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mournthebird · 9 days ago

Text

James.

summary: You help him remember what he lost.

warnings: Post!HYDRA Winter Soldier | Post!HTP and abuse | Flashbacks of HTP | Past dehumanization | Past SA mention

a/n: So sorry for the wait on my writing. Started this back in January, just got around to finishing it.This is the last installment as of now for this series. Might not be the ending everyone wishes for, but this was the ending I was writing for all along.

I never expected my writing to get so much attention and I thank everyone for commenting and telling me how much they enjoyed it. I have plenty more to come, more series, more WS oneshots, etc. I hope you enjoy this last part. Not edited ignore mistakes. ;; wc: 3k

He was actually talking, forming full sentences and expressing himself in ways you hadn't seen before.

Recovery had been progressing well these past few weeks. The conversations between you two were becoming more frequent and natural, his initially trembling voice gaining strength and confidence with each passing day. He was still somewhat soft spoken, and hesitant every so often, but he had overcome retreating into silence. His words flowed more smoothly now, and the progress he'd made since those first difficult days was great. After months of providing him sanctuary in your home, seeing these improvements filled you with a deep sense of relief and hope that he was getting much better.

Your dedication to helping him recover had led you down numerous paths, including the risky but necessary task of infiltrating HYDRA's classified files. Your efforts hadn't been in vain - you'd managed to uncover another name, an identity that existed before they'd reduced him to simply 'Soldat'. You felt the potential benefits outweighed the risks by approaching him with this information. You didn’t want to send him into a mental break, but you also wanted to give him a piece of his identity to have and keep all for himself.

He deserved that much.

He was sitting peacefully in the living room, taking small bites of the sandwich you'd prepared for him. You settled onto the couch beside him, watching as he ate. "Soldat?" you ventured softly, drawing his attention. His glacial eyes shifted from the television screen to meet yours, and he deliberately finished chewing before swallowing his food. Through months of careful observation, you'd learned to interpret his quiet, attentive gaze as his way of showing he was listening.

"I found some stuff about you..." You began carefully, choosing your words, "Maybe it could help you remember some bits of your past before...you know." You placed the gathered paper files on the coffee table, positioning them next to his plate, your heart racing slightly at the weight of what these documents might mean for his recovery.

He gazed down uncertainly at the weathered tan folders spread before him, tilting his head slightly as he tried to comprehend their significance. Though their contents remained a mystery to him, your insistence on their importance lingered in his mind. He used the back of his organic hand to wipe his mouth clean of any crumbs before carefully reaching out to lift the heavy folders.

The weight of history pressed against his palm as he felt the substantial collection of papers and photographs within. Soldat's movements were measured and cautious as he opened the first folder, his eyes immediately drawn to what appeared to be an identification page.

The document contained what looked like a detailed patient dossier - complete with vital statistics, biographical information, and extensive historical records beyond the cover. But what caught his attention, what made his breath catch in his throat, was the photograph attached to the file. The face staring back at him was unmistakably his own, though from a time before HYDRA had claimed him - a fact he had yet to fully comprehend.

You hoped this wouldn’t send him spiraling.

A deep furrow formed between his brows as he leaned in closer, studying the image with an intensity that spoke of desperate recognition fighting against decades of delicate programmed amnesia. "...is this...me?" The words emerged as barely more than a whisper, his metal finger hovering tentatively over the photograph on the right side of the document. The military uniform the man in the picture wore stood in stark contrast to anything he'd known in the past seven decades that it felt like looking at a stranger.

"Yeah, that...that's you. And this," you said gently, making a sweeping gesture toward the thick folder, "This is all about you. I found it during my research into historical military records. The moment I saw this photograph, I recognized you immediately. After reading through your service history and your supposed 'death,' there wasn't a shadow of doubt in my mind - this was definitely you."

Soldat stared intently at the folder, his eyes scanning each line of information with the practiced precision of a soldier. His movements suddenly halted, brow furrowing in confusion as he reached a particular detail. "I have a birthday?" The question emerged barely above a whisper, laden with genuine bewilderment. The concept of having a birth date felt alien to him - such normal, civilian matters had been stripped away during his time as HYDRA's carefully crafted weapon. Personal milestones like birthdays had been deemed irrelevant to his function, reduced to meaningless data points in his fractured memory.

A distant memory stirred in his mind, hazy and distorted like looking through frosted glass. They had once arranged what they called a ‘birthday celebration’ for him, though the term felt wrong, tainted. The party existed in his memory only as fragments of sensations - a searing pain in his ass that had lingered for days afterwards, and the persistent acrid taste that had coated his mouth and torn throat, making even breathing an uncomfortable reminder of whatever had transpired. The memory carried no joy, only phantom discomfort and a deep-seated unease.

"...I don't understand, why are you showing me this?" His voice carried confusion and cautious suspicion as his gaze shifted to meet yours. The soldier in him searched for hidden motives, unable to reconcile your consistent kindness with his understanding of how people treated assets like himself.

Your genuine concern and humanity towards him stood out to the cold efficiency he had grown accustomed to. The question that truly plagued him remained unspoken but clear in his hesitant expression: how could someone like you see him as worthy of anything?

"Because you need to see that you exist - you're a person. A living being, not a machine. Not an asset. A human. You need to see this because you need to break through all that awful conditioning and see for yourself...your person is documented, you're real. Every moment, every breath, every thought you have belongs to you and no one else. Your experiences, your feelings, your choices - they're all valid and they all matter. And I want to give you all I can to help you understand that." You reply, voice determined and firm but gentle and patient.

It truly pained you, as much as you adored and loved caring for him, being a protector, a source of comfort for someone so damaged. Watching him struggle with his own identity and worth was like watching someone try to catch smoke with their bare hands - frustrating and heartbreaking all at once. You knew he couldn't stay this way forever, trapped in this cycle of self-doubt and learned helplessness.

He needed to heal, to find his way back to himself, and without this step, he would remain stuck in this limbo between who he was forced to be and who he could become. There was only so much you could do by yourself, only so far your words and actions could reach into the depths of his trauma. He needed another push, something more than just comfort and reassurance.

You wanted to keep him forever, but that wasn't right. You needed to give him a chance to live again.

The hours slowly drift by as you both remain seated in your living room, poring over every detail and fragment of his past and personal history. While you offer what assistance you can, you're aware of your limitations - you're not a historian or memory specialist, and many of the answers he seeks lie beyond your expertise. The simpler questions you can tackle with confidence, but when the inquiries delve into more complex territory, you find yourself struggling.

Despite these limitations, you pour your heart into helping him. Though your search for living relatives yields no results, you pay careful attention as he recounts his encounter with the man he fought prior to your meeting. You listen intently as he works to describe the individual in as much detail as possible, trying to capture every significant characteristic.

"Actually...he kind of looks like this kid but...bigger." His finger traces to a particular photograph, indicating a small-statured blond man whose frame seems incongruous with his age, suggesting some underlying medical condition or chronic ailment that may have affected his growth.

"Really? Him?" Your eyes scan the photograph with heightened interest, faint recognition tugging at your consciousness. "He looks familiar but...not." You furrow your brow in concentration, unable to figure out who this blond looks like.

"Huh. Well, I'll see what I can find," you say thoughtfully, your eyes drifting toward the old analog clock mounted on the wall. A deep yawn escapes you as the realization of the late hour hits. "Shit...it's almost three in the morning," you mutter, your hands moving up to rub your tired eyes, feeling the weight of exhaustion settling in. "I think I'm gonna have to call it a night..."

The soldier glances up from his position, his head tilting slightly as he follows your gaze to the clock. He carefully sets the stack of folders down on the coffee table before rising to his feet. "Me too."

"You don't have to because I am -" You begin to protest, not wanting him to feel obligated.

"Please..." He pauses, his voice carrying a hint of vulnerability. "I...I just got comfortable sleeping so...so I think this stuff will help me ease into sleep better. Knowing a little bit more about everything." He tries to explain in hushed tones, his shoulders lifting in a gentle shrug as if to downplay the admission. The gesture is small but meaningful, and you can't help but respond with a warm, understanding chuckle as you motion for him to follow.

"If you say so, silly," you reply with gentle affection. "But I'm absolutely exhausted...we can try to look up more tomorrow when we're both fresh."

The evening routine was a blur of haste.

Both of you moved through the motions with heavy limbs and tired eyes. Hours of staring at screens and poring over documents had left you mentally drained, your vision slightly unfocused from the extended research session. The familiar rhythm of brushing teeth and washing faces was performed almost mechanically, both of you eager to find solace in sleep.

When you finally made it to the bedroom, he followed his usual pattern of climbing into your bed rather than retreating to the spare room down the hall. Your bed had become his sanctuary, a place where he found the comfort and security that eluded him elsewhere. The spare bedroom was always available to him, but remained unused.

He preferred the warmth of your presence.

As he settled against your chest, you began tracing patterns across his scarred back. Your fingers danced carefully across his skin, drawing invisible masterpieces - delicate spirals here, geometric shapes there, occasionally spelling out words or numbers in a gentle game of touch. He’d guess them sometimes, or say them in Russian for you. You knew his preferences well by now, avoiding that particularly sensitive area where flesh met metal, creating a jagged reminder of his past. Your touches were meant to soothe, to ease him into sleep, and you would continue until his breathing evened out into the rhythm of slumber.

"You think I'll learn who I was again? Fully?" His question pierced the quiet of the room, barely audible above the steady hum of the white noise machine that helped mask the nighttime sounds of the house.

You took a moment to consider your response, a gentle smile forming as you replied, "Of course. There's so much information out there, and plenty to learn. Plus, if we figure out who that young man is in that photo, then I'm sure we can go off of that."

"Yeah...you're right...always right," he mumbled, his face pressing closer into your body as if seeking additional comfort. Responding to his movement, your hand naturally migrated upward, fingers weaving into his long hair to provide the calming sensation of gentle scalp massage that often helped lull him to sleep.

His breathing gradually slowed and deepened as he drifted towards sleep, your gentle touch working its familiar magic to ease his troubled mind. The soldier's muscular frame relaxed against you as consciousness slipped away, his strong arms remained wrapped around your body tenderly, holding you close like a cherished pillow. Though his body radiated warmth like a furnace - a side effect of the serum that coursed through his veins - the smooth, cool surface of his cybernetic left arm pressed against your skin provided the perfect counterbalance.

He ironically always complained about being cold, yet his skin was hot to the touch. You wondered if the repetitive freezing of his body messed with his ability to regulate body temperature, but now wasn’t the time to ask.

You shifted slightly to nestle more securely into his protective embrace, your own arms encircling him in return. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat against your chest and the gentle rise and fall of his breathing began to lull you to sleep. As your eyelids grew heavy, you felt yourself being drawn into a deep, peaceful slumber - the kind of sleep that had eluded both of you for far too long.

Tonight was the first time in months that you both slept without disturbances.

The following day came and you returned to where you had left off. You delved deeper into researching, as you did, you couldn't help but notice the growing signs of restlessness in his demeanor - the way he shifted his weight from foot to foot, how his eyes darted around the room, and the increasing frequency of his pacing.

"Talk to me, Soldat...what's going through your mind?" You finally broke the tense silence, looking up from the computer screen where you'd been working. His movements had become more pronounced now, an unmistakable anxiety radiating from him as he continued his agitated path across the room.

"I have to go...I need to find out more. I want to. I...I want to find the man from the bridge, he...he seemed to know me..." Bucky paced restlessly in your living room, his heavy steps wearing a visible path in your rug as he moved back and forth with nervous energy. His hands clenched and unclenched at his sides, metal fingers whirring softly with each movement as he struggled to articulate his thoughts.

"Are you ready for that?" You asked gently, standing to meet him, careful to maintain enough distance to not overwhelm him. You knew this was coming, it was only a matter of time.

Your voice was soft but steady, "I want you to be happy...I want you to be free. If this is what you want to do, then you should go.” You reached up, moving some stray hair from his face and tucking it back with thicker bits of his hair before letting your hand rest on his chest, “Find yourself again. Discover who you truly are."

He looked down, shoulders hunched slightly as he processed everything he had been through with you. His long hair fell forward, partially obscuring his face once again - stubborn locks - as he remembered each careful interaction, each small victory.

You were the first person in seven decades to show him kindness, to show him the care and patience he needed when he was nothing more than a frightened, broken man seeking shelter. Surely, anyone else would've thrown him back out on the street, called the authorities, or worse.

You didn't do that.

You were persistent, taking care of him with such a gentle touch, helping him rediscover his humanity piece by piece, showing him that he deserved tenderness and understanding...he couldn't be more grateful for that.

"I want to go," he said quietly but with growing determination in his voice. You nodded slowly, understanding the significance this moment held for him - a step toward reclaiming his identity and place in the world.

You observed as the soldier - James, Bucky - selected and donned a well-worn brown jacket over top his layered preference on style. His hands, steady now despite their history, secured a nondescript cap over his dark hair, adjusting it just so before his eyes sought yours . "What do you think...? Civilian enough?" The question came softly, almost hesitantly, his searching gaze holding yours as he waited for your familiar reassurance.

You couldn't help but give a small, warm smile, your heart swelling with pride and affection. Watching him take these steps toward normalcy, toward reclaiming his place in the world, it made your eyes glisten with emotion threatening to spill over. He reminded you of an injured bird, carefully testing its mended wings after a long recovery, finally ready to take flight once again. Meeting his questioning look, you offered the reassurance he was looking for, "You look perfect. You..." You paused, taking a breath to calm your emotions.

"You can always come back whenever you need me. I'll be here for you, you know that, right?"

"I know," he whispered, taking a hesitant step forward as his eyes grew visibly misty, mirroring your own. "Thank you, for...for everything you've done. For being there through all of this. I...I don't even have the words to begin to express how grateful I am. How much this all means to me...I—"

"Hush now...there's no need to thank me...just," you took a shaky breath, your trembling hands smoothing down the lapels of his jacket, trying to steady yourself. "Go out there and find yourself again. Rebuild your life piece by piece. Take all the time you need. I know you have the strength to do this. Just…don’t forget about me…"

He gave you a gentle, tender smile - one of those rare, genuine expressions you'd seen so few times before. “How could I?” He leaned forward slowly, he placed a soft, lingering kiss on your forehead, full of unspoken gratitude and affection. After a long moment, he finally pulled away and reached for your front door, his hand hesitating briefly on the handle before turning it.

He had already taken the first crucial steps toward reconnecting with the core of who he was beneath the layers of conditioning and control. He was far from being healed - the deep psychological wounds and trauma would take many more years of patient work to process and integrate.

But with time, he would at least rediscover and reclaim his identity as James Buchanan Barnes.

Dividers by @/strangergraphics

Cover image from Pinterest. I do not claim as my own.

Let me know if you'd like to be added/unadded anytime.

#bucky barnes #winter soldier #the winter soldier #james buchanan barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #winter soldier x reader #winter soldier x you #the winter soldier x reader #the winter soldier x you #captain america the winter soldier #catws #james buchanan barnes x reader #james buchanan barnes x you #blythewrites⛓

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mahalachives · 2 months ago

Note

Not sure if you’re still taking requests, but how about Az with a reader who has a tendency to hurt herself yet never realizes it until someone points it out?

I am constantly cutting myself and I never feel it - I swear the phrase “Are you okay? You’re bleeding!” Is one I hear at work weekly lol

Title: How to Alarm a Shadowsinger in Three Accidental Steps

pairing: azrial x human mate (fem!reader)

genre: flulf

The scent hit Azriel before he even entered the townhouse kitchen—blood. Your blood.

He was moving before he registered the thought, shadows whipping around him as he materialized in the doorway. His hazel eyes scanned the room with predatory precision, daggers already in hand.

What he found was you, humming contentedly while chopping vegetables for dinner, completely oblivious to the thin line of red trailing down your forearm.

"You're bleeding," he said, his deep voice so sudden in the quiet kitchen that you jumped, the knife clattering to the cutting board.

"Mother above, Az!" You pressed a hand to your chest. "Make some noise when you move, would you?"

He didn't smile, though the corners of his scarred hands tightened around Truth-Teller. "You're bleeding," he repeated, nodding toward your arm.

You glanced down, eyebrows rising in surprise. "Oh. Look at that." You examined the shallow cut with mild interest, as though observing a slightly unusual cloud formation. "Must've nicked myself with the knife."

Azriel's shadows retreated slightly as he realized there was no actual threat, but his concerned expression remained. With a silent sigh, he sheathed Truth-Teller and crossed to where you stood.

"This is the third time this week," he murmured, taking your wrist in his scarred hand. His touch was gentle—always so gentle with you—as he guided you to the sink.

"Is it really?" You tried to remember. "There was the thing with the book yesterday—"

"The paper cut that bled all over the library carpet," he confirmed, his deep voice tinged with exasperation as he ran cool water over your cut.

"And..."

"The splinter from the dock at the Sidra two days ago." Az's shadows curled around your joined hands, as though they too were concerned. "The one you didn't notice until Cassian pointed out you were leaving bloody footprints."

You had the decency to look embarrassed. "In my defense, we were having a very engaging conversation about battle tactics."

"And now this." He patted your arm dry with a clean towel, his movements methodical and practiced. It wasn't the first time he'd tended to your accidental wounds, and you both knew it wouldn't be the last.

"It doesn't even hurt," you protested.

"It never does, until later." Azriel guided you to sit at the kitchen table, where a small medical kit had appeared. You'd never seen him retrieve it. Shadows, probably.

As he began cleaning the cut with practiced efficiency, you noticed the tightness around his eyes, the subtle clench of his jaw. Your shadowsinger was worried, though he'd never admit it.

"I'm not actually made of glass, you know," you said softly, hoping to ease that look from his face.

Az's hazel eyes flicked up to meet yours. "Glass would be better. Glass makes noise when it breaks."

You couldn't help the laugh that bubbled up. "Did you just make a joke, spymaster?"

The barest hint of a smile touched his lips as he wrapped a bandage around your forearm. "It's not a joke when it's true, love."

"Well, lucky for me I have a shadowsinger who can smell a single drop of blood from across Velaris."

That earned you another almost-smile. "Apparently that's a necessary skill when you're involved."

His shadows curled closer, whispering something in his ear that made color touch his cheekbones. After five decades together, you still loved that you could make this ancient, deadly warrior blush.

"What are they saying now?" you asked, nodding toward the shadows.

Az finished securing your bandage, but didn't release your hand. "They're suggesting I assign one of them to follow you permanently, to alert me the moment you injure yourself."

"Oh, now that's just excessive—"

"I'm considering it."

You narrowed your eyes at him, but the effect was ruined by your smile. "You wouldn't dare."

His scarred thumb traced gentle circles on your palm. "You cut yourself chopping carrots, love. Soft, yielding carrots."

"They were being very uncooperative carrots."

One shadow detached from the others, sliding up your newly bandaged arm to curl around your wrist like a bracelet. It was cool but not unpleasant, a familiar sensation after all these years.

"Az," you warned, though there was no heat in it.

"It's just until dinner," he said, rising to his feet. "I'll finish the chopping."

As he turned back to the cutting board, you heard him murmur to the shadow, "Alert me if she so much as touches anything sharper than a spoon."

"I can hear you, you know."

Azriel's shoulders shook with silent laughter. "Good."

The shadow around your wrist squeezed gently, almost affectionately. You'd long ago stopped being unnerved by them; now they were simply extensions of Az himself—protective, vigilant, and surprisingly tender when it came to you.

"I don't need a babysitter," you said, but made no move to dislodge the shadow.

Az glanced over his shoulder, a rare full smile gracing his handsome face. "After fifty years, five hundred and twenty-three bandages, and one memorable incident with a teacup that somehow left you needing stitches, I think I'm entitled to a little caution."

"You've been counting?"

"Shadowsingers never reveal their methods." He resumed chopping with efficient grace.

You watched him work, this deadly warrior now wielding a kitchen knife with the same precision he showed on the battlefield. The shadow around your wrist pulsed gently in time with Az's heartbeat.

"I love you," you said suddenly, because sometimes the sight of him still took your breath away, even after all this time.

Az paused, his shoulders softening. Without turning, he replied, "I love you too. Please try not to bleed on dinner."

Your laughter filled the kitchen, bright against his shadows. The perfect balance, as always.

Later that night, when you somehow managed to cut your finger on a book while reading in bed, Azriel's exasperated sigh was followed by such a tender kiss to your palm that you almost—almost—felt bad for being so accident-prone.

Almost.

End.

#acotar #azriel x oc #azriel #azriel shadowsinger #azriel x reader #azriel x you

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joelslastofus · 1 month ago

Text

A Texan Heart

[SUMMARY: Joel Miller has always ignored the attraction he’s felt towards you, especially being that your father and him are close friends in Jackson. Until one night, Joel doesn’t feel he can ignore what’s in front of him..]

Chapter 1: Just a drink

Age gap

Ever since arriving to Jackson, your father grew close with the Millers, preferably Joel Miller. The two would have coffee, beer, and sometimes even play a tune together. In the time you had been there you and Joel had become pretty close and he even became your secret beer buddy once a week until he finally put his foot down. It’s not like you weren’t old enough to drink, you were 25, still, he knew how your old man felt about you drinking at all. A bit hypocritical being that your father seemed to depend heavily on alcohol. He never wanted you to make it a habit and he made sure everyone in town knew that.

Today was New Year’s Eve, the guy you were seeing, Henry, you hadn’t seen all day. Still, you expected to see him that night at the event being held. Your father already drunk talking with a few guys hadn’t noticed you look around for Henry and when you did, your heart stopped. His arms were wrapped around a woman that had just arrived to Jackson, his eyes closed as he kissed her. He had no idea you were watching. You didn’t have any energy to confront him, you never believed in fighting over a man.

He obviously made his choice.

Angrily you walked out ignoring the chatter around you, people enjoying themselves, all you really wanted was to get away.

Walking home you noticed Joel on his porch playing his guitar, you breathed a sigh of relief and began walking towards him.

“Nuh-uh, don’t even think about it.”

“Joel, please” you reply, you could feel a knot in your throat holding back tears. Biting his inner lip he looked behind you and next door to your house before standing up and leading the way inside.

“One beer” he gave you a warning glare as he passed you a cold one he had just taken out of the fridge.

“Thanks” you sighed taking a seat at the round wooden table and took a sip.

“Now, why ain’t you at that party?”

You rolled your eyes.

“For what? To see how drunk my father could get?” You chuckled sarcastically. “No thanks”

Joel leaned back on the counter watching you take another desperate sip. He could tell something was bothering you, he could tell you were on the verge of tears.

“Wanna talk about it?”

He crossed his arms as you took another sip shaking your head.

“Actually, got anything stronger than this?”

You looked down at the bottle craving something more.

“I don’t think so-’”

“Come on, Joel. I know you said you didn’t feel right doing this anymore, but you’re the only one who doesn’t treat me like a damn kid. Plus I-“ your voice cracked.

“I had a shitty day ok? Just one drink…Don’t make me beg” you whispered tilting your head looking up at him.

His lips tightened as he walked across the room and grabbed his bottle of scotch out of the cabinet and two glasses.

Silently he sat across from you and poured what he figured was just enough for you. Without hesitation, you grabbed the glass and drank it in one gulp.

“Hey, easy”

“Oh-“ you made a sour face shaking your head when there was a sudden knock on the door.

“Who is it?” Joel called out.

“It’s me Tommy” your eyes bulged out while Joel signaled for you to stay quiet.

“I’ll be right back, I just gotta have a quick talk with him’” he assured you and left you alone.

Of course, being alone with a full bottle of scotch you took it upon yourself to pour another glass. And as the minutes went on, five turned to ten, ten turned to twenty, you poured yourself another and another.

“The hell are ya doin’?!” Joel walked in to find the bottle half empty.

“You took too long” you shrugged.

“Jesus” he whispered grabbing the bottle off the table as you finished your last drop.

“God dammit, didn’t I tell ya to take it easy with that?”

“I feel fine” you assured him but he knew just how quickly scotch could creep up on a person, let alone someone chugging it.

“I just needed a drink-“

“You had more than ‘a drink’, sweetheart” sarcasm in his tone as he slammed the cabinet shut.

“Well, good” you sat back crossing your arms.

“The least I could do for some fun while Henry enjoys himself out there”

Joel sighed brushing his hand across the back of his neck, of course it was a damn boy. He pushed his jacket back placing his hands on his hips and looked down at the table.

“Henry huh” he repeated.

“Want me to say somethin’ to him?”

“No!” You quickly looked up, not even to spare Henry’s feelings but just because you knew how much the guys already feared Joel.

“It’s stupid” you sniffled.

“What happened?”

“Nothing”

“You came down here and drank up half my damn scotch, might as well tell me” he insisted.

“I don’t know…all these pretty girls in town, who was I kidding?”

Joel knit his brows slightly confused.

“And you think you ain’t one of ‘em?”

“Huh?” He could already see your eyes beginning to dance, barely realizing what he said.

“He didn’t even have the balls to break things off with me, Joel, he just-“ you wiped away a tear as you went on.

“I saw him kissing her at the stupid event but hey I’m glad they’re enjoying themselves” you reached for his glass across the table and took another sip.

“Alright I think you’ve had enough” he pulled the glass back.

“I could see why he liked her so much. I just…I just don’t understand what I did wrong”

“Not a damn thing” Joel’s responded slightly defensive, he never really liked Henry.

He grabbed a chair turning it towards you and sat down. Leaning forward, he took a hold of his glass and finished what was left of his drink.

“I guess..” you raised your brows feeling a buzz.

“Screw him” you shrugged before a sudden laughter took over you.

“This stuff actually has me feeling a bit better now”

“Don’t get used to it” Joel spoke low.

“Oh come on now, Joel. I’m a big girl, I should have the freedom to drink” you began to slowly push yourself up.

“Buuuut- I better get going” you stood up straight and felt the room spin.

“You alright?” Joel looked up at you, ready to get up beside you until you started to walk and stumbled right beside him. Quickly he caught you by your waist, falling right onto his lap. You hadn’t realized how tense Joel’s body became, his grip on your waist tightening as you threw your head back in laughter.

“You know, I haven’t laughed this much in a while” you sighed looking down at him, your hands on his shoulders, you realized how close your face was to his.

“Sorry” you whispered.

“Don’t be” he subtly shook his head noticing how you were staring down at him.

“You know, you have really nice hair” your fingers slowly brushed through his thick waves. He swallowed hard, he didn’t say a word for a moment, his gaze darting between your eyes and lips. Joel had to remind himself who you were in that moment. To say he wasn’t attracted to you would’ve been a lie, to say he wasn’t feeling himself get slowly aroused with you on his lap, an ever bigger one. But he couldn’t, especially not like this.

“Come on, I’ll take ya home.” Joel balanced you on your feet as he stood up beside you.

“Yeah- God I hope my dad’s not home yet” you slurred.

“Second thought, maybe you should stay here for the night”

“Here?! Aw Joel, you’re so kind-“

“I know” irritated by what he somehow got himself into, he began leading you to the bedroom, holding your body against his so you wouldn’t stumble into the wall.

“I’m sorry for drinking your scotch” he sat you down on the bed, your eyes growing heavy.

“Don’t worry about it” down on one knee he took off your boots, scooping up your legs and laying them on the bed.

You sighed throwing yourself back as Joel pulled the blanket up over your body, his face over yours.

“Joel….I ever tell you how sweet you are to me? Even when you’re cranky” your hand gently tapped his face, your finger tips then gently brushing over his facial hair. Glossy eyes washing over his features till they stopped on his lips. Joel himself didn’t move, his jaw tensed as he caught his breathing grow heavy.

“Goodnight, darlin’” you sighed half asleep and closed your eyes.

The next morning you woke up to a pounding headache, rubbing your forehead you turned over before realizing you were not in your bed.

“What the hell?” You whispered picking your head up slowly, your brows furrowed until your eyes stopped on wooden sculptures at the other end of the room.

“Joel” you whispered.

Joel sat at the kitchen table with his glasses laying low on the bridge of his nose, the sound of you rushing down the hall making him look up.

“Joel” you panted.

“I checked, your dad hasn’t been up yet, figured I’d let you sleep” you breathed a sigh of relief before rubbing your painfully throbbing head.

“Ridiculous, as if I’m 15. Um-“ you turned to him awkwardly thinking of the night before, the parts you could remember.

“Did I say anything stupid?”

“No mam” he responded calmly, thinking of the very moment you fell onto his lap, the touch of your soft fingers on his face.

“Good” you whispered.

“Well, thanks, Joel. I better go” you walked to the door about to step out until he called out to you making you look back at him.

“Just so ya know, those girls don’t hold a candle to ya” you felt a tingle in the pit of your stomach, a smile forming on your lips.

“Thank you, Joel”

“See ya around, pretty girl”

He thought you were pretty. Joel Miller thought you were pretty, suddenly the night before didn’t seem so bad at all..

@katmoonz @joelsteinfeld @picketniffler @stcrrjoon @itsamandi @starry-eyes-love @theoraekenslover @psychoenergy @joeldjarin @heartpatch @baronessvonglitter @guelyury @mynameistokyo @harriedandharassed @locaparapedrito @untamedheart81 @rosaliedepp @illyanam1011 @hopefulatrocity @tikikiki @thewritermj @l0veang3l @manuymesut @katiemarieeee @unknownomgg @secretcheesecakenacho @missladym1981 @xmaykeca @dendulinka6 @wintersquirrel @malfoycassimalfoy @scorpio-echo @orcasoul @mysteryhexgirl @locaparapedrito @alloftheimagines @mystickittytaco

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#pedro pascal #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x you #the last of us fanfiction #tlou fanfiction #joel miller x y/n #joel miller dbf #joel miller fan fiction #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller fan fic #the last of us

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withwritersblock · 4 months ago

Text

Just You and I

~Just You and I (acoustic) by Tom Walker~

Author's Note: requested! This is not how I exactly wanted this to end up but here it is! Summary: Quinn returns from a roadie to see Y/N overworking herself and plans to take care of her. Warnings: nothing too serious Word count: 2,677 Quinn Hughes x fm!reader

It has been a difficult few weeks. Quinn was gone on a road trip that lasted for nine days. He was practically impossible to get a hold of. Work was starting to become unbearable. Her hours were starting to run deep into the night. She was practically working twelve hours a day, rarely seeing the sun.

She was sitting at her office, trying to finish the stack of paperwork beside her when Quinn called her. A wide grin formed on her lips as his contact photo popped up. It was a photo of her kissing his cheek, he had a wide grin on his lips. She pulled her phone up against her ear.

“Hey love, getting on the plane here soon. We’ll be back in a couple hours,” he explained. She smiled to herself as she leaned back in her chair.

“That’s good, I can’t wait to see you,” she let out happily. Her heart began to slam hard against her chest. Nine days without seeing him, holding him, feeling his lips on hers.

She wished it was all on her mind. But she was so busy and overwhelmingly busy at her job. There was barely a minute where her mind was not on work. She had three weeks left of these endless hours. She was the only one that was putting in this many extra hours; but she had the biggest role.

“Are you still at the office?” he asked as it sounded like there was shuffling on his end of the phone. He was mumbling something, probably to a teammate.

She let out a long dramatic sigh, “Unfortuntely,” she mumbled as she rubbed her eyes harshly. Sleep was starting to consume her frame. Reluctantly, she stood up from her chair and began to wander towards the small kitchen area where she could make some coffee.

“Will you be home when I get back?” he asked softly, almost begging.

“I should be,” she explained while she popped open the Kurig lid, “What time would that be exactly,”

He laughed while rolling his eyes playfully, “Should be back around eleven. Which means you should definitely be home. You should actually be home right now, right?” he asked, his tone suddenly getting serious.

She let out a long sigh. “Yeah, I know. But I’ll definitely be home waiting for you,” she offered as she tilted her head against the wall, watching the coffee pour into her paper cup.

“Promise?” he asked breathily.

Her lips slowly curled upward. She nodded as if he could see her. Her heart was slamming so hard against her chest, almost as if it was the first time she would be seeing him. Despite them being together for years.

“Promise, have a safe flight, my love,” she expressed as she continued to stare towards the coffee slowly dripping into the cup.

“Please leave the office soon, yeah?” he asked as he tilted his head back against the headrest. He dragged his tongue across his bottom lip as he glanced towards Conor beside him.

“I’ll do my best,” she offered as she stole the coffee and began walking back towards her cubicle.

“Baby please,” he begged slightly.

“I will, I promise. I love you,” she sing-songed as she sat back down in her chair.

“I love you too,” he mumbled before he pulled the phone from his ear. He took a shaky deep breath.

She had a bad habit of overworking herself to find perfection. Maybe that’s why they were perfect for one another. But she’s had this habit since he’s known her. She would isolate herself in her dorm room or the corner of the library to finish an assignment. There was a period in her life that if she didn’t get a perfect score on an assignment it would send her into a spiral.

There were a few times he found her shaking with tears streaming down her face. Her breathing was so out of control, it was scary to watch. It’s been a few years since she’s reached that point, but all of the signs were pointing to it happening again.

She swore that she had better habits but recently her habits were slipping. For a while it was the goal to leave exactly at five o’clock a day. But without Quinn’s constant reminders, she was slipping into the never stop working mode.

Glancing at the clock on the wall several feet away from her, she saw that it was 7:42 p.m.

She promised Quinn that she would be back by eleven. All she needed was another hour of work. Then she would head home, shower, and wait for his arrival.

The plan was perfect, until she started losing track of time.

Every new paper she picked up was necessary to the next and the cycle continued. Not a single moment went by where she checked the time, she continued to work and read and reread each word that was shown on the papers.

The words were starting to blend together. Her hand was starting to cramp worse than it was several hours ago. The thought crossed her mind to stop but she swore the hour was almost up. She swore that she only had a few minutes left. Out of no where, the stack of papers was cut in half. It didn’t seem like it would take too long to finish. Since the first half of the stack didn’t even take an hour.

She took a deep breath, reaching for her coffee cup only to realize it was empty. A sigh left her lips as she took a hold of the cup and tossed it towards the recycling bin across from her. It missed and landed a foot in front of the can.

A sigh left her lips as she reluctantly stood up from the office chair and walked towards it. Y/N leaned down and took a hold of it, dropping it into the can in front of her.

Spinning around, she glanced towards the clock. She squinted her eyes slightly as she couldn’t believe what it said. “No,” she mumbled as she took fast steps back towards her desk.

She pulled her phone out from her desk drawer to see it read 11:08.

“Oh no,” she let out, her eyes starting to brim with tears. Suddenly, there was a sound of someone walking towards forced her to spin around. Her hand tightened into a fist, preparing for the worst. Her mouth fell open as she saw Quinn walking towards her. Her lips fell into a pout as she began to feel the tears become worse.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered.

Quinn instantly shook his head as he took faster steps towards her. Without an ounce of hesitation, he wrapped his arms around her frame. Delicately he lifted her off of the ground. “I had a feeling,” he mumbled into her hair as she finally wrapped her arms around his neck.

“I don’t know why I’m crying,” she let out as she rested her face into the crook of his neck. He hummed as he carefully put her back down onto the ground. He kept his arms around her, holding her securely against his chest.

“It’s okay,” he whispered as he continued to run his hand up and down her back soothingly. “Let’s head home, yeah?” he asked softly. She tilted her head back, looking into his softened gaze. Her mouth fell open as she glanced towards the papers still on her desk. “It’ll still be there next week,” he tilted his head to the side, raising his eyebrows slightly.

“Next week?” she let out as she pulled away from him, “I have work tomorrow and Friday,” she began walking towards the desk but Quinn took a hold of her waist. He stepped behind her as he carefully pulled her back against his chest. Delicately, he pulled her hair away from her shoulder.

“You are calling off tomorrow and Friday. We are spending all day together, while you take your mind off of things,” he whispered into her ear.

“I can’t,”

“You can and will,” he whispered as he slowly began to walk her towards her desk, “Grab your stuff, so we can go home,” He pressed his lips against her neck for a second before he let her slip from his grasp. She let out a dramatic huff of air as she started to reluctantly collect her things. Quinn walked beside her, carefully running his hand along her lower back.

She put everything into her bag and shoved her papers into the middle drawer in her desk. Y/N spun around, letting Quinn’s hand sweep along her frame. Delicately, he rested his hand onto her hip. Tilting his head to the side, he scanned her features. She pouted her lips as she looked into his eyes.

He leaned towards her, delicately running his hand along her side. She took a hold of his cheek, kissing him for a few seconds. “I’ve missed you,” she mumbled as she pulled. The corner of his lips curled upward as he pecked her lips.

“I’ve missed you too,” he let out as he reached for her hand, “Let’s get home,” he expressed while dragging her out of the office.

Stepping into the apartment, Quinn dragged his suitcase against the bookshelf. He dragged her into the apartment, she let out a long dramatic sigh. She kicked her shoes off near the door. Quinn followed in pursuit before he walked towards the kitchen.

“I can make you some food or we can order something,” he explained.

“It’s almost midnight, Quinn,” she said while walking toward the couch.

“When was the last time you ate something?” he questioned peeking his head out of the doorway in the kitchen. She didn’t respond as she flopped down onto the couch. She let out a dramatic groan. “That’s what I thought,”

“You’re exhausted,” she let out as she leaned up and leaned back on her elbows.

“You come first, you know that,” he offered while he was opening the fridge and different cabinets. He began pulling out items to make a simple box of mac and cheese. “It’ll take me like fifteen minutes,” he explained.

“Can I help?” she asked as she slowly stood up from the couch. A small huff of air leaving her lips.

“It’s okay, go lay back down,” he offered. She leaned against the door frame as she watched him pull out one of the pot and brought it towards the sink. He turned on the sink and began letting water pour into the pot. He shifted his gaze towards her, a soft smile on his lips as he scanned her tired frame.

“I can make my own mac and cheese,” she offered teasingly. His face scrunch together as he was holding back a laugh. “What’s so funny!?”

He walked back towards the stove, turning it on. He tilted his head to the side, squinting his eyes slightly in the process. Pursing his lips forward, he walked away from the stove. “Your mac and cheese is like watery,” he offered teasingly.

“It’s what the box says to do,” she countered, resting her hands onto her hip. A chuckle fell from his lips as he reached towards her, wrapping his arms around her waist. He pressed his lips against her cheek, teasingly.

“Whatever you say, baby,” he let out before he kissed her cheek one more time. “Go get ready for bed. This’ll be done by the time you’re back,” Slowly, she ran her hand along his jawline. He smiled softly before he began to shove her slightly out of the kitchen.

“Okay,” she let out as she stumbled out of the kitchen.

Quinn watched her walk away with a small chuckle leaving his lips. He ran his hands across his eyes. Y/N was right. He was exhausted but over the last few days he’s seen and heard how exhausted and overworked she has been. It clouded his thoughts, he needed to take care of her. He needed to take care of her before she reached her breaking point.

He leaned back against the counter crossing his arms over his chest as he waited for the water to boil.

The whole cooking process took twenty minutes. He made her a bowl and rested it onto the counter, the exact time she re-emerged into the kitchen. His eyes widened as he saw her leaning against the door frame. He smiled softly.

“Hey beautiful,” he let out as he slowly slid the bowl towards her. She chuckled softly as she walked towards him.

“Thank you, love,” she muttered as she rested her hands onto the base of his neck. He looped his hands around her waist.

“Don’t have to thank me for taking care of you,” he said as he tilted his head to the side. Her liips fell into a pout as she glided her thumbs along his jawline. “Go eat,” he leaned towards her, pressing his lips against hers for a few seconds. “I’m going to go shower, and then you better be in our bed; ready to sleep,”

He stared towards her expectantly. She took a deep breath, “Is that really what we're gonna do?” she asked as she fought off a grin. He chuckled as he pulled away from her.

“That’s what the morning is for,” he offered with a wink before he slipped away from the kitchen. She tossed her head back while laughing. She reached towards the bowl and took a hold of it.

~~~

Quinn had been awake for an hour. It was ingrained in him to wake up before seven, no matter how late it got. Even when he stayed at the lake house, he would be extremely hungover and awake at six in the morning. But right now, he was happy to see that she was relaxing for the first time in weeks.

She told her work that she would not be coming into work for the rest of the week. Very reluctantly but Quinn made sure she hit send.

Quinn delicately glided his fingertips along her arm slowly. He leaned down, and pressed his lips against her shoulder. Carefully, he brushed her hair away from her neck. Leaning back, she began to stir beside him.

She leaned back, rolling onto her back. Quinn looked down towards her, a soft smile on his lips. “Good morning,” he whispered.

“Hi,” she let out barely above a whisper. Quinn leaned towards her, kissing her delicately. “I’ve missed waking up to you,” she mumbled against his lips. Slowly, he glided his hand across her cheek before he kissed her for a few more seconds.

“I’ve missed it too,” he mumbled as he scanned her features. He glided his thumb along the apple of her cheek. Y/N leaned into his hand as she ran her hand along his arm. “How are you feeling, beautiful?” he asked as he glanced towards the clock on the side table. There was an optional skate in ninety minutes, he had to be there. But he was willing to push his luck on showing up on time.

“Happy you’re home for a few days. A little guilty I’m not at work right now,” she explained.

Carefully he climbed on top of her, a giggle falling from her lips in the process. He leaned down and pressed his lips against hers delicately. Slowly, he began to trail his lips down her jawline.

“How about I take your mind off of a few things?” he whispered into her ear. The corner of her lips curled upward as she ran her hands along his shoulders. Carefully, he pressed his lips beneath her ear. Quinn began to trail wet kisses down her neck.

She couldn’t form words as she tilted her head back, biting her bottom lip. He smiled as he toyed with the ends of her tank top on her body. Her hands found his hair tugging the strands as he continued to climb down her frame.

#quinn hughes imagines #quinn hughes imagine #quinn hughes #nhl imagines #nhl x reader #nhl #nhl fic #hockey #luke hughes x reader #quinn hughes x reader #luke hughes #luke hughes imagines #luke hughes fanfic #jack hughes x y/n #jack hughes x reader #jack hughes imagines #vancouver canucks fic #vancouver canucks imagine #vancouver canucks

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clxja16 · 4 months ago

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Not Actually Together

Charles Leclerc X Reader

Genre: fake dating au!

Warnings: swearing, emotionally dramatic

Word Count: 11K+

Author's Note: okay so I tried to do it a little different this time. usually i write like three/four part series, because it's easier for my brain. but i don't think people like that so i just wrote it all, so this is one long part but a somewhat satisfactory conclusion. lmk what you guys thinks.. thank you to anyone who enjoys this. imma be honest it feels a little melodramatic.

---------------

It had been a few weeks since Charles first mentioned Alexandra to you. Since then, you’d pieced together bits of their relationship but he was careful to keep it discreet. You didn’t ask questions, and he didn’t offer details. It was better that way. Today, though, was different. It was the last race before the summer break, and as usual, Charles was driving you to the track.

The early morning sun filtered through the car windows, casting a golden glow over the roads. The hum of the engine was a familiar backdrop to your thoughts. In the beginning, Charles had been rigid about the drive to the track—no touching the radio, no deviations from his carefully curated playlists. But over time, he’d loosened up. First, he’d let you choose the music on practice days. Then, gradually, he began trusting your taste entirely. Now, it was almost expected of you to play the music for the drive.

You weren’t always sure if he liked what you chose, though. He never said much about it. But every now and then, after he parked the car, you’d catch him adding one of your songs to his personal playlist. It was a small thing, but it made your chest warm in a way you couldn’t quite explain.

Today was no different. As the car rolled to a stop, you saw him pull out his phone and add another song. The corner of your mouth lifted in a faint smile. “Shall we head in?” Charles asked, turning to look at you.

His eyes—those eyes—always seemed to catch you off guard. People argued over whether they were green or blue, but to you, they were something else entirely. When he looked at you like that, it was impossible not to feel something. Something deep and unspoken. Charles wasn’t yours. He would never be yours. But the way he looked at you—that was yours, and yours alone.

“After you,” you said, smiling up at him. It was a sweet, genuine smile, the kind that made his heart skip a beat.

Charles wasn’t sure when it had started, but your smile had become his undoing. Every time you flashed it at him—soft, warm, and just a little teasing—he felt his cheeks heat and his stomach flip. It was ridiculous, really. He wasn’t yours, and he never would be. But when you smiled like that, you owned him, if only for a moment.

He stepped out of the car and came around to your side, opening the door with a quiet grace. He held out his hand, and you took it without hesitation. His grip was firm, grounding, as he helped you out of the car. Together, you walked toward the entrance, his hand still in yours.

To anyone watching, you looked like the picture of a perfect couple—two people completely in love, completely in sync. But you and Charles knew the truth. Or at least, you thought you did.

At the race, Charles had crossed the finish line in fourth place. It wasn’t a terrible result, but you knew he wouldn’t be happy—not when he’d started on the front row, not when he’d been aiming for the podium. You waited for him in the garage, watching as he went through the motions of post-race interviews in the media pen. When he finally returned, his expression was unreadable, his usual spark dimmed by disappointment.

He didn’t say a word as he walked past you. You followed him silently, giving him the space he seemed to need. The two of you entered his dressing room, the door clicking shut behind you, and still, he remained quiet. You didn’t push him to talk. You knew better than anyone how Charles processed his emotions—how he needed time to sort through the frustration before he could voice it.

The silence stretched between you, heavy but not uncomfortable. You were used to this, to the way he retreated into himself after a race that didn’t go as he planned. But then his phone buzzed, breaking the stillness. Alexandra’s name lit up the screen, her picture flashing brightly.

Charles’s face softened as he answered the call, a smile spreading across his lips—a smile you couldn’t remember ever eliciting from him. It was warm, genuine, and effortless, the kind of smile that made your chest ache. You didn’t stay to listen. Instead, you slipped out of the room, leaving him to talk to her in private.

As you wandered through the paddock, you felt the weight of your anonymity settle over you. Without Charles by your side, you were just another face in the crowd. No cameras followed you, no fans called out your name, no one demanded your attention. For a moment, you told yourself you liked it this way—the peace, the freedom, the ability to move unnoticed. You repeated it like a mantra, trying to convince yourself that this was what you wanted.

But deep down, you knew the truth. You didn’t mind the chaos that came with being by Charles’s side. You didn’t mind the flashes of cameras, the constant attention, or the noise. Because being with him made it all worth it. He was the reason you endured it, the reason you smiled through it. And now, as you walked alone, the absence of it all felt like a void you couldn’t quite fill.

You told yourself you liked the solitude, but the ache in your chest told a different story.

Charles watched you walk out of the room as he answered Alexandra’s call, the door closing softly behind you. For a moment, he hesitated, his gaze lingering on the space where you’d just been. A part of him wanted to hang up the phone, to follow after you, to take you by the hand and be with you for a quiet stroll. He loved those moments with you. The moments where the world seemed to fade away and it was just the two of you, moving in sync through the chaos of the paddock.

He loved the way you held onto him a little tighter when fans approached, your fingers curling around his arm as if he were your anchor. He loved how you’d gently tug him toward the crowd, your voice soft but insistent as you reminded him to acknowledge the people who adored him.

And then there were the photos—the endless requests from fans eager to capture a moment with him. You never seemed to mind the interruptions. You’d stand patiently by his side, your hand still in his, as he posed for pictures and signed autographs.

As he listened to Alexandra’s voice on the other end of the line, his thoughts drifted back to you. He wondered where you were now, if you were wandering the paddock alone or finding a quiet corner to sit and wait. He wondered if you missed him as much as he suddenly missed you. But the call demanded his attention, and so he stayed, his heart being tugged in two different directions.

“Charles,” Alexandra says his name through the phone, “you’re gonna come tonight, right?”

Charles brings himself back to pay attention to Alexandra, “yeah, yeah.”

“And you’re gonna bring y/n right?” Alexandra questions, excitement evident in her voice, “I really do want to meet her.”

The idea of you and Alexandra meeting sends a ripple of unease through Charles. He doesn’t have a valid reason for the two of you not to meet—after all, you’re his fake girlfriend, and Alex is his real one. But the thought of the two worlds colliding makes him tense. He hesitates, choosing his words carefully. “I don’t know, Alex. I can ask y/n, but she’s not really a clubbing person. And honestly, I’m not in the mood to party tonight.”

Alexandra’s voice takes on a pleading edge. “Please, Charles. We don’t ever do anything together—not in public, at least.”

“Alex, that’s just how…”

“Charles I know that’s how it has to be, and I love hanging out at home with you, I really do. But it would be nice to go out for once, to feel like we’re… normal. And if you bring y/n, it would be the perfect opportunity. No one would suspect anything.” Alex makes her case, and Charles doesn’t want to deny her.

Her words hang in the air, and Charles can hear the longing in her voice. Alexandra isn’t just asking for a night out; she’s asking for a chance to exist in his world, even if it’s just for a few hours. She wants to feel like she matters, like she’s more than a secret tucked away in the shadows of his life.

“I will ask,” Charles says, his resistance wavering, “but if y/n says no, then i’m not going tonight. She has made it clear how she feels about this, and I'm not going to make a fool out of her.”

“I understand,” Alexandra replies, though her sigh betrays her disappointment. She doesn’t like this feeling of being second to you—not when she’s the one in the real relationship with Charles. It’s a bitter pill to swallow, knowing that she has to share him with someone who doesn’t even truly have a claim on him.

As the call ends, Alexandra stares at her phone, a mix of emotions swirling inside her. She loves Charles, but sometimes she wonders if she’s just another piece in the carefully constructed puzzle of his life. She wants to be more than that—more than the girl he hides away, more than the one who has to beg for a night out. But for now, she’ll take what she can get, even if it means sharing him with you.

As you and Charles walk back towards the car, after the events of the day, Charles asks, “what are you doing tonight?”

You sigh, “I’m hoping to pack, my flight home is tomorrow in the late morning.”

Charles stops in his tracks, his brow furrowing as his thoughts shift. “You’re not coming to Monaco with me?” His voice is tinged with surprise, almost disbelief, as if the idea of you not being there hadn’t even crossed his mind.

You turn to face him, noticing the way his expression falters. “I’ll be in Monaco before you have to go to the Netherlands,” you reassure him, your tone gentle. “But no, I’m not going straight to Monaco from here.”

Charles stands still, a few paces behind you, his eyes searching yours. For a moment, you think you see a flicker of pain in his gaze—something raw and unspoken. “I just thought…” he begins, his voice trailing off as he struggles to find the right words. He looks at you with those eyes—the ones that always seem to see straight through you, the ones that hold a world of emotions you can’t always decipher. “I just thought you were coming home with me.”

You offer him a smile, that sweet, reassuring smile that he loves, and take a step closer to him. “Charles,” you say softly, “I’ll be back in Monaco before you can even miss me.” But the truth is, he’s already missing you. He hasn’t even let go of you yet, and already he’s dreading the emptiness your absence will leave behind.

You hold out your hand to him, a silent invitation to close the distance between you. For a moment, he hesitates, his emotions swirling just beneath the surface. Then, with a quiet resolve, he takes the first step forward, his hand slipping into yours. His grip is firm, almost as if he’s afraid you’ll slip away too soon.

The two of you walk toward the car, Charles reaches the passenger side first, opening the door for you with a small, almost reflexive gesture. You slide into the seat, murmuring a quiet “thank you,” but you notice the way his movements seem to slow, more deliberate than usual. As he walks around the car to the driver’s side, his mind races. There’s something he needs to ask you, something he doesn’t want to ask of you. He tries to find the right words, weighing each one carefully. This isn’t a conversation he can rush—it requires caution, a gentle touch.

When he finally settles into the driver’s seat, the car door closing with a soft thud, the silence between you feels heavier than before. You glance at him, noticing the way his hands grip the steering wheel a little too tightly, the way his jaw tenses as he stares straight ahead. It’s clear he has something on his mind, something he’s struggling to put into words.

“Charles,” you call out softly, looking at him cautiously, “what's on your mind?”

Charles freezes, looking like a deer caught in headlights, and you smile at him. Charles sighs, running his hand through his hair. “Alex wants to meet you,” he admits.

You physically cannot hide your surprise, “Oh.” You don’t know what to say. Your mind races, trying to process the idea of meeting Alexandra. She seems nice—kind, beautiful, and clearly someone who makes Charles happy. There’s no logical reason to refuse, but the thought still makes you feel awkward, “Sure,” you smile, “when is a good time?”

Charles hesitates, his gaze dropping for a moment before meeting yours again. “Well,” he begins, taking a deep breath, “she was thinking tonight, there’s this party at this club.”

“Charles,” you start to shake your head, “that’s not really…”

“I know,” he interrupts, his words tumbling out faster now, as if he’s trying to explain before you can object. “Alex wants to go, and she thinks it would be something we could do in public if you’re there. Since, you know, all we usually do is hang out at home. But if you say no, y/n, I won’t go. I promise.” He takes another breath, ready to say more, but you cut him off this time.

“Don’t do that,” you say sharply, your voice rising as your face hardens with anger. “Do not make it seem like you can’t do something because of me, Charles.” The way you say his name—cold, clipped—makes him flinch. It’s not the way you usually say it, and the shift in tone stings. “Do not act like I’m the reason we’re in this situation.”

Charles’s eyes widen, and he quickly shakes his head. “No, no, that’s not what I’m trying to do, y/n,” he says, his voice earnest. He looks at you with those eyes—the ones that always seem to make you weak—and you feel yourself soften, just a little. “Alex wants to meet you because we spend a lot of time together. And that’s not your fault or your doing. She just wants to know who I’m spending my time with, and she thought tonight would be a good chance for that.” He looks down at his lap, his shoulders slumping. “If you don’t want to go, I won’t force you. We can just go back to the hotel, and we’ll figure out another time for you to meet Alex. I just meant… if you say no, then it’s no. I won’t argue with your decision.”

You sigh, the tension in your chest easing slightly. None of this is ideal—not the fake relationship, not the secrecy, not the way Charles is caught between you and Alex. But you know it’s not his fault. “I’m sorry,” you say quietly, your gaze dropping as you take a deep breath. “I know this situation wasn’t your idea. It’s what the team wanted, and I shouldn’t blame you.” You pause, then look up at him, forcing a small smile. “I’ll go tonight. I’ll meet Alex tonight.”

Charles looks up at you, studying your face. “Are you sure?” He asks softly, his expression showing a mix of relief and concern.

“Yeah it could be fun,” you smile, that sweet smile, that Charles loves so much. There’s a silence that falls over you both, as Charles looks at you with those eyes, and there’s so many unspoken thoughts behind them.

“Thank you,” Charles whispers to you.

Much later that evening as you adorned an outfit befitting of a night out. Charles and you made your way to the club. You and Charles walk hand in hand, into the club, he waves at some of the fans that spot him. Inside, it’s much more crowded than you expect. Charles pulls you closer to him, as he weaves his way through the crowd. You know that there were gonna be several of the drivers and their girlfriends out tonight.

As you approach the area that the drivers are gathering at you spot Kika. You and her have formed a simple friendship, just from seeing each other at the races. You and her aren’t exactly close, but she is definitely someone you find comfort in. You smile and wave at her, as you find a seat next to her.

“I thought parties like this weren’t your thing?” she shouts over the music in your ear.

“They’re not, but Charles asked me to come.” Kika nods, as she hands you a shot. Without hesitation, you down it—and then two more in quick succession. Kika watches with a mix of amusement and concern, giggling at your boldness. She’s not sure if you’re a regular drinker, but your actions suggest something is on your mind.

Meanwhile, Charles is a few feet away, mingling with fellow drivers like Pierre and Carlos. They’re deep in conversation, their words drowned out by the music. Charles is in his element, laughing and gesturing animatedly, while you and Kika share a quieter moment amidst the chaos.

You watch as Charles rises from his seat, his figure cutting through the dim, pulsating lights of the club. He disappears into the crowd, his broad shoulders and confident stride making him easy to track—at first. But as the sea of faces shifts and sways, the crowd swallows him whole, and your eyes lose him in the blur of bodies and flashing lights. You crane your neck, trying to catch another glimpse, but he’s gone.

Moments later, you spot him again. This time, he’s not alone. Standing beside him is Alexandra, her presence commanding attention even in the chaotic atmosphere. The club’s lighting seems to bend around her, casting a soft, golden glow on her flawless skin. She moves with an effortless grace, her every step exuding confidence and poise. Her beauty is undeniable—radiant, almost otherworldly.

You can’t help but notice how perfectly she fits into this world, how she seems to belong in a way you never could. Her smile is dazzling, her laughter carrying over the music as she leans in to say something to Charles. He laughs too, his expression relaxed and open in a way you can’t bring out of him.

Your eyes follow them as they draw closer. “y/n,” Charles calls your name, and he looks at you with those eyes. Those eyes, with that look, that belong to you and only you. He gives you that look, and your heart breaks knowing that’s the only thing you have. “This is Alexandra.” He steps aside, presenting her to you. His tone is polite, but there’s a flicker of unease in his expression, as if he’s bracing for impact.

“Hi,” you say with a big smile, as she moves to hug you and you are forced to stand and hug her back.

“Hi,” Alex says breathlessly, and even her voice is beautiful. “It’s so nice to meet you, Charles says nothing but praises about you.”

For a split second, your heart skips a beat. Charles talks about me? The thought sends a rush of warmth through you, but it’s quickly replaced by doubt. You force a blush, playing along. “Charles says nothing but wonderful things about you too,” you lie, your voice steady despite the ache in your chest. You realize, with a sinking feeling, that her words are probably just as hollow. Charles doesn’t talk about Alexandra to you, and you doubt he’s ever mentioned you to her.

“I’m so grateful that you let Charles ask me out,” Alex says with a genuine smile, even her smile is beautiful.

“Of course,” you say, your smile tightening, “it really isn’t my place to tell him who he can and can’t date.”

Alex giggles, a sound that’s light and carefree. “And thank god your relationship isn’t real,” she adds, as if it’s the most casual thing in the world. “I mean, I knew Charles was in a relationship when I started hitting on him, so I’m just relieved it wasn’t a real one.”

Your breath catches, and you’re not sure if you manage to keep your expression neutral. “I mean, thank god,” you echo with an awkward chuckle, your mind racing. Did she really just say that? You glance at Charles, but he’s already looking away, his jaw tight. “You guys should go get a drink or something,” you suggest quickly, desperate to end the conversation.

“Yeah, we’re gonna go check out the bar,” Alex says as she turns back and looks at Charles to point at the bar. She turns back to look at you, still smiling so radiantly, “it was so nice to meet you, let’s hang out sometime.”

You nod, “of course we must have lunch or something.” You watch as they walk away, your smile fading the moment they’re out of sight. You sink back into your seat, reaching for another shot on the table. You down it in one gulp, the burn of the alcohol doing little to numb the sting of Alex’s words. You want to believe she didn’t mean it the way it sounded, but the doubt lingers.

“Did she say she knew?” Kika’s voice cuts through your thoughts, her tone sharp and accusing.

“I think it sounds worse than-” you shake your head as you talk.

“No,” Kika interjects, “it sounds like she was willing to be a homewrecker.”

“Kika, I think you’re exaggerating,” you reply, trying to laugh it off, but the sound falls flat.

“Girl, be so for real right now,” Kika snaps, leaning closer. “She just admitted she knew Charles was in a relationship when she made a move on him. That’s not normal.”

“But we’re not actually together,” you retort.

“She didn’t know that,” Kika fires back. “All she knew was that he was in a relationship. That’s messed up, and you know it.”

Kika raises her eyebrows, daring you to disagree. You sigh, your shoulders slumping. There’s no point in arguing. Not that any of it matters now.

The rest of that night is a blur, the edges softened by too many drinks and the weight of unspoken words. You and Charles don’t discuss Alexandra again. The next morning, you leave Belgium before he does, slipping away without fanfare. The summer break stretches before you, a welcome reprieve filled with family and distance. The time away gives you space to breathe, to think, to untangle the mess of emotions tied to Charles.

Two weeks pass, and you convince yourself you’ve figured it all out. The conclusion is clear: you don’t like Charles. Not in that way at least. The hours spent together, the shared smiles, the quiet moments—they were just part of the act. You tell yourself you’ve mistaken his kindness for something more. That your feelings are nothing more than a byproduct of the close proximity. You repeat it like a mantra: You don’t like Charles. You don’t like Charles.

By the time you land at Nice Côte d'Azur Airport, you’ve almost convinced yourself it’s true. Charles insisted on picking you up, despite you arguing that a taxi would be fine. You protested, but he wouldn’t budge. And now, as you spot him weaving through the crowd, your resolve wavers.

He looks… different. Or maybe it’s just that you’ve forgotten the way his presence makes you blush, the way his eyes light up when he sees you. Your chest tightens as he approaches, and you realize just how much you’ve missed him.

“Hi,” he says, slightly out of breath, as if he’d been running to you. Before you can respond, he’s pulling you into a hug, his arms wrapping around you like he’s afraid you’ll disappear. “I missed you,” he murmurs into your shoulder, so softly that you wonder if you imagined it.

“Hi,” you reply, your voice muffled against his chest. You hug him back, your hands gripping the fabric of his shirt as if to anchor yourself. When he finally pulls away, he looks at you with those eyes—the ones that belong to you and only you.

You can’t help but smile, and when you do, Charles’s heart skips a beat. He’s waited two weeks to see that smile, the one that lights up your face and makes his stomach flip. It’s the smile he’s come to love, though he’d never say it out loud.

“Let’s go home,” he says, holding out his hand to you. The word home lingers in the air, heavy with meaning. You take his hand, your fingers slotting perfectly into his, and something about the way he says it makes your chest ache.

Charles grabs your suitcase, his free hand still holding yours, and the two of you make your way to the car. The airport buzzes around you, but at this moment, it feels like it’s just the two of you, walking toward something you’re both too afraid to name.

The drive from the airport to Charles’ apartment is quiet. The hum of the car engine and the soft music you play, filling the space between you. You stare out the window, watching the familiar streets of Monaco blur past. Charles glances at you occasionally, his fingers tapping the steering wheel as if he’s searching for an opening to speak. But the words never come, and neither do yours.

When you arrive, you look up at the building before you. You try to remind yourself that everything from here on out is just an act. Charles carries your suitcase upstairs, his movements brisk and efficient. You follow him, your stomach twisting with a mix of anticipation and dread. The door to his apartment swings open, and the smell of something delicious wafts out—garlic, herbs, and warmth.

“Welcome back!” a cheery voice calls out, as Alexandra rounds the corner to greet you.

You freeze seeing her standing there. She has an apron tied around her waist, subtle sweat beads drip down the sides of your face. The smile she wears is genuine and kind. She looks breathtaking at this moment. Even the disheveled, homebody, tirelessly working version of her is stunningly beautiful.

“Y/N! It’s so good to finally meet you properly,” she says, pulling you into a hug before you can react. Her embrace is warm, her perfume soft and floral. “Charles has told me so much about you.”

You stiffen, your arms moving awkwardly up to hug her back. Over her shoulder, you catch Charles’s gaze. He looks uneasy, his jaw tight as he sets your suitcase down.

“Alex wanted to make something to welcome you back,” Charles says, his voice carefully measured.

Alexandra pulls away, her smile still radiant, and glowing. “I made pasta, I hope you like it,” she says as she plants a soft kiss on Charles' cheek before returning to the kitchen. The act makes you clench your jaw, how you wish that it was you doing that.

You try to remind yourself that you don’t like Charles. “That was really kind of you Alex,” you say walking past Charles and towards the kitchen.

“I know I love a good home cooked meal after a long flight,” Alex says as she plates the food, “I thought you would enjoy the same.” She brings the plates to the dining table.

She ushers you toward the dining table, which is set with candles and a bottle of wine. The scene is so domestic, so perfect, that it makes your chest ache. You glance at Charles, but he’s avoiding your eyes, busying himself with pouring glasses of water.

“Please, come sit,” she says. You take your seat across from Alexandra. You can tell she’s worked hard on this meal.

“It smells amazing,” you say, your voice tight as you smile. You pick up your fork, your appetite gone, but you force yourself to take a bite. It’s delicious, of course.

“Tell me all about your summer,” Alexandra says, she looks more beautiful in the candle light, “Charles said you were with family.”

“It was good,” you say, “quiet. Different.”

“That sounds lovely,” she says, her tone warm. “I’ve been here most of the break. Charles has been such a great host.”

You glance at him again, but he’s staring at his plate, his fork pushing food around without eating. The awkwardness in the room is cutting, though Alexandra seems oblivious—or maybe she’s just that good at pretending.

“It’s nice to finally have you here,” she continues, reaching for the wine bottle. “Charles talks about you all the time. It’s like I already know you.”

“Does he?” you ask with a bit of a force chuckle, “I hope it’s nothing but good things.”

“Oh of course,” Alexandra says as she looks at Charles, nothing but love in her eyes, “I think it would literally kill him to say a negative thing about you.”

You smile, looking back at your plate. Charles looks at you, that smile you wear isn’t the same. It’s not the smile that he loves. It’s different, it’s a sad smile. “I’m glad he’s not telling lies,” you finally say looking at Alexandra. You can feel Charles’ gaze on you, but you don’t meet it.

The rest of the meal passes in a blur. Alexandra fills the silence with stories about her summer, her laughter bright and easy. You nod along, your responses polite but distant. Charles stays quiet, his presence a heavy weight at the table.

When the meal is over, Alexandra insists on cleaning up. “You two must be tired,” she says, shooing you toward the living room. “Go relax. I’ve got this.”

“Thank you again for cooking,” you say.

“Of course,” Alexandra smiles, “It was so nice having you. Now go unwind.”

You don’t argue. You follow Charles into the living room, you try to remind yourself once more. You don’t have genuine feelings for Charles. He sits on the couch, his elbows on his knees, his head in his hands.

“Charles,” you call out to him softly.

He looks up, his eyes tired. “I’m sorry,” he says, his voice rough. “I didn’t know she was going to do all this.”

You sit beside him, your hands clasped in your lap. “She’s… really kind.”

Charles sighs, his hands gripping the edge of the couch as if anchoring himself. “Yeah, she is,” he murmurs, his voice low and strained. He looks at you, his eyes searching yours for something—understanding, maybe, or forgiveness. But the words don’t come, and the silence between you grows heavier.

You lean further back into the couch, your gaze fixed on the ceiling. “When the season is over, you can be more open about your relationship with her,” you say, your tone carefully neutral. “No more pretending. No more… me.”

Charles flinches, his jaw tightening as he stares at the floor. His fingers tap restlessly against his knee, a telltale sign of his unease. “It’s not that simple,” he says finally, his voice rough, though he doesn’t elaborate.

You turn to look at him, your heart aching at the conflict etched across his face. “Isn’t it?” you ask softly, though you already know the answer.

For a moment, he doesn’t respond. His eyes drop to his hands, his shoulders slumping under the weight of everything left unsaid. The sound of Alexandra humming in the kitchen fills the silence, a painful reminder of the life Charles has built—and the one you’re no longer sure you belong in. Neither of you say anything more for the night.

Time doesn’t allow you to wallow. It never does. It throws you into the next event before you can catch your breath, before you can prepare. Time forces you to face the crowd, to put on the mask and play the part. You sit in the passenger seat, staring out the window at the paddock entrance. The sea of photographers waits, their cameras poised, ready to capture every and all moments.

Charles comes around to your side, opening the door for you. His hand is steady, but his eyes show his concern.

“You okay?” he asks, his voice soft, his gaze searching yours.

“Yeah,” you force a smile, though it feels brittle on your lips. You take his outstretched hand, your fingers slipping into his as you step out of the car. His grip is firm, grounding, and for a moment, you let yourself lean into him.

“I forgot about this,” you murmur, your voice barely audible over the hum of the paddock.

Charles’s jaw tightens, guilt flickering across his face. “We can take the other entrance,” he offers, his tone hesitant. The other entrance is quieter, less crowded, but it feels like running away.

You shake your head, your resolve hardening. “It’s okay.”

The moment you take the first step forward, the cameras erupt. Flashes of light burst around you, blinding and relentless. Charles’ smile is bright, effortless, as he waves at the crowd. You mirror him, your own smile plastered on, but your grip on his hand tightens instinctively.

His thumb brushes against the back of your hand, a small, unconscious gesture that sends a shiver up your spine. You glance at him, but he’s focused on the crowd, his smile never wavering. His grip on your hand tightens slightly, as if he’s afraid you’ll slip away.

“Charles,” you say softly, your voice barely audible over the noise. You’ve just arrived at the Ferrari motorhome, the chaos of the paddock fading behind you.

He looks down at you, his eyes dark and unreadable. “Yeah?”

You hesitate, the words catching in your throat. This isn’t real, you remind yourself. It’s just an act. But the way he’s looking at you—like you’re the only person in the world—makes it hard to breathe.

“Nothing,” you say finally, your voice barely a whisper.

Charles lets go of your hand, and the loss of his touch is immediate. You clench your hands into fists, your nails digging into your palms to keep from reaching for him. You watch him disappear into a room, his figure swallowed by the shadows. You know you’ll barely see him for the rest of the day, and the thought leaves you hollow.

Hours pass in a blur. You make yourself comfortable in the Ferrari motorhome, but your mind is anything but at ease. The weight of your feelings presses down on you, a constant ache in your chest. You don’t notice Charles approaching until he’s standing in front of you, his presence pulling you back to the present.

“Hey,” he says softly, taking a seat across from you. His fingers move instinctively, brushing a strand of hair from your face. The gesture is so tender, so intimate, that it steals your breath. “What’s on your mind?”

“Nothing,” you say, shaking your head gently. “Nothing important.”

Charles’s gaze softens, his hand lingering near your face for a moment before he pulls it back. “Everything about you is important to me,” he says, his tone casual, as if the words don’t carry the weight of the world.

Your heart flutters, a traitorous warmth spreading through your chest. You want to believe him, to let yourself fall into the comfort of his words, but you can’t. Not when you know this is an act.

“We’re heading to the track,” he says, standing up. “I’ll see you later.”

You nod, your throat too tight to speak. As he turns to leave, he pauses, his hand brushing against your shoulder. Then, without warning, he leans down and plants a soft kiss on your cheek.

The act is so unexpected, so intimate, that it leaves you frozen. Your mind races, a million questions swirling in your head. Why? There are no cameras here, no fans watching. No one to perform for. So why?

Charles pulls away, his eyes meeting yours for a brief, charged moment. Then he’s gone, leaving you sitting there, your hand pressed to your cheek as if to hold onto the warmth of his lips.

The Dutch Grand Prix unfolds like all the others—chaotic, exhilarating, and filled with the same familiar routines. You play your part as Charles’ girlfriend flawlessly, smiling for the cameras, laughing at his jokes, and holding his hand as you navigate the paddock. But every moment together leaves you more confused than the last.

Time, however, is relentless. As soon as the race ends on Sunday, you’re boarding a plane. The Italian Grand Prix is next, and the entire week is packed with events for Charles. There’s no time to breathe, no time to process. Sponsor appearances, media commitments, team meetings—his schedule is a whirlwind, leaving little room for anything else.

In a strange way, you’re grateful for it. The constant busyness means your time together is limited, and that makes it easier to keep your walls up. If you don’t see him, you can’t fall deeper into the trap of pretending this is real. If you don’t hear his voice, you can’t let yourself believe the way he says your name means something more. Distance, you tell yourself, is your only defense against the ache in your chest.

But even as you cling to that logic, a part of you wishes for just one more moment—one more stolen glance, one more brush of his hand against yours. Just one more chance to pretend, even if only for a moment.

Today is Sunday, race day—the final act of this week-long spectacle in Italy. The air is thick with anticipation, but Charles has been in a slightly sour mood since yesterday’s qualifying, where he secured fourth on the grid. You watch him now in his dressing room, his movements sharp and focused as he goes through his timing drills. The rhythmic sound of his steps fills the room, a steady beat that mirrors the tension in his shoulders.

“Don’t tire yourself out before the race even starts,” you tease, your voice light and playful, cutting through the silence.

Charles pauses, glancing over at you. The corners of his mouth twitch, and for a moment, the weight on his shoulders seems to lift. He’s grateful you’re here, sitting in the quiet with him, offering a moment of calm before the storm.

“I’m just psyching myself up,” he says, flashing you a small but genuine smile.

You smile, your tone softening. “You’re going to do great out there,” you say, your voice steady and sure. “I have nothing but faith in you that you’ll bring home the results you want.”

Charles stops completely, his drills forgotten as he turns to face you. His eyes—soft, caring, and impossibly kind—meet yours, and for a moment, the world narrows to just the two of you. The look he gives you, that look. Something so raw and intimate just below the surface.

He might not be yours, he may never be yours, but this look—that look—is yours.

“Thank you,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper, as if the words are too fragile to speak aloud.

The room feels warmer somehow, the air between you charged with unspoken emotions. You don’t say anything else; you don’t need to. The quiet understanding between you is enough.

Charles takes a deep breath, his shoulders relaxing as he exhales. He gives you one last lingering look before turning back to his preparations, a small but steady smile playing on his lips.

You stay there, watching him, your presence a silent anchor as he readies himself for the race ahead.

You watch the race from the garage, your eyes glued to the monitors tracking Charles’s car as it weaves through the pack. The tension is palpable, every overtake, every corner, every lap tightening the knot in your chest. When Charles fights his way into first place, you can’t help but jump to your feet, cheering alongside the rest of the crew. You hold your breath as he maintains his lead, the checkered flag feeling like it’s an eternity away.

The race drags on, each lap stretching time to its limits. You count them down, your heart pounding in sync with the roar of the engines. As Charles approaches the final corner on the final lap, the garage erupts. You’re jumping, screaming, caught up in the electric energy of the moment. There isn’t a garage in the paddock cheering louder than Ferrari.

The second the checkered flag waves, you’re running. You sprint with the team to parc ferme, your feet barely touching the ground. You arrive before Charles does, your chest heaving as you watch his car pull up in front of the number 1 sign.

You don’t have to pretend to be happy for him. You don’t think about the cameras or the fans or the performance you’re supposed to put on. All you care about is Charles Leclerc, standing there in his red Ferrari, victorious at the Italian Grand Prix. At the home grand prix.

Charles wastes no time. He leaps out of the car, his movements fueled by adrenaline and joy. He crashes into Fred first, hugging his team principal with a force that nearly knocks them both over. The crowd surges forward, hands reaching out to pat him on the back, to share in this moment of triumph. The atmosphere is intoxicating, a heady mix of pride, joy, and sheer exhilaration. You’re overwhelmed by it all—by the love for Formula One, for Ferrari, for the tifosi, and most of all, for Charles.

When Charles steps back from Fred, he pulls off his helmet, his hair damp with sweat, his face flushed with victory. His eyes scan the crowd, and when they land on you, everything else seems to fade.

He doesn’t think. He doesn’t hesitate. He acts on his emotions alone.

Charles strides toward you, his hands cupping your face with surprising gentleness. And then he kisses you.

The kiss is raw, unfiltered, and filled with emotions you can’t name. It feels real—so real that it steals your breath. The world around you disappears, the noise of the crowd fading into a distant hum. All you can feel is the warmth of his lips on yours, the way his hands tremble against your skin. His fingers grasping at the ends of your hair. For a moment, it feels like you’re the only two people in the world.

When he pulls away, he doesn’t say a word. His eyes search yours, a flicker of something unspoken passing between you. But before either of you can speak, Lando and Oscar are there, clapping him on the back, pulling him into the chaos of celebration.

You’re left standing there, your fingers brushing against your lips as if to hold onto the memory of his kiss. The warmth lingers, a bittersweet reminder of a moment that felt too real to be part of the act.

Alexandra watches the scene unfold from her hotel room, the glow of the television casting shadows across her face. She sees Charles leap out of his car, his joy radiating through the screen. She sees him hug Fred, the team, the crew—his smile so wide it could light up the entire paddock. And then she sees you.

Her breath catches as Charles pulls off his helmet, his eyes scanning the crowd. When they land on you, something shifts. His expression softens, his movements slow, and for a moment, it’s like the rest of the world ceases to exist.

She watches, her heart pounding, as he strides toward you. She watches his hands cup your face, so gently, so reverently, as if you’re the most precious thing in the world. And then she watches him kiss you.

It’s not the kind of kiss they share—quick, polite, perfunctory. No, this kiss is raw, unfiltered, and filled with an intensity that makes her chest ache. She sees the way his fingers tremble against your skin, the way his body leans into yours as if he can’t bear to let go. She sees the way he looks at you when he pulls away, his eyes brimming with an overwhelming amount of love.

Alexandra feels the tears before she even realizes she’s crying. They roll down her cheeks, hot and relentless, as she clutches the edge of the bed. She tries to tell herself it’s an act, a performance, nothing more than a show for the cameras. But deep down, she knows better.

She’s tried to ignore it—the way Charles’s eyes follow you instinctively, like you’re the only person in the room. She’s tried to ignore the way he speaks about you, his voice softening with a fondness he’s never shown her. She’s tried to ignore how your smile can brighten his mood, even on his darkest days. She’s tried to ignore how gentle he is with you, how careful, as if you’re something fragile and precious.

But now, watching the two of you from this private hotel room, far from the crowds and cameras, she can’t ignore it anymore. You look like a real couple. You look like his girlfriend.

Alexandra knows she can’t compete with someone like you. You’re the sunlight breaking through on a rainy day, the sparkle on the ocean under the moonlight. You’re the tinkle of the brightest star, the kind of light that draws people in and holds them captive. You’re a shiny emerald in a sea of diamonds—unique, irreplaceable, unforgettable.

You are everything.

And she is nothing. At the very least she is nothing compared to you for Charles.

The realization crashes over her like a wave, pulling her under until she can’t breathe. She curls into herself, the tears coming harder now, as the weight of it all settles in her chest. She loves him—she loves him so much—but it doesn’t matter. Because he loves you.

And there’s nothing she can do to change that.

After the podium celebrations, Charles disappears into a sea of cameras that follow him towards the press conference. You slip away, weaving through the crowd toward the motorhome. The weight of the day presses on your shoulders, but it’s the stares—the lingering gazes of strangers—that make your skin crawl. You can feel their eyes on you, their whispers trailing behind you like shadows.

You quicken your pace, your heart pounding in your chest, when you hear the rapid click of footsteps behind you. You turn, and there’s Kika, breathless and flushed, her face etched with something you can’t quite place. Pity. Concern. Fear.

“Y/N,” she says softly, her voice trembling as if she’s afraid to shatter you.

“What is it?” you ask, though the unease in her expression tells you everything you need to know. Your stomach twists as she hands you her phone, the screen glowing with a headline that stops you cold:

‘Charles Leclerc Cheating? Two Is Better Than One.’

Your hands tremble as you scroll through the article. It’s filled with photos—Charles and Alexandra, laughing on a sunlit terrace, walking hand in hand through the streets of Monaco in the middle of night, sharing quiet moments that feel too intimate to be real. Some of the pictures date back to the Hungarian Grand Prix, a timeline of a relationship you didn’t know existed.

And then, at the bottom of the article, there it is: a photo of you and Charles from just hours ago. His hands cupping your face, his lips pressed to yours in a kiss that felt so real, so raw, so yours.

The caption beneath it reads: ‘Was it just a summer fling, or is it a torrid affair for the Formula One driver?’

The article is careful to blur Alexandra’s face and omit her name, but the damage is done. The world sees her. The world sees you. And the world sees Charles caught between the two.

“He said he wouldn’t do this to me,” you whisper, your voice breaking as you hand the phone back to Kika. The words feel hollow, like a promise that was never meant to be kept.

You turn on your heel, your feet carrying you toward the motorhome before your mind can catch up. Kika follows close behind, her steps hurried and anxious.

“Y/N, wait—what are you going to do?” she asks, her voice laced with worry.

“I’m going home,” you say, the words final, absolute. “Tell Charles I had an emergency. Or don’t tell him anything at all. But I’m not staying here for another second.”

Kika reaches for your arm, her touch gentle but insistent. “Let me come with you. I’ll make sure you get home safely.”

You shake your head, your vision blurring with unshed tears. “Pierre’s going to be looking for you. You don’t have to worry about me.”

You step into the motorhome, your movements quick and mechanical as you gather your things. Kika watches from the doorway, her expression torn between concern and helplessness.

“Thank you, Kika,” you say softly, slinging your bag over your shoulder. “For everything.”

Before she can respond, you’re gone, disappearing into the chaos of the paddock. Kika stands there, frozen, as she watches you walk away—your figure growing smaller and smaller until you vanish from sight.

The noise of the paddock fades behind you, replaced by the hollow echo of your footsteps. You don’t look back.

The press conference with the podium finishers is winding down, the atmosphere in the room relaxed as the moderator announces the final questions. Charles sits between Lando and Oscar, his smile easy but tired, the adrenaline of the race still buzzing faintly under his skin.

Then, like a crack of thunder, a reporter shoots to his feet, his voice cutting through the calm.

“Charles!” he shouts, not waiting to be called on. “Care to comment on the article that was just released minutes ago?”

The room erupts into chaos. Reporters scramble for their phones, fingers flying across screens as they search for the article. Murmurs ripple through the crowd, growing louder with each passing second. Charles glances at Lando and Oscar, their faces mirroring his own confusion.

“I’m sorry, what article?” Charles asks, forcing a chuckle, though his stomach twists with unease. He can’t imagine what they’re talking about, but the tension in the room is palpable.

The reporter doesn’t hesitate. “Are you cheating on your girlfriend, Y/N?”

The silence that follows is deafening. Every eye in the room locks onto Charles, every camera lens zooms in on his face. Even Lando and Oscar turn to him, their expressions a mix of shock and curiosity.

Charles freezes, his mind going blank. The question hangs in the air, heavy and suffocating. He opens his mouth to respond, but no words come out. His heart pounds in his chest, his thoughts racing in a thousand directions at once.

Before he can gather himself, a Ferrari representative rushes the stage, their voice sharp and commanding. “We’re going to end right there. Thank you for your time!”

The room explodes into noise as crew members swarm Charles, pulling him to his feet and ushering him toward the exit. Reporters surge forward, shouting questions, their voices overlapping in a cacophony of accusations and demands. Cameras flash, their blinding lights adding to the chaos.

Charles stumbles as he’s pushed through the crowd, his mind spinning. He fumbles for his phone, desperate to see the article, but the noise around him is overwhelming. The questions keep coming, each one louder and more invasive than the last.

“Charles, is it true?”

“Who is the other woman?”

“How long has this been going on?”

He doesn’t answer. He can’t. His thoughts are a jumbled mess, his pulse racing as he’s hurried toward the Ferrari motorhome. The crowd follows, a relentless wave of voices and cameras that he can’t escape.

When he finally reaches the motorhome, he bursts inside, his eyes scanning the room frantically. “Y/N?” he calls, his voice strained.

The room is empty. His heart sinks, panic clawing at his chest.

“She’s not here,” a voice says softly.

Charles turns to see Kika standing in the doorway, her face pale and her expression grim. “I didn’t know what to do,” she admits, her voice trembling. “So I waited here for you, trying to figure out what to say.”

“Where is Y/N?” Charles demands, his voice cracking under the weight of his fear.

Kika hesitates, her eyes filled with pity. “She said she was going home.”

Charles stares at her, his mind reeling. “Home? What do you mean, home?”

Kika shakes her head, her voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know, Charles. I don’t know. Do you know where home is for Y/N?”

The words hit him like a punch to the gut. He sinks into a chair, his hands trembling as he clutches his phone. The noise outside fades into the background, replaced by the deafening silence of his own thoughts.

After hours of enduring a relentless lecture from Ferrari’s PR team, Charles is finally allowed to leave. The weight of the world feels crushing on his shoulders as he steps out into the cool night air. His mind races, trying to remember where home is for you. He knows you told him—back at the beginning of the season, right after you signed the contract agreeing to pretend to be his girlfriend.

It was supposed to be a simple arrangement, a business deal. But that first day, after the ink had dried, you and him went on a little date—just to get to know each other. You shared many little details about yourself: where you were from, your favorite foods, the music you loved. He listened, but he didn’t commit it to memory. He didn’t think he needed to.

Now, standing alone in the dimly lit parking lot, he curses himself for not paying closer attention. He should have remembered. He could have remembered. If he wanted to, he would have.

When he reaches his car, he opens the passenger-side door, his body moving on autopilot. He stops, his hand frozen on the handle, as the reality hits him: you’re not here. You’re not sitting in the seat beside him, laughing at his terrible jokes or scrolling through your phone to find the perfect playlist.

His chest aches, a sharp, hollow pain that makes it hard to breathe. He closes the door gently, as if you’re there sitting inside, and walks around to the driver’s side.

As he slips into the car, he takes a deep breath, his eyes drifting to the empty passenger seat. For a moment, he can almost see you there—your smile, your hand resting on the console, your voice filling the silence with stories and laughter. But the illusion shatters as quickly as it forms, leaving him alone in the quiet.

He starts the engine, the sound jarring in the stillness. He doesn’t remember to put on any music. You always did that for him. The silence is deafening, a constant reminder of your absence. The drive to the hotel feels endless. His mind is elsewhere, replaying every moment he took for granted, every detail he failed to hold onto.

When he finally pulls into the hotel parking lot, he sits there for a moment, his hands gripping the steering wheel. The weight of his loneliness presses down on him, heavier than any race-day pressure. He doesn’t know how to fix this. He doesn’t even know where to start.

As Charles makes his way to his hotel room, his thoughts are consumed by you. The weight of the day, the accusations, the chaos—it all fades into the background as he imagines what he’ll say when he sees you. When he opens the door, the room is dark, but he can see a figure standing there, silhouetted against the faint light from the window.

For a moment, his heart leaps. He thinks—no, he hopes—it’s you. That you’ve come back, that you’re standing there waiting for him, and that he can fix this. He hopes that home, for you, is with him.

But as the figure steps forward, the hope shatters. It’s not you. It’s Alexandra.

Charles doesn’t try to hide his disappointment. His shoulders slump, his face falls, and the breath he didn’t realize he was holding escapes in a quiet, defeated sigh. The reaction is like a knife to Alexandra’s heart. She doesn’t need words to confirm what she already knows: it was never going to be her.

“Alex,” Charles says softly, his voice heavy with exhaustion. “What are you doing here?”

He moves to walk past her, not sparing her another glance, but she stops him with her voice.

“Did you ever love me, Charles?” Her words tremble, fragile and raw, as if they might break under the weight of her own fear. She needs to hear the truth from him, even if it destroys her.

Charles freezes, his back still to her. He does love Alexandra. He loves her in a way that is unique to her, a way that is tender and real. In another lifetime, in another world, he might have been happy with her. But this isn’t that lifetime, and this isn’t that world.

“I do love you, Alex,” he says finally, his voice barely above a whisper. He still doesn’t turn to face her. “Just… not in the way I love Y/N.”

Alexandra’s breath hitches, a sob catching in her throat. “Why?” she asks, her voice breaking. “Why lead me on like this, Charles? Why let me fall in love with you when you knew you wouldn’t feel the same?”

Charles finally turns to look at her, his heart aching at the sight of her tear-streaked face. The pain he’s caused her is written plainly in her eyes, and it cuts deeper than he expected.

“I thought,” he begins, his voice faltering, “I thought you could stop me from falling in love with Y/N.”

The admission hangs in the air, heavy and suffocating. Alexandra stares at him, her chest heaving as she tries to process his words.

Charles steps closer, his hands reaching up to gently cup her face. His thumbs brush away her tears, his touch soft and soothing. She leans into it, just for a moment, savoring the warmth of his hands one last time.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you like this,” he whispers, his voice thick with regret.

Alexandra pulls his hands away from her face, her own trembling as she holds them for a moment before letting go. “Goodbye, Charles,” she says, her voice steady despite the tears still streaming down her cheeks.

She turns to leave, her steps slow and deliberate. But as she reaches the doorway, she pauses, her back to him. “I hope you get her back,” she says softly, her voice carrying a bittersweet finality.

And then she’s gone, the door closing softly behind her.

Charles stands there, alone in the silence, his hands still outstretched as if reaching for something—or someone—who’s no longer there.

“Get up!” a voice barks, sharp and impatient, cutting through the fog of Charles’s hangover.

His head pounds like a drum, each throb synchronized with the blinding sunlight streaming through the window. He groans, squinting against the assault of light, his mouth dry and sticky as he smacks his lips together. The events of last night are a blur—fragmented images and muffled sounds that refuse to connect into a coherent memory.

“Get up already!” the voice shouts again, louder this time, coming from the foot of the bed.

Charles rolls over, his body heavy and uncooperative, to see Pierre standing there, arms crossed and a scowl etched across his face. Charles doesn’t bother with a response. Instead, he collapses back into the pillows, the plush mattress swallowing him whole.

He hears Pierre scoff, the sound dripping with exasperation, but he can’t bring himself to care. Not until Pierre grabs him by the ankles and yanks him halfway off the bed.

“What the fuck?” Charles snaps, his voice hoarse and ragged as he kicks out, trying to free himself. He glares at Pierre, his eyes bloodshot and wild.

Pierre doesn’t let go. “I found Y/N.”

The words hit Charles like a bucket of ice water. His exhaustion, his irritation, his pounding headache—it all evaporates in an instant. He sits up abruptly, his heart racing as he scrambles to his feet.

“Where?” he demands, his voice sharp and urgent.

“Andrea’s already getting the jet ready,” Pierre says, watching as Charles frantically rummages through the room, shoving clothes and belongings into a bag. “You’ve got an hour to get to the airport.”

Charles’s hands tremble as he zips up the bag, his mind racing. He doesn’t know what he’s going to say to you. He doesn’t know how you’ll react. But he knows one thing with absolute certainty: he needs to see you.

His heart pounds in his chest, each beat a reminder of what’s at stake. He grabs his phone, his keys, his bag, and heads for the door, Pierre trailing behind him.

“Charles,” Pierre calls after him, his tone softer now. “Don’t mess this up.”

Charles doesn’t respond. He’s already out the door, his mind focused on one thing and one thing only: you.

Charles stands in front of your door, his heart pounding in his chest. On the other side is you. You, with your sweet smile that lights up every room. You, with the music he’s come to love because it reminds him of you. You, with all your kindness, your patience, your unwavering love. He hopes that you can forgive him, that you can accept him, that you can love him the way he loves you.

He knocks on the door, the sound echoing in the quiet hallway. He holds his breath, his hand trembling as he waits. The seconds stretch into an eternity, each one heavier than the last. When the door finally opens, the sight of you hits him like a wave.

You’re there, standing in the doorway, and for a moment, the world stops. The sight of you feels like the first light of morning breaking through the darkness. It feels like the first sip of a cold drink on a sweltering summer day. It feels like coming home.

And then, just as quickly, it’s ripped away.

You slam the door in his face.

“Y/N,” Charles calls out, his voice desperate, raw. He presses his forehead against the door, his hand flat against the wood as if he can reach through it to you. “Please,” he begs, his voice cracking. “Please open the door.”

His pleas make your heart ache, the sound of his voice tugging at something deep inside you. Against your better judgment, your feet carry you back to the door. You open it again, and the sight of him is like a punch to the gut.

Charles looks like he’s walked through hell to get here. His eyes are bloodshot, his face pale and drawn. His hair is disheveled, sticking out in every direction, and his clothes are wrinkled, as if he’s been wearing them for days. He looks broken, lost, and utterly exhausted.

You don’t say a word as you step back, allowing him to enter your home. He walks in slowly, his eyes never leaving yours. The look he gives you isn’t the one you’ve come to love—the one filled with warmth and affection. This look is different. It’s sad, heavy with regret and pain and loneliness. It’s a look that makes your chest tighten.

“Y/N,” he says your name softly, so gently it brings tears to your eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“No,” you say, shaking your head as you turn away from him. “No, no, no.” Your voice breaks, and you wipe at the tears already spilling down your cheeks. “You don’t get to come here and say you’re sorry and expect everything to be forgiven.”

You turn back to face him, your anger flaring. “You,” you say, pointing at him, your finger jabbing the air with every word as you step closer. “You told me you wouldn’t do this. You told me you wouldn’t make a fool out of me. You told me you wouldn’t let me look like some stupid little girl. You promised me, Charles.”

Your voice cracks as you say his name, and the tears come harder. Charles doesn’t hesitate. He wraps his arms around you, pulling you into a hug so tight it feels like he’s trying to hold you together. His warmth, his embrace—it feels like home.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers against your neck, his voice trembling. “I’m so sorry.”

You break down completely in his arms, your legs giving out as the weight of everything crashes over you. The two of you sink to the floor in the middle of your living room, Charles holding you as you cry. From the moment you saw the article, this is where you wanted to be—in his arms, safe and loved.

But he’s not yours. He never was yours. And he will never be yours.

The thought makes you push away from him, scrambling to your feet. Charles reaches for you instinctively, trying to pull you back, but you’re faster, putting distance between you.

“What are you doing here, Charles?” you ask, your voice laced with disdain. “Shouldn’t you be with Alex?”

“Why would I be with her?” he says, his voice steady but pleading. “I want to be with you.”

He steps closer, his hands cupping your face. You lean into his touch despite yourself, not wanting to lose the warmth of his hands.

“She’s your girlfriend, Charles,” you say, your voice hollow as you look at him but don’t really see him.

“I broke it off with her,” he says, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“Why would you do that?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper. You’re still not putting the pieces together, and Charles doesn’t know if it’s because you’re naive to his feelings or if you just need him to say it out loud.

But he doesn’t mind. He’ll say it today, tomorrow, next week, next month, or ten years from now if he has to.

“I’m in love with you, Y/N,” he says, his voice firm and unwavering. “I am madly in love with you. I don’t want anyone but you.”

You shake your head, your eyes searching the room as if looking for a camera, for proof that this is just another act. “No, no,” you say, your voice trembling. “If you were in love with me, why did you go out with Alexandra?”

Charles sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Because I was an idiot,” he admits, his voice heavy with regret. “I was too blind to see what was right in front of me. And I will spend the rest of my life making it up to you if you’ll let me.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” you ask, more tears falling from your eyes, this time for a completely different reason.

“Because I was a coward,” he says, his voice breaking. “And I was weak. But if you’ll have me, I’m yours. Y/N, I am all yours. All of me belongs to you and only you.”

This boy—this man—who you’ve fallen so deeply in love with is yours. He’s yours for the taking. He’s yours and yours only. He belongs to you.

-------------------

tags: @charlesgirl16 @janeh22

#formula 1 fanfic #formula 1 #charles leclerc #formula 1 imagine #formula 1 au #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc imagines #charles leclerc imagine #formula one #charles leclerc x reader

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ryes-brownies08 · 2 months ago

Text

brought the heat back [heeseung x male reader]

“You said it yourself, there’s obviously some shit going on between us, normal people don’t do the fucking stuff that we do. And even if you did that shit with others, would they do it the way I do?”

NSFW - If you're a minor, i literally do not care. Just dont let ur mom catch u or whatever 🤷‍♂️

Requested by: @jeongincity

˙⋆✮ genre: SMUT ˙⋆✮ roles: top! mreader, bttm! heeseung ˙⋆✮ word count: 3k words ˙⋆✮ inspo: brought the heat back - enha

Synopsis: When the new guy, Sunoo, decides to move into the neighbourhood, M/n takes it upon himself to help out where he can, helping him get used to the place and even unpack some boxes. M/n's friend, Heeseung, doesn't like that at all. He feels as though he was M/n's first friend and that Sunoo is just in the way, so he becomes needy and eventually gets a reaction from M/n. What will happen when Heeseung has a moment alone with M/n?

WARNINGS + TAGS: jealousy, rough sex, swearing, heeseung is rude to sunoo 😭, insensitive at times, kitchen counter sex, in-air sex, adult life, kissing, depictions of any irl character here does not reflect who they are irl this work is purely fictional, etc

"Right... there!" Sunoo groaned as he and M/n set down a particularly heavy box next to the couch of the developing living room. The two men let out an exasperated sigh, taking a moment to look back at their shared piece of work as Sunoo’s house began to finally become somewhat coherent and take shape as a house. "Well, that was the last one," cooed Sunoo. "Seems like we're done for the day huh?"

"Better be," M/n responded, arms sore. "It's already 5pm. You don't wanna be late." M/n smiled, exhaling a prolonged breath, showing that he wasn’t breathing whilst lifting the box.

“Shit, you’re right. When did I tell Sunghoon I’d be over?” Sunoo gasped, dusting his yellow plaid flannel and white t-shirt off, before moving to the thighs of his light blue jeans. He smelled faintly of cardboard and dust accumulation, but was probably gonna shower at Sunghoon’s. It was M/n’s idea, for Sunoo to rest up at Sunghoon’s already developed house so he could catch his breath and return after a few days to finish up the own house with M/n. M/n was actually mutuals with Sunoo cause of Sunghoon, and when he heard Sunoo was moving into the neighbourhood, he’d decided to help out.

“6 O’Clock” You responded. “You got time.”

“Oh, thank god.” Sunoo chuckled. “Seriously M/n, you carried. I’ve gotta get into working out like you.”

“C’mon, I got built, for like- what, only a year ago? And I’ve not hit the gym for three weeks.” M/n chuckled sheepishly. Last Friday, M/n’s abs were nowhere to be seen, so whenever he hit the gym for the next few days, he did ab targeted workouts until it hurt to laugh, and only then did they finally come back. A few years back, M/n was quite slender, and now, he was proud to have been on the built side rather than the skinny side.

“Shut up, you’ve got biceps. And a chest. It’s not the best, but it’s my goal.” Sunoo shrugged.

“Give yourself a few months, you’ll get there if you’re consistent.” M/n smiled at him.

“Thanks so much for today, M/n.” He leaned in for a hug, the both of them indifferent to the fact that he was probably getting dust all over M/n’s black jeans and navy Lana Del Rey graphic shirt. M/n reciprocated, and only then did he see Heeseung standing in the hallway, looking at the two with a hint of irritation.

He wore a grey ‘Nirvana’ graphic tee and black sweatpants, an orange zip-up hoodie tied around his waist, indicating that he’d been helping out in the house. M/n forgot Heeseung was even in the house with them, because he’d just been so odd nowadays. Always bickering with or being passive-aggressive towards him and primarily Sunoo, who didn’t mind of course, but it was still odd. Heeseung had been called a lot of things in his life; cocky, opinionated, flirtatious, horny, resolute, ambitious – but never rude. Even now, rude didn’t suit him and he was still helping out. But he’d unpack boxes, broom floors, or anything like that by himself, forlorn in another room.

After the hug, M/n gave Heeseung a nod, and Heeseung returned a lacklustre one back. Sunoo turned to look at who it was, and when he saw Heeseung, it was difficult to understand the look on his face. It was somewhere along the lines of diplomacy, with a lean towards a look of tolerance.

“Heeseung, we’re all done. Sunoo’s off to Sunghoon’s.” M/n said, his tone casual. M/n and Sunoo had the maturity to be positive around Heeseung, and sometimes managed to get a laugh out of him. It sometimes got a bit challenging especially because the ‘rude’ Heeseung wasn’t who M/n knew him to be.

“Who’s Sunghoon?” Heeseung asked, a bit short of interested.

“The friend whose house I said I was gonna crash at.” Sunoo nodded, smiling softly.

“Ah.” Heeseung nodded, coming closer to the two, but still kept a notable distance. “Well, that’s good for you, huh?” He asked, devoid of emotion.

“No, real. I’m ready to pass the fuck out.” Sunoo said, being polite despite Heeseung’s attitude. But he couldn’t keep the eye contact with Heeseung, so he looked at M/n instead. Noticing this, M/n intervened.

“Should we see you off?” M/n asked, and Sunoo and Heeseung nodded. Sunoo began to reach for the car keys in his bowl, which rested on the soon-to-be-filled-up TV table.

TIME SKIP...

Sunoo started his car as M/n and Heeseung stood on the sidewalk, the setting sun casting a balmy glow on them. With the rev of his small Toyota, Sunoo began to take off slowly, tires squelching against the stone floor as he looked to either side of the road, taking off once it was safe. M/n waved him off and sighed in accomplishment and fatigue. When he turned to his right, Heeseung was looking at his phone for what M/n hoped was only after Sunoo left. As Sunoo drove off into the unknowable distance, M/n spoke up.

“Are you staying at mine or…?” M/n asked. Heeseung lived right across, which is why M/n got him to help out with Sunoo. The two were always close even before Sunoo came, and even though they two were off nowadays, M/n still wanted him to try to be chill with him.

“Yeah, sure.” He responded casually. Heeseung always calmed down when Sunoo was gone. Come to think of it, even when helping set up his house, Heeseung acted different when Sunoo wasn’t nearby.

He’d act jealous, and the M/n and Heeseung would get caught in weird situations. Once, Heeseung was sitting on the kitchen slab while Sunoo needed to use the bathroom, and pulled M/n close between his legs, telling him to focus more on him. Another time, he pulled M/n to the bathroom, and pushed him against the wall, telling M/n that he wanted him to get a grip.

He’d also position himself suggestively in front of M/n whenever he was nearby, making advances when Sunoo was gone, then randomly distancing. M/n wasn’t sure about a lot of it. So when the two entered the house, and Heeseung was more disinterested in M/n than usual, M/n decided to speak up about it.

“Okay, Heeseung-” Before M/n could finish, Heeseung interrupted.

“What?” He asked indignantly. M/n didn’t like that at all. It felt pejorative and uncalled for. Heeseung walked to the kitchen without a single worry in the world, scrolling uninterestedly on his phone. It only served to heighten how incredulous M/n felt.

“Okay, this is how you feel? Explain this shit.” M/n didn’t mean to transcend into a heated argument just yet, but Heeseung was making it very difficult to remain composed, and M/n wasn’t one to succumb to someone just cause they were a bit masculine – he wasn’t overtly feminine himself. “Why are you being so pissy to Sunoo? Don’t you like helping people out? Fuck, every time you help me out it really makes you feel like the man.”

“M/n, can you get off my dick, for fucks sake?” He responded. Now, M/n wasn’t that kind of person, but sometimes Heeseung just argued like a man. And not in a good way. He and M/n both were more masculine then feminine, albeit a good blend of both, but Heeseung argued like a frat boy. That’s where his masculinity was quite prominent. M/n hated it.

“Rich coming from you, isn’t it?” M/n asked, snatching Heeseung’s phone and sliding over to the far side of the kitchen slab. Heeseung was pressed up against the slab facing M/n, and even though he was looking down on him due to the slight height difference, M/n never wavered. “What’s the random shit you’ve been pulling- the secret hookups basically? Now, I’ll be honest, I knew there was something going on between us, but- hello? Whiplash? One second you’re being a dick, the next, you’re a pair of jeans away from mine?”

“Okay, and?” M/n hated that phrase; it was stupid no matter who said it, but it always won. “You’re the one being a dickrider for Sunoo’s little gay ass.”

“Yeah, and you’re bi, so Sunoo could argue you can’t pick a side.” M/n hissed, and Heeseung scoffed, moving closer to M/n in defiance.

“Look at you, you care about Sunoo more than you do about me. You know that he’s nothing like me, don’t you?” Heeseung growled.

“I don’t care about him more than- what? There’s no hierarchy of friends, Heeseung. We’ve known each other long enough to know that we don’t fuck with that. You think me helping out my mutuals changes my liking for you?” M/n spat back.

“You sure act like it. I did that ‘weird’ shit to show you I’m better.”

“Heeseung, listen to yourself. I don’t even know Sunoo that well, fuck do you mean who’s better? Why are you being so needy?” M/n said, and he ended up finding the exact word for it. Heeseung was being needy. “What, are you fucking jealous?”

“Yes, I’m fucking jealous!” Heeseung barked, and M/n had to bite down a flinch, given how he responded without a single second to spare.

“You said it yourself, there’s obviously some shit going on between us, normal people don’t do the fucking stuff that we do.” Heeseung hissed. Truly, M/n and Heeseung had done things that friends wouldn’t usually do. They had made out when they were drunk, and touched each other pretty suggestively in the past, but thought nothing of it; they were more crude than most friends, so they chalked it up as a side effect of their personalities.

“And even if you did that shit with others, would they do it the way I do?” Heeseung asked, voice dropping an octave, his body closing the gap between him and M/n. M/n didn’t stop him, given the tension. This is what Heeseung would do each time.

He brought the heat back, yet again. And this time, M/n couldn’t put out the flame in time. But secretly, he never wanted to.

“What are you trying to say, Heeseung?” M/n asked, his voice a little hoarse.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Heeseung responded, the developing blush becoming notable through his pale skin. “I want you to fuck me. I’ve wanted you to fuck me all this time. You were just too slow to get it.”

“Careful,” M/n responded, his hands slithering towards Heeseung’s ass. “Slow isn’t the word I’d be using in a minute if I was you.”

Heeseung moaned softly, biting his lip as M/n reached to cup his lean ass, enjoying how perfectly it fit in his hands. “Hmph. You make me so touch deprived that I don’t even believe you.”

“You’re gonna regret saying that. You’d better take it like the man you’re trying so hard to be with all this talk.” M/n smirked. It was arousing to M/n that someone who seemed so dominant would consider being submissive. M/n expected that when they’d try something intimate, Heeseung would be the more dominant one. But M/n didn’t hate this at all. Rather, he’d savour it.

“Getting tense, M/n?” Heeseung asked, seeing the roles reversed and M/n whinging now. “Same goes for you; you’ve gotta fuck me like a man.”

“Bet.” M/n breathed out, longing for their upcoming tryst.

Without another word, they began to make out passionately, M/n’s jeans feeling tighter around his crotch as he grew erect. His hands travelled over Heeseung’s small ass, whispering against the sweatpants as they glided smoothly over it, giving it a firm squeeze. M/n wasn’t gonna end it there, though. He was gonna teach Heeseung a lesson.

M/n began to kiss more roughly, his tongue invading Heeseung’s mouth, as he pushed him closer towards the counter, forcing Heeseung to sit on it. Heeseung became out of breath, gasping and moaning into M/n’s lips. His eyebrows were knitted tightly in arousal and the need for air as his eyes were jammed shut. Lucky for M/n, he took a big breath beforehand. Heeseung started to see what M/n was doing, and how rough he was getting.

M/n occasionally took detours to Heeseung’s neck or collarbone, leaving mulberry marks of lust on his body. He slowly began to remove Heeseung’s T-shirt, exposing a body that was well built, with an outline of abs and developed pecs. As M/n sucked on his skin and nipples, Heeseung began letting out whiny, desperate moans.

After leaving bite-marks and hickeys all over his peer, M/n began to unbutton his own pants, letting them hang below his slender bum as he began to take out his cock from his underwear. Heeseung bit his lips, legs spread open as his own bulge became increasingly apparent through the outline of his sweatpants under the bright kitchen light.

“Bend over the counter.” M/n instructed, and Heeseung smirked as he dismounted the counter and leaned forward, leaving a bit of space between his crotch and the slab, feeling as M/n loosened the knot of his sweatpants from behind. Heeseung shuddered, the only clothes on him being the pants that fell to his ankles, whilst M/n’s still had his jeans hanging just below his ass.

Heeseung left no room for hesitation as he bent over, arching his back, his ass stretched mesmerizingly taut as M/n's dick sprung alive.

Without warning, M/n inserted his entire length right into Heeseung, thrusting with a brutal slam. The wet sound of skin slapping and squelching filled up the kitchen as Heeseung let out an erotic yelp, eyes widening in surprise at the sensation. The feeling of M/n’s raw, pumping meat, fiercely coursing through Heeseung’s ass even with the resistance of his tight walls allowed the two to be consumed by lust.

That’s when Heeseung realised maybe he did sign up for more than he asked, but nevertheless, thoroughly enjoyed it. The room was filled with Heeseung’s silky voice taking a seductively submissive turn as he moaned like M/n wanted him to.

“Fuck.. M/n..!” Heeseung gasped, mouth agape and eyes rolled back in pure ecstasy. Heeseung wasn’t able to finish the sentence, instead drooling and moaning amorously. “Don’t stop… p-please…!”

M/n chuckled at the sight, releasing a few aroused groans as he put his hand on the inside of Heeseung’s thigh, guiding it upwards so that his legs were spread wide, one of them being used to hold himself up, and the other one to his side, simply to arouse M/n.

M/n rubbed his thigh as he pumped deep into Heeseung, feeling a light tingle from what would have been a slight bit of hair. “Who’s on who’s dick now, huh?” M/n whispered to Heeseung, leaning over to meet Heeseung’s shoulderblade in a wet, sloppy kiss. Heeseung slightly turned his head to face M/n, his eyebrows raised and knitted closely together in a beautiful tide of desire.

“Fuck…” Heeseung managed to breathily chuckle at M/n’s comment, before yelping as M/n thrusted deeper and deeper, hitting his prostrate every now and then.

M/n watched Heeseung’s ass with every thrust and gave it a firm smack, causing Heeseung to let out another whiny moan.

“Such a good fucktoy.” M/n cooed, making Heeseung melt. “I love fucking your ass, baby.” He groaned, letting out a moan at the tightness of Heeseung.

Gradually, Heeseung began to release, shuddering with the intensity of his climax, eyes rolled back into his brain as he let out a whine of pleasure, cum sprinkling all over the slab and floor. But M/n wasn’t done.

M/n exited Heeseung with a wet pop, grabbed him and turned him so they faced each other, and re-inserted himself into Heeseung as the he wrapped his legs around M/n, his arms intertwined desperately on M/n’s neck.

“I’m not done just yet, baby.” M/n licked his lips, kissing Heeseung one last time and letting him catch a break before relentlessly pumping into him. As he started up again, Heeseung began to release a series of gradually more sirenic moans, parallelling the intestity of M/n’s thrusts. Eventually, as Heeseung bounced his cute little ass on M/n’s cock, M/n began to reach his climax, saving a few final, and brutal pumps into Heeseung to make this count.

“Fuck, Heeseung, I’m gonna cum..” M/n groaned.

“Me too… Ahh..!” Heeseung began to cry out, whining as he was relentlessly thrust into.

Eventually, with a few hardcore thrusts, and Heeseungs prepossessing whines, M/n released a huge load into Heeseung, the warm and sticky liquid filling him up. M/n laid him on his back on the kitchen counter again, and Heeseung could feel the stickiness of his previous release on the small of his back. As M/n pulled out, a wet trail of cum followed. The two kissed passionately once again.

“Jesus.” Heeseung breathed out, exasperated, causing the two to burst into laughter.

“How was it?” M/n asked, leaning over the counter to rest his chin on Heeseung’s chest.

“Fucking amazing.” Heeseung said, raising a hand and running it through M/n’s hair. The two boys chuckled a little, decompressing a little from the intense moment they just had.

The two sat in a comfortable silence as they caught their breath.

“Heeseung?”

“Hmm?”

“You’re not replaceable, you know?” M/n spoke, kissing his chest a bit.

Heeseung let out a small chuckle. He didn’t say it, putting on that same masculine facade, but it was clear he appreciated it. A lot, actually. M/n knew him well enough to understand that.

“We gotta clean this mess up.” M/n laughed.

“I know,” Heeseung whined, sitting up. “But can’t we just sit like this for a bit?”

M/n chuckled, looking at the man infront of him with amiableness. “Five minutes.”

Heeseung let out a chuckle. “Deal.” He responded.

The two put their heads together, foreheads resting on each other in a moment of shared warmth and resuscitation. After all, Sunoo was gonna be gone for a while.

Who knows if Heeseung would’ve brought the heat back in the coming days?

Heeseung, for one, was already thinking about it. And he wouldn’t have been wrong to think that M/n was willing to entertain the thought.

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rootedinrevisions · 5 months ago

Text

Worth More than Gold

SUMMARY: Glen Powell has asked you, his long-time friend and secret crush to be his date to the Golden Globes. The evening is filled with glitz, glamour, and the intoxicating spark of possibilities - both on the red carpet and behind the scene. And at the end of the day Glen may not have won the Golden Globe, but he just might have won something better—you.

A/N: Glen's look at the Golden Globes did things to me and gave me so many ideas. This will probably be the last fic I do for the GG and I'm going to try to get back on track with my WIPs and Requests.

As always I'd love to hear what you guys think! I love seeing your comments and reblogs! I seriously smile and get all giddy like a little kid when I get a notification from you guys so please let me know what I think.

WORD COUNT: 10.8k

TAGS: In Comments.

The hotel room was a whirlwind of chaos, a perfect reflection of Glen’s pre-event energy. The plush carpet was littered with tissue paper from a last-minute gift delivery, a shoe box sat abandoned near the bed, and the sleek black tie Glen had decided to forego tonight was somehow draped over a lampshade.

Glen himself was in the middle of the room, pacing in socks and dress pants, his phone pressed to his ear. “Listen, I’m just saying, Texas football isn’t a sport—it’s a religion,” he declared, his Texas drawl warming the edges of his words. “And if the Longhorns take the game against Ohio State this week, we’re coming for that national title.”

He paused, evidently listening to the journalist on the other end of the call, then grinned as he gestured animatedly with his free hand. “Yeah, yeah, I know you want to talk about the nomination. But did you see last weekend’s game? That last play in the second overtime?”

Across the room, you sat curled on the couch, scrolling through your phone but only half-paying attention to the screen. Watching Glen charm his way through an interview about his career or recent projects while managing to somehow steer the conversation to Texas football was nothing new.

“Cufflinks,” said Warren, the stylist ensuring Glen looked red-carpet ready. Warren stood to the side, arms crossed with the patience of someone who’d dealt with a dozen “Glen Powells” before.

“They’re in the pocket of your tux,” you called without looking up, your voice laced with playful exasperation. “Right where I told you I put them earlier.”

Glen froze mid-gesture, patting down his pants pocket first before moving to his jacket. When his fingers closed around the cufflinks, he shot you a sheepish grin.

“You’re a lifesaver,” he mouthed, before turning his attention back to his call. “Listen, I gotta wrap this up. Can I call you tomorrow and we’ll finish this?” he asked the journalist.

With that, he hung up and turned to the room, raking a hand through his neatly-styled hair. “You believe this?” He said, grinning as he pocketed his phone. “I’m on deadline and trying to get out the door for one of the biggest nights of my life. And GQ wants to talk about…wardrobe and clothes and who I’m wearing.”

Warren arched a brow, adjusting the velvet Armani jacket on its hanger. “Wardrobe is why I’m here, Glen,” he said with a grin. “Now, if you could refrain from wrinkling this masterpiece, we might actually get you to the event looking like a winner.”

You snorted, rising from the couch. “Poor you,” you teased, brushing imaginary lint off your own shirt. “Must be so hard being adored by millions while wearing designer clothes.”

Glen rolled his eyes and snorted, stepping closer as the stylist fussed with his cummerbund. “Hey, I’m counting on you to keep me sane tonight,” he said, half-serious as he began to tug at the cuffs of his shirt. “You’re my buffer.”

“Buffer?” you repeated, arching a brow. “That’s what I’m here for? Not moral support—just as a human barrier between you and Hollywood?”

“Exactly,” he deadpanned, his grin widening. “You’re overqualified for the job, though.”

You stepped forward, brushing imaginary lint from his shirt, your fingers moving with practiced ease over the slick fabric. Glen watched you, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

“Okay, be honest,” he said, tilting his chin slightly. “One button or two undone? What’s the vibe tonight?”

You paused, letting your gaze drop to the open collar of his shirt, catching a glimpse of the chest hair peeking out.

“One,” you said decisively, reaching up to fasten the second button. “Two buttons undone is too much chest hair. You’re going to a red carpet, not auditioning for a ‘70s cop show.”

He laughed, the rich sound filling the room as he placed his hands on his hips. “Hey, my chest hair is a crowd-pleaser,” he countered, feigning offense. “You don’t know how many compliments I’ve gotten on this chest.”

You rolled your eyes, holding back a laugh. “Please never say that to me again.”

He leaned in slightly, his grin widening. “Admit it. You’re just jealous you can’t pull this off.”

You rolled your eyes, adjusting the collar of his shirt with a playful tug. “Oh, please. If I wanted to show off chest hair, I’d buy a faux-fur vest and call it a day.”

“Savage,” he said, clutching his chest as though you’d wounded him. “You’ve got jokes tonight, huh?”

“Somebody has to keep your ego in check,” you replied, stepping back to inspect your work. “And you make it so easy.”

Glen chuckled, shaking his head as he tugged at the cuffs of his shirt. “Well, I’ll have you know, Warren said I was rocking this look,” he said, gesturing toward the stylist, who was busy folding tissue paper into one of the garment bags.

Warren didn’t even look up. “Warren also said to stop touching your shirt or you’ll wrinkle it,” he replied dryly, earning a snort from you and an exaggerated groan from Glen.

“Fine,” Glen said, holding his hands up in mock surrender. “No more touching. But if I get to the carpet and I’m not turning heads, I’m blaming you.”

“Oh, you’ll turn heads,” you said, crossing your arms and giving him a once-over. “If not for the suit, then definitely for whatever ridiculous sound bite you give on the carpet. You’re physically incapable of being boring, remember?”

He grinned, stepping closer so the space between you was almost nonexistent. “Is that a compliment?” he asked, his voice dipping slightly.

You tilted your head, refusing to let him win. “Don’t get used to it, Cowboy.”

“Ah, there it is,” he said, leaning back with a laugh. “The nickname. I knew it was coming.”

You shrugged. “If the boots fit…”

Glen slid the custom velvet Armani tux jacket over his broad shoulders, the deep midnight-black fabric catching the light in subtle, luxurious waves. He tugged at the lapels, ensuring everything was sitting perfectly, before stepping back with an air of casual confidence.

“Well?” he asked, doing a quick spin on his heels, arms spread out theatrically. “What do you think? Too much? Not enough?”

You leaned back slightly, arms crossed, pretending to appraise him critically, but your expression betrayed you. Your eyes swept over him, taking in every detail—the sharp tailoring that hugged his frame perfectly, the structured cut of the jacket emphasizing his frame, and the way the silk shirt beneath hinted at the faintest trail of chest hair.

The stylist had done a remarkable job on his hair, taming the usual tousled locks into something sleek yet effortlessly natural. And the stubble—God, the stubble. He hadn’t bothered to shave completely, leaving just enough scruff to lend him a rugged edge that, if you were honest, made him look even more attractive.

The all-black ensemble was a bold choice, but it worked. The mix of textures—the smooth silk of the shirt, the luxurious velvet of the jacket, and the matte sheen of the tailored trousers—created a look that was polished yet unmistakably Glen.

“You clean up nice,” you finally said, a teasing smile pulling at your lips as you took him in from head to toe. “I mean, you almost look like a proper gentleman.”

“Almost?” he repeated, raising an eyebrow as he turned back toward the mirror, pretending to check himself out.

“Well, the stubble kind of ruins the whole gentleman thing,” you quipped, biting back a laugh.

“Ruin it?” Glen turned to face you again, his voice dripping with mock offense. “The stubble is the pièce de résistance, thank you very much.” He ran a hand over his jaw, grinning when he saw the way your gaze briefly followed the movement.

You rolled your eyes, trying to keep your composure. “Sure it is. But seriously, you look good, Glen. The best I’ve seen you look in a while.”

For a moment, his grin softened, and his eyes caught yours. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you replied, more sincerely this time. “You’re going to knock ‘em dead tonight.”

He held your gaze for a beat longer than usual, something unreadable flickering in his expression before he broke the moment with his signature charm. “Well, I have to. You’re the one who’ll have to be seen with me all night. Can’t embarrass you on your first red carpet.”

You glanced at the clock and froze. Less than an hour until you were supposed to be ready and out the door. Helping Glen finish getting ready had been fun—maybe a little too fun, you realized now, as time ticked away faster than you’d expected.

“I need to go get ready,” you said abruptly, stepping back and pointing toward the door.

Glen smirked, his hands casually adjusting the cuffs of his shirt. “Go on, Cinderella. Clock’s ticking.”

Without another word, you bolted for your room next door, already running through a mental checklist of what needed to happen to make yourself red carpet-ready in under an hour. Once inside, you kicked the door shut behind you and headed straight for the bathroom. Flicking on the light, you stared at your reflection in the mirror.

Okay. Hair. Makeup. Dress. You could do this. Right?

You pulled your hair loose from the lazy ponytail it had been in all day, raking your fingers through it and trying to decide if it would look better up or down. Your eyes darted to the neckline of the dress still hanging on the back of the closet door, but you didn’t have time to figure out how to make everything match. You groaned, pressing your hands to your face.

A sharp knock at the door interrupted your spiraling thoughts.

“Hello?” you called out, cautiously heading toward the door and cracking it open.

Standing there were two members of Glen’s glam squad—one holding a bag of makeup brushes and palettes, the other with a small suitcase of hair tools.

“Mr. Powell asked us to check on you,” the makeup artist said with a kind smile. “He thought you might be running behind.”

You blinked at them, momentarily speechless. “He... sent you?”

The hairstylist nodded. “He figured you might need a little help. Mind if we come in?”

You stepped aside to let them in, still processing Glen’s uncanny ability to predict you’d be panicking. “Sorry about the mess,” you admitted, glancing at the clock again. “I wasn’t expecting company.”

“Don’t worry,” the makeup artist said, already setting up her supplies on the bathroom counter. “We’ve got this. Can we see the dress? It’ll help us figure out the best look for you.”

You grabbed the garment bag from the closet and unzipped it, revealing the dress inside. You’d picked it out weeks ago, but standing there now, you suddenly second-guessed everything about it.

The hairstylist tilted his head thoughtfully, taking in the neckline and cut. “With this neckline, I’d suggest pulling your hair up—something elegant but not overdone. It’ll show off your shoulders and collarbone beautifully.”

You nodded, trusting his expertise. “That sounds perfect.”

“And for makeup,” the other stylist added, “we’ll keep it timeless—focus on your eyes, a little shimmer, and a soft lip. Nothing too bold, just enough to complement the dress and the hair.”

“Let’s do it,” you said, exhaling as you sat down.

With practiced efficiency, they got to work. The hairstylist began gathering your hair into an elegant style that framed your face while showcasing the neckline of the dress. Meanwhile, the makeup artist brushed soft gold tones onto your lids, added a touch of liner to define your eyes, and blended everything seamlessly. A quick swipe of lipstick finished the look.

You watched the transformation in the mirror, the tension slowly melting from your shoulders. By the time they stepped back to admire their handiwork, you felt like a completely different person.

“Done in thirty minutes, just like we promised,” the hairstylist said with a grin.

You stood, giving them both a grateful smile. “Thank you. Seriously, I wouldn’t have made it without you—or Glen, apparently.”

The makeup artist laughed. “He seemed pretty confident you’d need backup. Smart guy.”

“Yeah,” you said softly, thinking about his effortless charm and how much he looked out for you. “He really is.”

After the hairstylist and makeup artist left, you stood in front of the full-length mirror, a deep breath escaping your lips. You could do this.

You reached for the dress, still hanging from its garment bag, and carefully unzipped it. The soft fabric slid through your fingers as you pulled it off the hanger, feeling a flutter of nerves as you held it up in front of you.

The dress was simple, yet elegant, hugging every curve in a way that made you second-guess your choice. But it was beautiful.

With your heart racing a little, you slipped the dress on. You paused to glance at the mirror as you tugged the fabric up your body, hoping everything would fall into place.

But it didn’t.

The zipper snagged halfway up your lower back. You tugged a little harder, but it didn’t budge. Panic settled in your chest. You didn’t want to rip the fabric or make a scene, but there was no way to finish getting ready if you couldn’t zip the dress.

Your fingers fumbled for your phone, dialing Glen’s number before you could think twice. The seconds ticked by slowly, and your nerves only heightened with every ring.

“Hey, it’s me,” you said the moment he answered. Your voice trembled slightly despite your best efforts to sound calm. “I need help. The zipper on the dress is stuck, and I can’t get it up.”

“Don’t worry, I’m coming right over,” Glen’s voice was calm, reassuring. You could almost hear the smile in his tone.

The call ended quickly, and before you knew it, there was a soft knock at your door. You quickly pulled the front of the dress to your chest and peeked out, your eyes meeting Glen’s as you opened the door just a crack. His presence was as commanding as ever, but now, standing there, you felt exposed.

“Hey,” you greeted him, offering a sheepish smile.

“Hey,” he said softly, raising an eyebrow. “Need a hand?”

You nodded, opening the door wider for him to step inside.

As he entered, you turned, giving him full view of the situation. The dress clung tightly to your body, and you were sure your back looked exposed in the tight fabric. A slight blush crept across your cheeks as your fingers instinctively tugged at the fabric.

“Relax,” Glen said, his tone warm and teasing. He moved behind you and gently grasped the zipper.

After a few tugs and a bit of effort, he managed to get it unstuck, smoothly pulling it the rest of the way up. The dress fit perfectly once it was zipped all the way.

Glen stepped back with a satisfied nod, patting your hip gently. “All good. You’re all set now.”

You took a deep breath, your nerves slightly eased but still there. With a nervous smile, you smoothed the front of your dress down, trying to calm yourself before glancing back at him.

“Do I look okay?” you asked quietly, suddenly unsure of how you appeared.

Glen gave you a slow once-over, his eyes lingering for just a moment longer than you expected. Then, his lips curved into a soft smile.

“You look amazing,” he said, his voice steady and sincere. “Seriously. You’re going to steal the show tonight.”

You couldn’t help but smile, the tension in your chest easing. Glen’s words meant more than you realized, and as he gave you that smile, it felt like everything was finally falling into place.

Once you were fully ready, feeling the weight of the evening ahead, Glen offered you a reassuring smile as he adjusted his jacket one last time. He gave you a soft nod, signaling that it was time to go.

Together, you left the suite, the sound of your heels echoing in the hallway as you walked side by side toward the elevator. Glen pressed the button, standing close enough to be a silent but steady presence. You couldn’t help but notice how effortlessly he moved—like he was born to own every room he entered, even though his demeanor was always so grounded.

The elevator doors opened with a soft chime, and Glen stepped aside, letting you enter first. When you reached the lobby, the bustle of the hotel faded in comparison to the calm, quiet space Glen seemed to create around the two of you. He was the kind of person who moved with purpose, but never rushed—always thoughtful, always present.

As you made your way toward the entrance, he gave a quiet wave to a few people who greeted him, but he kept his focus on you, his hand close to your lower back as if guiding you through the crowd.

Outside, a sleek black car waited by the curb, the driver standing at attention. Glen held the door open for you with a courteous nod, his hand outstretched to assist you into the back seat.

You smiled, appreciating the little things—his attention to detail, the way he never made you feel like you were inconveniencing him. You slid into the seat, and as you did, Glen quickly followed, settling next to you with a quiet grace that was all him.

The driver closed the door, and the car began to move smoothly through the streets, the city lights reflecting off the tinted windows. The buzz of the evening began to settle into a comfortable rhythm, and Glen turned his attention to you with a soft look.

“You ready for this?” he asked, his tone light but sincere. He glanced down at your dress, the slight gleam in his eyes making you feel all the more seen. “You’re gonna turn heads tonight, no doubt about it.”

You smiled, trying to play it cool, but his words still made your stomach flutter. “I’m ready,” you said, your voice steady.

The car glided through the streets, the hum of the engine and the soft clink of the streetlights outside giving you a sense of distance from the chaos of the night ahead. Your fingers nervously drummed on the fabric of your dress, your gaze flickering from the passing city lights to the reflection of yourself in the window.

Glen noticed the subtle tension in your posture and the way your fingers twitched, like they couldn’t quite settle. His sharp eyes, attuned to every little shift in your mood, moved over to you. He shifted closer, his hand reaching across the space between you with ease, brushing lightly over your fingers before gently taking your hand in his.

"You're going to be fine," he said, his voice low, teasing but gentle, as he gave your hand a reassuring squeeze. His thumb brushed the back of your hand, smoothing away any remnants of tension. "Just smile and wave, Penguin. You’ve got this."

You couldn’t help but laugh at the nickname, the warmth of his hand in yours bringing a little bit of ease. “Penguin?” you echoed, raising an eyebrow, feeling the tension in your shoulders release with that soft chuckle.

He grinned at you, the kind of smile that melted any nervous edge. “Yeah, Penguin. You know—Madagascar. Smile and wave boys. Smile and wave.” He gave your hand a playful tug, the humor in his eyes lighting up.

You shook your head, but the tension you’d carried with you slowly began to melt. Glen had that way about him—without even trying, he made things feel easy, like you were exactly where you were supposed to be. His confidence was infectious, and for a moment, you allowed yourself to believe that you could pull this off.

The car hit a smooth turn, the soft hum of the tires filling the silence. You glanced at Glen, his easy grin still in place, his hand steady in yours. There was something about his presence—something grounding, comforting. Without thinking, you leaned your head against his shoulder, letting out a soft sigh as you let the last bits of tension drain away.

"Thank you," you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.

Glen glanced down at you, his expression softening. He didn’t move, didn’t shift away—he just stayed still, letting you rest there. His thumb continued its soothing motion across the back of your hand, and he tilted his head slightly toward yours.

"Anytime," he replied, his voice warm and steady. "You know I’ve got you."

For a moment, the world outside the car faded away. It was just the two of you, a quiet moment that reminded you why Glen was your best friend. His support, his calm energy—it was all you needed to take a deep breath and believe in yourself again.

As the car slowed to a stop, signaling your arrival at the red carpet, you felt ready. Maybe it was the way Glen always knew how to bring you back to yourself, or maybe it was just the fact that he was there beside you, exactly where he always seemed to be when you needed him most.

You stole a quick glance at Glen, catching the way his gaze softened as he looked back at you, his hand still comfortably wrapped around yours.

“Hey,” he said, the tone shifting just a little, serious but with the same undertone of care. “You’re gonna be great, okay? And if you need me to do anything, I’m right here. Just... be you.”

Glen gave your hand one last squeeze, a reassuring pressure that grounded you, and you suddenly felt like you could take on the world.

The driver opened the door, and the bright lights of the red carpet began to stretch ahead of you, already swirling with flashes and faces, the hum of excitement palpable in the air. Glen leaned toward you, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers grazing the smooth skin of your neck.

“You’re gonna shine tonight,” he said quietly, his voice filled with confidence, making you believe it for the first time.

You took a deep breath, steadying yourself, then flashed him a grin. “Thanks, Glen.”

He winked. “Anytime, Penguin. Let’s go make some memories.”

With that, you stepped out of the car, Glen’s hand still firmly in yours, ready to face whatever the night would bring—with him by your side, you felt ready for anything.

The roar of the red carpet hit you the moment you stepped out of the car. A wall of flashing lights and the constant hum of voices calling out names created a dizzying cacophony. For a second, you froze, feeling like a deer caught in headlights. The chaos seemed endless, but Glen’s steady hand on the small of your back was the anchor you needed.

“Stay close,” he said quietly, his voice warm and reassuring, almost lost in the noise. He guided you forward with a gentle pressure, his touch never faltering.

Reporters shouted his name, cameras clicked furiously, and fans called out from behind the barriers. Glen’s demeanor shifted effortlessly, the easy confidence you admired about him coming to life under the scrutiny. But even as he navigated the chaos like a pro, his focus never strayed far from you.

When a particularly eager photographer stepped too close, Glen instinctively pulled you in, lacing your arm through his. The motion was protective yet natural, as though he’d done it a thousand times before.

He leaned in slightly, his breath brushing your ear as he whispered, “You doing okay so far?”

You nodded, the nerves still simmering but far less overwhelming with Glen beside you. “Yeah. It’s just... a lot.”

He chuckled softly, his fingers giving your arm a light squeeze. “It’s always a lot. Just keep smiling and don’t trip. I’ve got the rest covered.”

Moments later, you were ushered to the line of reporters waiting for interviews. Glen kept you close, his hand returning to your back as he led you toward the first microphone. The journalist’s attention immediately shifted to him, questions about his latest project firing off one after another.

“This is Glen Powell, looking dapper as always! Who’s your stunning guest tonight?” one reporter asked, her eyes flicking to you with interest.

Glen grinned, that signature charm lighting up his face. “This,” he said, his voice full of pride, “is the best friend who keeps me sane.” He glanced at you, his expression softening as if to emphasize his words.

You felt a flush rise to your cheeks as the reporter laughed. “Keeping Glen Powell on track sounds like a full-time job!”

“You have no idea,” you replied, finding your confidence in the moment. Glen chuckled beside you, his presence like a shield against the overwhelming spotlight.

The interviews continued, with Glen effortlessly steering the attention toward his projects while making sure you felt included. Whenever he wasn’t speaking, his hand either rested lightly on your back or your arm stayed looped through his. The gesture was subtle, but it kept you grounded, a quiet reminder that you weren’t alone in this.

In a rare lull between interviews, Glen turned to you, his expression softening as the frenzy of the red carpet seemed to momentarily fade into the background.

“Hey,” he said, his voice low, almost drowned out by the noise around you.

You looked up at him, your heart still racing from the whirlwind of the evening.

“Hey,” you replied, a little breathless.

He reached out, brushing a stray strand of hair that had fallen out of your updo from your face, his fingers lingering just slightly longer than necessary. His touch was light, yet it sent a wave of warmth through you. His eyes searched yours, the usual glint of mischief replaced with something quieter, more sincere. “You okay?”

The simple question held weight, as if he wasn’t just asking about the moment but something deeper. You nodded, your voice catching slightly as you said, “Yeah. Thanks to you.”

His lips quirked into a soft smile, his hand dropping back to his side, though the warmth of his touch seemed to linger. “Good. Can’t have my Penguin falling apart on me now.”

The moment hung between you, brief but charged with an unspoken connection that neither of you dared to address. Then the chaos of the red carpet surged back to life, pulling you both out of it.

“Ready to keep going?” Glen asked, his tone light again as he gestured toward the next line of reporters.

You took a deep breath, straightened your shoulders, and smiled. “Let’s do it.”

With your arm resting gently on his, Glen led you forward, his confidence bolstering your own. And as the night unfolded, you realized that no matter how overwhelming the evening became, you’d be okay—with Glen by your side.

The ballroom was a masterpiece of elegance, bathed in soft, golden light with tables draped in white linens and adorned with extravagant floral centerpieces. Each table bore name cards in ornate calligraphy, indicating an impressive roster of directors, actors, and other Hollywood heavyweights.

Glen pulled out your chair for you before taking his seat beside you, leaning in briefly to whisper, “You’ve got this. Just be yourself.”

You looked at Glen with a soft smile. “Thanks for the vote of confidence, Powell.”

Within moments, the table began filling with familiar faces. To your left sat Richard Linklater himself, his unassuming charm making you feel more at ease than you’d expected. Across the table, a notable actress you’d only ever seen on-screen chatted animatedly with Glen, who was effortlessly charismatic as always.

“Glen,” Richard said with a warm smile, his Texan drawl coming through as he gestured toward you. “You didn’t introduce me to your lovely guest.”

Glen straightened, the corners of his mouth tilting upward as he turned to you. “Richard, this is the best friend who keeps me sane—and who’s also had to deal with my Dazed and Confused impression far too many times.”

You laughed lightly, shaking Richard’s hand. “It’s true. If I hear him say, ‘Alright, alright, alright,’ one more time, I might disown him.”

Richard chuckled, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “A classic never dies, though, does it?”

“I suppose not,” you conceded with a grin.

The quick banter caught the attention of the others at the table, who joined the conversation with playful remarks of their own. You held your own with ease, even managing to get a genuine laugh out of the actress across from you after a comment about the absurdity of some press junket questions.

Glen, sitting beside you, watched the exchanges with a kind of quiet pride, his gaze lingering on you whenever you spoke. At one point, he leaned closer, his voice low enough for only you to hear. “You’re killing it. Remind me again—why am I not bringing you to all of these things?”

You smirked, taking a sip of water to hide the warmth creeping into your cheeks. “Because you know I’d upstage you.”

“Touché,” he said with a soft laugh, nudging your shoulder playfully.

As the dinner continued, Glen made sure to include you in every conversation, subtly steering the spotlight toward you when someone asked about his current projects. You found yourself talking about Glen’s work ethic and how he somehow managed to juggle it all without losing his sense of humor.

“Sounds like you know him pretty well,” Richard observed with a knowing smile.

“I sure hope so after I’ve put up with him for all these years,” you replied, glancing at Glen. “Someone has to keep him humble.”

The table erupted in laughter, and Glen shook his head, though the unmistakable warmth in his expression betrayed how much he loved every second of it.

When dessert was served—an artfully plated creation that was almost too pretty to eat—Glen leaned in once more, his tone playful but sincere. “See? Told you you’d be great.”

You gave him a sidelong glance, a smile tugging at your lips. “Not bad for someone who almost didn’t make it out of the hotel room.”

“Hey,” he said, his voice softening, “you belong here, you know.”

The weight of his words settled between you, a quiet affirmation that carried more meaning than the playful banter that had preceded it. You nodded, the nerves you’d been holding onto finally beginning to ease.

The awards show was nothing short of spectacular, a seamless blend of glamour, artistry, and showmanship. The host kept the audience entertained with clever quips and light-hearted jokes, while presenters took the stage to announce the winners in a variety of categories. The room buzzed with energy as names were called, winners delivered heartfelt speeches, and cameras panned over the crowd of celebrities.

Sitting beside Glen, you couldn’t help but notice how his leg bounced slightly under the table, a telltale sign of his nerves. Despite the outward appearance of ease he projected, you knew him well enough to see through it. Every now and then, his hand brushed his jawline, the slight stubble catching the light, as he glanced at the stage and back at you with an almost imperceptible smile.

You leaned closer to him during a quieter moment. “How are you holding up?” you asked softly, your voice barely audible over the applause filling the room.

“Better with you here,” he replied, his tone casual but sincere. The weight of his words sent a gentle warmth through you, grounding you as much as it did him.

As the night progressed, Glen laughed at the host’s jokes and applauded the winners, though you could feel his anticipation building as his category grew closer.

The glitz and chatter around you seemed to blur as the presenter finally took the stage to announce the nominees for Best Performance by an Actor in a Motion Picture - Musical or Comedy.

You felt Glen shift in his seat, his back straightening as his name was called alongside the other nominees. His hand brushed his thigh, and you noticed him take a deep breath, holding it for a moment before letting it out slowly. Instinctively, you leaned in just enough so your shoulder lightly pressed against his, a silent reminder that you were right there with him.

The presenter opened the envelope, the seconds stretching impossibly long. “And the award goes to... Sebastian Stan!”

The room erupted into applause as Sebastian rose from his seat, making his way to the stage. You clapped along with everyone else, but the knot of disappointment in your chest was impossible to ignore. Letting out a small, defeated breath, you glanced over at Glen.

He was smiling politely, clapping for Sebastian, but you saw the flicker of disappointment in his eyes. The kind of flicker only someone who truly knew him could catch. Others at the table offered their own words of encouragement, but Glen only nodded politely, his attention still half-focused on the stage.

Without thinking, you leaned closer, your voice low and meant just for him. “You’re still the most talented guy in the room.”

You reached over, resting your hand gently on his knee under the table, offering him the kind of comfort words alone couldn’t provide. For a moment, his gaze dropped to your hand, then back to your face. A small, grateful smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as his hand briefly covered yours, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

“Thank you,” he murmured, his voice soft but full of meaning.

Throughout the rest of the show, Glen leaned into your presence, subtly relying on you to keep him grounded. You noticed the way his body gradually relaxed, the tension in his shoulders easing as the night continued.

When another winner gave a particularly heartfelt speech, Glen turned to you with a quiet chuckle. “At least I don’t have to worry about tripping on the way to the stage.”

You laughed softly, the sound drawing out a more genuine smile from him. “See? There’s always a silver lining.”

By the time the final award was announced and the audience began filtering out of the theater, Glen seemed more at ease.

As the two of you stood to leave, he placed a hand on your back, guiding you through the crowd. “Thanks for keeping me sane tonight,” he said, his voice low but warm.

“Always,” you replied with a smile, feeling the unspoken connection between you deepen as the evening came to a close.

The after-party was everything you expected it to be: glamorous, extravagant, and a little overwhelming. The main Golden Globes after-party felt less like a celebration and more like a carefully orchestrated networking event. The room was packed with A-list celebrities, producers, directors, and journalists, each armed with a drink in one hand and a carefully curated smile.

Music thumped in the background, but it barely registered over the hum of conversations and the clinking of champagne glasses. Glen stayed by your side at first, introducing you to a few people here and there. You exchanged pleasantries with actors whose faces you recognized from the big screen and smiled politely at directors whose names you tried not to forget.

But before long, Glen was pulled away, whisked from one conversation to the next like the star of the evening. You watched as he posed for pictures, his easy charm making every interaction look effortless. He’d glance back at you occasionally, offering a reassuring smile or a quick wink, but you could tell even he was beginning to feel the strain of the crowd.

You nursed a drink at the edge of the room, trying to stay out of the way while still keeping Glen in your sights. It was easy to lose track of time amidst the chaos, but the constant flow of strangers and small talk started to take its toll. The energy in the room felt electric and draining all at once, and you found yourself wishing for a quieter corner to catch your breath.

After what felt like hours, Glen appeared at your side, his hand lightly brushing your arm to get your attention.

“Hey,” he said softly, his voice cutting through the noise around you. “This is… a lot, huh?”

You nodded, letting out a small laugh. “It’s a little overwhelming. How are you holding up?”

“I’ve smiled so much tonight my face might be stuck this way,” he joked, though there was a hint of exhaustion in his eyes. He glanced around the room, then back at you. “What do you say we head to my party? I think I’ve shaken enough hands and posed for enough pictures to last a lifetime.”

The suggestion was like a lifeline, and you didn’t hesitate to agree. “I thought you’d never ask.”

Glen’s shoulders relaxed visibly at your answer, and he gave you a small, grateful smile. He offered you his arm, the gesture both protective and grounding as he guided you through the crowd toward the exit. Despite the noise and flashing cameras still lingering near the doorway, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of relief as you stepped out into the cool night air.

The car ride to the rooftop bar was quiet, a welcome change from the chaos of the Golden Globes after-party. Glen leaned back against the seat, his shirt now unbuttoned to a second button and the faintest hint of exhaustion in his expression.

You glanced at him, smiling softly. “You know, most people would just go to bed after a night like this. Not go to another party.”

Glen chuckled, his head turning toward you. “What can I say? I’m not most people.”

When the car pulled up to the rooftop bar, Glen stepped out first, turning back to offer you his hand. “C’mon. Let’s go see everyone.”

The rooftop bar was stunning, its perimeter lined with fairy lights that cast a warm, golden glow. The city skyline sparkled in the distance, and the faint hum of music drifted through the air. Glen had rented the entire space, and as the two of you stepped inside, you were greeted by the cheerful buzz of conversation.

His parents were the first to spot you, their faces lighting up as they hurried over to greet Glen with warm hugs and congratulations.

His mom pulled you into an embrace as well, her voice filled with genuine affection. “You look stunning tonight, sweetheart. And thank you for taking care of our boy out there.”

“Always,” you replied with a smile, feeling the ease that came with being around Glen’s family.

You scanned the room and spotted Leslie, Glen’s younger sister, waving excitedly from across the bar. She was all smiles as she made her way over, throwing her arms around you in a hug.

“It’s been forever!” she exclaimed, pulling back to give you a once-over. “You look amazing! And that dress—ugh, you’re killing me.”

“You’re one to talk,” you teased, taking in her own dress. “You look incredible.”

Glen was quickly pulled into conversations with friends and other guests, his charm and warmth on full display as he moved through the room. You stayed behind with Leslie, the two of you settling into a quieter corner of the bar.

“So,” you said, leaning in conspiratorially. “Tell me everything about the engagement. I need details.”

Leslie’s face lit up, and she launched into a detailed recounting of the proposal—how her fiancé had asked, the secret planning, how he included her friends and family in on the surprise. She showed you the ring, a design that perfectly suited her, and the two of you gushed over wedding plans.

“I’m thinking late spring,” Leslie said, twirling her glass of wine between her fingers. “Something outdoors, simple but elegant. Glen keeps trying to offer to pay for everything, but I want to keep it low-key.”

“That sounds perfect,” you said, smiling. “And knowing Glen, he’ll find a way to contribute whether you want him to or not.”

Leslie laughed, nodding. “Oh, I know. He’s the best, though. We’re lucky to have him.”

“Yeah, we really are.” Your gaze drifted across the room to where Glen was laughing with a small group of friends, his easy smile making your own lips curve upward. His hand was resting casually in the pocket of his suit pants.

“You’ve got that look again,” Leslie said, a teasing lilt in her tone.

You blinked, snapping your gaze back to her. “What look?”

She grinned knowingly and nudged your arm with her elbow. “The ‘I’m totally into Glen but I’ll never admit it’ look.”

Your eyes widened, heat rushing to your cheeks. “What? That’s ridiculous,” you said quickly, trying to laugh it off. “You’re crazy.”

“Uh-huh,” Leslie said, leaning back against the bar with a smirk. “Sure I am.”

You rolled your eyes, determined to brush off her teasing. “He’s my best friend, Les. That’s-” But before you could finish your sentence, Glen glanced over at the two of you. His eyes found yours across the room, and when he smiled—soft, warm, and undeniably genuine—you felt your words falter.

You didn’t even realize you had stopped speaking until Leslie let out a low chuckle.

“Oh my God,” she whispered, barely containing her laughter. “You’ve got it bad.”

Realizing what just happened, you tore your gaze away from Glen, your face burning.

“I do not,” you muttered, but the weak protest only made Leslie laugh harder.

She shook her head, her grin widening. “You’re adorable when you’re flustered. Honestly, I’ve suspected this for years, but that little moment right there? Total confirmation.”

“Okay, enough,” you said, waving your hands as if to physically push the conversation away. “Let’s focus less on your brother and my nonexistent love life. Let’s get back to your wedding.”

Leslie just smirked, clearly not buying your denial. “Fine, but for the record? He’s totally into you too.”

You gave Leslie a confused look, followed by a doubtful laugh. “Yeah, right?” you said, your voice tinged with disbelief.

Leslie raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed by your self-doubt. “Why do you think he wouldn’t be into you?” she asked, crossing her arms as if she were gearing up to debate.

You sighed, glancing down at your drink. “I mean…look at him,” you said, gesturing vaguely in Glen’s direction. “He could have literally anyone he wants. Models, actresses, anyone. And I’m just…” You trailed off, shrugging.

Leslie tilted her head, studying you with a knowing smile. “Just what?” she pressed.

“Just me,” you finished weakly, feeling a little silly for saying it out loud.

Leslie let out an exaggerated sigh, shaking her head like she couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “Okay, first of all, that’s ridiculous. Second of all—” She paused, leaning in slightly for emphasis. “You’re the one he asked to be his date tonight. Not a model, not an actress, you.”

You blinked, momentarily caught off guard by the truth of her words. “That’s just because we’re friends,” you said, though your voice lacked conviction.

“Friends,” Leslie repeated, her tone dripping with sarcasm. “Right. Because friends definitely look at each other the way he looks at you.”

You felt your cheeks heat up again. “He does not look at me any type of way,” you insisted, but Leslie wasn’t buying it.

She smirked, nodding toward Glen, who was now making his way across the room in your direction.

“Sure he doesn’t,” she said, her voice teasing. “But just in case you’re still in denial, why don’t you pay attention when he gets over here? You’ll see what I mean.”

Before you could respond, Glen reached the two of you, his presence immediately drawing your attention.

“Hey,” he said, flashing that easy smile of his. “Am I interrupting something, or can I steal her for a bit?”

Leslie’s grin widened as she gave you a pointed look. “Not at all,” she said sweetly, stepping aside. “She’s all yours.”

You shot her a subtle glare, but Leslie just winked at you before turning to join the rest of the group. As Glen’s attention shifted back to you, your heart did that annoying fluttery thing it always seemed to do when he was around.

“You okay?” he asked, his gaze flicking over your face as if checking for any signs of discomfort.

“Yeah,” you said, forcing a smile. “Just catching up with Leslie.”

“Good,” he said, his smile softening. “She’s been excited to see you. I think she’s secretly more interested in hanging out with you than me tonight.”

You laughed, the sound helping to ease the tension swirling in your chest. “Well, to be fair, I am pretty great,” you teased, falling back into your usual banter with him.

“Can’t argue with that,” Glen said, his tone light, but there was something in his eyes that lingered a little too long, something that made your breath catch just slightly.

The atmosphere shifted subtly as the music transitioned to something slower, a beat just mellow enough to set a softer, almost romantic mood. The chatter in the room seemed to quiet slightly, replaced by the rhythmic sway of the melody. Glen glanced toward the small dance floor, where a few of his friends were starting to pair off, and then turned back to you.

“Come on,” he said, extending a hand toward you, his smile warm and inviting.

You shook your head immediately, taking a small step back. “You know I don’t dance,” you reminded him, your voice firm but playful.

His grin only widened, clearly undeterred. “And you know I don’t take no for an answer,” he teased, stepping closer and gently taking your hand before you could protest further.

“Glen,” you said, a hint of exasperation in your tone, but he was already pulling you toward the dance floor.

“Relax,” he said with a laugh, glancing back at you. “I’ll lead. All you have to do is follow.”

You sighed in resignation, realizing there was no escaping this. When you reached the dance floor, you placed a hand on his shoulder, your fingers brushing against the soft fabric of his dress shirt. He wrapped an arm securely around your waist, pulling you just close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating from him.

“You’ve done this before,” he said lightly as he started to guide you to the rhythm of the music.

“Once or twice,” you admitted, though you still felt slightly self-conscious. “But I’m warning you—I’m not great at it.”

“You’re doing fine,” he assured you, his voice low and steady, as if the rest of the room didn’t exist.

Out of the corner of your eye, you caught sight of Leslie standing by the bar. She was watching you with an unmistakable smirk, her arms crossed in triumph. When your eyes met hers, she gave you a knowing look, the kind that said, See? Told you so.

You rolled your eyes at her and shook your head, trying to silently tell her to knock it off. Glen noticed the exchange, his brow furrowing slightly as he glanced over at Leslie and then back down at you.

“What am I missing?” he asked, his voice tinged with curiosity.

“Nothing,” you said quickly, though your cheeks were already starting to warm.

“Doesn’t look like nothing,” he said, his tone teasing now. “What’s going on between you two?”

“Leslie’s just…being Leslie,” you said vaguely, hoping to leave it at that.

But Glen wasn’t letting it go. He tilted his head, a slow smile spreading across his face as realization started to dawn on him.

“Wait a minute…” he said, his gaze narrowing slightly. “Is she messing with you about something?”

“Not really,” you said, trying to sound casual.

“Not really?” he repeated, clearly unconvinced. His eyes flicked back toward Leslie, who was now openly grinning at the two of you. “Oh, she’s definitely messing with you about something,” he said with a laugh.

You groaned, your head dropping slightly as you muttered, “I’m going to kill her.”

Glen chuckled, his hand on your waist giving a reassuring squeeze. “Don’t worry, I’ll protect you,” he said, his tone playful but his smile soft.

For a moment, you forgot about Leslie entirely, your focus shifting back to Glen as you moved together in time with the music. His gaze lingered on you, his expression unexpectedly tender, and you felt your heart skip in a way that made you wonder if Leslie might actually have a point after all.

As the slower song faded out, you felt a moment of relief. But then the next song started, and your heart sank a little as the unmistakable notes of a love ballad filled the air. The kind that spoke of longing and intimacy, the kind that made you suddenly hyper aware of the fact that you were still in Glen’s arms.

You glanced up at him, your lips parting to excuse yourself, but before you could step away, his hand on your back shifted, a gentle but deliberate pressure that kept you in place.

“Stay,” he said softly, his voice low enough that only you could hear.

“Glen, I—” you started, already shaking your head. There was no way you could dance to a love song with your best friend. It felt too…loaded.

“Just one more,” he murmured, and when your eyes met his, whatever protest you had ready fell away. There was something in the way he looked at you—something unspoken but undeniable. It wasn’t just a friendly look. It was softer, deeper, and for a moment, it left you breathless.

You nodded, barely, and he smiled—just a small, private curve of his lips that made your stomach flip.

He pulled you just a little closer this time, close enough that your chest brushed against his. The hold on your back shifted, his hand sliding just slightly lower, resting at the curve where your back met your waist. It wasn’t inappropriate—just enough to feel a little less like friendship and a little more like something else.

Without thinking, you leaned into him, your cheek resting lightly against his chest. His warmth was comforting, grounding, and you closed your eyes for a moment, letting yourself get lost in the rhythm of the song and the steady rise and fall of his breathing.

You felt him tilt his head, the faintest brush of his cheek against the top of yours. It was such a small gesture, but it sent your heart into a quiet frenzy, a rhythm that seemed to echo in time with the music.

Neither of you said a word as you moved together, swaying gently to the melody. The first verse passed, then the chorus, and you couldn’t help but notice how natural it felt to be here, like the rest of the world had melted away.

The song came to an end, the final notes fading into a hum of conversation and clinking glasses around you. Glen didn’t move right away, and for a moment, neither did you. You stayed in his arms, feeling the warmth of his hand still pressed against your back, the steady beat of his heart against your cheek.

But then someone called his name from across the room, breaking the fragile bubble that had surrounded you both. Glen’s arm slipped away, though his hand lingered on your elbow for a second longer than necessary.

“I’ll be right back,” he said softly, his eyes lingering on yours, as if reluctant to leave.

You nodded, offering a small smile, and watched as he crossed the room to greet a new arrival. The absence of his touch left you feeling untethered, a sudden awareness of just how much you’d let yourself melt into him during that dance.

Needing a moment to collect yourself—and maybe something stronger than a moment of quiet—you made your way to the bar. You ordered a glass of wine and took a steadying sip, trying to push the last few minutes out of your mind.

Of course, Leslie found you before you even made it halfway through your drink.

“So,” she started, leaning casually against the bar with an unmistakable smirk. “That was…something.”

You rolled your eyes, though you could feel the blush already creeping up your neck. “Don’t start.”

“Start what?” she asked innocently, though her grin was anything but. “I’m just saying, I don’t think I’ve ever seen my brother look at someone like that. Or hold someone like that. Or—”

“Leslie,” you warned, though the heat in your cheeks betrayed your attempt at composure.

She laughed, clearly enjoying herself. “I’m just saying, for someone who insists she doesn’t dance, you looked awfully comfortable out there dancing with my brother.”

“That doesn’t mean anything,” you replied, taking another sip of your wine in a futile attempt to drown your nerves.

“Doesn’t it?” she countered, raising an eyebrow. “Because from where I was standing, it looked like something more.”

You shot her a sharp look, but she just shrugged, still grinning.

“Relax,” she said, nudging your arm playfully. “I’m not about to make a big announcement or anything. But if you don’t see it yet…” She trailed off, giving you a knowing look before gesturing subtly toward Glen, who was still across the room, laughing with a small group of friends.

You followed her gaze despite yourself, and your heart gave a traitorous little lurch at the sight of him. His smile was easy and charming, but every now and then, his eyes flicked toward the bar, as if checking to see if you were still there.

“See what I mean?” Leslie said softly, pulling your attention back to her.

You shook your head, trying to play it off. “You’re reading into things.”

“Am I?” she challenged, her tone light but her expression serious. “Because I’ve known Glen my whole life, and I’ve never seen him look at anyone the way he looks at you. So, maybe it’s time you stop convincing yourself it’s all in your head.”

Her words hit harder than you expected, and you found yourself speechless, staring down into your glass of wine as if it held the answers you were so desperately trying to avoid.

Leslie let the silence linger for a moment before giving your arm another playful nudge. “Just think about it, okay?”

And with that, she pushed off the bar and disappeared back into the crowd, leaving you alone with your swirling thoughts—and the undeniable truth you were no longer sure you could ignore.

You stepped away from the bar, glass of wine in hand, and gravitated toward a quieter corner of the rooftop. The laughter and conversation from the party grew softer with every step, the music fading into a pleasant hum in the background. A gentle breeze brushed against your skin as you approached the railing, the Los Angeles skyline glittering like a sea of stars before you.

You leaned against the cool metal and took a slow sip of your wine, your thoughts drifting back to Leslie’s words. Was she onto something? No, she couldn’t be. Glen was your best friend, the one constant in your life through every twist and turn. You would know if he felt something for you… right?

But then again…

You sighed and rested your elbow on the railing, pressing your glass lightly to your lips. Leslie had known Glen her entire life. If anyone could read him, it was her. And the way she spoke—like she’d been holding onto this knowledge for a while—left you with an uncomfortable sense of doubt.

Could she be right? Could you really have missed something that big?

The sound of footsteps approaching pulled you from your thoughts. You looked over, expecting another party guest, but instead, you found Glen standing beside you. The velvet tuxedo jacket was now off, and his hair was a little mussed from probably running his hand through it one too many times, but his smile was warm and familiar.

“Hey,” he said softly, leaning casually against the railing next to you. “You okay?”

You managed a small smile and nodded. “Yeah, just needed a breather.”

He studied you for a moment, his gaze calm and steady, before arching a brow. “This wouldn’t have anything to do with Leslie pestering you at the bar, would it?”

You rolled your eyes, though your lips twitched with the hint of a smile. “No.”

“Uh-huh,” Glen said, clearly not buying it. “Because Leslie may or may not have told me to come find you.”

Your heart gave a jolt, and you turned to look at him. “She what?”

“She didn’t say why,” Glen added quickly, holding up a hand as if to reassure you. “But… she said…enough.”

“Enough?” you asked, your voice quieter now.

He hesitated, his smile fading into something softer, something more sincere. “Enough to make me realize I’ve been putting this off for too long.”

Before you could ask what he meant, Glen stepped closer. His eyes searched yours, as though he were trying to gauge your reaction before saying anything else.

“I wanted to thank you,” he said, his voice low. “For coming with me tonight. For being here for me—not just tonight, but always.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but the words wouldn’t come. There was something in his tone, in the way he looked at you, that made your heart beat just a little faster.

“And I need you to know,” he continued, taking another step closer, “how much you mean to me.”

The space between you was nearly nonexistent now, and for a moment, neither of you said a word. His eyes searched yours, his hand twitching at his side like he wanted to reach for you but wasn’t sure if he should.

You felt it then—that shift Leslie had hinted at, the one you’d been too afraid to fully acknowledge. This wasn’t just your best friend standing in front of you. This was Glen, the man who had been at your side for years, looking at you like you were the only person in the world.

He took a deep breath and leaned in slightly, pausing when your noses were almost touching. His eyes flickered to your lips, then back to your eyes, giving you a chance to pull away. But you didn’t.

Instead, you met his gaze, your heart thundering in your chest.

Glen’s tongue darted out to wet his bottom lip, and then his eyes fluttered shut as he raised a hand to your face. His palm was warm as it cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing lightly against your skin.

You closed your eyes just as his lips found yours.

The kiss was soft at first, tentative, as though he was afraid you might pull away. But when you didn’t, when you leaned into him and placed a hand lightly against his chest, he deepened the kiss, his other arm wrapping around your waist to pull you closer.

The world around you faded—the music, the laughter, the skyline. All that mattered was the way Glen’s lips moved against yours, the way he held you like he’d been waiting for this moment for far too long.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The world seemed to hold its breath as you both stood there, processing what had just happened. Glen’s hand lingered on your cheek, his thumb tracing soft, absentminded circles against your skin. Your heart raced, the warmth of his touch grounding you in the surreal, breathtaking reality of the moment.

Finally, Glen broke the silence, his lips curving into that familiar, playful grin that always managed to put you at ease. “So…” he began, his tone light but his eyes still holding that intensity from before. “Does this mean you’ll let me take you to next year’s Globes too?”

The laugh bubbled out of you before you could stop it, breaking the tension in the most perfect way. You shook your head, resting your forehead against his chest as a smile spread across your lips. “We’ll see if you behave, Cowboy.”

He chuckled, the sound rumbling through his chest where your head rested. “Behave? I’m a perfect gentleman,” he said, his voice tinged with mock indignation.

You pulled back just enough to look up at him, arching a brow. “Oh, really? Perfect gentlemen don’t usually kiss their best friends on rooftops in the middle of a party.”

His grin widened as he shrugged, his hand still resting lightly on your waist. “Maybe I got tired of being just your best friend.”

Your breath caught again at the sincerity in his tone, the way his teasing words carried so much truth. Glen had always been charming, always quick with a joke or a flirtatious comment, but this felt different. This felt real.

You didn’t respond right away, unsure of what to say, but instead of pushing, Glen just smiled and leaned down to press a quick, gentle kiss to your forehead. And with that, he stepped back slightly, though his hand still lingered on your waist, as if to let you know that even with the space between you, he was still there, still yours.

You tilted your head back to look up at him, searching his eyes for any hint of hesitation, but all you saw was sincerity. The smile that still lingered on his lips wasn’t one of teasing; it was genuine, like he was relieved to have crossed that line with you.

“I don’t know what to say,” you confessed, your voice quieter than usual. “This is... a lot to take in, you know?”

Glen nodded, his thumb brushing lightly over the fabric of your dress, a small gesture that seemed to ground you.

“Yeah,” he said softly, “I get it.” He leaned in closer, his lips brushing against your ear as he added, “But I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”

His words sent a wave of warmth through you, and for a brief moment, you closed your eyes, letting yourself truly hear what he was saying. The uncertainty that had clouded your mind earlier began to dissipate, replaced by something far more powerful—trust.

“I just don’t want to mess things up, Glen,” you admitted, looking up at him again, your voice low but clear. “We’ve been friends for so long. I don’t want to lose that.”

His hand gently cupped your face, his thumb now tracing along your jawline as he spoke, his voice steady. “We won’t lose it,” he promised, his gaze never leaving yours. “I wouldn’t let that happen. We’re in this together, okay?”

You nodded, the sincerity in his words making your heart swell. “Okay,” you whispered, the word feeling like a vow in the quiet space between you.

For a moment, neither of you moved, as if the world had paused just for you two. It was peaceful, despite everything—the chaos of the party, the swirling emotions inside you. Glen was here, right in front of you, and he was offering you something more. Something you hadn’t expected but couldn’t deny.

Then, in the silence that followed, he grinned, that familiar playful glint returning to his eyes. “So, does this mean you’ll let me take you on a date?”

You tilted your head slightly, looking up at him, and couldn’t help but smile at the way his eyes twinkled with excitement. He was waiting, his expression open and genuine, and suddenly, it didn’t feel like anything was uncertain anymore. The nerves, the doubts—they melted away in the warmth of his gaze.

"Yeah," you said softly, your voice filled with the quiet confidence that had come from years of friendship and, somehow, this unexpected moment. "I'd like that."

His smile deepened, and for a second, it was as if time stood still. He reached out, brushing a stray piece of hair from your face, his hand lingering on your cheek.

Without another word, he leaned in, his lips capturing yours in a soft kiss. It wasn’t rushed, nor was it shy. It was everything you hadn’t known you needed.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested gently against yours. You both stayed there for a moment, eyes closed, as if savoring the moment before the world could rush back in.

"Come on," Glen said, pulling you gently by the hand, “Let’s not keep everyone waiting.”

As he led you back toward the party, his fingers intertwined with yours, and the moment felt complete. You’d crossed the line, yes, but it was the best kind of line to cross—one that made you excited for whatever came next.

You shared one last look, a silent promise between you two, before re-entering the party, side by side, ready for whatever the night—and your future—held.

#Glen Powell #Glen Powell Fic #Glen Powell Fanfic #Glen Powell Fanfiction #Glen Powell x reader #Glen Powell x you

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nitewingbabi · 2 years ago

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↳ please respond…I showed you my cock ⚤ ghostface x female!reader 【 18+ ONLY — Minors DNI 】 ✉ taking requests part 2 ▻ a pretty mouth

2023 was a different year for everyone. Covid was 2020's big killer, and now ghostface seemed to be claiming 2023 as his year. You were one of his taunting targets. Text messages, phone calls, notes in your locker or mail. He had even been in your room once to leave a message on your mirror.

‘I like the red ones’ which was referring to your panties that you were trying on the other day after doing some much needed retail therapy with some friends.

Your group was getting smaller and smaller as more students were murdered, kidnapped or not heard from in weeks. Curfew was getting shorter that soon enough school was sure to be cancelled until the police solved whoever was running around killing everyone.

It’s Tuesday night and you just finished showering, you had been blowdrying your hair for the last 20 minutes. The recent news far from your thoughts, the truck load of school work that was due was giving you a migraine. Finally your hair was dried and you were ready to slip into bed and start your assignment. You turned your TV on, immediately putting on your current Netflix show that you were binging.

Eyes flicking back and forth from your laptop screen to your TV. You hadn’t checked your phone since you started to shower and noticed you had multiple messages from an unknown number. But it wasn’t unknown to you. You knew exactly who it was.

Unknown Number +1**********

➤ quiet night?

➤ parents aren’t home.

➤ neighbours are out of town.

You had only had one actual physical contact with ghostface which was two weeks ago. He chased you around your house until your neighbours came barging in and he ran away. Ever since you had your parents change the locks and debate whether or not to send you across the country to live with your aunt and uncle until it was all over. You pleaded that they didn’t and instead they paid for a self defence class for you.

Your phone buzzed again, drawing your attention away from the TV.

Unknown Number +***********

➤ i liked the little show you put on for me the other day.

➤ wish i had been there to ruin those little red panties

You weren’t sure what to write back, you sat there debating if you should even write anything back and entertain this creep.

Just as you put your phone down, the screen lit up and the room echoed from your ringtone.

Unknown Caller

You weren’t sure if you should pick up, but something inside you made you do it.

“Hello?” You hesitantly asked as you held the device up to your ear. Waiting to hear that deep voice that you couldn’t recognise.

“Hello y/n. Enjoying your show?” Your eyes met your TV screen to see your show playing still on low volume. You turned the TV off, quickly standing to your feet to look out your window. It was barely lit outside from the streetlight and nothing seemed to stick out like a sore thumb.

“Who is this? Why are you tormenting me?” You had asked the question too many times that it was just routine, you’d hope that one time he would budge and just tell you.

“The question isn’t who I am. the question is where I am.” You heart began to race, eyes searching endlessly out your window, he had to be close by. You suddenly felt the booty shorts and crop top that you had slid into wasn’t the best attire to be wearing at home alone whilst being stalked by a psycho.

“Look asshole, you wanna play games. I can play.” You weren’t sure what you exact plan was, but it was the first thing to pop into your head. Were you terrified of ghostface? Yes. But did it also arouse you how much he called you, texted you, the fact he had probably seen you naked countless times, even possibly pleasured himself to the sight of you.

“Oh yeah? In the mood for monopoly?” He chuckled darkly on the other end, you could only hope he was still watching you from where he was. With your free hand you danced your fingers down your torso, dipping into the waistband of your shorts and panties and itching your way to your centre that was throbbing. You could hear a deep growl on the other end.

You chuckled into the phone, knowing he was definitely watching you now. You breathed a soft moan as your fingertip circles your juicy clit, using your arousal as lube to slick your finger around the bundle of nerves. Your moans grew louder and your mouth fell agape as you began walking backwards onto your bed, allowing yourself to fall back into the plush mattress and send yourself into a bliss.

You had forgotten about ghostface, your phone falling from your ear to beside your head.

“Hey!” Your eyes popped open as you remembered he was still on the other end. You quickly grabbed it, slowing your circles to keep yourself on edge.

“I want to hear your pretty cries when you cum, I want you to cum to me and only me. You got that princess?” His words were sharp and threatening, just like the blade he used to murder your friends. God you were getting turned on and touching yourself to a psycho killer. The unexpected happened next. A snapchat notification came through.

Gfce23 added you on Snapchat!

It was him. It had to be. You accepted, still working yourself and slipping a finger inside your dripping cunt to get more arousal on your clit.

Immediately a video came through, along with a few photos. You bit your lip as you thought about what could possibly be on the other end. You had to take the chance though, you were too far down the rabbit hole.

“Open them, I want you to see what you fucking do to me.” His voice was hoarse and breathless, you could tell he was jerking himself on the other end or something. You clicked on the purple square. Your eyes met a hard cock, veiny and thick. The tip an enraged red with a slight purple tinge. A single drop of precum oozing out the slit and his black leather glove wrapped around his cock.

The video began playing and his hand jerked his cock slowly, throaty moans echoing as the video continued to play and that drop of precum dripped down his pinkish shaft. A small bush of pubic hair that led to a faint snail trail and a set of what you could only guess were abs.

His hand got faster and his moans got faster as he pumped himself hard in his hand, but before you could view more you heard your parents car pulling into the driveway with their faint music blaring.

Ghostface was in the back of your mind as you quickly closed your phone and got settled into bed. Ghostface didn’t call you back, didn’t text you and didn’t send anything else to you that night. But that does’t mean he let you off easy.

It had only been a few days since you last heard from ghostface, but when you did you were surprised to see the message he had sent through was not his usual taunting, threatening approach.

Unkown Number +**********

➤ i want to see that pretty pussy spread out tonight

➤ leave your window unlocked

➤ i know your parents wont be home

➤ hope you like it rough princess

#ghostface smut #ghostface #scream #scream2 #scream3 #scream4 #scream5 #scream6 #screamsmut #mickey altieri #mickey altieri smut #billy loomis #billy loomis smut #ghostface x reader #smut

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mattslilies · 7 days ago

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Marks - C.S.

"you weren't supposed to leave those!" or... the one where chris breaks your usual rule, no visible marks. warnings: mentions of sex but no actual smut scene, hickeys, little bit of panicking, cocky!chris, angry!reader, fwb!situation word count: 480 a/n: dividers from @cursed-carmine!

"relax, it's fine. they're not that bad."

you stared at him incredulously, anger flowing through your veins.

"are you kidding me right now?! 'not that bad?' chris, they're all the way up my neck!"

your arrangement had very few rules, but the biggest one was that this was a secret. you were not supposed to leave visible marks on each other.

originally, the rule had been no marks at all, but chris had broken that rule so many times that it had been adjusted. he'd been satisfied with leaving as many love bites as he possibly could along your inner thighs, taking personal joy in how you squirmed every time your legs pressed together.

you clenched your fist, frustration with him very clear on your face.

"it is taking absolutely everything in me to not slap you across the face right now."

he just smiled.

that damn smile. you hated it. he was always so damn arrogant. he knew exactly how attractive he was, and he always used it to his advantage.

"i don't think they look that bad. they look kinda pretty, don't you think?"

"no!"

he just laughed, shaking his head.

"chris, this isn't funny! i have a family event in two hours, and even if they did know about you, i can't show up like this!"

he snaked a hand around your waist, pressing a kiss to your shoulder, beginning to trail them up your neck, over the marks he'd left.

"does this imply they'll know about me at some point?"

you scoffed, shoving him off.

"not if you keep doing this, i'll cut you off."

he gave you a shocked look, as if he couldn't believe what you were saying.

"you would not."

you dabbed on concealer and color corrector, desperate to try and hide as much of the dark bruises on your skin as possible before responding to chris.

"oh, i would. matter of fact, i'm going to."

"excuse me?"

you turned around, continuing to work on covering the disastrous evidence chris left of last night on you.

"no sex for two weeks."

his jaw could've hit the floor with how far it dropped.

"are you serious?!"

your face didn't move, you just turned back around to look into the mirror, finishing your makeup.

"dead serious."

he sputtered behind you, not believing you were actually restricting him because of a few hickeys.

"you wanna break rules? fine. you won't get to have sex with me until you can learn to abide by them. it's not hard, chris, children can follow rules. you'll figure it out."

as you put on your shoes and began to slip out of the door, you ruffled chris' hair s a goodbye. you waited until you got to the car before shooting him a text.

"be good for the next two weeks, and maybe i'll let you mark me up again."

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tidetfs · 1 year ago

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"Ugh, bro, pleeeeease?"

Max looked at me with those dopey blue eyes of his, staring dully through me and appearing to lack any kind of intelligence or perception.

"I told you, I have a very important club interview," I replied. "This could determine if I can network into a good job after college!" stressing the importance of a job, something my stoner roommate never seemed to understand.

"Just one hit, man, come on! You gotta stop worrying about that stuff and just chill out!" he replied, stretching his muscular arms over his head of greasy (probably unwashed) brown hair and closing his eyes, as if musing about something important. "You gotta try this weed bro, I just, I-" he stuttered as he took another hit. "I don't fuckin' know man, I think you just need this."

Exasperated, I dropped my heavy bag on the floor and strode over to his side of the room, switching to mouth breathing to avoid inhaling too much foot funk from his "clean pile" of clothes, as Max called it. Even three air fresheners weren't enough to keep the pungent smells of weed and sweat at bay.

"What the hell, dude, when's the last time you even washed those?!"

"Oh, I dunno, a couple weeks ago, maybe?" Max replied, shrugging.

I could see some of the dried crust still clinging to the fabric. I couldn't help but be amazed at the sheer size of his stash. The pile was easily four feet across, and it was clear Max was still working to roll his way through the rest. I couldn't even imagine where he got it all.

"Look, just let me finish my meeting, then I'll smoke with you, okay?"

Max's eyes lit up.

"Yeah, for real?" he replied, excited. "You promise? Pinky swear?"

Max stuck his hand out, his pinky raised and his arm shaking slightly. He looked like an overgrown child. I was so tired, I didn't even hesitate. I wrapped my pinky around his, then turned to walk out of the room. As soon as I let go, I felt a sudden, powerful wave of euphoria wash over me. It was unlike anything I'd ever experienced. I couldn't even think straight, the sensation was so intense.

I collapsed against the doorway, unable to move. I could barely even think. The only thought that went through my mind was that I'd never felt this good in my life. Every inch of my skin tingled and buzzed, like a pleasant static that sent ripples of bliss through my muscles. I couldn't even control the way my body twitched and shivered.

"Duuuude," I heard Max say. "You feel that, man? I told you it's the good stuff."

I didn't know what was happening to me. My heart was racing and I couldn't breathe, and the feeling was getting more and more intense. "What..." I struggled to even sound out words. "I didn't even...take a hit..."

"Well, no, not technically," Max said, laughing. "But, uh, that's not what it was, actually. See, I sorta dosed your pinky."

I looked up at him, confused. My vision was blurry and I could barely see him, but he was grinning widely, and I could see the outline of his meaty, calloused hands rubbing the front of his jeans.

"See, it's like this, man. That wasn't weed. That was just, you know, a little something to get you to loosen up a bit. And, uh, well, there's this other thing, too. That shit I sprayed on your hand. It's not, uh, not exactly what you think."

The euphoria was fading, but it was still intense, and it was making my brain spin. "You sprayed my...hand?" I mumbled, barely able to understand what he was saying.

"Yeah, bro, I sorta had to, man. You kept getting me down with all your stress." He flexed his big biceps and gave one a kiss. "Now you're gonna be just like me!" He grinned wide, his perfect teeth glinting in the low light.

I couldn't respond. The sensations were still washing over me, but the euphoria was fading. As my brain began to work again, I suddenly realized that there was something wrong with me. There was a new, alien weight between my legs.

"Wha-what did you do?" I stammered, still dazed and confused. "What...what did you..."

I looked down, and froze. There was a huge, heavy bulge straining against the crotch of my jeans, stretching the thick material taut. It was huge. Like, absolutely massive. It was easily the size of my fist, maybe even bigger. It was so big and round, I could even see the outline of the individual balls.

"Duuuuude, bro, look at that fucking thing!" Max exclaimed, pointing and laughing. "It's totally fucking huge! Holy shit, man, it's the biggest cock I've ever seen in my life!"

I tried to speak, but I was still so confused, I couldn't get my mouth to form words.

"I didn't know they could get that big, man! Wow, bro, you're really packing a fucking cannon, you know that? Holy shit, it's so fucking hot." Max was practically drooling as he ogled the enormous bulge in my pants.

I could feel the heat radiating off of it, and I could tell it was pulsing and throbbing with each beat of my heart. The sensation was incredibly intense.

"It's...it's not possible..." I stammered, my voice cracking. "What...what did you spray?"

"Bro, I'm telling you, it's totally normal!" Max said, trying his best to sound reassuring. "My friend from home, he said, well, it's just that..." Max stammered again, his usually peaceful face betraying some shyness. "I've always thought you were cute, even without that package. You just needed to loosen up a little. And, I mean, I just wanted you to be, like, comfortable with me. It was just a little bit, man, and it was totally safe. Like, I swear, it's totally normal, dude." He grinned and shot me a wink. "Soon you're going to be just like me."

Max was still staring at the massive bulge, and I could see the outline of his huge dick stretching the crotch of his jeans.

"Dude, bro, I-" my hand shot to my mouth. I had never used those words in the same sentence before! "I...I didn't mean that!"

"Oh, yeah, dude," Max replied, not even noticing. "It's totally normal, bro. You're just a little high is all."

"High?!" I shouted, exasperated. "This isn't...I'm not...this isn't how people talk!"

Max just shrugged. "Bro, you've always been a nerd, and it's cool, man, I totally get it. But this is a big step forward. You're gonna love this. I swear."

I couldn't believe this was happening. I was still trying to process everything that was happening to me, when I heard Max's voice.

"Duuuuuude, check it out, bro," he said, gesturing to the bulge in his jeans. "We're, like, totally packing!"

"I can't..."

"Oh, shit, right. Dude, you gotta feel this."

Max quickly reached down and grabbed the bulge in my pants. As soon as he made contact, I felt a powerful surge of pleasure ripple through me. My body immediately responded to his touch, and I could feel my new cock throb and twitch. I groaned, unable to hold back the sounds.

"Dude, holy shit, bro, it's like, really sensitive or something," Max said, his eyes wide. "Like, really, really fucking sensitive, bro."

"No, it's...not..." I moaned, but I could tell it was a lie. It felt like Max's hand was squeezing my balls, and the pleasure was incredible.

"Fuck, bro, it's, like, really fucking sensitive, dude. Like, fucking, crazy fucking sensitive." Max was practically drooling, and his eyes were glazed over. He was clearly enjoying this a lot.

"Please, stop..."

"Fuck, bro, you're so fucking hard," Max groaned. He started to rub my bulge, and his other hand went to the front of his own jeans. "...and, you're so pretty too. I just don't want to lose you to all those meetings, bro. I want you to be with me."

"Wait, no, what are you doing?"

"I can't hold back anymore, dude, I gotta see your big dick," Max replied, unzipping my jeans and reaching in. He slowly pulled down, and my eyes widened as he revealed the huge, throbbing bulge in my underwear. It was so big, the fabric was stretched tight, and it was already soaked in pre-cum.

"Holy shit, dude, that thing is huge!" Max exclaimed, his voice cracking. He was staring at my huge bulge with a lustful expression, and his long tongue darted out to lick his lips. "It's, like, fucking, massive."

I looked down and was shocked by what I saw. It was easily twice as big as it had been just a few minutes ago. It was still growing, and it was stretching the fabric of my boxer-briefs to the limit. Max began to move closer, scrambling to take off his busted old t-shirt, meaty pecs and perfect washboard abs busting out as he did. He leaned forward, and his massive bicep brushed against my new rock-hard dick.

"Oh, shit, bro, fuck," Max moaned as he leaned in closer. At this point I could almost feel the waves of sweat and weed rolling off his huge body, and my cock was throbbing and leaking, straining against the tight fabric of my underwear.

"You're so hot, dude," Max said, reaching out to grab my huge bulge, wrapping his meaty hand around it. His hand was warm and rough, and his grip was strong, squeezing my bulge and causing a fresh burst of pleasure. "You're, like, fucking sexy as hell, man."

"What the hell, bro, no, that's not...that's not right!" I stammered, but Max's words sent a thrill through me. I could feel my cheeks burning, and I could feel the heat radiating from my skin. "That's not, I'm not a fag!"

"You sure about that, bro?" he asked, giving it a tug and sending a bolt of pleasure through my body. I felt the euphoria return. This time, it was a hundred times more intense.

"Fuuuuck," I groaned, leaning my head back. "Bro, it feels so fucking good."

"I know, right? And it's going to feel even better when you're a stoner like me, dude." Max replied, his eyes never leaving mine.

"Fuck, bro, I can't take it, I gotta get naked," Max moaned, frantically undoing his belt and shucking his pants. "I'm so fucking hard, bro, I can't wait to fuck you."

I looked down, and for the first time, got a good look at my new equipment. It was absolutely massive. It was huge and thick, easily the biggest cock I'd ever seen, and it was still growing. It was 10 inches long, and thicker than a beer can. My balls were huge, too, hanging heavy and swollen between my legs. I'd never felt anything like it.

The sensation continued to wash over me, slowly becoming heat as I began to sweat. It felt amazing. I couldn't control myself, I was already starting to moan and groan, and the euphoria was starting to mix with my arousal. My new cock was so sensitive, and the slightest touch made it throb and pulse.

"It's starting!" Max shouted, looking at my side of the room as my clean and organized things started to transform. My desk became cluttered with bongs and pipes, and posters of the periodic table were suddenly replaced by scantily clad men. My clothes started to change, too. My formerly neat shirts were suddenly full of holes and stained with various substances. My shoes were replaced with flip flops and Crocs.

"I can't take it, man, I'm too horny, I need to kiss you, right now," Max moaned, his voice shaking with desperation. "I've been waiting for this day, dude, and I can't hold back any longer."

Before I could protest, Max leaned in and kissed me, his big, thick tongue probing my mouth. The heat was overwhelming, and his kisses were passionate and hungry. His big, rough hands began to explore my body, rubbing and stroking and caressing every inch of me. He broke away from the kiss and buried his face in my neck, licking and nibbling and kissing. He was so close, I could feel the heat from his body, and I could smell the overpowering funk of stale sweat and reeking weed. It was so powerful I almost didn't notice my feet begin to ache and the pain in my lower back.

"What's...what's happening to me, bro?" I asked, my voice breaking. "I feel...I feel like...fuck, bro, it hurts!"

"You're changing, dude," Max replied, grinning. "It's the weed. You're finally becoming one with the bud."

"Fuck, bro, I can't hold back anymore," Max moaned. He reached down and began to stroke his giant cock, pre-cum pouring from the tip. It was easily 9 inches, and his massive balls were swollen and heavy with greasy, unwashed hair.

My feet continued to ache and burn as they stretched out, becoming bigger and broader. I could feel my bones shifting and rearranging, long tufts of sweaty hair sprouting out of my feet as they morphed into giant, hairy stumps. I couldn't believe it. The changes were getting more and more intense, and it was driving me wild. I felt like I was going to explode.

"I can't take it anymore," Max groaned, his voice a husky growl. " I have to make you mine."

Without hesitation, Max grabbed my shoulders and spun me around, pushing me face-first into my mattress. His hands were rough and strong, and he easily manhandled me.

"Holy fuck, dude, your ass, it's..." Max moaned, his voice filled with lust. "It's so fucking huge."

My ass was getting bigger and rounder, and it was stretching the seat of my boxer-briefs to the limits, and I felt a sharp, sudden pain as the fabric gave way and tore, leaving my huge, jiggly, fat, bubble butt exposed.

"I'm so horny, bro" Max moaned, his voice shaky and breathy, as my ass filled with greasy, oily stink, the air thick with the musk of unwashed flesh and reeking, unwashed funk.

"You're so hot, dude. It's so hot that you're getting stoned."

"What? Bro, that's not...wait!"

"Don't worry, dude, you'll get used to it. It's just the weed talking."

"No, wait, bro, you can't..." I moaned again as my legs began to push me taller, my thighs and calves widening and thickening. My feet swelled even more, filling to a size 13, and a sudden rush of heat swept over my body.

"Fuck, dude, you're so fucking hot, man," Max groaned, his voice thick with lust, rubbing my new, tick legs as dark, swirly hair began to sprout, quickly becoming matted with the sweat of hours upon hours of mindless smoking.

"Please, bro, stop," I moaned, as my body began to shake. "I can't take it, I'm gonna...I'm gonna cum."

"Dude, that's the whole point, bro," Max replied, his voice trembling. "Just relax, and let it happen. It's gonna feel so fucking good."

"It's too much," I moaned, my cock throbbing and pulsing. "It's too intense."

"I know, dude, it's just the weed, bro. It'll feel better after you get used to it. Trust me."

I could feel the hair begin to creep onto my stomach and chest, quickly spreading and covering me in a layer of greasy, foul-smelling, sweaty body hair.

"Dude, are you seriously not feeling this, too?" I asked, my voice cracking. "Bro, I can't take it, please, just stop, it's too much."

"Dude, chill, you're fine," Max replied, flipping me back over and rubbing his hand over my new abs and thickening pecs. "Just enjoy the ride."

"Wait, no, I'm not...fuuuuck!"

The sensation was so intense, it was driving me wild. I could barely even think. My pecs were growing larger and heavier, and my nipples were swelling and darkening, the areolae growing thicker and hairier.

"Fuuuuuck, dude, you're so fucking sexy," Max groaned, grabbing a fistful of hair and giving it a sharp tug, making me moan with pleasure.

My cock was throbbing and leaking pre-cum, and I could feel the heat coming from it. My balls were swollen and heavy, and they were aching for release.

"Fuck, dude, I can't take it," Max moaned, his voice filled with desperation, shoving his face into my pit as they began to grow and deepen, quickly filling with rank, musky body odor. As he licked, my arms grew longer and wider, my biceps and triceps growing thicker and bulkier. My forearms became thicker and more defined, and my hands and fingers were getting bigger and beefier.

"Bro, it's so fucking good." Max's voice was muffled by my armpit, and I could feel his tongue lapping up the stale sweat and musk.

My arms were now completely covered in thick, greasy, matted hair, and the same was happening to my back, the swirly pattern spreading like a wildfire. My shoulders were growing larger and rounder, and I could feel the muscles shifting and rearranging.

"Please, dude, don't...I can't..."

"I can't stop, bro, you're so hot," Max moaned, his face buried in my pit. I could smell our odors mixing together as our muscular bodies writhed against each other, slick with sweat and the stinking smell of weed.

I was so turned on.

"You're so hot, bro," Max moaned, his pre-cum leaking all over the place.

"No, bro, what?" I moaned, my voice trembling. "I'm not a faggot."

"That's just the weed, dude," Max replied, his voice low and husky. "You're gonna love it."

"Please, no," I moaned, but I knew he was right. I was so turned on, and the weed was driving me wild as my neck and jaw began to fill out and widen, my Adam's apple growing into a large, meaty knob.

I moaned as my voice deepened, the vibrations reverberating through me, causing me to shiver, my speech becoming permanently relaxed, just like my roommate's.

"Fuck," Max groaned, going in for a slobbery, wet kiss, our body heat generating enough stink to make me gag.

My body was now covered in matted, swirly body hair, and it was growing thicker and greasier, the same thing happening to my chest. I could feel my pecs bulging even more as my face was being smothered in kisses and licks, my nose cracking into a previously-broken shape and the skin becoming rough and scarred.

"Oh, fuck, dude, you're so fucking hot," Max moaned, burying his face in my thick neck, his voice muffled by the hair.

"No, please, bro," I moaned, my voice cracking. "I can't take it, it's too much."

"You can do it, bro, just hold on a little longer," Max replied, his voice shaky.

My tongue grew thicker and longer, and it started to loll out of my mouth, my face cracking into model-level handsomeness. I was so turned on, and I couldn't take it anymore. My balls were throbbing and pulsing, and my cock was throbbing and pulsing.

"I'm gonna cum," I moaned, my voice deep and slow.

"Do it, bro," Max moaned, his voice trembling. "Do it, cum all over me, bro."

I felt his fingers run across my short hair, sending a shiver down my spine. My body was wracked with pleasure as I felt ropes of rancid, stinking cum shoot from my cock, splattering his chest and stomach. I couldn't control myself, I was moaning and groaning, the intense orgasm rocking my body, my new, masculine frame shaking and quivering.

With each rope, my bright green eyes became dimmer and dimmer, coloring grayer and grayer as all of my worries and stress flowed out of me, and I fell into a state of bliss, my cock still twitching and throbbing as the last change began. My hair grew longer and thicker, until it was a long, shaggy, dirty mess, and a fresh wave of fresh musk rose off me.

"Fuuuuuuuuuuuuck," I moaned, my voice deep and slow, my tongue lolling out of my mouth.

"Fuck, dude, you're so fucking sexy," Max moaned, his voice cracking. "I can't believe it, dude. You're, like, totally a stoner now, bro."

"Haha, yeah man...wait bro, haven't I always been?" I looked at myself in the dingy dorm mirror, and realized I looked like a dumb, stoned idiot. My voice was deeper, and my accent was different. My hair was messy and unwashed, and my skin was tanned. My pecs were massive and my abs were rock hard. My cock was huge and throbbing. My feet were hairy and stinky. I had a huge, round, bubble butt.

I laughed a deep, airy chuckle.

"That's right" Max said, staring into my dull eyes. He seemed like the hottest man I had ever laid eyes on until I realized.

"I love you, dude." Max giggled.

"Yeah man, I love you, too" I slurred, leaning in for a sloppy kiss, my tongue probing his mouth, the taste of weed and sweat overwhelming. He returned the favor, and soon, we were a mess of sloppy, stoner kisses, our thick, stubbly chins rubbing together, the sound of slurping and licking filling the room.

"Fuuuuuuuuuuuuck," I groaned, the kiss ending, both of us breathing heavy and panting, a mixture of spit dripping from our chins. "That was, like, totally amazing, dude."

"Fuck, yeah, bro, it was fucking awesome," Max groaned, his voice trembling. "I've been waiting for this for, like, ever, bro. It's fucking crazy."

"Yeah, dude, totally," I replied, staring at his gorgeous, masculine features. His big, thick arms, his perfect washboard abs, his massive pecs, and his perfect, handsome face. He was fucking hot, and he was all mine.

#stoner tf #dumber #male tf #himbo tf #muscle tf

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mashtatosworld · 10 days ago

Text

power

summary: it's angel and diva week! and jiyong gifts his oldest daughter a present that causes havoc

It’s the night before August begins, and your bedroom looks like Barbie's Dreamhouse exploded. Sparkly wrapping paper lay everywhere, ribbons were stuck to the soles of your feet.

Since your girls were born on the same day, and Jiyong only ten days later, you had both decided to make the first week of August dedicated to their birthdays. Each day would be a celebration, so neither would feel any less special about sharing the actual day.

It was a little eccentric, but you were Kwons. It was part of the house rules.

You sigh, your back feeling stiff from hours hunched over pink paper and dolls.

Jiyong is opposite you, half-sitting, half-sprawled across the floor - busy cutting sheets of wrapping paper, a suspicious look on his face.

Then you hear him giggling to himself.

You don’t even look up from the box you’re taping. “What did you do.”

He blinks at you innocently. “What? Nothing.”

You sigh. “What now, Jiyong.”

He stretches, sitting up straighter, like he’s just remembered. “So… since Jia’s turning four - ”

“No.”

“You don’t even know what I’m gonna say.”

“I do,” you say, finishing tying a perfect bow and eyeing him. “And it’s a no.”

He scoots closer, grinning. “Come on. A mini-Lamborghini. She’s been asking me for one for weeks.”

“She’s asks for a new toy every day. She'll forget about it soon enough.”

He twists his lips. “She won't.”

You glance at him. “You already bought it, didn’t you.”

He lifts one shoulder in a slow, guilty shrug.

You stare straight at him, mildly unimpressed - but not surprised. Another Kwon household rule: whatever his Princesses' wanted, they got.

“Well if she drives like you,” you say, “don’t come crying when she crashes it into a tree.”

He scoffs. “She’ll drive better than me.”

You laugh under your breath. “For our sake, I hope so.”

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

The next morning you’re in the garden, holding Angel, who’s busy trying to eat the collar of her onesie. Jiyong is crouched beside his latest mistake: a shiny pink electric car, battery-powered, complete with tiny side mirrors and a soft leather interior.

Diva is bouncing in the seat with excitement.

She was already suited and booted, helmet and little racing suit zipped up.

Jiyong adjusts the mirrors one last time, and then stands in front of the car with his hands on his hips, giving her a whole safety lecture - as if it’s going to make a difference.

“And you need to make sure you check your surroundings - ”

She’s already turning the engine on.

“- and don’t press the pedal too hard - ”

She immediately presses the pedal too hard.

The car jerks forward and slams straight into his legs.

He lets out a sharp “Ah!” and stumbles back, caught completely off guard.

Diva drives straight past him, unfazed, heading straight toward the fence.

You sigh and adjust Angel on your hip.

Jiyong recovers from the hit-and-run and hurries after her, yelling at her to hit the brake. She crashes lightly into the fence and quickly turns around in her seat, all teeth and wide eyes.

“I’m ok! Appa fix it, I wanna go again!”

He's bent over, trying to catch his breath. Your eyes meet across the yard.

You lift your eyebrows.

He sighs with a loud exhale, straightening as if he wasn't still in pain and distress. “She’s a natural.”

You nod slowly. “Terrifying.”

Angel gurgles like she agrees.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

By day seven, Jiyong now exclusively wore thick-soled, protective trainers.

You asked him once if he was okay.

He didn’t answer.

Just limped past with a thousand-yard stare and a pair of shin guards hidden beneath his pyjama pants.

Diva had taken to driving her pink car with what you could only describe as intent. And you were beginning to suspect her target wasn’t the open space in front of her, but her father’s legs.

You stayed behind the patio wall when she drove. You weren’t a coward... just cautious.

The real disaster began at the family birthday BBQ.

You’d sent out invites. Set up tables. Ordered far too much food. And at the bottom of the invite, in bold caps:

NO OPEN-TOED SHOES. FOR YOUR SAFETY.

It was the height of summer. You knew the risk. And you’d warned them.

But of course, Daesung - cheery, flip-flop wearing Daesung - had shown up in a mood of pure sunshine, grinning wide and carrying a case of cider.

He made it three steps into the garden before a pink blur shot past, clipped his toes, and sent him stumbling backwards, taking down a folding chair with him.

Diva didn’t even stop. She reversed for good measure, the back-wheels ramming into his crumpled form with a thud before taking off again.

“YAH!” Daesung clutched his side, eyes wide. “She reversed on me!”

“I told you about the shoes,” you said, sipping your lemonade.

“She needs her license revoked!”

You shrugged. “Sure... if you can catch her.”

You’d tried telling her off before - “No driving near people, Jia-yah.” But you and Jiyong both knew the hard truth. Neither of you had the guts to get close enough to actually pull her out of the car.

She growled when cornered.

Jiyong’s shins were proof.

So most of the afternoon turned into a survival exercise.

The guests rotated between standing on chairs, leaning nervously against the house, or attempting polite conversation while keeping one eye on the pink vehicle spinning wild donuts on your lawn.

In the seven days since she'd become a driver, she'd broke a lantern, a garden gnome, and one of the porcelain cranes you'd been gifted for your wedding. You noticed it missing and caught a guilty Jiyong trying to sweep up the shards.

“I’ll glue it,” he mumbled. “She’s… having fun.”

And she was. You couldn’t deny that. The shrieks of laughter. The tiny hands gripping the steering wheel with focus and glee.

It was joyful. Unhinged. But joyful.

You were mid-bite of a kebab when you saw it: the pink car speeding past the patio again, only this time -

Angel was in the passenger seat.

Your baby.

You dropped your paper plate.

“Jiyong,” you said, watching in disbelief. “Did you put Jemi in the car?”

He was mid-way through biting into a chicken drumstick, freezing at your words, his face shifting into a confused frown.

He turned in his seat, and you both watched them veer around the garden, Angel gurgling happily, helmet on backwards - nearly tipping out of the car as Diva took a sharp corner.

“Aren't you going to stop her?” you asked.

He didn’t answer. Just stared in panic, shock, fear.

Then he swallowed his mouth full.

“JIA-YAH, STOP THE CAR!”

But she didn’t.

Because that tiny pink menace of a vehicle came with its own radio system, currently blasting 'Power' at full volume.

Diva shrieked with laughter, convinced this was all a part of a game as the two of you sprung into action, chasing after her with frantic shouts.

She zoomed around the garden like it was Mario Kart, swerving past the BBQ and nearly knocking over the fruit punch. Guests ducked. A skewer flew. Daesung hid behind the hydrangeas.

And then she looped.

“She’s doubling back!” you cried, realising too late - she was coming for you.

“RUN!”

You screamed and leapt, catching Jiyong by surprise and half-tackling him as you jumped onto his back.

He grunted, catching your legs mid-run. “JAGI, WHAT ARE YOU DOING - ”

“She’ll get my ankles!”

So there he was. Grown man. Father of two. Piggybacking his wife through the garden while his four-year-old chased them with a smile and a pink helmet. Angel, meanwhile, sat quietly beside her sister like this was all just an Uber ride.

And then - splash.

In a last act of desperation, Jiyong launched the both of you into the pool.

The pink car skidded to a stop just at the edge, music still blaring. Diva grinned from behind the wheel, revving the engine like a threat.

“GET. OUT. OF. THE. CAR,” Jiyong yelled from the pool, dripping and furious.

Angel's eyes widened at his stern Appa shout, but Diva simply shrugged, flipped the gear, and reversed.

“Kwon Ji-ah!” you gasped.

The crowd parted in panic, but there was one man who did not move.

Youngbae.

He dove in front of the car, protecting his wife from being flattened, taking the full hit to his chest with a grunt. The car stilled for a moment and he used that opportunity to reach in, yank the keys out, and the engine finally died.

The garden was silent.

You and Jiyong sloshed your way out of the pool, dripping and defeated, and made your way over.

He pulled Diva out of the car like a sack of flour, holding her firmly while she kicked and squirmed in protest. You scooped Angel up, her helmet now sideways over her face.

You turned to the crowd, soaked and smiling stiffly.

“Thank you all for coming. We're just going to...freshen up. Please enjoy the grilled pork.”

Jiyong followed you inside, Diva tucked under his arm like luggage, her arms crossed and lips pouted in protest.

As you both squelched through the hallway, you whispered through clenched teeth, “The car better be gone in the morning.”

He nodded, lips pursed. “Burning it.”

She huffed. “Not Seunghyun!” The name she had affectionately coined for the menace of a car.

You both ignored her.

Upstairs, as you peeled off your wet clothes and attempted to salvage some dignity, Jiyong turned to you, exasperated, hair still dripping into his eyes.

“Maybe next year we just get them books.”

You looked at him, tired. “Books can’t accelerate.”

“Exactly.”

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

He lasted one day.

One.

You had gone to bed hopeful, reassured by his pool-soaked promise to “burn the car.”

But the very next morning - their official birthday, Diva was out in the garden with a brand new ride - shiny, sparkly, twice the size, and equipped with a bucket seat and a secure little harness for Angel.

You spotted Jiyong on the patio, standing tall and proud, a remote in his hand as he controlled the car from the device.

"You're unbelievable," you muttered as you stepped out beside him, handing him a cup of coffee and watching your daughters loop around the garden at a sensible, injury-free pace. They were both still in onesies, helmets covering their messy bed-heads.

He grinned down at you, not the least bit sorry. “Look at them.”

The car turned smoothly around the new garden gnome - yes, another one - and the tassels Jiyong had attached to the back bounced as the cats leapt after them in delight.

Angel squealed as Iye sprung up beside her, and Diva turned slightly, wrapping a protective arm around her as they bumped gently along the path.

You leaned against your husband’s side with a sigh. “They’re getting along,” you said quietly, with a small smile. “Only took a year.”

He chuckled softly, sipping his coffee. “Trauma bonds people.”

You shot him a look. “Pretty sure we were the ones traumatised.”

“I still can’t feel my right shin,” he deadpanned, flexing it.

You both watched the girls go, the early summer light casting a golden hue over everything. Diva was yelling about racing a squirrel. Angel babbled something incoherent and clapped. Zoa bolted through the bushes in full panic.

“They’re gonna be a dangerous duo,” he said, tone filled with pride.

You groaned softly. “God. I don’t think I can handle three Jiyongs.”

He smirked, turning to you with that particular glint in his eyes. “Mmm. Should we make a little jagi next?”

You stared at him. “You really think now is the time?”

He just grinned. “I mean, look how good they turned out.”

“One of them nearly put Youngbae in a wheelchair.”

“And now she helps her sister wear a helmet. We're amazing parents."

You rolled your eyes, trying not to smile. “We're alright, I guess."

He leaned down, brushing your lips with a kiss. “One more won't hurt."

“No.” You grumbled against his mouth.

He smirked and pulled away, quickly returning his eyes to steering the girls.

From the garden, you heard Diva shriek with laughter as they did a dramatic little drift around the edge of the bird bath, Angel screaming joyfully beside her. The cats went into a craze when the Starling's dispersed.

You took another long sip of coffee.

“…We’re gonna need more insurance.”

Jiyong nodded. “And probably more wine.”

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

this one's dedicated to @gdinthehouseee who gave me the idea <33

thank you to everyone that voted in the poll! more diva as promised <3

and i finished uni today for the last time ;( but that does mean i'll be more active hopefully!

as always,

love mash

xxx

taglist: @petersasteria, @mirahyun , @allthoughtsmindfull , @gdinthehouseee , @infinetlyforgotten , @redhoodedtoad , @kathaelipwse , @lxvemaze , @loveesiren , @sherrayyyyy , @getyoassoutthetrunk , @shieraseastarrs , @ctrldivinev , @xxxicddbr88 , @onyxmango , @tryingtolivelifeblog , @tulentiy , @bettelaboure , @breakmeoff , @emmiesoverthemoon , @rafesbunniebby , @ricecake9999 , @fleabagspurplewife , @sylviavf , @ldydeath , @wonyluvi , @deliciousmagazinequeen , @heartubeatusalon , @imminsugasgf , @steponupbabe, @moontabi , @1950schick , @wcnderlnds

#mashtatosworld #bigbang #kpop #gdragon #kwon jiyong #kwon jiyong x reader #gdragon x reader #gdad

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shroomyv · 5 days ago

Text

1st sunrise together

(not your last)

Remmick x female reader (one shot)

A/N: alr people…I haven’t written in months…finally tryna start writing again and stop trying to make story perfects and put out what I enjoy writing and not what I think evb else needs or wants from me. On that note thanks for 300+ followers wtf. Also uh this is my first sinners fanfic (def won’t be my last) so bear with me pls. Just a lil short thing for you guys. Once again, sorry if this was mid, took a small ass prompt and extended it sorry. Comments and reblogs are appreciated (I love talking to u guys sm)

Summary: you and Remmick have been around each other for a bit. Getting comfortable in ways you live, love and do things. Your guard is always up but his has begun to go down. What happens if one day you aren’t on a hunt with him cause he makes you stay home and does something different. “You’re just paranoid—that won’t happen.” Is what he tells you all the time. 9 times out of 10, you’re right.

WC: 2.6k

Warning: death, angst, lil cringe, fic moves rlly fast, little terrible world building moments, mentions of blood, mentions of religion (holy water, is that a mention?), mentions death, mentions of gunshots and guns.

It'd already been 3 years since his teeth seeped into your neck.

They drained your body of blood and brought you back to life—just with a few changes and tweaks to the way you were able to live out life now.

The man who bit you, your husband, Remmick. He stayed by your side just as he promised before you allowed him to bite you.

He cared for you just as you asked and needed, and you tried to return the favor whenever possible.

He made sure all your needs and wants were met as soon as he could make it happen.

If you were hungry, he’d make sure you’d get full. If you wanted to be held, he’d carry you. If you wanted to hear music or dance, he’d crack out that banjo and get to playing.

He made sure to keep you as happy and protected as he possibly could.

You two typically had a nightly ritual of going to get bodies to feast on to cure your hunger if you weren’t tending to each other's wounds from the night prior or relaxing after a passionate night.

Whenever you two went out hunting, you had a sort of ritual of burning down the houses once you were done with the bodies. You were a no-evidence kind of girl, he didn’t understand why, and thought he wasted time waiting for the sun to come up—you just couldn’t care and continued to burn whatever house you two raided.

You two had different ways about how you dealt with business. Whatever way you dealt with it, you knew it was always better when it was two of you dealing with it instead of one suffering with the issue alone.

Out of the two of you, one of you almost always got roughed up by the end of the night if a human was fighting back from you trying to bite them.

This night, it was you.

Remmick was pissed, livid actually. You don’t think you’d ever seen him take greater pleasure in killing someone, ever, once he finished killing whoever put a few bullets in you.

“You need to relax…” You said “yer getting worked up over nunin'’ you know I’m gon heal so just breathe and relax.”

You tried your best to calm him down—you hated when he was constantly worked up, especially over things you considered small. He didn’t consider you getting hurt a “small thing” to him; it was a big issue.

You grabbed onto his suspenders, pulling him back into the bed with you.

“It ain’t no small thing…sure you’ll be fine in a week but y’know how much I hate seeing you hurt.” He said, voice sounding all pissed but trying to relax it to not worry you.

he was still on the issue and you didn’t mind it as long as he stopped working himself up over it.

Your forehead pressed against his—you two sharing any warmth you possibly could to each other. His arms began wrapping around your back like a snake, holding onto you like he never wanted to let go.

You winced for a second as he got ready to let go, but you wrapped your arm around him so he wouldn’t try and move away.

“Remmick…stop worryin’.” You gave him a reassuring smile as he kissed your face softly.

“You can’t tell me to stop worryin’.” He said

“And why is that?”

“‘Cause ya do the exact same thing.”

“Hm…well, it’s ok when I do it.”

He just rolled his eyes at you—finding what you had to say was unfair but knew he could argue against it because he’d lose anyway.

You two were always worried back and forth, taking turns on who would be the one panicking for the night. It was mostly you so you had gotten used to it but whenever it was him you wanted him to relax and not press the issue.

Your head still pressed against his as you two took in each other and every feature. Your arms still wrapped around his body, and his still wrapped around yours…

A few moments of silence filled the air before Remmick finally spoke again.

“You gon eat tonight…you ain't touched nothin’ since we last went huntin’.”

He squeezed your hand—getting your full attention as this was his way of telling you he had to go out.

“Well, let me get on up.” You said.

Before you could get off the bed—he leaped up and stood in front of you.

“No darlin’.” He said, “you gon stay here and rest.”

“We don’t really need sleep….besides, I’ll be patched up in a day or two at most.” you said

You began to look him up and down—what he said was silly to you, and you didn’t agree to it at all. You tried to stand again, but this time he put his hands on your shoulder, keeping you down for a second.

“Remmick…”

“Please, jus’ stay here…I’ll be back, promise.” He said softly.

Your eyes and his met as he was giving that same little pleading stare that a puppy would give you when it did something wrong.

You just huffed—you were annoyed you couldn’t go with him, but if he wanted you to rest that badly and promised that he’d come back, you’d just stay put for the night.

“Fine, Remmy.” You said

You pulled him in by his suspenders, giving him a kiss. He quickly returned it as you let go of his suspenders and he leaned in closer pushing you down on the matress a bit more.

You broke the kiss to speak.

“Uh, Remmy, don’t you have food to be getting? You're on a time limit with that sun.” You said teasingly.

He just cleared his throat before pulling himself up.

“Right, yes.” He said, “When I get back though, I want more of whatever that was gon’ be.”

You just chuckled as you watched him leave out of the door into the night.

A few minutes had passed before you stood up to do some house chores—thought you might as well pass the boredom with some work.

You walked around the house as it felt a little lifeless without Remmick there—you knew he’d be back soon as promised, but you were just as impatient as he was.

While you were walking around, your eyes were jumping onto every object, seeing if anything needed cleaning or if it was out of order.

Your eyes finally came to the nightstand, and you saw nothing wrong at first glance till you looked back.

A box of matches, your box of matches was still there…

That same box of matches you used to get rid of any evidence whenever you two went out.

“Shit.” You murmured.

Your mind racing with worry as per usual about him. You told him you’d stay put, but you had a certain way of doing things, and you didn’t want to stray away from the usual.

You just swallowed down whatever worry you had in your throat. He could handle himself, he lived this long without you, he’d be fine.

hours had begun passing—you knew the sun was gonna be up sooner than later.

That worry you swallowed down began climbing right back up your throat. Pacing back and forth around the room like a madman, you had not a clue where he was.

You were ready to leave and try and find him yourself until a loud, frantic bang caused you to get up and dash to the door.

As soon as you opened it, you saw him.

Remmick—beaten up and bruised. A few gunshot wounds, blood all over his face and body, rips to his clothes, and nasty gashes and cuts on his face.

You knelt to where he sat, trying to pull him back up to his feet. You had nothing to say in the moment—your top priority was getting him to safety and patched up.

Remmick stood up with your help as you examined his face. He grabbed your hand tight, stopping you as he needed your full attention.

“We gotta go.” He said, “We gotta go right now, darlin’.”

You just nodded—you got ready to turn back into the house to grab a few things before you heard screaming and gunshots. People were out hunting and searching for you.

“Ain’t no time,” Remmick said as he grabbed you by the back of your dress.

You were dragged out by your back until he released it—you two dashed through the woods.

It was pretty rare for you two to be haunted when you were usually the ones doing the hunting. Sadly for you two, it was more of them and not enough time to fight back. You just needed to run and find shelter.

“Remmick, why ain’t you bring them damn matches.” You murmured but he heard every word.

“Thought I wasn’t gon need em, clearly it was a full house. I’m sorry, let’s just get out of this then you can yell at me later.” He said

His hand grabbed onto yours tightly, running through the woods with you, trying to find any safety. If you two weren’t on the brink of getting murdered—you’d consider it romantic.

Gunshots flying into trees as bullets miss you two. Water splashing as whoever was chasing you tried to fling holy water on you. You two just gave each other that soft-eyed look before you kept running.

He wanted to keep you safe—he promised to keep you safe.

Now he was falling short on his promises.

You didn’t care—as long as you were with him,, you considered yourself safe. You just kept running until you bumped into him and realized he came to a stop.

“What’s wrong?” You shouted.

You just looked up and saw the moon was going down. Sun was just coming up quicker and quicker.

“Remmick, we can find some place to go, cmon.” You said, “We just gotta go, cmon.”

He quickly pulled you to the side—you two now under a tree, trying to think of anything to get yourself out of the situation. You could deny it all you wanted, but there was nothing more that could be done in that moment.

“I didn’t take them matches—didn't do things the at we usually do it. Now I messed it up.” Remmick spoke in a wimpy sort of tone.

“Remmick, I’m not about to scold you for this.” You said, “atleast not right now. So relax we gotta get out of this ok?”

He was used to you scolding him for the small things, and any other time you would’ve, but now it was life or death. If it just so happened to be death, you weren’t about to spend your final moments scolding him. You just pressed your head against his hoping that time would freeze for you just for a second and it felt like it did.

You started to cry—he wanted to cry. He had broken his promise, he said he’d always keep you safe, always make sure you were protected.

The sun wasn’t slowing down for anyone, it was gonna come up eventually. The hunters drew closer, and little tears became flowing pools of water.

“I broke my promise—I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” He murmured.

He tried his best to calm you down while he was panicking himself. He began holding you tighter, but the sun began to shine through the leaves on the tree. You two didn’t have much longer. You were either gonna die by the sunlight burning you to ash, or die by the hands of hunters that weren’t finished off.

“Remmick.” You said in a stuffy tone

You swallowed down your tears as best as you could for a second to talk.

“I know you said you keep me safe, and you think you broke the promise.” You said, “If you wanna make it up to me, just keep one promise you made.”

You two began curling into each other tightly as he held onto you as best as he could. His skin took the majority of the burns from the sunlight as he tried his absolute best to protect you from the heat that was coming.

“And which one is that?” He asked

“Staying with me.” You said, “and I want you to stay with me…and watch the sun rise.”

His head lifted up,, and so did yours. His eyes were weak and questioning what you just said. He couldn’t believe this is what you were saying but he knew you two didn’t have anywhere else to go.

“Cmon.” He said

He grabbed your hand, leading you out of the woods into the open sunlight. You two were met by a river—memories filling your mind of all the times you two went there at night. Your life with him was flashing before your eyes.

The hunters were here, and so was the sun. You drowned out their screams to catch you guys—you were so focused on him and the burning pain that flowed through your body that you couldn’t give two shits.

His hand stayed clasped onto yours—you two burning up quicker than you were before. Smoke coming from your body as if you were food being cooked and prepared.

You two finally reached the lake. Feet soaking in there as if the water was gonna save you but you knew it was over—your forehead just pressed his as you began to cry weakly, and he just held onto you tighter and tighter.

Memories flowing through your mind of the life you had with him.

That first time you met, the time he turned you every promise he made, every kiss you shared, every passionate night you two enjoyed, every meal shared, every life taken.

It all rushed through you faster than ever before.

You never expected it to be so short, you wanted it to be longer. Remmick spoiled you rotten—because you’d forgotten you can’t just get everything you wanted.

Tears and screams of agony still left your face as he held onto you tight—he held you tightly in that same warm embrace he always did. He tried to calm you down as best as he could, giving you comfort in whatever way he could in the moment. It only helped so much.

Both of you sizzling and burning alive by the second, smelling like rotting meat and flesh, getting ready to be thrown out. Your flesh melting to his at this point, you two were becoming one, except this time, it was physically.

Remmick kissed you softly on the forehead before speaking.

“I’ll meet you again—next life, we’ll try again. I’ll keep you as safe as I can, and I'll love you jus’ like I did in this life. Promise.”

You just looked at him, and the ash began to surround both of you. You were silent—taking in your final breaths as you knew your time on earth was over.

Hunters could’ve came in that water at any time and put a stake in your backs—they just stayed in the woods, watching what they caused all go down and finish.

You ignored them, eyes just stuck on Remmick and how his body was melting away right before you. Memories of how you would patch him up whenever he was like this flowing through your mind as you were silent.

You just felt weak, you couldn’t save him, and this time he couldn’t save you.

“You gotta respond, give me something,” he said, “Don’t let these last few seconds be silent. Speak to me, say whatever’s on your mind..”

He gave those same pleading eyes that he would always give to you when you were mad or he wanted you to reason with him.

His crumbling hand reaching towards you face to wipe off the tears as best as he could before you spoke again.

“I’m scared.” You said

“Me too.” He replied

For one second it was dead silent before you picked back up the conversation speaking again.

“Promise I’ll be patient, but you keep your word, Remmick.”

“I will,” he said, “I promise I will, darlin’.”

Foreheads pressed together one final time. He gave you a smile and you returned one until your lips met–whatever was left of them, at least. He began humming a soft tune painfully. He tried to hide any sadness he had in the moment from you, and you respected it.

He just hummed soft melodies that he would play or sing for you whenever you were home with him to comfort both of you as you were ready to leave this body.

You got to see a sunrise with him–and what made it even better was the fact you’d get to see more with him in the future.

The ash of both your bodies wisped away in the wind, but not a single spec of dust separated.

You’d be reunited soon.

You'd just have to be patient, like he asked.

Just like you promised.

#shroomyvfics #remmick x reader #remmick sinners #remmick #sinners fanfiction #sinners x reader #shroomyvpost #uh one tiny prompt became this #hope yall like it I haven’t written in months #crappy first divider is made by me #I rlly hope yall like this sorry #sorry if this is bad #one last sorry #little rusty on my writing

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