From 4:11 to 4:12, you screamed into your pillow.
By 4:15 you had settled in front of the TV with a bowl of dry cereal (it took everything in you not to cry over the lack of milk in your fridge), a heating pad, and your favorite comfort show queued up.
At 8 AM you managed to drag yourself to work, where you half-assed the day’s tasks, took a 15-minute break to cry in your car, then dipped out a half-hour early.
Now, at 5 PM on a Friday evening, you’re curled into the fetal position in front of your TV with your comfort show resumed and your trusty heating pad cranked to the highest setting. Prepared to spend the entire night here, you already changed into pajamas and kept a couple blankets within reach. Your phone buzzes on the coffee table, and you stretch to reach it, careful not to lose your comfortable position or roll off the couch.
Jason About to leave Be there in 20
You groan out loud. You want to throw your phone across the room, but decide against it because no amount of hormones from hell are worth six hundred dollars. You’re still angry, though, for being so stupid as to forget about the date you had planned for tonight. Scrolling up to earlier messages, you see another text from today wishing you a good morning and telling you he was excited to see you tonight. But, too down to bother checking any messages today, you had missed it.
You I can’t tonight anymore I’m sorry I don’t feel great
After hitting send, you place your phone on the ground, not even having the energy to reach for the coffee table again. Or the energy to lift your arm back up, apparently, given how it hangs limply over the edge of the couch. You feel guilty about cancelling, but you are in no state to go out tonight. You’re used to the symptoms of your period hitting so hard. As much as you and Jason care about each other, you’re not sure you’re ready for him to see you like this. You’ve managed to plan your relationship around your hormone cycle so far, but today it came early.
Your phone’s buzzing is muffled by the rug, and you almost don’t hear it. Jason’s photo is displayed on the screen.
Your hanging hand clicks ‘answer’ and puts it on speaker so you can take the call without moving from how you're curled up.
“Is everything okay? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing, I’m fine, I just don’t feel up for going out tonight. I’d rather stay home.”
“Did something happen?”
“No, I just got my period so I’m not really in the mood.”
“Okay, we can stay in tonight. What do you feel like eating? I can pick something up.”
“No, Jason…I want to stay home alone tonight.”
There’s a beat of silence on the other end of the line.
“Okay…did I do something?” His voice comes out a little smaller.
“No, you’re fine, I promise. I just don’t feel like seeing anyone right now.”
“…Not even me?”
Your hand presses against your temples to soothe the building tension headache. The self-doubt in his tone brings the anguish of the entire day bubbling up your throat. You feel like the worst person in the world. Exactly how you don’t want him to see you.
“Jason…it’s not you. I just…I feel like shit right now, honestly. Everything hurts, I’m miserable and sad and angry at everything, I’m breaking out all over.” You feel yourself welling up at all these little stresses coming out. “I’m craving everything but feel too sick to eat anything…I feel pretty disgusting right now, and frankly, I don’t want you to see me like this.” You finish your rant with a sniffle. You wipe your nose, trying to hold back the sob that’s threatening to break through. But at his silence, your worst, most improbable fears claw their way to the surface: he hates you now. You scared him away. You exhale heavily into your sleeve as more tears spill.
The phone is quiet for a long moment.  Then; “I could never find you disgusting,” he says, gently. “But if that’s what you want, then we’ll reschedule.”
“Thank you. And sorry.”
He speaks with a tone you can’t quite parse. “Don’t apologize. Just feel better.”
-
-
-
It’s one hour after your phone call, and at the first knock, you know who it is. Who else could it be? With that soft, somewhat hesitant, one-knuckle rap on the door. Only one person knocks on your door like that.
“Jason, I told you not to come here,” you say a little more cutting than you intend to, but your back and shoulders feel like they’re about to snap under a phantom pressure and the frustration of your request being outright ignored leaves a burning bitterness that channels itself into a violent wrenching open of the door.
He jumps a little at the abruptness of your greeting. One look at your face and he visibly deflates.
“I’m sorry…I know you said not to come, but…” his gaze casts downward to his hands. You follow; he’s clutching a reusable grocery bag. Peeking out of the top is a gallon of Neapolitan ice cream. The ice cream carton’s condensation seeped through a small patch of the cloth bag and dripped onto the other items; a bushel of greens, among some other fruits and vegetables, as well as a parcel of brown paper that was fastened closed with a twine string. You return your gaze to his face.
“I think—” he cuts himself off, free hand coming up to rub the back of his neck. Then he drops his hand and sighs. “I’m sorry. This was a bad idea. You told me not to come here and I ignored you, but I thought…” he trails off, probably hoping you’ll say something so he can gauge your reaction.
You just stare at him.
He shifts his weight back and forth. His hand twitches.
“Okay, yeah, I’ll—”
Then, you burst into tears.
Jason’s eyes widen. He reaches out to touch you, then stops himself. “Oh, fuck, I’m sorry! I’m sorry, this was stupid. Please stop crying, I’m so sorry—” He’s panicked, trying to calm you down with apologies and soothing assurances that he will leave immediately and never go against your wishes again. All the while you stand in the doorway, blubbering like a toddler with a skinned knee, new tears forming faster than you can wipe the old ones away.
He once again raises a hand towards you, before it stutters, then clenches into a fist as if it takes all his strength to fight against the instinct to be close to you, fighting against the string that tethers him to you. He drags his hand down his face, then it falls back to his side.
“Okay, I—I’m leaving now. I’m leaving. Do you…want this?” He holds the bag out to you.
With it now in front of you, its further contents are visible. You manage to tamp down your tears enough to get a few words out.
“Did you—hic—buy me groceries?”
“Yeah…” There’s a wince in his tone, as if he’s only now realizing that his gesture is not translating as he intended.
You look back up at him with pursed lips and knitted brows, sniffling. Sure, the ice cream you can understand, but…you have no idea what to make of the rest.
The bag drops back to his side. “I figured…it’s just— it’s the stuff that you’re supposed to—” He strokes his palm over his mouth, eyes screwing shut for a moment. He huffs at himself, then continues. “I mean I’m sure you already know all of this, so maybe you already have all these things, and now I’m realizing how unnecessary all this was, and I shouldn’t have assumed—”
“Jason,” you say. Your upset has since been overshadowed by something else, though you can’t tell what it is. And your crying has stopped, but its lingering effects have you feeling congested and a little foggy. You’re half expecting this to be a fever dream that you’re moments away from waking up from in a cold sweat.
“—because obviously you know what helps you feel better much more than I do—”
“Jason.”
“And you— yeah?” His eyes are a little harried when they find yours again. But off your tired and still-confused look, he gets the message and collects himself.
“Right, yeah, I just thought that…maybe I could bring you some of the stuff with all those minerals that are supposed to help women when they’re…menstruating.” He briefly breaks eye contact at the end of his sentence, red rouge creeping up his neck.
You can’t help it; you start to giggle. You can’t remember the last time you heard a man use the term ‘menstruating’ in a non-medical context. And the fact that he’s so shy about it— upset as you may be (though not at him), there’s no denying how adorable your boyfriend is. His head shoots back to you as your laughter intensifies. He blushes harder.
“It’s not that funny,” he mutters.
You step away from the door, finally closing the space between you, and wrap your arms around his torso. Your head nestles into his chest. He gently drops the grocery bag on the ground and reciprocates your hug. He rests his chin on your head, which fits perfectly under his. Like two puzzle pieces clicking into place. You breathe him in.
“Sorry I’m such a mess,” you murmur into his shirt.
He breathes into your hair. “You have nothing to apologize for. And you’re not a mess.”
You look up, chin resting in the space between his collarbones. He looks down at you with a small smile, but some wariness is still etched into his features. Fear of unwittingly upsetting you again. He brings up a hand to push some hair out of your face and tuck it behind your ear. His hand remains there, toying with the hair that falls below your shoulder.
"Thank you for the food,” you whisper. The moment feels too intimate to speak any other way.
“I’m sorry for not listening to you. I just…” He imitates your quietness, like his admission is also too vulnerable to say loudly. “I really wanted to see you. And I hated the idea of you feeling bad about yourself, or being in pain. I didn’t mean to upset you.”
Your eyes feel wet again. The first instinct is to hide your face, maybe press it to his chest once more. But, for some reason, you don’t. You want him to see you like this, messy and emotional and upset. You want him to see every part of you, and you want to see every part of him, the good and the bad.
“You didn’t.” A tear slips past the effort to keep it at bay. He shows no reaction to it, eyes never leaving yours, other than a quick swiping away with his thumb. “No one’s ever done anything like this for me before. That’s why I was crying. Not because you showed up.”
“That doesn’t seem right. This is nothing. You deserve even more.”
With no words to fully, adequately communicate the blooming in your chest, you stand on your toes, reaching up to him for a kiss. But given his stature, your lips only reach his chin and brush over its underside.
At your quiet whine, he chuckles and leans down to meet you in the middle. The kiss is soft; filled with the innocence of fresh blossoms in the spring, and the sweetness of its borne fruit.
You pull away when a vicious cramp roots you back to the present. Your limps tighten around Jason with a groan.
“I need to go back inside. I’ve been away from my heating pad for too long.”
His shoulders sag when you step away from him. “Oh, um…do you still…want me to leave?”
With a simple exhale of humorous disbelief, you grasp his hand in yours and tug him to your front door. He’s like an excited puppy, eyes brightened and perking up as he grabs the grocery bag and happily trails after you.
He goes straight to the kitchen, pulling out a chair at the counter for you to settle into, then sets the bag on the counter. The ice cream carton has dampened most of the cloth by now, and likely the rest of its contents, but rather than attending to the groceries, his first action is retrieving your heating pad from where it rests on the couch. He unplugs it from the wall outlet and brings it to you. You curl up on the chair with it pressed flat against your lower stomach. It only takes a minute for the pressure in your hips to abate.
Then he moves to the groceries. The ice cream immediately goes in the freezer, and he unloads what’s remaining onto the counter, one by one, and you take note of each item. There’s spinach, carrots, apples, oranges, dark chocolate, some kind of meat wrapped in brown paper, and, strangely enough, an entire block of cheese.
You give him a quizzical look, picking it up to read the label. “You got me…cheddar cheese?”
He retrieves a cutting board and knife from its spot next to the sink, then takes the cheese from you. “Good for certain symptoms.” He slices open the plastic wrapping and cuts out some cubes with skilled efficiency. He does the same with an apple. “They all are,” he says, referring to his entire haul. He completes the makeshift charcuterie board with a couple squares of dark chocolate and slides it across the counter.
You look down at the cutting board, thinking about everything he’s done for you; everything you never even had to ask for. The words sit on your tongue, encaged by your clenched teeth; an admission that coils itself around your spine and squeezes tight, restricts your breathing and pumps your heart at thrice its speed. But you feel yourself welling up again, and the first bout of tears already exhausted you so much that all you can manage is, “I don’t know what to do with all this. I don’t have the energy to make anything good.”
But he just smiles and says, “That’s what I’m here for, honey. Can I make you something?”
You nod. He gets to work. The immediacy of his actions, how he takes no time to decide on a dish or find a recipe, makes you think his previously stated intentions of ‘just dropping this off’ were less genuine than he lead you to believe. Nevertheless, you munch on the snacks he laid out for you and watch him work. The cheese and apples are a surprisingly cohesive combination, the meshing of sweet crispiness and savory creaminess eliciting a contented sigh from you. You try to ignore the way Jason smirks in the corner of your periphery. The chocolate is incredible, yet unfamiliar. You read the label on the packaging: 80% Dark Chocolate with Cherry and Almond Filling. Even if you hadn’t tasted it yet, the quality of the packaging itself would have been enough to let you know that this chocolate is extremely high-quality. Like, special-order-from-Europe quality. Not stop-at-the-grocery-store-on-the-way-home quality.
“Where is this from? Did you buy this today?” You ask him through a mouthful of the rich, melting chocolate.
He doesn’t look up from the carrots he’s dicing. “Uh…no.”
Anyone else would attribute his avoidance of eye-contact to standard kitchen-knife caution. You are not anyone else. You could blindfold him, spin him around ten times, put a sharp knife in his hand, and he could still pull off a perfect julienne. You look closer. His cheeks are dusted with pink.
You let out a laugh. “Jason, you’re not embarrassed about liking fancy chocolate, are you?”
“No! Not at all,” he says, ceasing his chopping. He looks up, but not quite at you.
“Then?”
“‘Then’ what?” He asks.
“Then why are you being so shifty right now?” You try to catch his gaze.
“I’m not!” He defends. “It’s just chocolate! Do you like it? I’ll bring you more.” He’s stealthy with the way he avoids your eyes; you almost can’t notice how hard he’s trying not to make eye contact.
“Jason!” You reach across the counter, having to rise off the chair slightly, and take his face in your hands, making him look at you. When he does, he wears a sheepish smile.
“It’s…” His removes your hands from his face, holding them in his. He mumbles something, turning his head to the side. But you catch the tail end of it, a goading grin already creeping up your face.
“What was that?” You tilt your ear towards him, exaggerating the action.
“It’s Bruce’s.” He, in turn, exaggerates the enunciation, rolling his eyes at your simpering. “I…found it. In his pantry one day. And I liked it, so I took it. And then I…kept taking it. Every time I visited.”
You pout teasingly. “And you’re ashamed to admit that you think he has good taste in something?”
He doesn’t say anything, only hiding his face in his shoulder. You pull on your intertwined hands and he gets the message, skirting around the kitchen counter to come closer.
“You are so adorable, you know that?” You say. You reach up and pinch his cheeks. He swats your hands away, but there’s no mistaking his broad, childish grin for anything but affection.
He breaks off another square from the chocolate bar and holds it to your lips. You bite off a small portion, then push it back to him. He takes the remaining piece in his mouth and his eyes close for a brief moment as he savors the sweet, tart, and nutty flavors. You simply watch, entranced by him. Then, he kisses you. You lean into it, hands sliding up his shirt to grip the fabric and bring him even closer. His hold finds your waist.
He tastes like cherries and dark chocolate.
He breaks the kiss to rest his forehead on yours, and you want to tell him that. That, and so much more. But from the look on his face, the way his eyes find yours and the tips of his ears have a similar heat to the one in your chest, you can tell he already knows.
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when it comes to jason's post-pit-repressed-teenager characterization (aka despite being older he's still as inexperienced and confused and insecure about the world outside of vigilantism and w/ women as a 15 y/o would be) (aka my favorite characterization tee hee), i think that he's mature about periods, knows they're normal and not gross or shameful etc, but still gets shy about saying the actual word, for no other reason than the 'shy around women' part always makes me giggle
also bruce is keeping the chocolate stocked specifically because he knows jason likes it and will keep taking it because he loves his son even if his son doesn't love him (he does he's just in his angsty teen 'i hate this family you don't understand me' phase rn)
divider is from here
quote at the beginning is pablo neruda <3
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venusin-aries · 17 hours ago
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Day 2: Soul of a warrior
She swallowed. “I came to training because I knew he’d have forbidden it. I came to training to get his voice out of my head. And to know how to stop a male if one ever puts another hand on me again. But none of it will ever bring my mother back, or the fact that I hid while my father took out his rage upon her. Nothing will ever make that right. But this mountain …” Emerie pointed to the small dirt path at the base of the peak. “I’ll climb it for my mother. For her, I’ll face the Breaking and go as far as I can.”
Even the Breaking couldn’t destroy Emerie's determination, strength, and loyalty. All of which carried her through the Blood Rite until the end.
@emerieweekofficial
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theno1joelhater · 1 day ago
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oh, sweet religion. the potential of a cgcu heaven and a cgcu hell. like 90% of the characters are being sent to the realm of fire and brimstone, including wayne.
i have little to no thoughts on the afterlife itself. i don’t know what happens after you die. but heaven and hell? i can work with that. wayne isn’t making past the pearly gates.
so in those brief moments between his death and rebirths (plural is crazy) (like was jesus even resurrected that many times? idk i’ve never read the bible) he’d experience hell. the worst torture known to mankind. not dissimilar to what he put cam through, for “i like torturing my favs” crowd (it’s us we’re the crowd).
for the first time ever, wayne was scared. even though his visit was brief, it still terrified him. he experienced real torture for the first time, raw fear and pain and nothing else. when he was brought back, he was relieved. so fucking relieved. he took a brief break, bc yk. just got back from being resurrected. needs time. but maybe, cam wants him to keep pranking. and he does, just less on cam and more on the other characters. he can’t risk going back to hell.
but when he goes off and pranks justin (top ten biggest mistakes in history and it isn’t 2-10!), he’s scared again. he doesn’t want to go to hell. even though he’ll probably get resurrected again he still doesn’t want to risk it. he can’t go through it all again. he can’t.
riffing off your ideas, i don’t truly believe wayne thought his situation was that serious. maybe, deep down, he understood. but he tried to make light of his situation. he didn’t treat it seriously, as he does with most things. so he tried to escape. sure, justin was prepared for everything, but wayne didn’t think so. he underestimated justin. he knew that there was a chance he could get caught and he was a bit scared of what could happen if justin found him, but his confidence took over. he tried to get out, but he was too reckless. justin found him and forced him to watch a cloning process. safe to say that was a huge wake up call for wayne. again, wayne felt true fear. what would happen after he’s taken over by the microchip? would he be sent back to hell? that thought terrified him.
the showing of the cloning process, i think justin would be selective on that. if they tried to escape, and if justin thought it would ruin their morale, he would. otherwise he’d just do some other method of making them stay. what that method is idk go ask justin.
and the gap between his second death and second revival had to have been longer, right? jctm1 takes like 1 day but we don’t know how long it takes for robin and max to figure out richard has god on speed dial. they probably took a small break or something to digest the justin stuff too. either way, it’s the longest wayne had been dead. and he’s more fearful then ever. you think at some point he might become desensitized to all the pain, and maybe that’s true. maybe he gets used to it, but physical isn’t the only form of torture out there. his mind keeps him occupied. he thinks of everything he’s done. he thinks of how he’s hurt everyone he knows and that this is all deserved. all these feelings he hid deep down, for the first time, surface. they all bubble to the top, and it’s all wayne can think about. his mind is torturing him.
i think i’ve said this before but cameron doesn’t like wayne at all, he only keeps him around for views n stuff. he doesn’t kill him because he doesn’t have a valid reason to other than “he’s annoying”. he came up with the perfect excuse to do so, but he brought wayne back. and wayne died again. and he was brought back again. it’s a cycle of wayne going tufar, getting killed, and being brought back. if that isn’t suffering i don’t know what is.
AAAAAAAAA JUSTIN CASE UPDATE??? WHAT THE FUCK WHY DID HE JUST POST RHE SPOILERS TO THE NEXT INSTALLEMENT OF THE STROY RIGHT THERE INSREA DOF BEING LIKE YEAH IM DOING IT IM KILLING CAM RN FUCK ME (ron intended)
anywayssssss
nathaniel is dead, not very skibidi sigma of him at all but i’m not too surprised, cam’s been trying to get rid of ol’ nathan for a WHILE (besides, look at his last name. it was inevitable)
cam added a mary sue self insert oc that’s basically a god into the cgcu who’s summoned by racism and sexual jokes. damn.
i get the ending and it’s alright, but also seems anticlimactic. like cam shows up and tells justin “dude you’re a fictional made up character on the internet you’re already immortal 💀” and justin’s like “oh fr then ig i’ll stop” which isn’t that satisfying at all. i don’t like that ending the discord’s ending (ask me for an invite link if ur interested in the server, we’re all very cool) is much better since yk. it has actual character development.
personally? i don’t like this ending much and i am unsatisfied. it might be better if he actually posts it but i still don’t like it much. if only…….i finished the goddamn animation……..ughhh
also……….max? whipping it out? right there? cam you better film this part or else /hj
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paragal · 2 years ago
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Day 12: manilatt
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pibsboots · 10 months ago
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I've always had chronic fatigue. I remember being twelve, and an adult mentioned how I couldn't possibly know how tired they felt because adulthood brought levels of exhaustion I couldn't imagine. I thought about that for days in fear, because I couldn't remember the last time I didn't feel tired.
Eventually I came to terms with the fact that I was just tired, and I couldn't do as many things as everyone else. People called me lazy, and I knew that wasn't true, but there's only so many times you can say "I'm tired" before people think it's an excuse. I don't blame them. When a teenager does 20 hours of extracurriculars every week and only says "I'm too tired" when you ask them to do the dishes, it's natural to think it's an excuse. At some point, I started to think the same thing.
It didn't matter that I could barely sit up. It was probably all in my head, and if I really wanted to, I could do it.
When I learned the name for it, chronic fatigue, I thought wow, people that have that must be miserable, because I am always tired and I cannot imagine what it would feel like if it were worse.
Spoiler alert, if you've been tired for a decade, it's probably chronic fatigue.
Once I figured that out though, I thought of my energy as the same as everyone else's, just smaller in quantity. And that might be true for some people, but I've figured out recently that it absolutely isn't true for me.
I used to be like wow I have so much energy today I can do this whole list for sure! And then I'd do the dishes and have to lay down for 2 hours. Then I'd think I must gave misjudged that, I didn't have as much energy as I thought.
But the thing is - I did have enough energy for more tasks, I just didn't go about them properly.
With chronic fatigue, your maximum energy is obviously much smaller than the average person's. Doing the dishes for you might use up the same percentage of energy that it takes to do all the daily chores for someone else.
If someone without chronic fatigue was to do all the daily chores, they would take breaks. Because otherwise, they're sprinting a marathon for no reason and it would take way more energy than necessary. We have to do the same.
Put the cups in the dishwasher, take a break. Put the bowls in, take a break. So on and so forth. This may mean taking breaks every 2-5 minutes but afterwards, you get to not feel like you've run a marathon while carrying 4 people on your back.
Today, I had a moderate amount of energy. Under my old system of go till you drop, I probably could have done most of the dishes and wiped off the counter and then been dead to the world for the rest of the day.
Under the new system, I scooped litter boxes, cleaned out the fridge, took the trash out, cleaned the stove, and wiped off the counter and did all the dishes. And after all that, I still had it in me to make a simple dinner, unload the dishwasher, and tidy the kitchen.
It was complete and utter insanity. Just because I sat down whenever I felt myself getting more tired than I already was.
All this to say, take fucking breaks. It's time to unlearn the ceaseless productivity bullshit that capitalism has shoved down our throats. Its actively counterproductive. Just sit down. Drink some water. Rest your body when it needs to rest.
There will still be days where there is nothing to do but rest, and days where half a load of dishes is absolutely the most I can do. But this method has really helped me minimize those, which is so incredibly relieving.
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fumiliar · 2 months ago
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in your dreams - kento nanami
✎... fluff
everyone knew your crush on nanami in highschool. it was a public secret, from your classmates to upperclassmen, they all knew. when you first entered jujutsu high, you saw the most beautiful upperclassmen, kento nanami. ever since you've noticed the man, you followed him like a lost puppy. taking any chance to strike a conversation with him, you had 2 goals in highschool, graduate and most importantly get with nanami.
when you came back to jujutsu high as a sorcerer, their first words to you were:
"you're the one who liked nanamin right?" the blue eyed man asked
"yeah, i can't believe you still remembered," awkwardly looking around, trying to stare at anything but his face. it was a very embarrassing time of your life.
"everyone remembers, but don't worry, nanamin won't come back anytime soon."
and how wrong he was. 3 months after you came back to jujutsu, kento followed your footsteps, joining as another jujutsu sorcerer.
"i heard nanamin was single, you don't wanna try asking him out y/n? maybe you'd have a different fate," gojo winking at you before he went to take his leave.
you contemplated on asking him out on a date tonight. it wouldn't hurt, right?
as you arrived to the field to supervise the students, you saw a familiar figure, kento nanami. you took your time walking there, admiring the man. kento being the observant man he is, noticed your staring, reciprocating it back to you, making you look away instantly.
as you stood beside him watching the students, kento started some small talk.
"how was your day y/n?" kento asked, lowering his body by just a pinch to hear you better.
"good, what about you?" you replied.
"good as well," kento answered.
"wanna go out on a date with me?" you whispered, avoiding his gaze, making sure no one was paying attention.
"of course y/n, i'm flattered that you asked me out," kento replied with a soft smile.
you tried to cover your joy, but it was too much. a smile slowly manifesting itself on your face.
"[Honorific].Y/n, why are you smiling?" yuuji asked.
"nothing.."
when you had entered the break room, gojo and shoko were already sitting, waiting to interrogate you.
"so are you going out on a date with nanamin tonight?" gojo asked expectantly.
"of course, we're literally married," you answered while taking out your lunchbox from the fridge.
"i know he agreed to go on a date with you, but that doesn't mean you're married to him too y/n," shoko talking to you with a tone she would use in a misbehaving kid.
"in your dreams y/n, i love you, but these delusions need to stop," shoko agreeing with gojo for once.
"what delusions?" kento asked. in the middle of your conversation, kento had also entered the break room, only hearing gojo's part.
"i told them we're married, and they don't believe me," a chuckle escaped kento's lips as you huffed. he slowly approached you, leaning down to give you a kiss on the cheek.
"yeah, we are," kento holding up your hand flexing the matching wedding bands you both had. you and kento thought it would be funny to play a game with the jujutsu high people. at first, you wanted to tell them as soon as you arrived at jujutsu high. but due to gojo's incessant teasing, you decided to see how long you could trick him and everyone else. it wasn't like you guys were hiding it, you both wore your wedding bands everyday, it's just kento isn't a big fan of PDA in the workplace.
"what...are you serious..."
1K notes · View notes
no-144444 · 3 months ago
Text
the break up of the century - (l.norris, no 4)
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pairing: lando norris (no.4) x fem! singer! reader
summary: you and lando break up on horrible terms, can a new album and a special performance bring you back together? is that even what you two want?
7.6k + words, brief fade-to-black smut, fluff, mainly angst :)
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You weren’t sure how it happened, one moment you were on stage, the next, you were crying in your dressing room, hating every single thing about your life. Funny how one moment leads into the next, right? 
Y/n Y/l/n. Household name at the age of 19. Now, 23. Fans impatiently awaiting your next album, the album you hated, and now on a world tour that is sucking the life from your body. 
Sounds like you have it all. 
The money, the fame, the clothes, the boys, the voice. It’s all you’ve ever dreamed of. And now it means nothing, because you have it. And it’s nowhere near as good as you wanted it to be.
You’d always been told of the horror stories of fame taking more than it gave, and you always brushed it off with a smile and a ‘that’ll never happen to me’. Low and behold, you’ve had 4 stalkers in 2 years, 3 lawsuits against you from old record companies that dropped you, 2 grammys, and 1 ridiculously public break-up with he-who-shall-not-be-named. 
Having it all really means having too much to think about, and too much to deal with. You would’ve preferred to just go to university like all your friends. Be young. Make mistakes. But those were luxuries you took for granted, and now you’re paying the price. 
“Y/n?” Sasha, your manager called from outside. “We have the meet and greet.”
And then there was your fans. They were great, obviously, but they were also very hyper teenagers and young adults that paid a lot of money to see you, and it made you feel even worse about not being 100%. At least you’d cut ticket prices down by 50% in meetings, meaning they were much cheaper than any other artist at the moment. At least you could do that for your fans. 
You nodded, sniffling as you wiped your eyes on the sleeve of your dress. 
“Do you need your makeup touched up?”
“Yes,” you answered, voice hoarse. “How many more shows?” 
“This was your 97th. You have 53 left.”
“Fuck!” You groaned. “Fuck this.”
“You have the British Gran Prix tomorrow, you have to make an appearance, alright? I’m sending Maria in to fix your makeup,” Sasha was trying to pity you, but she also had a job to do, which you understood. 
“Thanks Sash,” you sighed as Maria came in. 
“Hey babe,” she smiled softly, sympathy and pity shown in her eyes. 
“Hi,” you sniffled, wiping your last tear away. 
“Let’s get you fixed up, yeah?” She started unpacking her bag with all your makeup as you nodded, turning to face her. “You’re amazing. You were so pretty tonight.”
You somehow didn’t scoff in her face. “Thanks.”
“I know you don’t believe me,” she sighed. “I can’t even understand why. You’re the most beautiful girl in the world.”
You hiccupped, the tears threatening to pour again as you thought about him. 
“You’re the most beautiful girl in the world.”
Stop thinking about him. You told yourself. He’s in the past.
But he wasn’t in the past, how could he be when he was always on your fucking feed with his new girlfriend. Allison and Lando, what a beautiful couple. More like a bunch of crap. They weren’t real, everyone knew it was just pr, especially considering that she was promoting her new racing movie. You had no idea why they even tried to keep up the charade. They didn’t even look good together. 
Alas, they were together, and you weren’t anymore. 
And you were going to be reminded of it every single second of the next day. 
----------------
You pressed your entry card to the barrier and walked through as cameras flashed and you smiled one of your best fake smiles.
“Y/n!” Oscar smiled, walking up and hugging you. You knew everyone, and you started to feel embarrassed about everything. This was his workplace, and you had to be here to do press and sing a song you didn’t want to sing.
Bullshit.
“Hey Osc,” you smiled, hugging him back. 
“You look so wonderful today,” he smiled, taking your hand instead. He led you to the McLaren paddock as you two chatted about tour and races. You asked about Miami, and Oscar answered. “It was the best day of his life- his words!” 
“Meeting you was the best day of my life. That’ll never change.”
Oh. I guess it changed. 
“How's the tour? It looks amazing!” He cheered as you two entered the paddock. Mechanics and engineers greeting and hugging you as you went through and lied about how ‘amazing’ the tour is. 
“Y/n!” Zak cheered. “My favourite girl!”
He pulled you into a bone-crushing hug, and you hugged back. It felt good to be back, and to still have so many people still like you. “Hi Zak.”
“I missed you so much! Please tell me that awful Allison girl is gone and you and Lan are back? She’s driving me crazy,” he scoffed.
“No, I’m just here to do some press with Ferrari,” you chuckled. “But I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to come see my favourite CEO.”
He sighed but nodded, knowing that Lando had the board cut you off the ‘influencer list’ when you two broke up. “Well, once you know that you’re my favourite.”
“You’re my favourite too,” you smiled. “Don’t tell anyone.”
“Lips are sealed,” he smiled and moved on, going about his various duties. For a moment you looked around the paddock you had known so well and felt your heart ache a little. You loved Lando, you still loved Lando. You loved McLaren, and you loved the people here, yet you didn’t get to see them anymore because of the stupid fucking tour. This tour was ruining your life. You didn’t talk to family, or friends, you and Lando had broken up, you weren’t eating or sleeping, you always felt sick, you were rarely allowed to speak during the day so you could ‘conserve’ your voice for shows. 
But the worst part was that nobody noticed. 
“He's right y’know,” Oscar  smiled. “We all miss you. Even Lando.”
“Lando is with Allison. He has no reason to miss me.”
Oscar raised an eyebrow. “All they do is fight.”
“So? That’s what Lando and I did for weeks.”
“But it was different. You two were in a bad situation, but you loved each other, so the fights meant something. Allison and Lan are just wrong for each other, they’re fighting to fight.”
You groaned, sitting on the bench and resting your head in your hands. “When did you become a philosopher?”
Oscar laughed, and placed a hand on your back. “I’ve always been this philosophical, you were just too busy to notice.” 
“Shut up,” you chuckled, pushing him off. 
“All I’m saying is that you should talk to him, that’s all,” he shrugged, walking away from you and further into the paddock. 
“Y/n.”
Your head snapped up, so hard it hurt. There he was. Lando. For the first time in months. With Allison. And a dog.
Oh. 
“Hi,” you smiled, standing up. It was a puppy, a jack-russell terrier, the kind you’d always wanted. The kind like your childhood dog. Great, now they stole your dog breed. “Nice to see you.”
“I didn’t know you would be here,” he said bluntly. “What are you doing here?”
“Press for Ferrari. Oscar just… brought me in to say hi to everyone. So, hi. And now I’ll take my leave,” you smiled, then started to try and walk off. But Allison clearly had other plans, since she stuck out her hand for a ‘handshake’ that conveniently stopped you from walking off. 
“Allison,” she smirked. “And this is Mila.”
You stared blankly at Lando for a moment. Seriously? He’d taken the dog breed and what you’d agreed to be the name of your first child? Give me a break. 
“Y/n,” you shook her hand. “And I have to go, bye and good luck today.”
Thank god Ferrari was on the other side of the fucking track. 
“Y/n!” Charles cheered, hugging you close. You’d been getting closer with Charles since your split with Lando and his split with his ex had happened within a week of each other. “How are you?”
You took a deep breath. “I’m fine, tired.”
“I have been seeing the tour, it looks great!” he smiled, pulling back. 
“Thanks Charles, it was amazing to see you, but I better go. I have to-”
“Sing the new song? Yes! I can't wait,” he cheered. You mustered up a small smile, and left him alone. 
----------------
Sasha came and found you in the bathroom an hour later. “Y/n?” She was frantic, and stressed, so you just decided to give up and show yourself. 
“Yeah?”
“It’s time, come on,” she sighed. “I know this is hard-”
“How could you know it’s fucking hard? My entire life is in shambles and I’m supposed to be happy about it because I’m a ‘superstar’ what the fuck does that even mean? My boyfriend broke up with me because of this tour, and I thought I was going to marry him. Isn’t that insane? Isn’t that fucking crazy? And the worst part is, that I can’t even stop if I want to. I’m not allowed to stop. Sasha, how could you ever understand how hard this is for me? I’m 22. I should be in college, having fun. But instead I’m about to sing a song I don’t like or care about, in my ex-boyfriends workplace. Does that sound like fun to you, Sasha?” 
Her face was blank, stoic, unmoving. “Let’s go, you have soundcheck.”
You just followed her. Sasha was good at that, good at making you feel small, making you feel like a nuisance. The stage was big, bigger than most of your stadiums, but you didn’t care. You just had to get through it. 
“Have you eaten?”
“Feel sick,” you replied. “No thanks.”
Sasha sighed. “You’re going to faint one day.”
“Let’s hope I never wake up,” you replied dryly. Sasha scoffed and walked on, showing you the layout of the stage. You followed and asked questions, getting into ‘work mode’, and warming up your voice as you went along. A small crowd of the driver’s was gathering, even Lando was standing there, front row, just like he used to. 
You wanted to punch him, in all honesty. How could someone do that? He had no fucking right to stand there and watch you sing. He should be with Allison. 
“Start when you’re ready,” Sasha called and you nodded. 
The music started, and you were off. When the music started, you became someone else. You were moving around, laughing with your band, smiling. It was nice. Even if you hated the tour, you felt free on stage. Even if the song was sad. 
‘Champagne problems’, you’d written it right after your break up with Lando, it was new, and it had just been released. It had become the top of the charts in 15 countries. It would be on your next album, 
‘What if it doesn’t get easier like everybody says?’, and it was your most raw album. It was clearly all about your break up with Lando, there was no denying that. 
The song ended and the entire track clapped. You stopped moving when you spotted Lando’s parents, and you realised very quickly that you had to get out of there. 
You ran to the Ferrari hospitality, did some promos for your next album with them, and suddenly it was time to sing for real. The stands were full, the microphone was on, and the spotlight was on you. 
“Hi everyone,” you smiled, and the crowd erupted in cheering. “How are we feeling today?”
You had worn a short red dress, for Ferrari, and it was sparkling in the late afternoon sunshine. Everyone could see how beautiful you looked. Your hair perfectly styled, your makeup flawless, your beautiful face. 
Lando was entranced. 
You started singing and you sounded like an angel, truely. Lando had always thought you sounded otherworldly. He knew it was about him. He knew he’d fucked up. He knew he missed you. He knew it was too late, and that was the worst part. 
“Thank you so much for coming out and listening to my dumb sad song,” you chuckled as the crowd cheered. “But I have something else for you,” you were cut off by excited fans. I have something just a little bit happier, it’s called ‘Lover’. Please enjoy!”
Lando watched you as you danced around the stage, and he felt something dark growing in his stomach. You weren’t talking about him. It was someone new. You were seeing someone new. 
You couldn’t be seeing someone new, you’d been in a new city every few days. You couldn’t make it work with him, you were never on your phone, so it couldn’t be online. How did this happen?
You finished your song, and you left the stage. You fell into a chair and passed out. Maybe not eating was a bad idea? Probably. 
“Y/n,” Sasha shook you awake. “Someone’s here to see you.”
“I feel like shit-”
“We all do. Let’s go.”
And you followed. Because you had to. What else were you supposed to do but follow? Was this your life now? Taking orders and following them. 
“Now, you have to be nice to everyone, even Lando and Allison, alright?” she turned to you, stopping in front of the door. 
“I really don’t feel well,” you tried to protest. “Can I grab something to eat first?”
She rolled her eyes. “It’ll be 15 minutes, you’ll survive,” she sighed, opened the door, and pushed you into the room.
The drivers and their partners all cheered, happy to see you back in the paddock. 
“Y/n! I missed you so much!” Carmen immediately pulled you into a hug.
“I missed you too,” you smiled, even if it was forced. You needed to sit down, you needed a drink, and you needed to be alone. 
“Some pretty amazing songs!” George cheered, patting you on the back. 
“Thanks George,” you smiled. Soon you were all sitting on the various couches and chatting, even if you didn’t speak. Lando’s eyes were glued to his hands as Allison’s eyes were glued to you. She was practically sitting on him, on the verge of straddling him if you looked in their direction again. She didn’t know it, but you were looking at the door behind them, wondering when you’d be called. It had surpassed the 15 minute mark, and you felt yourself getting more and more faint as time went on. 
“Y/n?” Allison cut across Daniel chatting to you about your latest show in Manchester, remembering a story of the two of you when you were there, and telling it to the group. “How’s the tour going?”
You cleared your throat. “Well, thanks,” you smiled shyly. 
“So the rumours that you haven’t been performing to your full capabilities aren't true? Like I’ve heard you’ve been lip syncing,” she smirked as the rest of the drivers and wags just looked at her with disgust. Oscar rolled his eyes. He’d been sick of her for weeks, and he was usually quite good with people he didn’t like, but he hated her. So did Lily. 
You gulped. “I don’t lip sync, but obviously 97 shows in 113 days is quite a lot for my voice, so I don’t always sing my super vocally- challenging songs every night or else I’d have to go on vocal rest all the time,” you explained, feeling the change in energy in the room. 
“And that would just be horrible, right guys?” She turned to Lando with a smirk on her face, but he was just looking down, embarrassed by her. “I’m a huge fan of your music, how much of it is about Lando?-”
“What the fuck?” George stood up with Carmen by his side. “Allison, what is your problem with her?”
“It’s just a question!” Allison defended as Lando got up and left. She looked a lot less imposing with Lando gone. “He’s my boyfriend now!”
“Yeah, we wish he wasn’t,” Lewis said under his breath.
“Guys, it’s fine,” you just wanted to leave. “Some of my songs are, because I like to put my feelings into music, right? But not all of them, because my life doesn’t revolve around Lando, it never did. I am more than my relationships, and you’d do good to remember that for yourself. Don’t let love become who you are, it doesn’t end well.”
With that, you got up and left. You didn’t care anymore. You didn’t care if Sasha screamed at you, you didn’t care if they all came running after you. 
It was done. You and Lando were over. Was it your choice? No. Was it a choice you had to deal with? Yes. His choice. Yet, everyone had looked to you for answers. ‘What happened?’ ‘Was it going downhill?’ or your personal favourite; ‘Did he get bored?’.
You didn’t know. All you knew was that one moment, you were with him, and the next you weren’t. 
You ran to your dressing room and lay down, eating some random snacks you found. You felt better after eating, you felt-
Knock knock. 
“Come in!” You called, not caring much about who it was.
“Hi,” Lando’s voice was small and quiet. 
You sat up, staring at him. 
“Beautiful songs,” he smiled softly. “Missed hearing you sing.”
You nodded. “Good luck today.”
“Thanks,” he sighed. “I'm sorry about Allison, she’s the fucking worst.” 
You chuckled softly. “I’m sorry you’re dating her.”
He cracked a soft smile, then it fell. “Who’s the new lucky guy for you?” He watched as your face fell. 
“No… no new guy, just an old one I wrote back at the start of… us…” you trailed off. 
His heart was shattering, watching you be treated like this. Watching from afar as you lost your mind, lost your life, over a fucking tour. He saw the soulless look in your eyes, the dropped weight, the dampened smiles, all of it. He was shocked that other people couldn’t see it too. He’d regretted breaking up with you since the moment he did it. He was haunted by the way you begged him to stay, and he questioned how he’d ever said no to you. How was he so blind-sighted? How did he not see how much pressure you were under? How did he not see that he was what was keeping you above ground? 
“Oh,” he breathed out. 
You took a deep breath. “I’m releasing an album soon, and a lot of the songs are about our relationship,” you explained hesitantly. “I wanted to offer you a chance to listen to it before it goes out, just as a… heads-up? In case you’re worried about what’s on it.”
God, punching him square in the face would hurt less than watching you feel awkward around him. He cleared his throat. “Oh umm…yeah. I’d like that. Thank you.”
You nodded and got up, taking a cd out of your backpack. “Here you go. Sorry again, about… everything.” 
“I’m sorry too,” he nodded. “So, are you leaving now or…?”
“No, I’m holding the chequered flag today, so I’ll be up at race control,” you explained, trying to look anywhere other than him. “And I’m handing off the 1st place trophy.”
“Maybe I’ll be first to see you,” he chuckled. 
“Maybe,” you shrugged. 
“The tour looks… awful. I’m sorry I didn’t believe you,” he spoke after a minute’s silence. 
You just shrugged. “Not your fault,” you lied. 
He knew this was when he was meant to leave, but he wasn’t sure when you two would be in the same room again. He didn’t know when he’d see you again, so he took a moment to fully take you in. “You were really incredible today. You sounded like an-”
“Angel? Thanks Lando, see you soon,” you nodded, finishing the compliment you always used to get from him. He nodded and left, realising he had no more time. 
When the door closed you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. How could he do that? How could he stand there and be nice to you, after what he said that night? After what he fucking put you through?
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Weeks of complaining from him, blaming you for his performance in races, telling you that you needed to be there for him, not calling you back, not texting back, not listening when you told him about how awful everything was going. 
“I’m sorry Lan, I know how hard this is. It’s hard for me too-”
“How the fuck can you say that? You’re the one who choose to do this, you fucking decided to tear us apart! This is all your fault, and you’re telling me it’s ‘hard’ for you. What is hard for you? Spending all your time with adoring fans? Being on stage and living your dreams? Being away from me?”
“Lan, you know better than anyone that I didn’t want this tour to happen,” you cried. Even then, even 48 shows in, you were being driven crazy. You were exhausted, you missed home, and you missed Lando. “I had no choice-”
“You had every fucking choice! And don’t give me that fucking bullshit about your label forcing you, we both know that’s a fucking lie!” he shouted. You hated it when he shouted, when anyone shouted. He had no fucking right to speak to you like that. You didn’t want this to happen, you had no say, you just had a contract and an incompetent lawyer to thank.
“I don’t know what you want me to say to that,” you shrugged, your voice breaking. “I love you, and I miss you. We can make this work Lan, I just need time to figure it out, alright? I just need time-”
“Yeah? Well I’ve given you all the time I have to give. We’re done, I bet I could find a million girls just like you, girls who would actually take my feelings into account before she made huge life decisions!” he scoffed.
“Lando, please don’t do this. I-I don’t know what- I- Lan please, I need you,” you pleaded. “I’m trying my best I swear-”
“Your best isn’t good enough.”
And he hung up.
----------------
The fallout of your relationship didn’t exactly go great either. A day later your feed was flooded with pictures of Lando out with someone else. One day later. 
What the fuck? Didn’t he care? Didn’t he love you?
Well, apparently not. 
----------------
Lando knew he wouldn’t see you again for months. This was his only fucking chance to speak to you, to see you, and instead, he stayed in his driver’s room listening to the heart-wrentching songs you’d written about him. God, if he thought ‘champagne problems’ was devastating, ‘cowboy like me’ was worse. It was a long album, almost 2 hours long. It spanned your entire relationship, starting out, your first date, your grammy win, his podiums, the hate you two got, the start of the fighting, the end of the relationship, and the after. It was awful reliving it from your perspective, especially since you had tried to tell him, and every time he’d pick a fight. 
“Lando?” Oscar’s voice came from outside his door. “Allison’s looking for you.”
“Tell her to piss off!”
“You can do that, mate,” he scoffed and walked off, into his own driver’s room. 
“Lan?” Her voice rang out, and he wanted to scream. He had put himself in this position, he knew it,  but it was still difficult to fully self-actualise his own shortcomings. 
“What?” he groaned, opening the door. 
“The other girls are excluding me,” she pouted. 
“I wonder why,” Lando rolled his eyes. “They love Y/n.”
Her face fell into a frown. “But you love me, so they should love me. They keep going off to find her and talk to her, and any time I try to tell them that I’m uncomfortable around her, they tell me not to come.”
“I don’t know what you want me to do,” he sighed. 
“Talk to their boyfriends, ask them to include me!”
“Babe, I have a fucking race today, please leave me alone,” he sighed. He pushed past her to walk to the paddock, knowing he just had to keep his head down and race today, he just had to do the one thing he was good at. 
“Well, what am I supposed to do for the rest of the day?” 
“I don’t know,” he grunted, and moved on. The garage was somehow too loud yet not loud enough to drown out the negative thoughts in his head. Recent months had been difficult. Races were taking more and more out of him, he was lonely, and if he wasn’t training or racing, he was looking at old photos of you or watching the tour. He could see how you deflated as you left the stage, how upset you looked going on stage. It was all a terrible reminder of how selfish he’d been. How hadn’t he seen it? Why didn’t he listen? 
He remembered telling Max what had happened. He’d gotten so angry, begging him to call you back and apologise. He’d been so blindsighted, he wouldn’t listen to Max. Why was Max always right?
“You good?” Oscar asked, a hand on his shoulder to drag him out of his thousand-yard stare. 
Lando sighed. “Good,” he lied, and it wasn’t convincing. Everyone knew what you were to him. You grounded him, you knew him, every single part of him. You loved him. “You?”
“Good. Y/n’s set was great earlier,” he offered a small smile. “At least you have a good break-up album, right?”
Lando cracked a small smile. Oscar was good at that, making him laugh when he was down. “Yeah, it feels great when it’s about you.”
Oscar chuckled. “Story for the grandkids,” he shrugged. “Don’t sweat it.”
Lando nodded. 
“Oh yeah,” Oscar added. “When you left, Allison asked Y/n what songs were about you, so just… expect that conversation with her, I guess? I’m not entirely sure what’ll happen-”
“What did Y/n say?”
Oscar swallowed. “Something like; ‘some of my songs are, ‘cause I like to put my emotions into music. But not all of them, because my life doesn’t revolve around Lando, it never did. I am more than my relationships, and you’d do good to remember that for yourself’.”
Lando nodded, and could tell by the look on Oscar’s face that he was holding something back. “That’s it?”
“‘Don’t let love become who you are, it doesn’t end well’,” Oscar finished. “Then she left.”
Lando nodded as the weight on his chest got heavier. “Thanks for letting me know.”
“Of course,” Oscar offered a pity-smile and walked off to his side of the garage. 
Lando was always a person to be stuck inside his own head. He wasn’t good at expressing his feelings. He didn’t know how to talk about them. Yet, you always knew how to get him to talk. You always had the right solution, the right thing to say, the right face to make. He was in awe of you, so effortlessly perfect. 
He remembered back to Greece, back in the off-season, before the tour, before the season started. Before he fucked everything up. 
----------------
You smiled as he pulled you closer. The air was anything but cold, and the water was still. There you two sat, sitting on the bow of the as the sun set. The clear water beneath the yacht you’d been on for the past few days was calm and steady, lulling you both into an unmistakable tiredness. Yte, Lando wanted to stay up, wanting to soak up as much time with you as he could. He was going to miss you so much this season. You hadn’t ever been to every race in a season, you were a busy person, he understood that. He was a busy person too. But you’d go to as many races as possible. Now, ‘as many races as possible’ means about 4. Stupid tour. 
“What are you thinking about?” you asked, your eyes closed as you soaked in the moment. You leant against his chest as you lay in his arms, your favourite place to be. 
“How much I’ll miss you this year,” he admitted. There was never any point in lying to you, you always knew. 
You pressed a kiss to his arm. “I’ll miss you too.”
You were straight forward with things, he loved that. It was a bad situation. You were off to a tour you didn’t want to do, and he was off to another season. 
“I love you,” he confessed. He said it a lot, but it always felt special. He made you feel special. You made him feel special.
“I love you,” you opened your eyes, a smile on your lips. You spoke again after a few moments of silence. “You’re going to win a race this season, I can tell.”
He chuckled. “Once I get back home to you, I don’t care if I win.”
You laughed. “Sure, we all believe you.”
He smiled. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”
You looked at him for a moment, that perfect, soft smile on your face. “Ditto,” you laughed as he did too. Your laugh was melodic, his favourite sound. 
“Who says ‘ditto’ to that?!” he laughed.
“I do,” you chuckled. 
You two locked eyes for a moment, then he leant down and pressed his lips to yours, soft and sweet. 
The perfect night. 
----------------
He caught a glance of your red dress walking into the garage. 
“Y/n!” The engineers cheered. He heard your laughter. 
The room was a collection of cheers and conversation, and he wanted more than anything to be able to walk over to you and hold you, and kiss you, and tell everyone to leave you alone because you were his girlfriend, not theirs. 
You walked in with a smile on your face. That smile dropped in half a second. Everyone was talking, everyone was patting you on the back, everyone was looking at you. You caught a glance of Lando and immediately felt the pit in your stomach grow. Everyone knew everything, everyone looked at you. Everyone blamed you. Oscar wrapped his arm around you and walked you through the garage as he saw you getting overwhelmed. He’d learnt the signs from his little sisters. Blown out pupils, teary eyes, tight features, heavy breathing. Oscar had always been a great friend to you, he’d always cared for you. He brought you through, doing most of the talking if anyone stopped you two and let you in his driver’s room, promising to grab you when you could leave without being bombarded by crew, or the press. 
Lando followed behind after a few minutes, then knocked on the door. He knew how to calm you down, he was probably the only person who did. 
Oscar opened the door looking panicked. “She’s having a panic attack,” he whispered. 
Lando nodded and walked in, taking your hand in his as you hid your face in your other hand. He knelt beside you on the floor as you sat on the bed. “It’s me baby, I’m right here. Come on, squeeze my hand,” he said, voice steady. You didn’t. “You need to start breathing properly, squeeze my hand like I’m squeezing yours,” He put some light pressure on your hand, which jump-started you into squeezing his hand as hard as you could. It wasn’t fair. This wasn’t fair. You hated how well he knew you. You wanted him to not know you, to not understand you and your body better than you did. “Just like that,” he cooed. He pressed your hand to his chest, where you could feel his steady and calm breathing, feel his regular heartbeat. It was in stark contrast to you. The thump of your own heartbeat in your ears, the quick breathing, the erratic heart. “Breathe with me. Please baby,” his voice was soft and comforting. You tried, gently slowing your breathing down to normal. The adrenaline was still rushing through your body as you calmed down. Oscar offered you a water bottle and you let go of Lando’s hand to take it. 
“I shouldn’t have come here, I’m sorry,” you said, sounding smaller than ever. “Zak said he wanted to see me after my set. I should’ve just said no.”
“You’re always welcome here,” Oscar placed a hand on your shoulder. “Seriously.”
“We want you here,” Lando added. The air was sucked from the room. “I want you here.”
“You don’t,” you refuted. “I shouldn’t be here.”
Lando sighed. “Let me walk you back to Ferrari, please?”
You shook your head, finally looking up and making eye contact with him. “You and I both know how that’ll go.”
Lando nodded, his heart breaking for the thousandth time. It’s hard to find an end to something you never want to let go of. “Ok,” he whispered, his emotions getting the better of him. 
“Goodbye Lando,” you sighed, then took Oscar’s arm and let him lead you back to Ferrari. 
----------------
“I’m sorry about Lando,” Oscar sighed as you two walked up to the entrance to Ferrari. “About the break up, now, and basically everything in between. He’s been… difficult recently. He’s always been a ‘glass half empty’ kind of guy I guess… I just… you made him better, y’know?”
You chuckled sadly. “Thank you for apologising, but you don’t have to. Lando is an adult, so am I. Things just… end sometimes. Him and I just aren’t meant to be.”
Oscar cocked an eyebrow. “I think we both know that’s not true.”
You didn’t know how to respond. Oscar had never been this straightforward with you, and he sure as hell had never broached this topic before. You just nodded and took his hand. “Thanks for helping me.”
And then you walked back to Ferrari. 
Oscar did get one thing right, Lando wasn’t done with you. Maybe it was seeing you again, maybe it was the album, maybe it was Allison, maybe it was all of it, he didn’t know. But what he did know was that he was still in love with you. He’d never stopped. How could he? He missed everything about you, your lips, your smile, your kindness, the way you’d make him laugh, the way you’d make him smile. Everything. He missed listening to you sing, seeing you on a stage that you wanted to be on. Seeing you get to be you. 
----------------
The Silverstone after-party with Charles who dragged you along. You’d thought it would be a bad idea, but when you were already 8 shots deep, you didn’t really notice. Yuki had pulled you away to sing a karaoke duet with him as Pierre and Charles laughed at you both, and you somehow ended up outside on the balcony with Carlos, both of you laughing at something random. 
“Y/n!” Lando cheered, clearly as drunk as you. A part of you had forgotten about everything before this moment, like you were seeing him for the first time. Perfect, with his curls, unbuttoned shirt, and damn pretty smile. “I didn’t know you were here!” 
“Lan!” you cheered, pulling him in for a hug. Carlos gave you both a very confused look, but was called away by Charles for a game of beer pong. Surprisingly, these ‘fancy’ parties usually just turned into something out of a frat house in Florida. Maybe it was just Logan’s presence. “How are you?” You slurred. 
“I feel great!” he shouted. “We should go for a walk!” 
“Yes!” you agreed. 
----------------
And that’s how you ended up back in his hotel room making out with him on his bed as he pulled your dress off. Funny how things can happen when you’re actually 18 shots deep, not 8. Oops?
“So pretty,” he murmured into your neck as he settled you on his lap. “So pretty for me.”
You laughed into his mouth, pulling back. “Lan, speed up.”
He smirked at you, his eyes heavy, then pressed his lips to yours again. He fully pulled your dress off of you as you started making quick work of his belt and trousers. 
“Fuck me,” you whispered in his ear and he let out a low moan. “Please Lan.”
He didn’t waste time. 
----------------
You woke up the next morning with a blinding headache, and a very naked Lando Norris beside you. You had to leave. You’d just fucked him, and he had a girlfriend. You were a homewrecker. You didn’t know if the sudden urge to vomit came up because of that, or the 18 shots of straight vodka you did the night before. 
You quickly grabbed your clothes, shoes, one of his hoodies, and tried to salvage whatever dignity you had left, then made a swift exit. It was still dark out and you were just praying that you could get through the 2 blocks you had to walk to your hotel without running into someone, or running into cameras. You quickly dialled Sasha’s number and tried to stop yourself from crying. You just pray you two used protection, or fell asleep before doing anything real.
“Morning?” she answered groggily. 
“Sasha I did something really fucking stupid,” you admitted, the tears welling up in your eyes as you walked into the lobby of your hotel. “And I don’t know what to do.”
“Come to my room, we’ll sort it out,” she sighed. “You’ll be ok kiddo, I promise.”
----------------
You knocked on her hotel room door, tears in your eyes. 
“It’s 5 am,” she stated, opening the door. 
You rushed in, bursting into tears. “I think I fucked Lando, I mean- I-I think we fucked, last night- we were so drunk a-and then I don’t re-remember,” you hiccuped. “I’m so fucking stupid!”
She put a hand on your shoulder, sighing. “That was a very stupid thing to do,” she nodded. “But it’s not the end of the world. Did you use protection?”
“I don’t know.”
“I’ll go get Plan B, you stay here. Get changed into some pyjamas. Get some water, relax. Just don’t leave the hotel, yeah?”
“Alright,” you agreed. She left for the door. “Sash?”
“Yeah?”
“Thank you,” you said in a small voice. She offered you a pitying smile, and went on her way. 
----------------
Months passed and you both went on with your lives. He didn’t reach out, you didn’t either. Sadly, you were in fact a homewrecker. A week after ‘the incident’ Allison and Lando broke up. You truthfully felt so ashamed and awful for the girl. It wasn’t right what you two had done, and truly, you were insanely drunk. In no world would you fuck Lando Norris sober. 
The tour had finally ended, and your world was no longer turned upside down. You were working on new music, healing your body after all the travel and abuse you put it through, and continuing to try and get over Lando. 
It hurt like a bitch. He hurt like a bitch. 
----------------
Lando two-wins. Contender in the Championship. Supposedly dating someone. Last Lap Lando.
Lonely Lando, more like. Max Fewtrell had decided to stage an intervention and join him for the rest of the races, worried about his mental state. Since seeing you again, he’d been… less than alright. He’d talk about you all the time, stalk your instagram (to the point that Max took his phone off of him in Greece), and generally just think about you a lot. It was coming up to the album drop, and you were having your launch party in Italy. The same weekend as the race. All because Charles wanted to come. 
Shit was bound to go down, and no one was more excited than Hallie. 
You were dressed to the nines, nervous and excited. You’d fired half of your team, you’d dropped your old label, and you’d become… happier? That couldn’t be right, not when you felt the oppressive weight of your own regret on your chest everyday. Not when you woke up reaching for Lando. Not when you watched every single race and couldn’t look away until he was safely across that damn finish line. 
You were surviving. That’s the best you could do. 
----------------
“You look beautiful,” Charles smiled as he walked into the party. The night had gone off without a hitch so far. A select group of fans, influencers, celebrities, and almost all the drivers were mingling with one another, and not one sighting of Lando Norris. Not that you didn’t miss his face, or him in general. You did. More than you’d ever thought possible to miss someone.  
“Thanks Charles,” you smiled, pulling him into a hug. “You look great too.”
He smiled and beside him, Alexandria smiled at you, then pulled you into a hug. You continued the superficial chatting for a few moments, just hoping Charles wouldn’t ask the dreaded question. 
He looked at you for a second too long, and you knew it was coming. “Are you alright?” God, why did he have to ask stupid fucking questions? Obviously you weren’t alright. Obviously, if you could, you would run away. Obviously, you were drowning. 
Didn’t he see that? Didn’t anyone notice? Didn’t anyone care?
Apparently not. 
You nodded, putting on your best fake smile. “Just nervous.”
He nodded. It was enough to fool him. 
The night went on in a flurry of uncomfortable small talk, ridiculous requests from your most esteemed guests, and it was finally time to start listening to the album. You stood on stage, a nervous smile on your face as everyone looked at David, your producer, who was speaking in length about how proud of the record he was, and how proud he was of you. Everything was perfect. Everything was right in the world. 
But, of course, because he had to always be the centre of your universe, Lando walked in. 
And you were fucked. Every single breathing technique you’d learnt, every single pressure point tapping you’d done, it all left your head. Everything stopped. You stopped breathing. You stopped. 
But it didn’t feel wrong. It didn’t feel bad to have him there. It felt awfully, and soul-crushingly, right. Lando was always meant to be there, a devastating realisation that you didn’t exactly want to make while on stage in front of 200 people. 
“Any words, Y/n?” David asked, passing you the mic. 
You looked at Lando and he smiled, waving at you. You smiled back. 
“Please enjoy this album, it’s from a very important time of my life where I finally learnt what it meant to be in love, and be loved wholly in return. Obviously, it didn’t end very well, and that’s when I learnt what grieving someone was. I still have a lot of love for him, probably more than I should. But I have it. And I had nowhere to put it, so I put it to music, which is really the only thing I think I’ll ever truly understand. I hope you enjoy it, and I hope you understand it,” You explained to the crowd. You watched Lando the entire time, looking at how his eyes lit up when you talked about your relationship. Lando had always cared about you. He always would. 
The opening cords of the first song started playing, and the attention was off of you. The crowd just closed their eyes and listened. You exited the stage and joined the crowd, desperately trying to get out of there. You stood on the balcony as the music blasted inside. People danced along, sang along as they started learning the words, and you stayed outside, tears falling. 
“You’re beautiful,” Lando’s whisper made you jump. You turned to see him, standing there behind you. “The album’s beautiful.”
You scoffed. “The album’s an album. What was beautiful was us,” you sighed. “Thank you for coming.”
He nodded, leaning against the barrier beside you. “Do you even wish our lives weren’t as complicated as they are?”
You chuckled. “More than anything.”
“We were beautiful,” he shook his head, trying to remember why he ever ruined the best thing in his life. “If you ever find yourself wanting to love me again, just… call me?”
You nodded, looking at him. “I will.”
He nodded, putting his hand on your shoulder and letting it sit there for a split-second, just to remind him of what it was like to touch you. Just to remind himself that once, he didn’t have to wonder if you loved him, to remind him of the unwavering support you gave him, to remind him of how his whole world came crashing down when he made you leave it. “I love you,” he whispered before walking to the door. 
His phone started ringing in his pocket as he got back inside. Unknown number. He answered it. 
“I think I want to love you again,” he could hear your smile through the phone and he immediately whipped around, his smile growing as he got closer to you. When he stood in front of you again, you both took the phones down and smiled at each other.
Lando didn’t waste time. He closed the gap between you two in one simple stride, wrapped his arms around your waist and pressed his lips to yours. “I love you so much,” he pulled back. “I’m never letting you go again.”
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landonorris
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1,488,928 likes | liked by oscarpiastri, y/ny/l/n, and others
love of my life. @ y/ny/l/n
comments
user28: WHAT THE FUCK THEY BROKE UP MONTHS AGO THO????-> user92: they were seen kissing at her launch party
y/ny/l/n: who's that pretty girl? -> oscarpiastri: she's too good for him -> landonorris: >:( -> oscarpiastri: hurt her again and I push you off the track. ->carlossainz: I second this -> charleslecerc: I third this -> alexalbon: I fourth this -> georgerussell: I fifth this.
georgerussell: Trying to beat me with no shirt?
lewishamilton: Yay! (I begged her not to take you back you asshole). -> pierregasly: Yay! (I'm trying to be supportive of her).
lilymhe: fuck off. ->user83: LMAO -> user18: DAMN EVERYONE HATES HIM
danielriccardo: HAHAHAHAHAH (I'm crying.)
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lipringlrh · 6 months ago
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HE DOESN’T WANT ME WHEN HE’S SOBER PART 2 (LANDO ENDING)
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read: part one | logan ending
summary: lando’s your best friend but seems to like you when he’s drunk. but then again, he seems to like everyone when he’s drunk.
pairing: lando norris x gn!reader
wc: 1.8k
Lando wouldn’t admit it to anyone but that night was the worst sleep he’d ever had. He left as soon as he found out you’d left with Lily and Alex, and made his way to your house just to find out you weren’t there. He messaged Alex to get no response and contemplated waiting outside your door until you came back, whether it be days or months, he’d wait for you. But, after almost falling asleep numerous times and getting laughed at by a group of teenagers, he made his way back to his apartment, knowing you’d be looked after.
He was awake almost all night, messaging and calling you and regretting everything in its entirety. He didn’t fully know if you had even seen him kiss the person that resembled you, he only felt it deep down, but even if you hadn’t, he shouldn’t have done it, and he could never apologise enough. He thought of how to explain his thoughts but nothing would suffice; nothing would ever be able to explain how he felt.
At some point in the early hours, he finally drifted off, but awoke not much later to an aggressive banging on his door and a voice screaming at him to hurry up. He wished the voice was you but it wasn’t and he hated it. He rushed to his door, barely having time to pull on some grey joggers before opening it to an angry Alex, very close to breaking the door down.
“Are you stupid?” Alex questioned, fuming, pushing his way into Lando’s house, “I know that you’re in love with her so what are you doing?”
Lando looked like a deer in headlights. He couldn’t explain his actions, he didn’t even want to think about them. All he remembered feeling was grief at watching you walk away, so when he found someone that looked eerily similar, he took the chance to kiss them and create the image in his mind of kissing you. It didn’t last long. He realised too quickly that they didn’t smell like you and the way they kissed wasn’t the same. He hated it, he didn’t want to kiss anyone but you.
“I know, I didn’t mean to-”
“What, you just tripped into her mouth then?” Alex questioned, pushing a finger against Lando’s chest.
“No- no. I don’t know why I did, I really love them I promise. We almost kissed but then they walked away, I was hurt, I didn’t think they wanted me,” Lando almost cried, his voice cracking.
“You do this every time you go out. You kiss her every time you go out and she follows, you don’t get to pull that card. You might be upset but I promise you’re not even feeling half of it,” Alex spat, not caring if he hurt Lando because he hurt you much more.
“Help me apologise. I need to apologise, please Alex, please help,” Lando begged, wanting you to more than anything, “Please Alex, I’ll do anything.”
Alex sighed. At that moment, he hated Lando for what he did, but he’d been wishing for you both to get together since he first saw you both together, making heart eyes at each other. He contemplated in his head whether to help or not. He always envisioned you together but always wanted what's best for you and right now he couldn’t tell if that was Lando or not. But looking at the state of him, red, wet eyes, begging for his help, he wanted to believe Lando regretted everything and would do anything to prove he loved you.
“Okay, but I’m not letting you be forgiven easily, I want you to prove it,” Alex sighed, running his hands over his face. A feeling of simultaneous relief and guilt eating him alive.
Lando promised Alex over and over again, and in between each syllable, promising himself also that he would give you the world in apologies, and whatever happened he deserved it, but even if there was the slimmest chance you could forgive him, Lando would take it and cherish it.
Alex messaged you and you told him it was fine to bring Lando over, as long as he didn’t expect much, and so they turned up less than five minutes later. Alex left you both alone in the kitchen to sit with Lily in the living room after repeating countless times he was a shout away.
You almost broke down just seeing him but managed to keep it in. You didn’t want him to explain, you didn’t care to hear it at the moment, but as soon as Alex left he began spilling out apologies and trying to explain himself, which you quickly shut up.
“I want some space,” you sighed. You wanted Lando close but you wanted everything you felt for him gone first. You couldn’t believe he ever felt the same, not after that.
“Of course, I understand,” his voice broke as he stepped back, trying to show you he would do anything you said.
“Not like that, Lando. I mean it, I don’t think I can see you for a while.”
“Oh-” he said, “When can I see you again?”
“I’m not sure, I’m sorry-”
“Don’t be, this is my fault,” he sighed, clearly upset and looking at the ground, “I’ll go, I’ll see you soon.”
After he left, you broke down crying, debating your decision on if you handled it right. You already missed him, and still loved him, but you also didn’t want to see him. Alex explained the whole morning, and his perspective, giving you hope you could fix it with Lando, especially after Alex’s approval, which you trusted more than anything.
The next few times you saw him were at hangouts with your shared friends. You knew he’d be there as none of your friends would invite him unless you were completely sure you didn’t mind him there. He stayed away, but didn’t make it awkward to the people around you, and always gave you a shy smile when you caught his eye.
He didn’t try to text or call again, despite wanting to more than anything, and instead waited for you to make the first move whenever you were ready. You had missed him more than anything, in both an “I love him” and “he’s my best friend” way, and it was killing you from being away from him, especially after how well he listened to your instructions.
You were at a mutual friend's get-together, a small barbecue in a back garden when you decided it was time. You had been debating texting him but after seeing him, you decided you couldn’t wait.
He was standing alone in a corner beside a flower patch and some grass, drink in hand, and surveying everyone that was there when you walked over. He didn’t know how to greet you and so awkwardly moved his hands between going for a hug or a handshake. You laughed and hugged him, both of you holding on tightly, unhappy to let go.
“I’ve missed you,” you whispered gently, looking down and playing with your fingers, slightly nervous to admit it to him after all this time.
“I’ve missed you too,” he grins, adding on, “So much,” with a quiet whisper.
“How’ve you been?” you asked, trying to make small talk before delving right in.
“Okay, I’ve not really done much. Races have been okay.”
“I saw,” you smiled, “You’ve done really well.”
“You watched?” he questioned, a little surprised. You met his eyes and nodded, explaining how you could never miss one.
“Do you want to talk inside?” you asked, heart pounding as you said it. He nodded immediately, without hesitation, and followed you in through the double glass doors into the kitchen, but only after picking out a daisy from the grass next to him and offering it out to you, causing both of you to grin.
He closed the doors behind you both, blocking out as much other noise as possible, ready for you to begin. “I want to know how you feel about this and about me,” you started, voice shaky.
“I’m sorry, I’m still so sorry. I love you and I want what’s best for you and I can’t even find an excuse, I was being stupid and thinking how you’d never want me. It was all nothing, you’re the only person that’s ever meant anything, I’m so sorry. I will do anything to fix this- anything.”
“Lan,” you let out a breath, “You still want me?”
“More than anything,” he grinned and you stepped forward to reach him, locking your arms around his neck.
Your fingers tangled themselves in his hair as you pull his face down until his lips are almost touching yours. He was smiling so much you thought it might be impossible to kiss him but you pulled him into you anyway, finally kissing him again.
“Stop smiling,” you laughed, pulling away to say it before immediately kissing him again.
“What? Can I not be happy? I’m getting my girl back,” he pulled away, grinning harder, then trying to drag you back in, which was almost successful until you pulled away at the last second.
“I can barely kiss you like this and I’d really, really like to,” you giggled, tugging him back again to enjoy another impatient kiss.
Your hands were running all over his head, completely ruining his hair, but he didn’t care. His hands were wrapped around your waist, holding you impossibly close. When you finally parted he still kept you close, resting his forehead on yours.
“Are you sure you want this?” he questioned, his breath still heavy.
You kissed his cheek and looked straight into his eyes, “More than anything, I promise,” you paused for a moment, “But you’re going to have to grovel to repay all the lost time we’ve had.”
“I’m going to prove to you that I’m all in, that I want this more than I could possibly explain,” Lando promised, meaning every word. He was already planning out exactly what he wanted to do - he knew he had to work to become your official boyfriend, but he would do everything possible for you.
You just stared at him, showcasing the biggest smile you’ve ever had, eyes full of love, knowing you weren’t ever going to let each other go or even risk it again.
“God I love you,” he grinned, ignoring the fact he still hadn’t caught his breath and pulling you into another, more intimate, kiss.
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misspygmypie · 3 months ago
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Meet & Greet... and more? Pt. 2
Pairing: Lando Norris x reader Words: 2492 Click here for Part 1
Please do not repost, thank you, and leave some feedback :)
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It was a quiet evening at Lando’s apartment. The driver sat hunched over his laptop, his focus fixed on race strategies and upcoming circuits. His thoughts, though, were miles away from racing. They lingered on the Meet & Greet event from a few days ago, the moment he had met Y/N and her adorable 4-year-old son, Noah.
Lando had been smitten from the first minute he saw Y/N. Her genuine smile and the way she looked at Noah with such love had tugged at something deep inside him. He had given her his number with the hope that it would lead to something more, but as the days passed with no text or call, his hopes began to fade away.
Oscar had noticed the cloud hanging over Lando. During a break at the team headquarters he approached his team mate. “So, have you heard from Y/N yet?”
Lando’s eyes had lost their usual sparkle as he shook his head. “No, nothing. I’m starting to lose hope, to be honest. Maybe she just wasn’t interested.”
“You never know, mate,” Oscar had replied, “she might just be a bit shy or overwhelmed. Give it time.”
And so Lando had continued with his daily routine, a part of him still hoping, even if it was only a flicker. Then, on this particular evening, his phone buzzed, jolting him from his thoughts. It was a message from an unknown number and he frowned, unlocking the device and opening the text.
He glanced down, and his heart skipped a beat.
Y/N: Hi Lando, it’s Y/N from the Meet & Greet last week. I just wanted to say thank you again for the great time and the bear. Noah loves it and is always hugging it when he sleeps. Here’s a photo of him with his new best friend 😊
He looked at the photo and felt a huge smile instantly creeping on his face. Noah was nestled comfortably in his bed, the bear clutched tightly in his tiny arms. The sight of the peaceful sleeping child with the bear’s head peeking out from the covers made Lando’s heart melt.
He quickly started typing a response but paused, his fingers hovering over the screen. He wanted to convey how much it meant to him that Noah loved the gift but he also wanted to make sure his message came across just right. He was a professional at handling high-speed racing strategies, but this - this was a whole different kind of nerve-wracking.
Finally, he took a deep breath and typed:
Lando: Hey Y/N! Thank you for sending this, it’s absolutely adorable! I’m so happy Noah loves the bear and it was really great meeting you both. Is Noah usually this sweet when he’s sleeping or is he just showing off to his new bear? 😄 Hope you’re doing well!
He hit send and immediately felt a wave of nervous excitement. He glanced at the screen, replaying his message in his mind, hoping it didn’t sound too over the top or awkward. A few seconds later, he received a reply.
Y/N: Thanks, Lando! He’s usually a bit of a tornado during the day, so it’s nice to see him so peaceful at night 😄 We’re doing well and he keeps talking about meeting you. How about you? How’s everything going?
Lando’s smile widened and he felt a renewed sense of hope. They were actually starting a conversation and eagerly he tapped out a response with new found confidence:
Lando: Things are going great, thanks for asking! The racing is keeping me busy, but it’s always exciting. I’d love to hear more about what you and Noah have been up to?
As he hit send Lando leaned back in his chair, still smiling happily for the first time in days. The city lights outside seemed a little brighter and the race strategies on his laptop took a back seat for the rest of the night.
From that day on, each morning Lando would wake up and check his phone, eagerly scrolling through the messages from Y/N. Her texts were often filled with snippets of her and Noah’s daily life. 
One morning, Y/N sent him a snapshot of herself and Noah at a local park. Y/N was smiling brightly, looking effortlessly beautiful in a casual, sunlit setting.
Y/N: Just a day out at the park with Noah. He’s been running around non-stop!
Lando stared at the photo, struck by how stunning Y/N looked. Her natural beauty and radiant smile had him feeling a bit flustered. How does she manage to look this beautiful all the time? he wondered. And how is someone like her still single?
As their conversations continued, Lando found himself constantly impressed by Y/N. Whether it was a candid shot of her cooking dinner, playing with Noah, or simply relaxing at home she always appeared effortlessly beautiful. Another day, Y/N sent him a photo of Noah proudly showing off his latest artwork: a crayon drawing of a race car.
Y/N: Noah wanted to send you a picture of his latest masterpiece. He says it’s a McLaren, but I think he might be a bit optimistic! 😄
Lando chuckled at the message and immediately typed back.
Lando: That’s fantastic! I love it. Noah’s got quite the artistic talent. I’ll have to show this to my team, they might want to hire him for some design work!
In return, Lando shared stories from his life at McLaren, often with a humorous twist.
Lando: So, yesterday I was running late for a meeting and accidentally wore mismatched socks. Of course, I didn’t realize until halfway through the day when one of the engineers pointed it out. They’ve been teasing me about it ever since!
She replied with a laughing emoji and a playful message:
Y/N: Sounds like you’re fitting right in with the team! At least it’s not as bad as the time I tried to make dinner and ended up with something that looked like a science experiment gone wrong. Noah still teases me about it!
Their exchange of stories and photos continued and Lando loved hearing about their adventures and looked forward to the new stories they’d share. Then, one afternoon, he decided it was time to suggest an in-person meeting. He drafted a message and it took him nearly two hours to actually send it off.
Lando: Hey Y/N! I’ve been thinking about how much I’ve enjoyed our conversations these past few weeks. It’s been great getting to know you and Noah better. I’ve got a weekend off coming up in three weeks and I was wondering if you’d be up for meeting in person. I could fly out and we could grab coffee or something. Let me know what you think!
When he got Y/N’s reply it made Lando’s day.
Y/N: Hi Lando! That sounds amazing. I’ve really enjoyed our chats too. Noah would be thrilled to meet you again and it would be great to catch up in person. Let’s definitely plan for that weekend. I’ll look forward to it!
Lando: Awesome! I’m really looking forward to it. I’ll keep you updated with my flight details as we get closer to the date. Can’t wait to see you both!
________
As he settled into his apartment after a long day of working out and preparations for the next race he couldn’t wait any longer to share his next idea with Y/N. Over the past few days he had been thinking about how much he wanted to see them much earlier and he was nervous to find out what Y/N would say.
Lando: Hey Y/N! I was thinking... instead of our planned coffee date, how about joining me at the next race? I’d love for you and Noah to come. What do you think?
He hesitated for a moment before hitting send, his heart racing. A few hours later, Y/N’s response appeared on his phone. 
Y/N: Wow, Lando, that’s an incredible offer! I’m sure Noah would be thrilled to see the race but honestly, I’m not sure if we can afford the travel expenses right now. It’s a bit beyond our budget.
Lando’s heart sank a little but he was determined to make this work. He quickly typed back:
Lando: Please don’t worry about the cost, I’d really like to cover everything for you and Noah. It would mean a lot to me to have you both there. Just let me know if that works for you!
He felt hopeful. He wanted to ensure that money wasn’t an issue and that they could enjoy this experience without any worries. Minutes felt like hours as he waited for her response. Finally, Y/N’s reply came through:
Y/N: Lando, that’s so incredibly kind of you. I’m sure Noah will be ecstatic about this! I really appreciate your generosity and can’t believe how thoughtful you are. I’ll talk to him and start making arrangements. Thank you so much!
Lando’s smile grew wider as he read her message. He quickly responded:
Lando: I’m thrilled you’re excited! I’ll handle all the details, flights, hotel and race passes. I want to make sure everything is perfect for you both. I’ll send you all the information shortly. Can’t wait to see you again soon!
The next day he coordinated every detail meticulously, ensuring that everything was taken care of for their visit. He could hardly keep his excitement to himself and it didn’t take long for Oscar to notice the change in Lando’s mood.
The two drivers sat together in the lounge area, enjoying a rare moment of downtime between team talks. While Oscar sipped his coffee and flipped through a magazine Lando practically radiated with joy.
“Alright, spill it,” Oscar demanded, setting the magazine aside. “You’re practically glowing. What’s got you in such a good mood?”
Lando’s eyes sparkled as he looked at Oscar, clearly unable to keep his emotions contained. “So, Y/N and Noah, right?”
“What about them?”
“Well,” Lando said, practically bouncing in his seat, “I Invited them to the race next week.”
Oscar’s curiosity piqued. “And?”
“And,” Lando continued, “they are able to make it!”
Oscar’s smile widened. “That’s fantastic news,” he beamed at his friend and meant every word. Lando had been talking about them nonstop since the Meet & Greet and especially after Y/N had finally texted him back. Lando would update him on their texts and show him the pictures he would get.
Lando’s grin widened even further. “It means a lot to me that they’re coming out. I’m really looking forward to seeing them again and showing them around the paddock properly this time.”
“I’m really happy for you, mate, it sounds like it’s going to be a great weekend.”
“Thanks! I can’t wait to see them!”
________
Y/N looked out the kitchen window, a soft smile playing on her lips as she imagined Noah’s reaction. Noah was sprawled on the floor, concentrated on arranging his small collection of toy cars.
“Hey, Noah,” Y/N called out, trying to keep her voice casual while she bubbled with excitement. “Can you come over here for a minute?”
Noah set aside his cars and trotted over to his mom, his tiny sneakers scuffing against the kitchen tiles. “What is it, Mommy?”
Y/N knelt down so she was eye-to-eye with him. “Guess what? Lando invited us to the next race!”
“Really? We’re going to see Lando again?” Noah’s eyes widened in disbelief.
“Yes” Y/N confirmed, her excitement barely contained. “We’re going to fly out to watch the race and spend some more time with Lando!”
Noah jumped up and down, his little fists pumping in the air. “This is the best day ever! Can I bring my toy cars to show Lando? And my Lando hat?”
“Of course you can bring your toy cars and I’m sure Lando will be thrilled to see your hat.”
Noah’s excitement was contagious. “Can we start packing now? I want to make sure we don’t forget anything!”
“Not just yet,” Y/N said, chuckling. “We still have a little bit of time before we leave. But we can start picking out your favorite race car pajamas and making a list of what to bring.”
Noah nodded vigorously. “I’m going to wear my pajamas every day until we go! And I’ll make a special drawing for Lando too. Can I put it in his car?”
“That sounds like a wonderful idea. I’m sure Lando will love it.”
As traveling day approached, excitement filled the air at Y/N’s home. Noah could hardly contain himself, racing around the house with his favorite race car pajamas and a carefully packed backpack full of toy cars and race-themed items. Y/N, on the other hand, was busy with last-minute preparations, ensuring everything was ready for their trip.
Finally Y/N stood in the hallway, surveying the scene: a large suitcase packed with essentials, Noah’s backpack and a neatly organized tote bag filled with snacks and travel necessities. The sight of it all made her smile, but she had one more thing to do before they left.
With a grin, Y/N picked up her phone and snapped a quick picture. In the photo, a Lando cap poked out of Noah’s backpack and next to it was a little sign that read “Ready for the race!” She made sure to include a glimpse of Noah’s favorite race car pajamas draped over one of the bags.
She typed out a quick message to Lando, her excitement evident in every word:
Y/N: We’re all packed and ready for the big race! 🏁 Noah is beyond excited and insisted on showing off his race car pajamas and Lando hat. We thought you might like to see how ready we are for the adventure. Y/N & Noah
With a satisfied smile Y/N hit send. She knew Lando was busy, but she hoped the photo would bring a smile to his face.
A few hours later, as Y/N and Noah were finishing their final preparations, Y/N’s phone buzzed with a new message. She picked it up and saw a reply from Lando, accompanied by a photo of his own.
Lando: Hey Y/N! Wow, you guys are definitely race-day ready! 😎 I love Noah’s hat and pajamas. Can’t wait to see you both. I’ve got a little surprise planned for Noah! See you soon!  
Y/N showed the message to Noah, who was practically bouncing with excitement. “Look, Noah! Lando says he has a surprise for you!”
“A surprise?” the boy’s eyes widened. “What do you think it is, Mommy?”
Y/N shook her head with a smile. “I’m not sure, but I’m sure it will be something amazing!”
_________
Click here for Part 3
Tag: @barcelonaloverf1life @remmysthings
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donatellawritings · 8 months ago
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Would you ever do a part 2 to sweetheart reader and rafe’s breakup? I wanna see how they get back together 🥰
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it had been about three months, since rafe had let you go, his oh-so doting sweetheart, the apple of his very eye. with the news of rafe cameron no longer having his latin sweetheart under his arm spreading around the island like a rancid wildfire, it didn’t take long for rafe to find himself regretting his decision. but make no mistake, rafe had made it his business to keep a watchful eye on your every move, and making sure to remain undetected while doing so. i mean, at the end of the day, you would always be his sweet girl and what kind of a man would he be, if he didn’t watch over you.
and sure, it took you a few weeks to find your footing as a now single and absolute knockout of a woman, yet you stood your ground — remaining tooth-achingly sweet to everyone who came your way, even when you’d politely reject their shameless advances towards you. and boy, did you make rafe’s sick little heart swell with pride as you made sure to keep a piece of him around you at all times, your gifted tiffany & co tennis bracelet constantly glinting against the north carolina sun with each passing day.
but, you were always such an emotional and overly-sensitive doll — and today just happened to be one of those days where you couldn’t seem to get your papi, rafe out of your pretty little head.
“i just — i want him with me!” you sobbed, streaky and watery black tinged tears rolling down your blush and concealer-enhanced cheeks as you pursed your puffy lips into a tearful pout, “he’s supposed to be mine!” you whined, your swollen tits stretching and heaving against rafe’s prized collegiate t-shirt as you took hiccuping breaths.
you poor cousin, kiara could only take so much of your incessant sobs and heartfelt rambles, until she’d taken the liberty of personally contacting rafe, a task that she wouldn’t even dream of doing, if it were for any person, aside from you, her doting and oh-so lovesick cousin.
you see, today was supposed to be a simple sleepover, the two of you had made it a tradition to spend one night together, where you could catch up on the latest gossip, prance around in nothing but pathetically poor excuses for panties and oversized t-shirts, while pampering each other with messily applied clay face masks and smeared mani-pedis. and sure, kiara missed those cherished moments with you, but she was painfully aware that you had been keeping up a facade since the moment rafe brought you back home. and she had to give you credit for it, you made it a point to keep your cool in public, you didn’t want to be a bother so you maintained your doll-like appearance and poise mannerisms.
yet, she couldn’t ignore the way you cried yourself to sleep at night — the walls that separated your bedrooms were far too thin.
it didn’t take long for rafe to respond to your concerned cousin — and it was crystal clear to him that it was time to bring you back home. the anxious young man had paid his dues, hell, the pain of not having you around was nearly enough to have him cave after the first twenty-four hours of him breaking things off. but, he had to make good on his promise — he had to become a man, not only for you, but for the sake of his own sanity, or what was left of it.
after about fifteen minutes of you struggling to put together a coherent sentence, you rubbed the tip of your button nose, with a defeated sniffle, licking over you dried lips as you wiped your watery bambi eyes with the back of your hand. you had cried yourself to exhaustion, your pretty little head throbbing from your hysterics as you dozed into a light sleep. you were so out of it, you didn’t even realize that kiara had left your bedroom.
rafe was careful with his footsteps as he entered your bedroom, dressed in a crisp button-up and ironed slacks as he sighed at the sight of you sound asleep. his bright blues didn’t miss the streaks of dried tears that clung to your cherub cheeks, your swollen lips slightly parted as crouched at your bedside, a soft smile on his pink lips as he ran a gentle hand over your messy hair.
letting his greed get the best of him, rafe pressed his eager lips to the apple of your cheek, his fingernails lightly scratching at your scalp as he soothingly lulled you out of your sleep, “hi, baby,” he mumbled, loud enough for your doe eyes to widen as your lips pursed into a wobbly pout, warm tears burning at your waterline.
bringing your small hand to knuckle away the troublesome tears that threatened to spill, you let out a needy whimper, “m-missed you,” you mewled, wispy lashes now clumpy with tears.
“hey-hey, c’mon mama, please don’t start cryin’,” rafe breathes out, pulling your hands away from your flushed face as the two of you finally lock eyes for the first time in months, “fuck — m’so sorry, my princess,” rafe sighs, each and every ounce of his resolve dissipating as he brings your knuckles to his lips, peppering soft kisses to the bony skin.
biting down into the fat of your bottom lip, you leaned up towards rafe, nudging his nose with yours, “can we go home,” you mutter, allowing your palms to cradle both sides of rafe’s chiseled face as his hold on your fists drop to your wrists, “w-we can talk about everything later, i just- i just missed you, papi,” you assure rafe, a soft smile tugging on your lips as he raises his glazed eyes to meet yours.
“yes, baby, we can go home,” rafe’s shoulders soften, his forehead leaning flushed against yours as he lets out a shaky breath, “i kept my promise, baby — i kept my promise,” he speaks, more so to himself than to you as you nod at his words.
rafe deserved to be heard, and you’d always be a listening ear for him.
“i stopped using, a-and i got that boat y’liked so much, i got it just for you, mama — gonna take you wherever y’wanna go,” rafe rambles, leaving you a smiley mess as you simply gaze into his eyes with nothing, but naive love and adoration, “m’gonna be home more, and i—” rafe continued, getting lost in his own thoughts.
“i love you,” you cut in, a giddy smile now playing on your pretty face as rafe can’t help but blush at your words.
“i love you too, let’s go home,” rafe brings his lips to your forehead, allowing his tired eyes to flutter close as he soaks in the kiss for a moment, taking the time to breathe in your smell.
bringing your legs to hook around his waist, rafe keeps a secure hand over your ass as he carries you out of your bedroom, making sure to send kiara an appreciative nod as the two of you exit the home. it didn’t take long for you to fall back asleep, once you were secure in the passenger seat of rafe’s truck, soft snores leaving your parted lips as your soft cheek remained mushed against rafe’s firm shoulder, your hand securely interlaced with his.
rafe couldn’t ignore the way his eyes kept flickering down to your empty ring finger, his heart swelling at the mere thought of him finally having you all to himself, forever.
and he wouldn’t fuck it up, this time.
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getosbigballsack · 8 months ago
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Random thought! - Husband Gojo x Wife Reader-chan #inside the diary
Hear me out! Gojo read your thoughts in your diary and came to realize that he was a terrible husband to you.
He knew he was a good lay, hence the reason he managed to knock you up three times. But as of lately, he came to realize that you weren't interested in having sex with him.
At first, he thought it was just because you were too tired, having to take care of the kids while he works, all day by yourself (in which he understands, and he praises you for being such a wonderful mother).
But that wasn't the case. He just happened to come home early from work while you were out shopping with the kids, and he got a hold of your diary.
Interestingly, he took it upon himself to skim through the pages of your book, just to see what's inside your little head. Nothing out of the ordinary, just little notes and reminders to yourself about the task you had to complete and a few words of encouragement here and there.
He usually doesn't read through your thoughts, always thinking that if you had an issue you'd come and talk to him, so he was about to put your diary back where he found it because he didn't want to pry further into your thoughts, but that's until one page in particular caught his eye.
I find it difficult to enjoy sex with my husband nowadays and I don't know why?
Words in blue handwriting are written beautifully on the paper. He kept on reading, and as he continued to move further down the line, he felt his heart break.
It’s just me, but I don't think I'm attractive enough to have sex with my husband.
I wanted to suggest the last time we had sex [that was a month ago], but I didn't wanna ruin the moment for him because he looked like he was having fun.
Satoru came home today and wanted to have sex. I told him no. He never forced himself on me. He only kissed me goodnight and left to go sleep in the guest room. I know he was upset but did he really have to leave?
It's been 2 months, and Satoru hasn't tried touching me since that night. Am I not worthy of loving anymore? He doesn't even buy me flowers anymore or take me out on dates.
He doesn't compliment me anymore, doesn't tell me that I'm beautiful. He doesn’t even call me baby girl, doll or even honey.
No more I love you, only kisses to the forehead and peck on the lips before he leaves for work in the morning.
He comes home late, I'm always alone with the kids, no more family dinners, no more kitchen, bedroom, and bathroom conversations. No more late-night kisses, no more holding me tightly in his arms while he sleeps.
Does he not want me anymore?
Sometimes I wanna visit his office with the children but I’m afraid that he’ll find my presence a bit annoying. I feel lonely without him here with me.
I should've said yes that night and spread my legs for him,
That's my duty as his wife.
To have fulfilled all my husband's needs without complaint.
But it hurts to have sex, I'm just not in the mood. I'm too tired, I just need my husband to hold me, but he's not there.
I can't complain, he's the reason I don't have to work.
But is it so bad to ask my husband to love me without having the need to touch me?
The last entry to your diary reads.
I'm going to do it today, bare the pain and have sex with my husband, just so that I can feel his love once again. 
Now he knows the real reason you won’t have intercourse with him, or let's say the reason you don’t enjoy having sex with him. You feel as though he doesn’t love you anymore, and he needs to fix that. So, until he can figure out a way to prove to you just how much he loves you, he’ll have to deprive himself of your warm loving touch. 
Later in the day when you came home with the kids, you saw your husband cooking up a storm in the kitchen. “Hey baby girl, want something to eat? It’s been a while hasn’t it.” too stunned to even say a word, you just watched as your kids, ages 3, 4 and 6 ran over to their dad and engulfed him in a big hug. He giggled and stopped whatever he was doing to bend to his children’s height and kissed every single of them on their cheeks. “Hey boys. Did you all take your mom out shopping today?” Oh, that’s right you’re a boy mom. You managed to pop three boys, all of them came out looking just like their dad, especially your eldest son. 
The boys chatted away with their dad until he excused himself and walked over to you and wrapped his arms tightly around your body. You're in a state of shock, unable to move for a moment until he whispers, “can I get a hug back?” and you did give him a hug. 
“Welcome home, have a seat, dinner’s almost ready. I cooked vegetable curry today, I know it’s your favourite,” and indeed it is your favourite. For the rest of the day, he spent time in the kitchen cooking while chatting with his kids, not without taking small glances at you. You all ate dinner together, got the kids ready for bed when night falls, before preparing for bed yourselves. 
You remembered that you wrote in your diary that you were about to try and have sex with your husband, all for the sake of feeling his love again, but that didn’t happen. Instead, you found your husband already waiting for you on the bed, fully dressed in pjs, a cup of your favourite tea in his hand and a warm loving smile on his face. 
He immediately started up a conversation with you, asking you about your day and your trip to the shopping centre. You had no clue what was going on inside your husband’s head, but it’s been a while since he last sat down and had small conversations like these, and you weren’t about to miss this opportunity. 
So with a smile on your face, you told everything that happened today and even the fact that you had to buy a bag of grapes you had no intentions of buying, but you did so because your 3 year old son stole and ate a few while you picked up a bag of oranges. The conversation went all a while until he sighed. 
“Y/N,” he whispered in a serious tone. “We need to talk. I was going to wait until tomorrow, but I can’t bear the fact that my wife would be going to bed with doubts about our relationship and my love for you.”
You swallow thickly and rest your now empty cup against the nightstand before turning to face your husband fully. He reached his hand out for you, and you gently placed your left hand in his. He wrapped his large hand around your finger and gently pulled you until you were straddling his lips. You swallowed that thick lump yet again, before whispering, “So what is it that we need to talk about.”
“Why do you always refuse to communicate your feelings with me?” he asked as he let go of your hand and wrapped both hands around your waist and rested his head up against your chest. “I know I haven’t been a good husband to you these past few months, but I don’t want you to think that I don’t love you or that you’re not worthy of loving.”
“I don’t understand what you mean.”
He sighed heavily before taking a deep breath. “I found your diary in the living room when I got home, and I read through your notes.” Your body tensed up in his lap, your mind immediately racing towards negative thoughts. Is he angry? Why did you have to carelessly leave your diary out in the open for him to see. 
“Oh!”
“I’m sorry for reading through your diary, but I’m happy that I did because my wife won’t communicate with me,” he said with a frustrated sigh. 
You frowned, “Would you have listened even if I tried?”
“I would’ve dropped everything and listened to whatever it is that you have to say. I know it's my duty to ensure that my wife is living her best happy life, and that it’s also my responsibility to take care of your wellbeing, but I can’t always know what's going on with you if you don’t communicate with me.” 
Communication on your end has always been a big issue in your relationship with your husband. It bothered him and he’d hope that after a while you would’ve grown out of your bad habit, but he guess he’s wrong, because here you are now after 8 years of being a relationship total and that includes the four years of marriage, and 3 kids later, you still struggling to figure out a way to communicate your feelings with him. 
“I broke my heart when I read that you thought that as my wife, your duty is to only provide for me sexually or even the fact that you don’t think that you’re attractive enough to have sex with me. What hurts me the most is that you have so many doubts about my love for you. Y/N you know that I love you right?”
“I do,” your voice trembled slightly as you answered. 
“Then why are you doubting my feelings for you? I apologise for leaving you to sleep in the guest room that night, it was wrong of me to be upset all because you told me no.” There was a moment of silence, you figured he was waiting for a response in which you never gave.
“I know I don’t say this as much as I need to, but I love you. I LOVE YOU so very much. I love you as my best friend, my wife and I love you even more as the mother of my children.” Tears started to obstruct your vision as you stared off at your wedding portrait that was above your bed and listened as your husband poured his hurt out to you. 
“I need you to stop thinking that you are not worthy of loving because you are more than worthy. You’re an amazing woman, an amazing wife, and an amazing mother to our children. Just the fact that you're a mother makes you worthy of loving.” 
“Satoru… I- I,” you stuttered, trying to formulate the words inside your mouth, but even if you did, what are you going to say to your husband? You had not one clue. 
“I’m not a mind reader Y/N, so you need to start communicating your feelings with me, because if you don’t tell me, I’m not going to always know,” he said to you as he snuggled his head against your chest. 
“I- I’ll do better.” 
“I’m happy to hear that, and I promise to show you just how much I love you and do whatever it is to ensure that my wife is happy, because your happiness means the most to me. I’ll get you those flowers you want, and I’ll try my best to buy you loads of flowers in the future. And about visiting my office.”
“Yes?” you said. 
“I would love for you to pop up at my office one day with the kids and surprise me. My workers have been dying to meet my beautiful wife and children. And about the late-night work meetings. I can’t promise you that there won’t be any more late-night meetings, but I'll do my best to get home as early as I can to be with you and the kids. I don’t want you to feel as though I’ve abandoned you with the kids. I’ll take a few days off from work too and take the ends out. You’re right we barely have family time.”
“Thank you,” you said smiling as you allowed those tears to run down your cheeks. 
“I’ll do better as your husband. It wasn't my intention to not cuddle and hold you tightly while we sleep. Baby you know you can always smack me in the head or do that cute silly little thing you do and crawl underneath my arms if you want to cuddle with me,” he said to you, and you let out a small giggle. 
He chuckled too as he removed one hand from around your waist to cradle your cheek. “Lastly, this is about our sex life. If I make you feel physical pain, or uncomfortable at any time during intercourse you need to let me know because the last thing I want to do is hurt you. In your diary you said that you wanted to suggest the last time we had sex. I want you to tell me what it is.”
Your face heated up immediately, why would he have to bring that up now. Couldn’t he have waited until a better time. But nonetheless despite the obvious look of embarrassment on your face you whispered, “I was wondering if… if…”
“Yes?” 
“I was wondering if we could try something outside the usual vanilla sex,” you said to him, and he cocked his eyebrow towards you. “It’s not that I don’t enjoy vanilla sex, I love having vanilla sex with you and you know how to be rough when you need to be. But I thought it would be nice if we could do something different.” 
“What do you suggest?” he asked with a sunning grin on his face. 
“Maybe we could try using some sex toys.” 
“Sex toys heh?” he said, and you quickly covered up your face with your hands. “I’m open, I don’t mind getting a few sex toys here and there for us to use. I can order us a few online on another day.”
“Ok…”
“Good girl. I love you.” he whispered as he kissed your lips. "I promise I'll be a better husband for you."
“I love you too, Satoru.”
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rosenclaws · 1 month ago
Text
Erased || Logan Howlett x Reader
summary: You are a powerful mutant with powers you hated. They ruined your life and it led you down paths you weren't proud of. Things changed and now you lived happily with Logan. Until your past seems to come back to ruin everything
warnings: angst. traumatic childhood, brief mentions of torture.
wc: 2.7k
Link to part 2
a/n: Hi guys, so this is kind of the you get hurt and he goes feral fic but i've combined it with this other wip i had laying around. I talked a lot about wanting more angst and tw death (my grandmother passed last night) so ive been in this weird state of sadness that i'm repressing. Either way i wrote a fic so there's that lol. I will def have a part 2 btw so don't worry.
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Sometimes when you close your eyes you can remember your childhood. What it was like before your, gift, appeared and ruined everything. How your family loved you, how your friends welcomed you, how the world didn’t hate you. Everything was perfect.
Until the day it appeared. All you did was touch her arm. That’s all you did. An argument with your mother, silence, and then you touched her arm to try and apologize and next thing you knew she was asking who you were. Yelling at you to get out of her house. You cried not understanding what was happening.
She looked at you with nothing but confusion. Not even a hint of recognition. Then your father came home and you ran into his arms. Afraid and distraught when he pushed you off him. The same look in his eyes. Who are you? They threw you out, threatened to call the cops. They left you all alone, afraid, and confused.
It didn’t take long for you to understand. A mutant. You had heard of mutants but never thought you could be one. A mutant with a powerful ability. Memory manipulation. You could alter memories, dive into someone's deepest fears, their secrets, and even erase anything from heads. In a single moment their whole lives could be changed. It was a dangerous power and you wanted nothing to do with it.
For years you lived on the road. Keeping yourself moving, stealing when you needed to. Never getting too attached to one place, to anyone. You were alone.
Then one day some people found you. Dressed in stupid costumes. Still they took you in. Gave you a home, fed you, trained you. You grew up there. From teen to adult. Charles was kind and you don't think you could ever repay him for all that he's done. Your powers were strong but he taught you to control your emotions.
Still you tried to stay a safe distance away from people. Not just physically but emotionally. The nightmares of your parents haunt you everyday. They're nice. All of them are. The kids loved you and you enjoyed the mansion.
Still when the team invited you out you declined, when the kids wanted to crowd you during dinner you politely excused yourself to your office. You didn't go to parties, you didn't celebrate the holidays with them. You were just you, a nice, safe distance away from them. Then your world got flipped upside down.
The day Logan rolled into the mansion. He was mean and angry. He had that "I don't like being around people" kind of vibe but he stuck around. Ended up becoming more apart of the team than he wanted. And he liked it.
Logan was the first one to really break down your walls. Just like everyone else you stayed away from him. Smiling and greeting him but never going past that. Maybe that's what drew him to you. You were a mystery who smelled like vanilla. It was your perfume. He would try to flirt but he got nowhere. Eventually he gave up the flirting but his interest stayed. He find ways to talk to you, getting bits and pieces of information from you.
You quickly learned he was just like you in some ways. Guarded, a past life that you don't want to talk about, loners. Somehow in all of it, as he stayed at the mansion and grew to become part of this family, he wormed his way into your heart too. Just too loners who found out that being alone together is better than being lonely.
As time passed, your relationship with Logan evolved into something you never imagined you would experience. Love. You never let yourself feel this way, too afraid that you would do the same thing to them. That you would get close, build this connection, make these memories, only for it all to come crashing down with just a single touch. These memories are precious to you. Every single one of them.
You remember the day your feelings were revealed. Both of you desperate, afraid of what they meant, but neither of you could lose each other. It was the cure. Some company had found a way to suppress the gene. The moment you heard about it you were intrigued. Your mutation wasn't fun. It didn't let you control the weather or turn things to ice. You couldn't touch people. Just like rouge you were at risk for destroying someone's whole life.
Even with the years of lessons you weren't fully in control. You never let yourself try. Logan could see it in your eyes. The confrontation wasn't pretty.
It was anger at first, wondering how you could even consider that. Then it was anger from you, years of pent up feelings releasing all at once. The fighting turned into a deep confession. An intimate moment between the two of you. He cared for you in a way that scared the shit out of him. He couldn't say the words yet but he felt them. You felt the same way but just like Logan. Something was holding you back from saying those three words.
Still you showed your love to each other in other ways. You always let him know how much you cared for him. The words died on your tongue but he knew. You hope he did.
Logan bought you a necklace. Didn't make a big deal of it but you could see the blush on his face. Tossing you the box and mumbling something about him seeing it and thinking of you. It was gorgeous. Just a simple heart necklace with two sparkling stones. One for him and one for you.
Even if you couldn't touch he wanted apart of him to be with you. It was perfect. Everything was perfect. You had Logan. You had the team, the mansion. For once you felt like your life was falling into place.
Apparently the universe didn't like that. Charles had called the team in for an important mission. You weren't on the team due to your own choosing so when Logan came back to bed he started to talk.
"Yeah some rogue mutants. Bunch of assholes who enjoy torturing humans." He grumbled as he threw his jacket on. Fixing his hair in the mirror as you sit on the bed. You're doing everything you can to stay calm, to not set off Logan's super senses.
"Some guy named Mack is their leader. Guess he's got some illusion powers or something." Logan says it all like its nothing. To him it is nothing. Just another mission. To you though, it's the beginning of the end.
"Don't know who in their right mind would do shit like that. Just a bunch of low life idiots." He spits. You wince at his harsh tone. He notices your silence and glances over at you. You're practically frozen in place. An unreadable look in your eyes.
"You alright?" Logan moves to touch your arm but you jerk it away.
"Yeah sorry, just had another nightmare last night." You lie. Logan looks at you strangely before sitting on the bed. His hand intertwining with your gloved one.
"Though I told you to wake me up." You snort and roll your eyes playfully. "And I told you the same thing." You counter. He smirks, you have him there. Part of why you go so well together.
"I'll wake you next time, I promise." There's a loud knock at the door and Logan grumbles.
"Promised some dumb kids I'd take them to the mall. Storm promised me a six pack of beer." After saying goodbye you let your smile fall.
This couldn't be happening. You thought you were finally safe, this was years ago. How could they still be around. Before Charles had found you, you were involved with this group. You weren't proud if it but you were hungry and afraid and they found you. Mutants just like you. They weren't afraid of you. In fact they were in awe of you, something you had never felt before.
You fell into their group, participating in the horrible things they'd do. You never did anything yourself. You were clean up crew. Wiping memories of anyone who saw something they weren't supposed to. Still, you enabled it all. When you finally left, it wasn't easy. You had tried to erase their memories but for some reason they could block you. You got away but they swore one day they'd come back for you. You were one of them forever now. No one would understand, no one would forgive you. You were a monster just like them.
Your mind runs a mile a minute. Thinking of everyone in the mansion. The team. Storm, Jean, Scott, Rouge...everyone.
Logan, oh god Logan.
Would he understand? He would have to. He's just like you. He did things in his past. He was violent, angry, a survivor. He never claimed to be a hero. But that doubt swirls in your mind. Fear overtakes any rational thought. You know what you have to do.
This was your fight, not theirs. You could stop them, you needed to finish what you started. Grabbing your wrinkled old backpack you stuff clothes, money, and any essentials inside of it. You had to move quick before any of the mind readers got a hint of what you were thinking.
Especially Charles. You barely had time to think about this but the fear was creeping into your mind. Poisoning it. It's better this way. It's safer this way. They've done so much for you that you owe it to them to help. You're protecting them. All of them. Logan included.
You held on tightly to the necklace he had given you. Tucking it in your shirt as you leave the room. You smiled as you walked through the halls. Saying hello to those who passed by. By the time you were at the front doors you felt a pull to keep you here.
Deep down you didn't want to leave. Of course you didn't. But you overcome the pull and walk through the doors. Refusing to look back as the mansion grows smaller in the distance. You walked for hours. Your feet aching as you finally reached some rinky dink motel. The room is depressing but for now it's home. Curling up on the bed you bury your face in the pillow.
Your heart longing for Logan. You're scared, so scared. A part of you wants to go back and find him. Tell him everything and ask for help. But then you remember what he said. How would he react knowing that you were one of them? Would he forgive you or would he turn his back on you just like Mack always said?
You barely get a moment to think before there's a loud knock at the door. Hand slamming impatiently against it. You quietly get up and look through the peephole. You cover your mouth to hide your shocked gasp. Logan. How the hell did he find you?
"I know you're in there." Oh he's angry. You open the door and Logan steps through.
"What the fuck were you thinking?!" His voice booms through the room.
"I come home to a ransacked room, I thought you were in danger. Only to be told that you ran away." He growls. He's clenching his fists tightly. How could you do this to him?
"How did you find me?" You demand as you slowly sink back towards your bag.
"Why did you leave? What's going on!" Logan is confused, lashing out on you because he just doesn't understand. Things were going great. You loved him and he loved you so why would you just run away. Away from the mansion, away from him. Did you not trust him anymore? Why?
"You wouldn't understand." You try to move past him but he grabs your shoulders and pressing you against the wall.
His claws coming out to pin you to it. The sharp adamantium knicks the chain around your neck, breaking it in two. The necklace falls to the ground but neither of you notice.
"Try me." The anger is slowly fading as he silently begs you to talk. To let him in.
"I'm sorry Logan, but I can't."
"Why not? What are you running from? I can help. Let me help." He begs. Please don't leave him. Please. He can do something. He can heal like crazy, he can track, he's fast, he's got fucking metal claws. He can help.
"You can't help me with this Logan. This is for your own good." You try to stay strong but looking into those gorgeous eyes of his was about to make you break.
"This is my fight and mine alone." He scoffs and lets go of you and starts to pace.
"Bullshit. This is our fight now. That's the deal. I lo-" He sighs and pulls you close. "Its you and me. Together." You gently trace his jaw with your gloved hands.
Tears glossing over your eyes as it takes everything in power to stay strong. To not fall into his arms. He's protected himself his whole life and you can't be the one to put him in more danger. He's a hero, he's your hero but tonight he's the love of your life and you need to protect him. Even if it feels like ripping out your own heart.
"Logan..." You say softly. He looks at you with those pretty eyes and you cup his face.
Slowly your lips brush against his. It's just a hint at first. Then it's everything at once. He smashes his lips to yours. Kissing you with a passion and need that you've dreamed off. This is your first kiss after all. It's everything you ever wanted. To feel his lips on yours. Skin to skin. You'll treasure this moment forever.
He's so wrapped up in the kiss that he doesn't notice you take your hand away. Taking off your gloves and move your hands to the side of his head. Hovering over his temples. He pulls away, breathing heavily as he leans in and kisses you again.
"I love you Logan, I love you so much." You say with tears falling down your cheeks. He realizes too late, a flash of fear as you press your hands to his face.
"No!" He roars but its too late.
Like he's in a trance he stands there. You cry as you erase every memory he has of you. He won't remember you, he won't know why he's here or how he got here. You know that you won't have long before someone else finds you and you'll erase their memory too. It's for the best. It's for his own good. His eyes flutter close as he falls to the floor. You catch his head, lowering him gently to the ground. A pillow placed under it. You can't stay, he'll wake any moment. But you have a few seconds. You lean down and place a kiss on his forehead.
"I love you Logan Howlett." You whisper gently.
You take one last look at him before grabbing your bag and running out the door. Each step apart from him is like a knife in your chest. You tell yourself this what needed to happen. You'd rather lose Logan like this than watching him suffer because of you. This way he can be happy, he can move on.
You did this for him. All of it for him.
-
Logan wakes to a pounding in his head. Confusion washes over him as he takes in his surroundings. Where the fuck is he? He doesn't remember how he got here, why he came here. He stands up and looks around the room.
"What the hell?" He mumbles to himself.
Was this a prank or something? He cracks his neck and looks around. The room is mostly empty but a small glimmer catches his eyes. He walks over and sees six holes in the wall that match his claws.
Leaning down he picks up a necklace. A heart with two stones. He winces as a sharp pain shoots through his head. He stands up and slips the necklace in his pocket, something telling him to keep it close. He feels a pain in his chest. Not physical pain but something else. Maybe he finally got drunk. Drank enough to finally fuck him up.
All he knows is that he needs to get back to the mansion. As he leaves stops for a second. He shakes his head and continues on, hopping back on his motorcycle. For a second there he swears he caught a whiff of vanilla.
Must be his imagination.
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writerunnamed · 2 months ago
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note: This is something I've wanted to write for a while but I am well aware that not everyone will be into it. There are a few stories I want to tell that aren't the norm so I decided to start this nameless blog to tell them. I am not tagging anyone, if you find it then you find it. xo Joel(stepdad), significant age gap, female reader. 18+ legal, reader is 20 (warnings: pov sex, Joel spits on the 😸, boobie play, really inappropriate dirty talk, an unused sex toy [will make an appearance in another chapter], female masturbation, daddy kink, unfit parent) 5.6k word count masterlist • series masterlist • part 2
He takes up so much space, and it wasn’t just physically. He took up space emotionally, mentally. Mentally most of all. Your thoughts always drifted back to him. Cyclical. An elliptical pattern making him the top of every list you’d go through in your head. He seemed to know it too, in a stoic, quiet, largely unsettling way. Older, attractive men tended to do that. 
It started during that in-between time, when summer, losing your job, and having to move back home pushed you to figure out what the fuck you actually wanted to do with your life seemed to come together like the planets aligning. The precipice of a turning point, a ticking clock counting down the days until your childhood bedroom would be turned into a gym, or an office, or a guest bedroom. The lukewarm welcome from your mother would ice over and you’d really have to get your shit together. 
Your mother was what people who didn’t know her would call ‘a free spirit’, what you called her, was a fucking mess. 
Your earliest memories consist of having to remind her to buy milk or to pay the bill because the electricity had turned off while watching cartoons in front of the tiny, living room tv. You’d had to remind her, in not so many words, that she was the mother, and you were the child. 
To your friends, she was the cool mom. The party mom. Your house was the place to be because she didn’t ask questions, she left her cigarettes unattended and didn’t mind if a few went missing. She kept the bar cart stocked, even if there was nothing but flies in the cupboard and nothing but half-empty condiment bottles in the fridge. Your friends loved it. 
She flirted with the boys your age, she gave sex tips to the girls. 
You smiled when they congratulated you on having the cool mom, and when they all went home, you retreated and pretended to be happy. 
Joel settled her down. Met her in a bar and moved in quick. He came into the picture when you were fifteen and you were almost sure he’d be just like the rest of the lovers she’d taken over the years. You’d given the whole thing six months. Half a year for him to see what a fucking disaster she was. Six months to be a fucking creep, to cheat or get cheated on. 
The only differences you could clock at first were that he was self-employed, and marginally better looking than his predecessors.
He was firmer though, less malleable than the others she’d brought around, he seemed immune to her charms and that only inflamed her. It made her desperate for his approval and his attention. She would throw a tantrum, or play one of her mind games but he’d never rise to her bait. He was patient for the most part, until he hit his breaking point and his temper reared its head. A temper only she seemed to bring out in him. 
To you, it was pathetic. 
He didn’t try with you though, there was no flattery or strong hand, only a silent respect. In a sense, he treated you as the adult, and her as the child. It worked for you, if he’d expected you to call him dad he would have been laughed at mercilessly and he seemed to know this. 
The disturbing part was his respect and his healthy avoidance of you worked its own kind of magic. It made him an enigma, made you curious as to what he got out of the whole thing. A home, sure. A woman who was obsessed with him, yes. Sex–yes. You heard it enough for it to turn your stomach. By the sounds of it, he knew what he was doing.
The thought sickened the healthy part of your brain. The other part though, the part flooding your body with hormones, making it come to life with curiously intense sexual feelings, that part wanted to know what it was he was so good at. How could he pull those sounds out of anyone? It was easier to imagine him with some faceless woman. 
It was shameful to imagine yourself. 
The thought–although enough to fuel a desperate journey of self-exploration–always filled you with an insurmountable guilt. 
For those first few years you could barely look at him. Your mother took it as a healthy dose of teenage rebellion. That only aggravated you more. She never asked questions, never dug to see what the cause of your obvious distaste for her partner was about and so again, you retreated. He, however, kept to the outs of your path. He followed your lead, he let you control any and every part of all of your interactions. He didn’t ask questions. He kept the lights on. He kept the fridge full. 
He burrowed his way in, whether you liked it or not. 
When you turned eighteen, you moved out. He helped, did his ‘fatherly’ duties and moved you into the apartment, he urged your mother to take you on an extensive grocery trip, spoke to your landlord about the safety of the building. You supposed you should have been grateful, you should have said thank you, given him some sort of acknowledgement that you appreciated his help but you couldn’t bring yourself to do it. Instead you said your mumbling goodbyes, and promptly closed the door on them. Neither of them complained. 
The euphoria of venturing out on your own had lost its shine depressingly quick. A string of chronically unserious boyfriends came and went, the rent climbed higher than you could keep up with, and while already living paycheck to paycheck, you lost your job. Your cellphone had taken the brunt of your frustration at having to call your mother, begging her to let you come back home while you got back on your feet a little more than two years after you’d left. 
Your teeth gnawed at your lips, your fingernails dug into the skin around your cuticles in the attempt to keep your voice sweet and pleading, in the end it was his voice that you’d heard in the background, telling–no, commanding her to say yes. That he would be your champion twisted at your insides. Maybe a small, healthy part of you hoped he’d put up a fight, tell you that you were too old to be coming back home and that you had to figure it out on your own like an adult. 
A healthy part of you hoped that he’d save you again, only from yourself. Hanging up with a heavy, resigned sigh, you set about starting the trek home, ignoring the swirling mess of annoyance, confusion, and perverse glee in your stomach. 
-
The first few days were spent in a depressive episode, a seemingly inescapable loop of sleeping in late, leaving your room only when the house was empty to raid the kitchen for something to eat, scrolling mindlessly–blindly–on your phone and then staying up way too late only to do it all over again. 
They didn’t bother you, but if the annoyed sighs and narrowed eyes from your mother were anything to go by, the talk was coming soon. After the third day of the cycle, you circumvent it and wake up early-ish to shower and dress in something other than ratty old sweats long forgotten by an ex you couldn’t quite remember. 
You came down to find Joel sitting at the kitchen table. His eyes tracked the lines of you, raising an eyebrow inquisitively. 
Your heart leapt. He should have been at work by now. 
“Good morning.” It came out croaky, your voice almost reluctant to come out. 
“Mornin’.” His hair was slicked back, the gray almost sparkling in the golden light. You fiddled with the hem of your shirt. His eyes were so intense, you found yourself stuck in place, like a deer in headlights and that ever present, deep-seeded anger reared its head. It was irrational that he should frustrate you so much with his calm presence. 
“Coffee’s fresh, if you want some.” He jut his chin out to the pot, lowering his eyes to his paper once more. Once his gaze had shifted, you found you could breathe again. You mumbled a thanks and moved to pour yourself a cup, thankful, if unsure why, to focus on something concrete instead of abstract self-reflection.
“Your mama’s gon’ be late tonight. I thought I could pick up a pizza on the way home.” He says it offhand and again, your heart races. 
“Whatever.” You scrunch your face up in annoyance, it sounded like such a bullshit, teen response. He doesn’t comment on it, and that somehow makes it worse. You beat yourself about it as you root around in the fridge for the milk. The cereal you liked was in the top cupboard, and you’re not quite tall enough to reach it. 
You heard his chair scoot back and then suddenly he’s there, beside you, pressed up tight. You follow the long line of his throat as he stares up, reaching the box with ease while one big, warm hand lands on your lower back. He smells like the laundry detergent your mother insists on buying mixed with something else. Manly, smoky, with coffee laced through. Your cunt clenches nonconsensually as he stands there and stares down at you, his whole front pressed against your side, his hand still holding your lower back. Your mouth hangs open, stupidly, and he raises an eyebrow again forcing something to kickstart deep in your gut. 
“You okay there babygirl?” The endearment feels unwholesome.
It triggers something strange, strengthening the underlying conflict for him. There’s a lilt in his tone you don’t like, maybe because deep down you like it too much. Maybe you don’t want to admit that, or analyze anything about what the fuck is happening in your body. In your psyche. 
“Yeah.” You step out of his bubble, barely managing not to trip over yourself in your haste to get away and put a healthy distance between you. 
“Yes. Thank you.” You take a deep breath, pressing your lips together tight in what you hope to God is a neutral expression. 
He lets out a bemused huff through his nose, a mischief in his eyes shining out at you that you’ve never seen directed at you. You’ve seen it used on your mom. You’ve seen her go giggly and flirty whenever he looked at her like that. A half-formed escape plan starts to form but he saves you from the need, he puts his things in the dishwasher, and nods his head in goodbye. 
You practically hold your breath until you hear his truck rumble out of the driveway, and down the street. 
-
You manage to avoid him for a few days, staying out late catching up with friends, or feigning a need for rest. You’ve convinced your mother that your days are now spent job hunting, and for the most part they are. You leave in the morning, avoiding any and all contact and you get home late, creeping up the stairs much like you did in your teens even though you’d really never needed to. Your mother never enforced a curfew, and when Joel joined the picture, he didn’t pry. 
The luck didn’t last though, you got over-confident. He was sprawled out on the sofa, up uncharacteristically late one night when you padded through the house. 
“You’re up late.” You quickly check the accusatory tone, “Don’t you have to get up early?” Better, it comes out more concerned than annoyed and he nods. He wore a threadbare t-shirt, the fabric of it having been through the wash too many times to keep its shape. Light, gray sweats were stretched almost obscenely tight over his spread thighs, pooling at his crotch from being shoved up by the couch. 
“Couldn’t sleep. Come sit, we can watch some tv.” He pats the seat next to him and despite the deep desire to retreat into the Joel-free haven of your bedroom, you cannot seem to disobey him. 
You settle beside him on the couch, a little further away than was necessary. He chuckles softly. 
“I ain’t gonna bite you, girl. Not unless you ask nicely.” 
You pretend you don’t hear it, choosing instead to compartmentalize whatever game he’s playing and stare at the screen. He flips through the channels, settling on one thing for a few minutes before moving to something else until he finds a movie that’s already close to midway. There’s an electricity in the air, something about him galvanizing the space between you, charging it enough to make the hairs on your arms stand on end. You frown to yourself, barely paying attention while fighting an increasingly confusing mental battle. Why is it so hard to be around him? Why does he inspire such scorn? Is it scorn at all?
You rub at your eyes, scrubbing your hands down your face in a feeble attempt to wipe the slate clean. 
He’s just a man, a man your mother had chosen and for better or worse they seem to work. She is happy with him and he is seemingly happy with her, why then is it so hard to accept him for what he is? Something slithers around in your brain, something that laughs darkly, something pulsing through the network of thoughts and ideas that threatens to crack open your subconscious and throw it right in your face. 
“Well now, ain’t that somethin’?” You pull your hands away from your face to see a very explicit scene playing out on the screen. Heat floods every inch of your body. 
“Almost looks like she’s enjoyin’ herself.” He leaves it on, and you feel stuck, your body betraying you yet again to see the way the woman on screen moans wantonly while under a very handsome man. You let out a non-committal sound, teetering on the edge of madness. You scold yourself, you are an adult, an adult that has had sex before and this isn’t even real. 
“Looks like fake bullshit to me.” The strength in your voice lends credence to the illusion that you aren’t affected. He laughs, calm and completely at ease and that only pulls the anger to the forefront again. 
“They can’t show the real stuff on these channels. If it were real, he’d be doin’ what she needs.” 
“And what’s that?” It comes out before you can stop it. 
“Well,” He smiles to himself, winning a duel you hadn’t even known you were fighting. 
“If it were real, he’d be pressin’ on her clit, he’d be makin’ sure she felt every inch of him and make her take his cock like a good girl.” You let out a heavy breath, half shocked, half grateful it wasn’t a whimper. 
Warning bells go off in your head, just as a heartbeat starts in your cunt because you can see it. You can see him. His face twisted up in pleasure but cocky, his hips moving, his thumb dipped into your mouth and then swirling around your clit. He smiles at catching you looking at his hands and you want to yell at him. You want to smack him across the face and kick him in the balls for saying something like that to you, his partner's daughter, but you don’t. 
Your body almost catapults you out of your seat. Barely unintelligible words come out, something about needing sleep, about being tired and then you hightailed it out of there like a bat out of hell. 
The shower was cold enough to make your teeth chatter, but it did nothing to cool the heat blooming in your core and it was with a terrifying desperation that you ground against your fingers. The slick pooling at the mouth of your pussy was enough to feel even with the water washing everything away except your shame. 
You bit your tongue to keep from moaning out the taboo and entirely inappropriate name you were dying to say out loud. His firm thighs spread on that couch filled your mind, the calloused, work-roughened hands you could practically feel on your hips, on your thighs. You could feel them holding and spreading your legs open so he could make you make those same noises you’d heard over the years. Make you take it like a good girl, his good girl. 
You came with a shudder, sagging against the chilly tile. You warmed the water with a sigh, disappointed and ashamed with yourself, trying, and failing, to put the whole thing out of your mind. 
-
You doubled down on avoiding him after that. 
Your mother worked most of the time but when she was home, things were easier. He reverted to the healthy avoidance, the proverbial disinterest that she didn’t seem to have a problem with. You still heard them some nights, the bed creaking, throaty cries, deep grunts but now they haunted you in a different way. Now you heard his words on that couch and couldn’t help but picture all manner of unsavory things that both disgusted and thrilled you. 
Being unemployed didn’t help. There was nothing to keep you out of the house most of the day, and there were only so many places that would accept you looking for a job in person. 
There was only so much time you could spend with friends too, they had their own lives and jobs and relationships. Too busy to save you from unwanted free time. 
Old habits resurface, and you retreat within yourself while pushing yourself harder. A job would fix things enough to help, you could save up enough money to leave for good and take yourself out of the equation. 
-
The powers that be momentarily take pity on you, and after what seems like a lifetime's worth of job hunting you blessedly get a call back. It’s a part time job, but at this point beggars can’t exactly be choosers. It’s a steady, if insufficient source of income that hadn’t been available to you before. Determined, you buckle down, you channel every guidance counselor you’ve ever had and ace the fuck out of that interview.
It’s not taxing work, but you put your head down and focus with the hope that if you worked hard enough, if you made a good enough impression, made yourself indispensable they’d throw you enough shifts to make up a full time job. 
It helps. Time spent away from the house, from your mothers dried up welcome, from Joel altogether genuinely helps. You feel a bit lighter, less guilty, less prone to imagine the unimaginable. You find comfort in the absence of self-imposed temptation. There is peace in the mindless work, in the life outside of the house that no longer feels like a home. 
It's a double edged sword though, because at the end of every shift, the luck–the peace–runs out. If being at work and out of the house is a respite, returning home only thickens the tension. Time spent outside the house only sharpens the discomfort, clarifies the glaring wrongness of it all when you enter it at the end of the day. What it all is, you won’t name. That way madness lies. Issue is, with every interaction, with every chance encounter in the hallway, or living room, every second spent with him in the kitchen watching his lips touch the rim of his mug the thing inside grows. Parts of him fill the corners of your mind. The curve of his shoulders filling out the flannel shirts he favors. The fullness of his bottom lip when he purses them, something he does while squinting at the paper that you’re almost sure he isn’t aware of. His neck, his hands, the dimple in his cheek when he laughs at something really funny. 
These things jump out, innocent as they may be, but other not so innocent things start to creep in. The bulge in his jeans is a mental mine, it lies in wait and every so often when you think you’ve avoided it, it detonates and you catch yourself staring, both ashamed and so inappropriately curious it eats away at you like acid. 
What you needed was something to fill the emptiness, both emotionally and physically. So you did what any modern, adult woman would do; you bought a sex toy. 
Nothing too crazy, or expensive. After perusing the site for a while you finally settled on a plain, non-threatening dildo. Nothing too big, nothing noisy, just something to be able to focus on, something to use while imagining someone giving you what you need. You ignored that dark thing inside that hissed his name, shooed it away and ordered the package for express delivery. With your mom constantly working, and Joel keeping to himself you figured it wouldn’t be an issue. Neither of them would question a package addressed to you. 
You still aren’t sure whether or not you’d do it all over again had you known the Pandora’s box that little package would open. 
You all but rushed home after work. All day, you’d imagined the relief that toy would bring. You imagined yourself using it in the shower, steam swirling as you took your pleasure. You imagined yourself laying in bed in the safety of the dark, setting a towel down on your chair and riding it to your heart's content. 
Joel’s truck is in the driveway when you pull in, but it’s secondary to the excitement at the chance to sequester yourself with your new best friend and so when you walk into the house, you don’t give him much attention. Until he opens his mouth. 
“You got a package today babygirl. I put it on your bed.” He sits on his spot on the sofa, a funny little smile on his face. A bad feeling swells in your chest, and you look up the stairs before meeting his eyes again. 
“Thanks.” You drop your bag on the little bench near the front door, trying, and failing to keep the nervous feeling out of your voice. He nods, and you make your way up, stopping yourself from taking the stairs two at a time. 
Ice flows through your veins when you see the package is open. 
He’d opened your package, he knew what you’d bought. 
Blood pounds in your ears as you stand there, limbs cold and numb at the realization that he saw it. He saw it. He opened it, and he placed it here, on the very place you fantasized about using it. Sweat beaded on your brow, the bottom of your stomach fell out of your ass as you stood there, barely feeling the soft, worn carpet under your feet. 
“Little small, f’you ask me.” His voice at the mouth of your room made your head twist fast enough to hurt your neck. You hadn’t heard him follow you up the stairs, hadn’t heard him open your door and lean against the frame, arms crossed in haughty amusement. 
“Why would you open my package?” You clutched at it, as though he could forget what he’d seen if you held it tightly enough. 
“I didn’t open it on purpose, I’m expectin’ somethin’ and I didn’t read the name.” He pushes away from the door frame, making his way closer and it’s like the air thins as the space between you shrinks.
“I mean, I could tell you been frustrated, but this doesn’t seem like it’s gon’ help much.” He reaches out, and takes the package from you. You watch him do it, watch him, frozen as he plucks it from your hands and takes the toy out. 
“This all you can take?” He holds it, contemptuously–pityingly. 
You wanted to snatch it out of his hands, the dimming voice of reason urges you to push him out of your room and remind him that he needs to keep a healthy distance but you say nothing, you stand there, and watch him. He puts it all down on your dresser, before stepping a little closer, close enough for you to have to crane your neck up to look into his eyes. 
“No boyfriends around to give you what you want?” His hand comes up, the tips of his fingers sliding across the apple of your cheek, slipping down until his thumb pressed against the cushion of your bottom lip. 
“No one around to give you what you obviously need?” He steps a little closer, until your bodies meet. This is wrong, your mind screams it but your body is frozen under his eyes, under his touch. That part, the frozen part is cheering, it’s running victory laps as it floods your cunt with slick in preparation for something unholy. 
That same, writhing, traitorous thing whispers that this is your chance, the house is empty and your body obeys. You look your fill, you take in the curve of his nose and the furrow in his brow. His eyes are black as a crow's wing, lust-blown and completely focused on your parted lips and your shallow panting. 
Adrenaline spikes and you do something you cannot take back. You rise on your tip-toes and press your mouth to his. 
He hums into it, smiling and once again you get that feeling that you’d made the exact move he’d expected you to. A vague, but fleeting inkling that you were just a pawn on his chessboard. 
At any other time you would have stepped away and repented, ate yourself alive with guilt but his hands pulled you closer, his tongue swiped at the seam of your mouth and you opened up for him. That only made it all the more real, the taste of his tongue in your mouth, feeling his hands lower to hold onto your ass. 
The rational part of you shrinks down to nothing, and that other part, the wrong part–it swells and preens under his hands. He pulls away, and embarrassingly, you chase his mouth in a daze. 
“Oh honey, you’re just dyin’ for it aren’t you?” He herds you towards your tiny bed, the twin mattress that has been the stage for every taboo fantasy about this man, your stepfather. You shoo the word away with a shiver. 
“It’s wrong-” You almost whisper, but you don’t push him away, you let him lay you down in that bed and he laughs. 
“It is, isn't it?” He pulls at the hem of your shirt, you raise your arms for him and the picture of it is wrong, daddy taking off your clothes. The thought, the word,  should disgust you but it only pulls your hands to him. You join in, and pull his shirt up and off, biting your lip at the broadness of him. You take in each freckle, the sprinkling of hair on his chest, the dip of his throat calling out for your tongue like a siren. 
He presses his lips to yours again, licking into your mouth obscenely. Unseemly. 
“You been wantin’ this for a long time, haven’t you babygirl?” He pulls your bra off, and the shock of cold air hardens your nipples. He bites his lip to see it, unable to stop himself from flattening his tongue against a hardened bud. A sound you’ve never let yourself make out loud in this room fills the space between you and that slithering thing luxuriates. 
He moves, languidly, unhurried to the other breast and holds the plump of it in his big hand and sucks at the second bud, sucks as much of the peak as he can into his mouth, breathing through his nose while you slowly spiral into madness.
When he lets go, he presses a kiss to your nipple and his facial hair tickles your skin. 
He pulls your leggings off along with your underwear in one go and the reality of it all hits you when the air hits your soaked core. That’s when the urge to put a stop to it is the clearest, when he kneels between your legs and spreads them wide, stares at the place where he’s already filled a million times in your mind. The place that’s drenched at the mere thought of him. 
“Joel-” You start, but he pushes your legs up, folding you and then he lets a glob of spit fall from his mouth slowly, aiming it, a bullseye right on the lips of your cunt. It’s too much, too filthy and you let out a whimper. 
“I think you wanna call me somethin’ else right now.” He undoes his belt and his jeans, keeping his eyes on where his saliva slides down over the open mouth of your cunt, down towards your asshole. He pulls his cock out and part of you shatters. Your eyes flit to the toy sitting on your dresser, your eyes flit to the open door of your bedroom. 
“Don’t worry, your mama ain’t gonna be home for a while.” He smiles, conspiratorially. It's too real, it’s too hypnotic, seeing him there with his cock in his hand while your legs already ache from holding them up and open. He slides the blunt end of it through the mess he’s caused, through his spit and he groans at the sight of it. 
Your heart races so hard to feel him there, that you see the pulse of it in your vision. 
“Deep breath baby.” he warns before slipping inside the tight fist of your pussy, the size of him making you gasp. This is it, there’s no coming back from this and right now, with him seated deep, his groin pressed up tight and the tip of his cock kissing your womb you cannot even think of why you’d ever care.
This is where he's meant to be. This is where you need him. 
“Oh baby, that’s so good huh?” He thrusts shallowly, pulling out a little more than halfway before shoving his hips forward again. You don’t really know how to form words, you don’t know how to take in what’s happening. This is Joel, your step-dad, fucking you in the bed you grew up in. One hand sits heavy on your shin, holding it, the other slides up and holds onto your breast. 
“Look how fuckin’ wet this little pussy is for me,” he moans the words, “you like daddy fuckin’ you?” He thrusts harder and you moan despite the word hitting you in the stomach like a big drop on a rollercoaster. He shouldn’t say that, shouldn’t call himself that, not now. 
“No-” it doesn’t come out like you mean it to, it sounds wrong, like a caress. 
“No? But I think you do-” He leans forward, keeping his pace while pressing his chest to yours, his mouth all but lining up and despite your bullshit protest, you hitch your knees high on his ribs to make room because if he stopped you’d probably die. 
“I think you want me to be your daddy, don’t you baby, it’s okay, I want to be.” He speeds up and the sounds between your legs are so wet, so filthy. 
“You can say it, I want you to say it.” He holds himself up, his elbows caging in your skull and before you can complain or moan or cry he sticks his tongue down your throat again. Your hands finally join the fray and you wrap your arms around his neck, holding him tight to you. 
“Come on baby, say it for me, tell me how good daddy fucks you.” You moan, closing your eyes while your cunt floods him with wave after wave of slick, enough to drip down your ass and onto your bed, down his balls. Enough for it to soak the curls at the base of him. 
“Look at me when I’m fuckin’ you honey.” His hips speed up and it's hard now, his thrusts making your bounce, hitting a part of you that toy would never touch in a million years. 
You open your eyes, and look at him above you, sweat beading on his hairline. Never has he looked more fucking appealing than he does right then. The word is there, in your mouth and you know it’ll taste sweeter than anything in this world. 
The wrong thing wins.  
“Yes daddy.” You moan it, and the shameful thing sets off fireworks in your being, he smiles, and tucks his head into the damp crook of your neck, feeding his lovely filth right into your ear. 
“That’s my babygirl, that’s it, fuck baby you take it better than your mama.” Something inside recoils at that, but something else, another facet of that fucked up thing inside rejoices.
“Let me hear you say it again, say it when you come.” He licks a hot stripe up your neck. His words are a filthy groan, something to tuck away for later.
He reaches down, pressing his thumb to your clit just like he said on that couch and you keen, the slip and the pressure enough to toss you over the edge with an almost painfully intense orgasm. 
“I’m coming, daddy.” It’s a shuddering whisper as your cunt clenches around him. 
He moves quickly, kneeling between your legs to pull out and then he’s stroking himself over your cunt. It’s still pulsing when he paints it in his come. You catch your breath as he tugs at himself a few more times, milking himself against you with a disturbingly familiar groan. 
The fog clears altogether too quickly. The lights are too bright, you’re naked, and he’s still got his jeans around his thighs while the guilt creeps into your veins, replacing the euphoria. 
What have I done? What have you made me do?
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cumikering · 9 months ago
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Neighbour Ghost x reader
2.6k | fluff, mentions of physical abuse If Simon still had his family (part 2)
Simon Riley just got back to the safe house when he saw it.
Tommy Riley, 2 hours ago, 5 missed calls
It’s mum. Call back.         
His heart thumped as the phone rang. “Mum?” he said as soon as the line connected. ”Are you alright? Did something happen?”
“Oh, Simon…” her voice cracked.
His dad had always been an alcoholic ever since he could remember. He and his younger brother Tommy grew up witnessing his antics: stumbling through the door with slurred shouts in the wee hours of the night, often breaking things in the house, taunting them with the exotic animals he brought on occasions, if he even came home at all.
Mrs. Riley turned the other cheek, making excuses for him. As a child, Simon believed her, that people were short sometimes. Because daddy was tired at work, because mummy didn’t cook dinner right, or forgot to buy his favourite beer… Until he grew up and saw the behaviour as what it was.
But she never left, reassuring him his dad would never lay a hand on her. Simon didn’t trust that bastard of a man, but it was her choice to stay and he could only respect that. It was not his decision to make.
At least if he couldn’t bring her the happiness she deserved, he had to do something to distract himself from the hell at home and divert his aggression. That, and he wanted to help make the world a better place. When he left for the military, he firmly warned Tommy to take care of mum and to be there for her if anything was to happen.
Still, Simon spent his adult life painstakingly watching, waiting for the man’s first misstep so he could eliminate that cancer out of everyone’s life once and for all. The day was finally here. His dad had chased his mum about the house with a knife.
“I- I’ve got nothing but the clothes on my back. I walked barefoot to Tommy’s,” she said between sobs.
“How long has this-“ He stopped himself. It was not the time. He took a deep breath, his hand in a fist, knuckles white. “You’re catching the next train to Hereford,” he growled through gritted teeth. “You’ll stay at my flat until I’m back and we’ll figure things out. Someone from the base will call and help you out.”
“I don’t want to be a bother, Si. I just… I don’t know what to do.”
“You’re never a bother,” he said sternly. “I only go back home on the weekends, just stay there. I need you to be safe, mum. Please.”
In Hereford, on a chilly Tuesday night as you made your way down the hall to your flat, there stood a lady fumbling with the key to her own. On the floor laid bags overflowing with fresh produce. She turned as your footsteps approached.
“Hiya, sweetheart. Terribly sorry, but could you give me a hand please? I can’t seem to get the door.” She was middle aged, greying short hair, soft spoken with a Manchester accent.
 “’Course.” You smiled at her as she moved aside. “Don’t think I’ve seen you here before.” The key only turned halfway before stopping.
“I just got here some days ago.”
You grunted before turning it all the way. “There you go.” You pushed the door open.
“Oh, you’re an angel, luv.“ She thrusted a bag of apples towards you. “It’s not much, but here. Please have these as a thanks.”
“That won’t be necessary, ma’am. It’s nothing really.”
“Please, I insist.” She put her hand on yours. “And it’s Melanie.”
You smiled. “Welcome to the building, Melanie. I’m at the end of the hall if you need me.”
You spent Saturday morning baking, courtesy of Melanie’s delicious gift. Even that you devoured the apples throughout the days, you didn’t want to risk the rest going bad on you – you could only eat so much. As you let the pie cool, you cleaned up before making your way to her flat.
It didn’t take long for the door to open. Your smile fell as you blinked at the man staring down at you. His stature huge, almost filling the doorframe as he stood unmoving.
You cowered, eyes darting away. “Hi, uh, is Melanie in?”
“Melanie?” he repeated, voice gruff and cautious. He leaned his forearm against the frame, appearing even more intimidating than the situation needed him to be. “What does this concern?”
You took a step back. “Just… wanted to give this to her.” You held out the pie towards him.
“Who is it, Si?” a woman from behind him called.
The man stepped aside to reveal the much shorter Melanie.
Her face lit up. “Oh, hello, luv. What a surprise!”
“Thanks for the apples, Melanie. I made you this.” You trudged the pan towards her, shifting your weight.
“Come in, come in. This is my son, Simon.” She turned to the man, patting his arm. “She’s the bird who helped me with the door the other day.”
Still with the sharp stare, he gave you a curt nod before you followed Melanie in, placing the pie on the dining table.
“Lunch is almost ready. Would you care to stay, luv?” She made her way towards the stove and muttered, “I always cook too much.”
You smiled. “I’d love to, sure. It smells lovely.”
You helped set up the table as she finished up the soup and brought it out. Simon got himself a helping and sat across you with Melanie beside the both of you. The blond was a few years older than you, jaw lined with a light stubble, but those brown eyes. They were icy, calculating as he glared at you.
Even that the soup was tasty, you regretted saying yes to it as you ate under his scrutiny. Instead, you averted your gaze to take in the flat. The layout was similar to yours, but quality pieces furnished it instead. The large, dark couch in the corner of the living room looked particularly comfortable, behind it a tall shelf lined with books. It was sparsely decorated, and too tidy to be recently moved into without boxes about.
“Do you know if they’ve got a farmer’s market nearby, luv?”
“I don’t, sorry. I get by going to Tesco.” You gave her a soft laugh. “But I can help you ask around.”
She beamed. “That’d be very nice.”
“I do know a bakery a few blocks away with wonderful loaves though. I always buy there.”
While the both of you chatted about the area, Simon was wordless. In fact, he almost didn’t make a noise at all, but at least he’d stopped staring which allowed you to finally relax your back you didn’t realise had been tense. You thanked her again for lunch, and she promised to return the pie pan as soon as she could.
Later that evening, the knock on the door took you away from your laptop. You expected Melanie, but were instead greeted by Simon. Standing a respectable distance from the doorway, he didn’t look like he was trying to scare you this time even that his gaze was as stony.
“Thanks for the pie. Was mint.”
You couldn’t help but chuckle at his flat tone, taking the pan from him. “I’m glad you liked it.”
He grunted, averting his gaze. “I wanted to thank you, for how nice you’ve been to my mum.” He looked back up at you. “She’s having a bit of a hard time adjusting.”
Your shoulders relaxed. “I understand. It’s not always easy going somewhere new.”
“If you ever need anything, feel free to drop by.” He gave you a half smile before turning away.
The blond Mancunian was the last person you expected at your door on Wednesday night. You’d just taken your coat off as you arrived back from work.
“I got greedy and bought too much takeaway. Would you like to join us for dinner?”
You laughed. “Really? Too much food?”
“I’m not fond of leftovers.” He shrugged, inadvertently emphasising his size.
“Well, I haven’t had dinner yet.”
“Mon’ then.” He tiled his head towards his flat, his hands now shoved in the pockets of his black hoodie.
“Glad you could join us, luv.” Melanie smiled as she set the table.
“Hard to resist takeaway.” You chuckled as you approached. Takeaway boxes almost covered the entirety of the table. “Wow, this is a whole spread.”
“I said the same thing!”
“What can I say, I’m a hungry man,” he said gruffly behind you.
You turned to him in amusement. He gave you a shrug, but this time his eyes didn’t look as hard. In fact, you thought you saw a whisper of a smile on his lips.
Later that Saturday as you lounged around on the couch, you looked up from your book at the knock on the door. It was once again Simon in his hoodie, his posture impressive as always.
“My mum told me to run to the shops because we’re out of salt. Any chance you’ve got some to spare so I don’t have to?”
“Salt? Of course.” You headed to the kitchen, leaving the door open.
His fingertips brushed against yours as you handed him the ceramic container.
“She’s cooking pasta. Fancy some?” He tilted his head towards his flat.
“I shouldn’t.”
“Why not?” He raised an eyebrow.
You gave him an amused smile. “I’m starting to feel like a freeloader.”
“It’s the least we can offer in return of the salt.”
“It’s just salt.”
“We wouldn’t be eating without your salt, if I’m honest.”
The smile remained as you shook your head.
“Come, she’s waiting.”
At the stove, Melanie thanked you for the ‘life-saving’ salt when you should be the one thanking her for her hospitality. By now, you knew where the tableware was and started setting the table, but this time Simon trailed, grabbing glasses and closing the cabinet doors after you.
“It’s brilliant, really,” you said after the first bite of the tomato pasta. “You’re feeding me too well.”  
She smiled proudly. “I’m glad you like it.”
“I’m not a culinary prodigy at all, but please let me return the favour and make the meal next time.”
“Don’t wor-“
“When?” Simon piped up.
“Next weekend sounds good?”
“Can’t do.”
You hummed. “Well, I won’t have enough time to cook anything fancy on weekdays.”
Melanie swatted her hand. “Oh, you really don’t have to, luv.”
“But there’s still tomorrow. How does lunch sound? I’ll do the shopping today.”
“I’ll drive. Need to pick up a few things too.”
You smiled at him and turned to Melanie. “You want to come with?”
She shook her head. “You kids have fun.”
Simon cleaned up while you got ready before leaving in his SUV. In the sun, his eyes were gorgeous glimmers of deep caramel framed by long, blond lashes. He’d pushed his hoodie sleeves up to his elbows, revealing his toned forearms – the left one inked.
It flexed as his hand rested atop the steering wheel at the red light. You could see the details from here – skulls and rifles over fire adorned his pale skin. You wondered how far up the monochrome sleeve extended.
He still hadn’t said anything since he picked you up at your door. At this point, you couldn’t tell if he was awkward or simply didn’t like to talk. You tried your luck anyway.
“How do you find the building so far?”
“No complaints. Been there over a year.”
“Really? I don’t think I’d seen you before actually.”
“I don’t really live there. Just on the weekends, if any.”
“Didn’t Melanie say she just got here weeks ago?”
“She’s visiting.” He turned to you. “I meant it when I said she likes your company.”
You smiled. “She’s real sweet. I hope she enjoys her stay.”
When you arrived, he beat you to the basket at the entrance.
“I’ll get it. On you, luv.”
You got called ‘luv’ all the time, but the way he said it made you look away. You couldn’t ignore the tickle that ran down your spine.
On the way to the produce section, the offer sign caught your eye as you passed the biscuit aisle. You reached for the goldfish crackers you hadn’t had in a while.
“Two goldfish are in a tank…” he started behind you.
You turned to him, a brow raised.
“One looks at the other and says ‘You know how to drive this thing?’”
Nothing prepared you for a joke from him, the brooding man in oversized hoodies who barely spoke. You cackled embarrassingly loud in the empty aisle. It was your first time seeing him actually smile. He had pretty teeth, and his eyes finally thawed, crinkles by them.
“That’s a good one,” you said after your laughter died down, chucking a bag into the basket.
The ghost of a smile remained on his lips as he looked ahead. You took it as a cue to move along. He stood behind you as you moved about and picked ingredients, telling you the reason he couldn’t do next weekend was because he was in the military and would be gone on a mission. You didn’t know it, but his gaze lingered on you the whole time.
Before long, you were ready to check out, grabbing a box of English Breakfast tea on your way there. In the queue, Simon stood a touch closer behind you than he needed to, his arm splayed on the railing next to you. You didn’t make a move against it. Instead you tried to make out the rest of his tattoo, but the way his veins budged under the ink from holding the basket distracted you.
It occurred to you people had joined the line when you heard giggles behind the wall of Simon. You couldn’t help tuning into the rather loud conversation. One of the girls was dared to skydive after losing a round of beer pong, and the instructor was “so fucking hot summer came back to Birmingham”. She very much looked forward to their date the following week.
You bit back a smile. You were oddly proud of the stranger. You go, girl.
Simon tapped your shoulder and leaned into your ear. “Why don’t blind guys skydive?”
You only managed to turn a fraction before coming face to face with him. Your breath hitched, not expecting the proximity.
“Because it scares the shit out of their dogs.”
Your laughter boomed before you slapped a hand over your mouth and turning to him fully. His warm eyes returned with his smile, looking absolutely pleased with himself.
The eye contact remained a touch longer, only broken by the cashier calling for the next customer. You whipped towards the lady, gaze cast down as Simon hoisted the basket onto the counter.
He didn’t give you a chance to pay as he already had his phone ready at the receiver, shrugging off your protests. You didn’t mention the fact that he didn’t even pick up anything for himself.
It wasn’t a lot, but Simon carried all the shopping up to your flat. You gathered the bags from him after you opened the door.
You pulled a box of salt from one of them. “Here’s for your mum.”
He quickly took it and looked away.
“Thanks again for the ride. See you tomorrow, yeah?”
He nodded, but stood unmoving. His boots only thudded away when you’ve locked the door.
Masterlist
@tiredmetalenthusiast @shadofireshinobi @keegansshark @two-gh0sts @rowanyaboats
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redvelvetcupcakes21 · 2 months ago
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For @v88sy
"Nothing beats a real 3 alarm fire, right Bobby?" Chimney joked as he and crew started to make their way out of the trucks.
They were covered in grime and soot after dealing with said 3 alarm fire at a shipping distributor. The fire took nearly 4 hours to put out, fortunately for the 118 they didn't lose anyone but a lot of workers were critically injured.
Despite the rough call, Bobby felt invigorated. It was only his fourth shift back as Captain but he felt like it was his first day ever as Captain. The same energy he felt decades before buzzed through his veins as he watched his team tiredly make their way to the showers.
"You guys did great." Bobby noted to his team, "Hit the showers and I'll whip something for us for a late lunch. We're off the roster for an hour."
Bobby was ready to hit the showers himself when he noticed a few folks were sniffing the air.
Bobby inhaled as well, face scrunching in confusion as he smelled something spicy but sweet.
"Unless we're all having a collective stroke, I smell barbecue." Eddie said excitedly, already running up the stairs to the loft, followed up by the others and Bobby.
Bobby half expected Athena to be up in the kitchen, but instead he saw a familiar 6' 2 frame standing over the oven.
"Tommy?" Buck was all smiles as he rushed over to his boyfriend, pulling in the man for a kiss and causing both men to laugh as the soot from Buck's face transfered over onto Tommy's face.
"What are you doing here, man?" Chimney asked, patting the other man on the back. Eddie pulled Tommy in for his own hug along with Hen.
Tommy shrugged, nudging his chin towards the multiple items on the stove top. "I heard about the massive fire you guys had to deal with. Figured I could come by and give Cap and Evan a break in cooking for you guys."
"Tommy, you didn't have to do all this." Bobby looked at the multiple dishes, "i know how busy the harbor team gets, you should be enjoying your time off."
Eddie had already opened the over and took a dramatic deep inhale. "And if in his time off he enjoys making us delicious barbecue, who's to say we shouldn't accept?" Eddie clapped his hands and rubbed them excitedly, "All this gonna be ready after we shower?"
Tommy laughed, catching how annoyed Buck was looking at Eddie. "Yeah, you guys go shower." He turned to Buck, "I got it from here."
Buck stepped closer, a playful smirk was all Chimney and Hen needed to see before declaring "No! No hooking up in the showers!' Chimney reminded the younger firefighter who only looked sheepishly over at fed up Bobby.
"We know that look Buck." Hen reminded him teasingly.
Buck let out a frustrated loud sigh as he pouted at Tommy. Tommy was all smiles though, he pulled Buck by his turnout coat and kissed him quickly.
"I'll be back." Buck promised as he followed the others down the stairs to the showers.
That only left Bobby.
"I didn't know you knew how to cook." Bobby mused as he watched Tommy start to pull out the larger serving dishes from the cabinets. Bobby was even more surprised that Tommy remembered where everything was still.
"Yeah," Tommy rummaged around the drawers for serving utensils, "Learned off and on over the years, picked up on cooking mostly during quarantine. I figured might be fun to learn new recipes during the lockdown so I got really into smokers and barbecue so..." he waved serving tongs over the trays of chicken and ribs. "Voilà, I guess." He laughed.
Bobby raised a brow, not at the food but at Tommy.
This definitely wasn't the same man who worked under Bobby years ago.
This Tommy was definitely more confident and self-actualized. There was an easiness to Tommy that wasn't there before.
Tommy caught him staring, "Foods gonna be ready in a minute Cap, go ahead and shower."
Before Bobby could respond Buck came running up the steps, freshly showered and in clean clothes.
It occurred to Bobby at that moment he had never seen either men smile that brightly before. Buck was looking damn near giggly as Tommy's eyes gave away on how gone Tommy was for Buck.
"Ready to help." Buck smiled bashfully as Tommy pulled on a still wet curl hanging over Buck's forehead.
"God, you're cute."
That was Bobby's cue to leave.
By the time Bobby came back the loft, the food was already dished out and the crew was already seated. Bobby figured the cheers was more so about the team being finally able to eat rather then Bobby finally sitting with them
Eddie was the first to go at the food. "Buck," Eddie's eyes were all stars as he grabbed at everything, already drooling. "You should know, if you and Tommy were to break up, he gets me in the divorce. Ankles be damned."
"Me too." Hen moaned as she started to eat. "Tommy, where the hell did you learn how to make this?"
As Tommy and the others started to talk about cooking, Bobby caught Chimney’s sad smile.
"You good Chim?"
Chimney nodded, looking wistful as he told Bpbby in a low voice. "I guess I just realized how stuck Tommy was back in the day." Chimney took a moment to stare at Tommy who was whispering something to Buck that had the other man turn bright red and laugh, the reaction had Tommy looking all too pleased.
"Gerrard used to bug him about bringing over his girlfriend over so she could cook for us. Tommy would make a bunch of excuses about why his girlfriend never showed to the station or to the bar after work."
Bobby nodded, understanding where Chimney was going with this.
After dinner Bobby insisted that Tommy let the others clean up, with Buck pushing his boyfriend to sit and relax with Bobby.
"You're good for him." Bobby told Tommy in a matter of fact voice.
Tommy looked taken back, Bobby caught the flicker of worry and something else that was too familiar for Bobby. That certain fear of not being enough.
"You honestly think so?" Tommy asked softly, his eyes following Buck around the kitchen.
Bobby didn't want to jump to conclusions or anything, but he knew love when he sees it.
"I know so." He patted the younger man on the back. "It's nice having you back here, Tommy."
Tommy's smiled bashfully towards the ground before looking up. "It's nice being back, honestly." He promised.
Bobby clapped him on his back, "Good."
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pirateprincessblog · 1 year ago
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player 9
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𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐫.: finally reuniting with your family after years of working abroad, your six year old nephew doesn't leave your side. he wants you to take him to school, he wants to do his homework with you, he wants to sit on your lap during meals, and he wants you to watch his football practice. how convenient that you're almost always alone on that stadium, and that his coach is just the most gorgeous man you've ever seen in your life. 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: jeong yunho x reader 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 5k 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬: footballplayer!yunho, coach!yunho, whippedforhernephew'scoach!reader 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬: gagging, semi-public sex, oral (m!receiving), creampie, unprotected sex
𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: swearing 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: is it soccer or football? football or rugby? either way, i'd let yunho demolish me in the locker room (or in the middle of the football field). :)
𝐃𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐫: 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐚 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐨𝐟 𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐰𝐚𝐲.
"it's called soccer, dumbass."
"no, it's called football, dumbass."
"you don't know what you're talking about." your brother rolls his eyes, then stuffs his mouth with the hotdog you had made for game night.
"there's a ball, and you kick it with your foot. what part of that seems to be the issue?"
"football is an entirely different sport-"
"oh give me a break-"
"god, it's like you both are sixteen again. is that just a natural thing? no matter how old you get you'll bicker like this all your life?" your mother complains, sipping her cucumber water and judging the calories on the table with a single eyebrow raise.
your brother's son, your nephew, laughs in your lap. you laugh with him, seeing the ketchup mess on his face and his sticky little fingers.
"and what are you laughing at, you little rascal? come here!"
the young man grabs the child from your lap, tickling the life out of him as a punishment for mocking his father. he playfully reaches towards you for help, and you do, tickling your own brother to make him stop.
"oh god, my white couch!"
"stop that, our daughter came back after many years apart and you care about the couch?" your father scolds his wife.
"it's not like that-"
"hush! is it 2:1? is it?! yes it is!" he jumps, spilling the beer all over the just mentioned couch.
"oh, heavens." her voice is light, and she looks like she is about to faint.
the four of you snicker, and silently cheer with another hot dog.
you forgot just how boring your town is. you do nothing but lay in your bed watching tv shows, walk to the local bakery, and drive your nephew to school. he is almost glued to you twenty four hours a day, and you don't mind. he is the squishiest thing ever, always listens to you, and helps you piss off your brother.
he doesn't have much of a mother figure in his life. your brother works a lot, and your parents are raising him. his mother died during birth, and even though they begged to save her and not the child, it was too late. your brother didn't want the baby at first. pushed it away, yelled at it, saying it took away his wife and his will to live. then, he started therapy. he started getting better, and started spending time with his child. your nephew has all the love he could possibly get, but your arrival changed him. he has become very attached to you; sneaking out of his room in the middle of the night just to sleep in your bed, making his kindergarten teacher call you mid playing just to tell you that he built a rocket out of clay, to only eating when he sits on your lap and you feed him.
much like this morning.
"auntie?" he mumbles between the waffle bites.
"yes, pumpkin?"
"will you watch me play soccer today?"
"it's football!" your brother calls from the living room. "you broke my kid."
"i didn't break him, i just passed him some of my IQ."
the man sticks his tongue out towards you, making his son giggle.
"don't you want grandpa to take you?" your father makes a disappointed face, teasing his grandchild.
"i want auntie to take me! and then you can meet my coach! and then you can see how cool our new jerseys are! we are only allowed to wear them at the stadium and not take them home because they are new. i really wanted to show it to you but coach wouldn't let me. he says i'd make it rip it as soon as i enter the house!"
"oh, how dare he!" you say, noticing your father's wink as a sign to support him.
"and sometimes he yells at me! but grandpa told me that he just means well, and that he only wants to teach me so i can be a great player like him! did you know that he is going to play the- the- oh no, what's it called again, grandpa?"
"the derby?"
"yes! that! he is going to play in a few weeks! he is so cool!"
he may not be able to feed himself, but instead of that, he can talk. all day long. and just sometimes, your ears become irritated. so you agree to drive him. you blast the music, muting his babbling from the back as he sits in his car seat. can anyone blame you? it's a two hour drive. you don't have the energy for it today.
you finally arrive, and after making sure you've locked your car and rolled the windows up, you finally let him lead you inside. you can barely keep up with him, he is too excited to see his friends. you see other women standing near the group of children, and you let go of your nephew's hand so you can greet them. after all, you'll be coming here quite often it seems.
"hi, just wanted to introduce myself."
"oh, the new stepmom?"
"what? no- i- what?" you're just as confused as them, and you look over to your nephew.
"oh, i'm so sorry! he keeps talking about his new mom and we just thought-"
his new mom? your confusion disappears when you see the little boy pointing his finger towards you, excitedly showing you off to his friends.
"no, no. i'm his aunt." you inform them.
before they get to say anything, the doors on the side of the stadium open, revealing a tall male wearing a jersey. you hear whispering behind you, maybe even a particularly long exhale, and you have to say that you agree with them.
the coach is stunning. he is drop dead gorgeous, and the more you look, the more self conscious you feel about your lazily picked outfit today. he is so tall and lean, his waist probably smaller than yours. his lips are plump and a pretty pink colour, and his hair a dirty blonde, almost a mullet. no wonder all the moms were dipped in makeup and dresses. you wore your brother's hoodie with his favorite football team logo on it, short leggings and zero makeup.
"hi, ladies." he greets, smiling at the group. he surely knows his impact.
his gaze stops on you, catching you red handed. you must've been staring at him weirdly, because he smiles wider your way, then finally lets the kids inside to change and get ready for the practice. all except...
"coach jeong! can my mom please come and watch me?"
"mom?" the coach is caught off guard, glancing your way.
"oh, no no, honey-" you try explaining. that man needs to know you're single.
"please?" the boy puts his palms together, and does his best puppy eyes to convince the man in front of him to let you in.
"well i- i guess. come in then." he holds the door open for you.
other women do not seem to take interest in going in and watching their children. instead, they greet the coach, then head over to the nearby café. your nephew tugs at your hand, smile so wide his eyes turn into half moons and he doesn't even see you.
"you little rascal." you scold him, ruffling his hair.
he runs off to the locker room, and you watch him drag the backpack that is almost bigger than him across the floor.
"well, this is an odd surprise. i didn't know he had a mother. not to be rude, of course."
"oh, i am not. i am his aunt." you finally explain.
"ah, so that's the case. i was wondering. you look so young."
he smells of freshly cut grass and a hint of manly sweat, mixed with some type of cologne. his face is clean shaven, giving you a chance to notice his sharp jawline as you walk together towards the football field.
"he is a gem, really. but, god, can he talk."
"i know. he got that one from me." you joke, knowing your nephew has outbursts of energy often.
yunho laughs, then opens another door for you. you finally step into the green field, nostrils immediately filling up with the pleasant smell of freshly mowed grass. you were never one for sports, but you gladly watched a game or two with your friends and now family. you wouldn't do it willingly on your own, you have more interesting things to do. but you don't hate it.
you also don't hate it when yunho places his hand on your lower back, guiding you towards the chairs where you've seen coaches and other member's of the team sit during matches. you thank heavens for the early winter sun and long sleeves, otherwise he would've seen the goosebumps from an innocent touch like that.
"have a seat. if they kick a ball in your direction, i'm sorry on their behalf."
"real comforting for my first live match, thanks."
the children run out on the field after changing, taking their positions on a white line in front of their coach. you study his moves, and needless to say, you find yourself squirming in the plastic chair quite soon. he is stern. he gives orders, guides them, and cares for them. you are turned on by something as simple as his yelling over the field. you never knew you could be so turned on by someone doing their job.
he starts the warmup, doing the squats and pushups with them. his arms aren't that big, but they are still muscular and decorated with bulging veins.
"coach, remember when you made us do pushups with your backpack on our back?" one of the older kids says.
"yeah, so? want another session?"
"no, no! i was just wondering if you could do the same." the rest of them start smirking, especially your nephew, and yunho scoffs.
"of course i can."
"but not with the backpack! with her on your back!" he points his little finger towards you, and you scoff.
"i don't think that's approp-"
"he can't do it," you accidentally interrupt, trying to save him.
he looks at you, one eyebrow cocked. you swear you could slip off the chair from the sudden rush of arousal.
"oh, really?" he asks, a smirk dancing on his lips.
"really." you decide to tease back, to see just how far it gets you.
"well why don't we try?"
he gets into the position, not even allowing you to decline. the team starts cheering, your nephew the loudest of them all.
"come on, now. sit on me."
you choke on your saliva. he smirks to himself, and you are ready to wipe it off. he likes teasing, doesn't he. little narcissist.
you walk over to him, purposely sitting on his back with force. but he holds, his wide back a comfortable seat. his arms start working his body. and your jaw drops at how easily he is doing the push ups with you on his back. the cheers get louder, seeing their coach effortlessly carry a person like that. he does a few more, just to show off, until you get off of him. your nephew runs over, hugging your leg and cheering for the handsome coach. yunho winks at you, then proceeds to train the boys.
your stops to the stadium become your new hobby. you sit on the same chair, watching the man teach the young ones, occasionally catching a glance or two from him, then arriving home and falling asleep mid day to the thoughts of his arms and voice. some days you fall asleep from simple thoughts, and some days you need a locked door and a buzzing device.
with each practice, he finds a way to somehow touch you. last time, he asked you to help him set up a new net on the goal frame. he couldn't "reach it", so he held you by your waist in the air while you secured it. if he can carry you around so easily, could he also carry you as he thrusts into you back in his office? or in the back of the-?
"guests! get up!" your mother knocks on the door, and you are quick to throw your gadget under your pillow, stopping the fantasies in your brain.
poor thing has been working non stop for the past few weeks, and still doesn't do a good enough job. sure, it gets you over the edge, but seeing yunho's slender fingers spin that ball so effortlessly when he is busy watching the kids play is just making it more complicated. not sure if on purpose, but lots of times he toys with the little hole on the ball that is there for inflating it. he circles it, slowly and carefully, eyes not leaving the green field. your eyes are locked on the ball and the middle finger rotating on the ball, mouth going dry as you almost feel that same finger circling your own hole.
"see? told you he's a gem." he interrupts your drooling one day.
"huh? oh, yes. absolutely." you catch a glimpse of your nephew celebrating victory.
you miss the way yunho bites his lip, hiding another smirk forming. he knows he has you wrapped around his finger, and he can almost smell the arousal off you. at first, he enjoyed teasing you for fun. but now? seeing that you've started showing up in short knitted winter dresses and knee high boots? it gets him going too. especially when you put those sunglasses on when you get in the car and help your nephew in his car seat, looking like a really hot young mom.
a mom he'd like to fuck all day every day in the back of the car after she drops her kids off at school.
"guests? who the hell is it?" you ask more yourself than your mother.
you throw on a sweater and the first pair of jeans you find, then check if you've put the vibrator away just in case a certain child decides to come in the room and snoop. it is securely locked in your drawer, along with a local newspaper cutout with yunho's figure on it, the jersey proudly stating his last name and his player number: nine. he looks dashing, so why not? you're not doing anything weird with it. just masturbating to it. no biggie. everyone does that.
it is a random wednesday and middle of the day. nobody familiar is coming to your mind when it comes to guests. but when you go downstairs and join your mother in the kitchen, you freeze. the big glass door to the patio is open, revealing the very coach you were just touching yourself to sitting on your favorite chair near the pool. your father hands him over a beer, like they do this every day.
"what is the coach doing here?"
"your brother invited him to wish him luck for the game next week." the woman simply explains, lining up the various cheese bites on toothpicks on the oval plate. "here, take this to your father while i grab a few more beers for them. for an athlete, you'd think he drinks less."
"mom!" you scold, in case he might have super hearing.
you carry the plate in one hand, while you use the other one to fix your hair. yunho is quick to notice you coming towards them, a smile forming on his lips as he examines you head to toe. you look cute in maroon and black, that oversized sweater hiding your waist from him. ever since he lifted you in the air that day to fix the net, he has been dreaming about holding that waist again. he wants to bite into it, leave purple marks all over it, kiss it and whatnot. you are just that addictive, and you didn't do anything but exist.
"hi, coach."
something about you calling him coach is setting his body on fire. it has the same effect on him as the word "daddy" or "sir" would have on someone else. he decides he enjoys hearing it from your lips. he hopes he'll get to hear it in a shape of a moan or gasp too.
"hi, my lovely assistant. did you know that your sister actually knows a thing or two about football?"
"soccer. and no, this dumbass right here?"
all three of you roll your eyes at his correction. yunho snickers, taking a sip of his beer.
"yes. she helps me set up the training ground and comes up with very interesting and actually beneficial stuff. the other day she even managed to score against our thirteen year old goalkeeper!"
you squint your eyes at the man, holding grudge for mocking you. he is half right, you did set up the training grounds for the kids. and you did score against the thirteen year old goalkeeper. go you!
"cheese?" you offer, stopping their little bullying session.
"why, thank you." he takes one, then continues his conversation about the upcoming game.
you run back to the kitchen, helping your mother with more drinks. you hear your nephew somewhere, and his quick and heavy footsteps.
"careful, i'm holding liquid!" you warn before he can bump into you.
you make your way towards the patio again, ready to secretly start flirting with his coach. you don't know how. you'll figure it out. only this time, he doesn't notice you coming, and stands up while still talking to your family. he doesn't hear you warn him over your nephew's loud and bad cover of the teenage mutant ninja turtles theme song, and walks straight into you, spilling the beverages all over his white t-shirt and your maroon sweater. you almost slip on the wet tiles, but his hands are quick to grab your waist and steady you. your body is pushed against his, soft breasts pressed against his own firm chest, your heart almost breaking through your ribcage and hitting his.
"shit, i'm so sorry." he finally lets go, then bends over to pick up the half empty cans of beer.
"oh, just leave it! i'll clean it up!" your voice is squeaky, hands still trembling from the interaction you just had.
his grasp is so firm, you want him to pick you up again just so you can feel that rush of lust one more time. the way his slender fingers pick up the pieces of glass from the floor shoots arrows to your core. a task so simple that it has you wondering if your brain is healthy for getting turned on by it.
"sweetie, will you go get coach yunho a new t-shirt so he can change? yunho, go with her, she will clean that up for you." your father offers, completely oblivious of your death glares.
the young man gladly accepts. he follows you quietly through the house, not yet speaking. you unlock your room, then let him in.
"ah, so this is what this door is? your nerdy little room. always wonder every time i come over."
you rummage through the pile of unironed clothes on the ironing desk in the corner of your room, trying to tell the difference from your brother's and father's plain white t-shirts.
"so you come here often?"
"not that often," he walks over to your nightstand, looking through the window above it, "they sometimes invite me for dinner or lunch as a thank you for training their grandson. say, why do you keep your room locked?"
you plug the iron into the socket, then wait for it to warm up as you turn to face him. his fingers are tracing the corner of the nightstand, somehow seductively.
"to keep my nephew from snooping." you laugh nervously, seeing how close his hand is to the forbidden drawer.
"right," he hums, nodding his head.
the iron makes a sound, notifying you that it is ready for use. you turn your back towards him, ironing the creases in the soft fabric. you hear him walk around the room, probably admiring your poor taste of room decorating when you were seventeen. you didn't manage to redecorate much, only bring in some things from your old home. like the very toy that is buzzing in his hand right now.
"interesting."
"god, give me that." your cheeks are flaming hot.
you hid today's pink pleasure, but forgot about the yesterday's one, also from an interrupted session. he holds the silver bullet vibrator in his hand, playing with the settings on it.
"give it back! it's dirty, how can you even touch it?"
"oh, so it's recently been to places? i don't know, looks pretty clean to me."
you reach for the shiny item, but he is quick to throw it in his other hand. he smiles, amused by your poor attempts at getting the gadget back.
"we can do this all day, or..." he points it towards you, like a magic wand, "you can show me the proper use of it."
your heart drops, and your stomach feels like a centipede is walking all over it. your mouth goes dry, and your eyes feel like they're going to jump out of the sockets.
"what?" you manage to say.
"show me how you use it." he simply says.
"you're crazy. here's your t-shirt." you grab it from the desk, avoiding eye contact with him.
you hear his wet one drop on the floor, and he reaches for the one in your hand. instead of grabbing the clothing item, he grabs your wrist, pulling your body into his bare one. you gasp, eyes looking up into his as his other hand snakes around your waist, vibrator still secure between his fingers.
"those jeans are driving me crazy." he admits in a whisper. "and looking at that bed, i can't stop imagining you using this on your dripping little cunt after coming back from my practice."
you hate that he is right, but you won't tell him that. ever.
"i have more attractive things to masturbate about." you whisper too, eyes dropping down on his pink lips.
"like what?"
"like that substitute coach from monday morning?"
"ah, so your little hole only clenches for song mingi? got it."
he lets go of you, throwing the vibrator on the bed. you gulp as you watch him wear the freshly ironed warm t-shirt, eyes running down to his v-line and defined abs. he is so damn hot.
"i should get back there. wouldn't want anyone to know how desperate you are for me." he winks.
"i'm not desperate!" you reach for a pillow, ready to aim it at that smirking face.
the next few days, you ask your father to take the boy to the practice. he is sad, but if you look at yunho one more time after a good training session, after his jersey starts sticking to his skin and reveals all his curves and hollows, after his sun kissed skin starts shining from sweat, and after his veins start bulging even more, you might drop on your knees at his feet and just take him in your mouth right there in the middle of the field. with nobody around, of course.
the derby is getting closer and closer, and you go to the practice one more time before it accompanying your father. you sit quietly as you watch him fidget in his usual spot. he doesn't yell today. he doesn't instruct. he doesn't do a warmup. he lets the kids play whatever they want, just shushing them when they start cussing and punishing them with burpees. he is nervous about the game, that you know.
"hey," you call after practice.
your father is busy helping his grandson change his footwear, while you busy yourself with comforting the coach.
"it'll be good. you'll win, i know it."
"our goalkeeper is kinda shit. he has been alcoholizing himself the past few days, too nervous about the derby. i'm afraid he is going to get some kind of poisoning, or that he'll show up drunk. or hung over. i don't care about the win at that point, our image will be destroyed."
you hum, looking over at the dark clouds approaching in the distance.
"get some sleep tonight. if you want, call me. i am known to put people to sleep with my talking."
he laughs, sincerely. nothing flirty this time. "will do, darling."
"i'll see you tomorrow then, coach. hopefully with a trophy in your hand."
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the game went fabulously. they destroyed the other team, despite the goal keeper being a little hung over just how yunho predicted. they all cheer, your nephew is going crazy in the front row, and so are you. shiny confetti is flying everywhere, some of it landing on yunho's head. he is holding the trophy above his head, pure happiness on his face. he is cute.
the celebration continues in the decorated basketball hall, drinks and food already served and music already blasting. the audience is slowly leaving to join the team in proper celebration, and it takes almost half an hour for the place to properly empty before you can move. a few families stay behind, cleaning after everyone and collecting lost items to hand them over to the doorkeeper later. you and your mother stay to help, collecting all the confetti and food remains.
"miss! miss!"
you turn around, almost bumping into a woman. she holds a backpack in her hand, and hands it over to you.
"would you be a sugar and go give this to player nine in the locker room? their coach had to go and didn't have time to give this to him."
"but-"
"thank you so much! i've gotta run."
and indeed, she does run. your mother nudges you with her elbow, rushing you towards the stairs and to the entrance under the bleachers.
you do not know where you are going. the hallway is empty, and there are no signs on any doors. you almost reach the end, hopelessly dragging the heavy backpack with you. a door to a locker room is half opened, and you decide to knock. receiving no response, you carefully enter, the strong smell of body spray pinching your nose.
"coach?" you call.
he doesn't answer. you set the backpack on one of the benches, then make your way towards the other side of the room. a jersey is discarded on it, the number nine proudly facing up from the bench. you reach for it, feeling the fabric in your hand. he smells so good. not a strong scent, like the rest of them have. he is more of a soft vanilla mixed with slight sandalwood. you bury your nose in the fabric, surprised that even after sweating so much after the game, the jersey isn't smelly and wet.
two hands creep onto your waist, startling you and making you jump.
"i snooped through your things, so now you have to snoop through mine?" he teases.
you feel his naked wet chest press against your thin blouse, and a slight bulge in the back of your pants. he turns you around swiftly, allowing you to take a good look at him. he is fresh out of the shower, smelling absolutely heavenly. his hair is not yet dry, waterbeads sliding down his neck and collarbones and disappearing down his v-line into the towel he has so carefully wrapped around him. it hangs low on his hips, probably on purpose.
"aren't you going to congratulate me?"
"congratulations?"
"i was thinking about a different kind of congratulations. something like..." his finger pulls at the belt hoop of your pants, then lets it snap against your skin, "this."
"you have to play another match to get to that point," you tease.
"do i now?"
truth is, you wish for nothing more than to get down on your knees and have him twitch in your mouth. you so desperately need it. so you let your hand reach for his towel, easily undoing it and letting it fall on the floor. you don't look down just yet, eyes locked with his. yunho finally grabs your face by your jaw, pulling you in for a hot kiss. his tongue is quick to find yours, circling it and rubbing it all the right ways. your blouse doesn't get unbuttoned. ripping it open seems faster to yunho, firm hands shredding the fabric and letting buttons fly to the floor. you gasp at the action, and he is quick to place his hands on your breasts. you're thankful for wearing a decent bra today, not one of those you had as a teen.
"i'll have to see you wearing my jersey and bouncing on my cock one day after practice. think you could do that?"
"i think i very much could," you say, excitement running in your veins.
yunho sits on the bench, trying to pull you into his lap. you stop him, dropping down on your knees. a proper congratulations.
you take a moment to admire his length. he isn't thick, but he is very long. he feels hot under your fingers, eager to be taken cared of. your tongue gets a first taste of him, and soon after, you're struggling to take him in. he is too big for you, but the pleasure is too good for him to back away. he grabs your hair, pushing your head down to make you swallow as much of him as you can.
"yunho?"
you freeze around his cock, eyes going wide. you are hidden by a row of lockers, but only a few steps in and the whole situation would be visible to the poor intruder.
"keep going," yunho mumbles, caressing your cheek.
you slowly start swallowing him again, working your tongue around him.
"yes?" he says, masking his pleasure well.
"everyone is waiting for you, man. they already finished off that fruit tart you were waiting for!"
"let me just take a quick shower and i'll be right there."
"if you say so."
the door shuts, and yunho spares no time in ramming his cock into your mouth a few more times before pulling you off and picking you up. he slams you against the lockers, hands firm on your thighs. he manages to take off your pants, not bothering with the panties. he only pushes them aside, and not even bothering to stretch you out beforehand, carefully inserts his hot muscle inside of you. it is no use biting your hand down to hide the noises, his pace continiously ramming into the soft spot inside of you, making your eyes roll back.
"you'll have to be a bit more quiet, baby." he says, voice low and raspy.
you look at him, your body completely relaxed in his hands as you take every pump he has to offer. yunho looks at you as if he is trying to hypnotize you, with eyes so focused on your face, examining every single reaction you have to his moves.
"we wouldn't want anyone to interrupt again, would we?"
you shake your head, unable to speak. you can only moan, louder and louder, as your fingers desperately tug on his still damp hair. having had enough of your loud noises, yunho carries you to the bench, cock still buried deep inside of you. he lays you on the bench, then reaches over your head to grab something.
"open up for me," he instructs.
you do, and he gently places his jersey between your lips so it muffles your moans.
"good girl," he praises, then continues his moves.
the fabric in your mouth proves itself useful, successfully muffling the noises you make. not long after, you feel the pleasure building up in the bottom of your stomach.
"fuck, you're clenching so much, i'm going to cum soon," he hisses, hands desperately gripping your waist.
you look at him with pleading eyes, hoping he would take the message and make you cum too. he recognizes it, and brings his hand to his mouth, wetting his fingers. he then places them on your clit, rubbing the tense bud in ways that have your back arching from the bench, mentally begging him for release already.
"fuck-" he groans, speeding up.
you bite down on the fabric, focusing on reaching the sweet release, clenching your walls to help him reach his too. he moans, for the first time, throwing his head back as he fucks his seed into you, filling you up until you can't take it anymore and let it spill on the bench. the new warm sensation inside of you triggers your own orgasm, your hands reaching for his as you twitch, orgasm washing over your body in multiple ways.
yunho holds your hands above your head, pressing kisses along your exposed collarbones and neck, calming you as you get down from the high. it takes you a while to come back to your senses, feeling yunho's hair tickling your bare skin as he still peppers your skin with kisses.
he laughs fondly, seeing what a mess he made out of you. removing the jersey from your mouth, he wastes no time in kissing you properly, this time a bit softer than before.
you pull away, the cold air from the air conditioner finally hitting your bare skin and sweat, making you shiver.
"so..." you breathe out.
"so..." he repeats.
"when is your next match again?"
feedback greatly appreciated! 💕
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