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sunrizef1 · 7 months ago

Text

The Alchemy

Pairing: Logan sargeant x singer!reader

Warnings: Cursing

Authors note: recently realized that every time i include Logan in a fic, he gets points. That is me manifesting xx Not edited, ill edit later. Very loosely based on the alchemy by Taylor swift. This album has me in a chokehold. Also!! Tysm for 1k, I’ve been trying to think of something to do for that xx

Word count: 7.6k (took way too long, thanks Tay)

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“Do you want to go to the f1 race in Miami? Ferrari invited you.”

Your head snaps to your publicist who tilts her head with a questioning look on her face. You set your guitar down, putting an end to your idle strumming. It rests on top of your notebook filled with random lyrics and doodles.

“I didn’t know I was allowed to do that,” you reply, laying back onto the couch you were sat on, shifting to sit in the seat more comfortably.

Your publicist, Aimee, rolls her eyes at your response, clicking away quickly on her phone, “I mean, you’re one of the biggest stars in the world, you could technically do whatever you wanted. It’s just never been in your image to go to sports or whatever. But everyone is gonna be there.”

There it is, the real reason you’d be allowed to go to a race was to be amongst the famous people that Aimee would, no doubt, want you to mingle with. Mingling wasn’t your strong suit.

“Ill think about it,” you give her a tight-lipped smile which she hums in response to, sliding out of the room without another glance at you.

The second she's gone, you collapse against the leather couch, eyes locked onto the ceiling of your studio.

The real reason you wanted to think about going to the race wasn't because Aimee only wanted you to go to get good pr but, instead, it was because of your own personal connection with one of the drivers.

You'd met Logan a year ago at the previous Miami Grand Prix. Noone knew you were there and you had intended to keep it that way before you ran into the driver.

You got in fairly easy, Mercedes VIP pass wrapped around your neck. You were close friends with Lewis who promised he could get you in and out with it still remaining a secret. You had your jacket hood up above your head, hair pulled back away from your face and a pair of sunglasses resting on your nose.

You hadn't thought about how many people you knew would be there. Your eyes stayed trained on the ground for the most part, hoping that it you didn't look up, no one you knew would notice you.

Because you weren't looking where you were going, you didn't see yourself run straight into a taller figure, landing against his hard chest.

Both of you stumble back a bit from the impact and you immediately open your mouth to apologize to the man in front of you but when you look up, the words die in your throat. Your eyes trace the features of the blond man, soaking up every little detail of his pretty face. You can tell he's muscular through his blue t-shirt and your breath catches slightly.

He's speechless when he sees you as well but for a completely different reason. You may not have been in your flashiest clothes or have your usual makeup or hair but anyone with a brain could recognize you if they actually bothered to look. Your music had been everywhere for so long and Logan would be lying if he said he hadn't had a crush on you for the longest time.

When you look up at his face and see him gaping slightly in an attempt to make sure you're actually you, you grasp his hand and start to pull him along before he can blow your cover. You pull him along until you reach a quiet corner, quickly pushing him away from the eyes of other people.

He leans against the wall behind him, crossing his toned arms across his chest and you find yourself gazing again.

“So,” he starts, voice filled with humor, “What is Americas sweetheart doing at a Formula 1 race... Undercover?”

You roll your eyes but cant help the grin that starts to form from the mans words, “I'm not actually supposed to be here.”

“Oh and that's why I got dragged into a dark corner?” the man asks, grin splitting his pretty face.

You laugh but don't catch the pleased look on the man's face, “Yeah, sorry about that. Didn't want anyone to, I don't know, mob me or something.”

“I get it,” when he says it, you can't help but believe he really does get it for some reason. For all you knew, this man might just work PR for…you glance down at his t-shirt to check, Williams Racing!

“Well, thank you for cooperating…?”

The man raises his eyebrows at your questioning tone, “Logan.”

“Thank you for cooperating Logan. I know a lot of people that probably would've fought me for grabbing them like that.”

Logan laughs, head leaning back against the wall gently as the noise leaves his throat, “Its no problem. Are you in the Mercedes garage today?”

You nod at his words, glancing back out to make sure the both of you are still hidden from the outside, “Lewis said he could sneak me in.”

“He didn't do a very good job, then. If I found you out,” Logan grins, leaning away from the wall.

“Maybe not. But you're not gonna tell, are you?” you tilt your head teasingly at the blond, eyes crinkling with the weight of your smile.

He laughs again, sticking his pinky out between the two of you, “I won't, pinky promise.”

You giggle and Logan decides its the only noise he cares to hear from now on. You stick your hand out as well, wrapping your pinky around his and the two of you just stand there for a second, gazing toward the other.

But eventually, both of you seem to remember that there were time-sensitive events about to happen just about 10 meters from where you're stood. You break away from him, smile stuck on your features.

He walks away first, his grin replicating yours. He turns toward you as he walks away, pulling a hand up to wave goodbye slightly as he slides out of the corner.

“See you later, y/n,” he smirks before disappearing from view and something in you tells you you will be seeing him later.

You hurry to the Mercedes garage, having told Lewis you were there 15 minutes ago. He ushers you into his drivers room, telling you that you could chill there until the race started, only a slight bit of concern for your previous whereabouts written on his face. You don’t tell him you think you’d just fallen in love with some random teams random employee, deciding that was a bit too off topic for the currently rushing Lewis who was practically running around his room trying to get his stuff together. He wasn’t stressed since he was, of course, Lewis Hamilton, but this was the most frazzled you’d seen him

“Ill be back before the race starts,” Lewis nods toward you while he opens the door, things clutched in his tattooed hands.

“Have fun, Lew!” you call out, collapsing against his couch the moment he leaves.

You pass the time scrolling through your phone, scribbling random lyrics into your notes app and trying not to fall asleep. Lewis comes back quick enough, sneaking you into the garage with your hood pulled tightly over your hair and sunglasses sat firmly on your face.

No one spares you a second glance and if they do, they know better than to question Lewis Hamilton.

Your eyes are drawn to one of the screens above you, the drivers all stood out in a line together for the national anthem and your eyebrows raise when they land on a certain blond man. Right in front of your eyes, Logan is stood in Williams blue and white next to his teammate as the national anthem plays behind them.

Oh, that cheeky bastard.

Well, at least you now knew where to find him after the race. When the race starts, you try your hardest to stay focused on the Mercedes and cheer for Lewis but you can’t help but let your eyes trace the path of a certain blue car instead.

When the race ends and Logan’s in p8, you find yourself anxiously waiting for Lewis to get back so you can dip. You bounce passively on your heels, fingers picking at the fraying edge of your jacket. The Miami sun beats down relentlessly, making sure you stay safely in the shaded garage.

Lewis gets back quick enough, having not been on the podium this race. You give him a quick hug and a congratulations, telling him you’ll text him if you ended up wanting to get dinner later. You didn’t give him a concrete dinner plan since you had a feeling you’d be busy later.

You practically sprint out of the garage in your effort to find Logan before he leaves, missing the confused look you leave on Lewis’ face as he watches you run.

You honestly had no idea where the Williams garage was but when you see the familiar blue, you stop in your tracks outside the exit. You lean on the wall just outside the door, hoping no one will see you as they leave.

A driver in orange passes you, Oscar maybe, giving you a perplexed look as he walks by. You just dip your head farther, hoping he didn’t recognize you. Or worse, think you’re some kind of stalker.

But before the kid can call any security or ask you for a picture, a familiar laugh sounds out as someone opens the door next to you. You glance up and see Logan exiting and you reach over and grasp his wrist. Logan looks up to see you, his infinite smile seemingly stretching even wider as he see your concealed state.

“Hi, y/n,” he laughs dopily, abandoning whoever he’d been walking out with. You glance over his shoulder to see Oscar with his eyebrows furrowed and you pray any of his concern had disappeared when he saw Logan’s positive reaction.

“Hi, Logan,” you smile back, pulling him away from the garage and hopefully away from anyone at all, ending up in a corner not dissimilar to the what you had pushed him into earlier that day, “Congrats on the points. Can’t believe I thought you worked PR or something.”

He grins again, carding a hand through his sweaty hair. Your eyes trace the fireproofs he hadn’t taken off yet, trying not to ogle the muscles under the shirt.

“Thanks, I’m pretty sure both parts of those are compliments?” your eyes snap back to his and away from his chest. You can tell from the smirk on his face, he had noticed your stare and you try your best to control your blush.

As you two stand in the corner quietly for a moment, you’re surprised when Logan’s the one to break the silence.

“Do you want to get dinner later?” Your eyebrows shoot up in shock at his confidence but they quickly settle as you smile softly.

“I’d love to.”

Logan grins once again, shoulders obviously relaxing at your response, “My phones in my room… or I’d get your number.”

You laugh slightly as he leans back against the wall behind him, his own blush covering his cheeks as you giggle.

“I’ll go with you,” you state simply, shrugging your shoulders and watching as his own eyebrows raise.

“You sure?”

You laugh as he leans closer to you, “yeah I’m sure, Logan. I’ll give you my number and you can send me dinner plans and we can have a great time. Celebrate your win.”

“I didn’t win,” Logan’s face looks somewhere between a grimace and a smile. His hands moved to wrest against his hips. Right where his race suit was also sat.

“You got points. Close enough to a win in my book,” you shrug, smiling big.

Logan laughs loudly, head leaning back against the brick wall behind him and your own laugh joins his, creating a chorus of joy that wasn’t to common on these parts of the paddock.

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll text you then. Come on, I need to shower,” he says to you, returning the previous favor by grasping your wrist in his and pulling you along to his drivers room. When he starts walking, you slide your wrist out of his grasp and intertwine your fingers instead, pretending not to see the grin that splits his face.

When you get to his room, you quickly put your number in his phone before exiting. As much as you wish you could’ve stayed, you had places to be and if you were going on a date, you'd need a few hours.

Logan texts you the minute you're in the car back to your place and you grin stupidly at the words on your screen, texting back quickly.

The date goes well, Logan being a perfect gentleman the whole time. He had picked a nice steakhouse he had no doubt been to a couple times growing up, considering you knew how he’d grown up. You had definitely not pulled his Wikipedia up the second your feet hit the floor of your room.

He sips his wine passively, much more interested in the stories you were telling about being on tour and the time one of your backup dancers had accidentally hooked up with one of the drivers. He offers to cut your steak for you and you let him, simply because none of your ex’s would have ever done something as small as that. He reads the dessert menu to you, asking the waiter for a second fork when you order the chocolate cake despite your objections about having your own slice. You both laugh but you shake your head when he offers to get a different piece. He picks up the bill despite your protests, sliding his card into the check and handing it back before you can even attempt to grab it from him. Then he walks you back to the car, arm around your shoulders as you try not to trip in your heels. When he drops you off, he moves to walk away from your doorstep but you’re quick to grasp his wrist, pulling him in and slamming the door behind the both of you.

That had been a year ago and you were still in love with Logan.

A year of Logan sneaking you in and out of the garage and a year of coincidentally scheduling tour shows to line up with race weekends. You’d released two albums about him. Not even your own manager knew who the songs were about. The only person who knew about the relationship was Lewis, who figured it out pretty quickly when you didn’t text him to get dinner that very first night. He was actually quite helpful in getting you in and out of the paddocks all across the world. He was pretty private to begin with so no one asked him many questions about where he was sneaking off to.

It’s not that you didn’t want to world to know about your relationship. It’s more that it was nice to have something you loved be private for once. Every boyfriend you’d ever had was inevitably mobbed by fans every time they stepped outside. Not that you were too empathetic. Half of your ex’s were contractually obligated to date you by your agency and the other half just sucked as people.

Logan was the first boyfriend you truly loved and got to choose to be with every day. Also, if your agency found out you’d secretly been dating someone and sneaking around for a year, you’d never hear the end of it and you’d probably get dropped for breach of contract, or whatever.

You didn’t tell anyone else on the grid. You would've but Logan dissuaded you after telling you that none of them could keep a secret for their lives.

So, the second Aimee left the room, your first calls is to Logan.

“Hey baby,” Logans voice echoes across the phone. You can hear a bit of exhaustion in his voice and recall him telling you he was about to work out, “Whats up?”

You can't help the heat that rises to your cheeks at even his simplest words, “Hey, are you free to talk?”

“Yeah, yeah, just finished working out with Benny,” He replies, and you car hear the beep of a car unlocking and the door opening before closing, “Everything okay?”

You hum, shifting in your seat, “Yeah, I'm fine. Aimee just asked if I wanted to go to the Miami gp with Ferrari.”

There's a few seconds of silence from Logans end of the phone before he responds, “Do you want to?”

“It’d be nice to go and not have to hide in the back of Mercedes,” you sigh, weighing the pros and cons, “But I don't want to go with Ferrari.”

“You can't pick the garage?”

“I’ll try but I feel like Aimee will just stick me in whatever garage she wants me in,” you sigh again, sinking dejectedly into the couch, “Not sure I'd get much of a choice.”

“I’d love to have you there,” you can hear the slight smile in his voice and you laugh warmly despite your previous annoyance.

“Ill try and convince her. I'll see you there Logan,” you smile, sitting up in your seat. You fiddle with a piece of your hair, glancing around the small room you're in. You weren't super confident you could convince Aimee but if Logan wanted you there, you'd try your hardest to get in the Williams garage.

Logan laughs, “See you there, babe. Love you.”

“Love you too,” Logan hangs up and you smile, tossing your phone down next to you. You're quick to pick it back up though, texting Aimee to ask if you can be in the Williams garage instead.

When the day of the Miami GP arrives and your stood in the Williams garage, its as much of a surprise to you as it is to everyone else. You had spent the past month trying to convince Aimee to let you sit in Williams instead of Ferrari. She had spent the past month telling you that it’d be better for your image to be in Ferrari.

You hadn't told Logan you’d be in his garage since, until that morning, you didn’t know you would be. You weren’t initially sure what made her change her mind but when you entered the garage and saw several celebrities almost more famous than yourself, it made sense. Of course she’d only agree to get you to be seen interacting with more a-listers. Jokes on her, though, because instead of staying in the garage for the next few hours, you decided to walk around. You were actually hoping to find Lewis in something other than a dark corner for once.

On the other side of the paddock, Logan had ended up in Ferraris hospitality after Oscar had dragged him along to meet up with Lando who was meeting up with Carlos who was meeting up with Charles who was meeting up with Max. So, in the end, Logan felt out of his element.

He chair sat slightly away from the others as they all talked about Miami, a place that Logan honestly didn’t have much to say about anymore. Maybe if someone asked, he’d say something. But he honestly wasn’t feeling it. He’d be more enthused if you were stood in his garage instead of Charles’, cheering him on. But, no, Aimee had you stuck in the red and yellow.

“Did you guys hear that y/n l/n is here?” A Spanish accent rings out from across the little circle of chairs, causing Logan’s head to snap up.

Lando’s head shoots up as well, eyes locking onto Carlos’, “You’re kidding! I love her!”

Carlos nods his head at the Brit, grinning widely, “Yeah, I heard some engineers talking about her earlier!”

Max snorts, shaking his head in disbelief, “If she was here, one of us would’ve seen her already. She’s not in either of our garages,” Max gestures between him and Charles who’s sat with an agreeable look on his face, nodding at Max’s words.

“I’m gonna ask around. If she’s here there’s no way I’m not giving her my number,” Lando laughs, already looking around for someone to interrogate. Logan has to hold himself back from rolling his eyes. Although it was weird Charles hadn’t seen you. Maybe he’d just left before you’d arrived.

“You sure she’s even single, mate?” Oscar asks the brunette man, laughing slightly as he turns around toward the Aussie with a smirk on his face.

“She hasn’t been seen with anyone in like a year and a half and there’s definitely no shortage of men in love with her. I’m about to jump on that before anyone else here snatches her up,” Lando laughs again, standing up from his chair quickly almost as if he’s about to sprint out but suddenly Lewis appears beside the little group, catching Lando before he can.

“What are you guys doing?” Lewis asks with a raised eyebrow, eyes surveying the group before they stop on Logan. Logan glances away from the older man quickly, choosing instead to stare at the ground.

“Talking about y/n l/n. Apparently she’s here and Landos so in love with her that he’s about to sprint out and find her. I’d want her number too but Lando seems more passionate,” Carlos laughs and Charles nods along with a grin. Lewis’ eyes land back on Logan with a small smirk gracing his features.

“Yeah but we’re not sure she’s even here, we all think she would’ve been in one of our garages if she was here,” Max continues, gesturing toward his fellow drivers. Logan has a sneaking suspicion he meant every garage beside Williams.

Logan grins again, pushing Lando softly back into his seat. Logan can feel the man’s gaze on his lowered head as he respond, “Well, she’s is here. She’s in the Williams garage.”

With that, Logan’s head snaps up to meet Lewis eyes and the eyes of all the other drivers move quickly toward Logan who’s too busy looking at Lewis to sink under their piercing gazes.

“She’s looking for you,” Lewis nods at Logan who’s quickly to stand from his seat, six pairs of eyes on his back as he turns away.

“Shit,” he mumbles under his breath as he starts to walk away from the group, his movements quickly turning into a run.

Back in the little circle, Lando sits with a pouty look on his face while everyone besides Lewis sits with incredulous looks on their faces. Lewis sits proudly, a small smirk on his face. Oscar is the one to break the silence.

“What the fuck just happened?”

Logan reaches the garage quick enough, hearing whispers of your name echo between engineers and PR workers alike, all mumbling about your surprising presence in the garage.

He jogs lightly over to Alex, slinging an arm around the taller drivers shoulders. The man turns away from the conversation he was having with Lily, furrowing an eyebrow at the weirdly exhausted American.

“What’s up mate?”

“Have you seen y/n?” Logan says through labored breaths, eyes tracing every corner of the building in search of a sign of you.

Alex shakes his head, glancing back toward his girlfriend, both with matching confused looks on their faces, “Nah mate, apparently we’ve just missed her.”

Logan groans dramatically, sliding away from Alex and moving toward the exit once again, correctly assuming you must be looking for Lewis. Alex turns back to Lily whose confusion mirrors his.

“What was that about?”

“No idea.”

Logan’s once again jogging through the paddock in search of you, praying he gets there before Lando can thoroughly weird you out or flirt enough to give you trauma.

His heads bowed to shield himself from the Miami heat so he doesn’t see himself run straight into someone. He reaches out to catch whoever he’s just thrown toward the ground and when he looks up he’s met with your pretty face. He’s honestly never been more relieved to see someone.

“Hi,” you smile softly as he leans you back to standing, arms still wrapped gently around your torso.

“Hi,” he laughs, out of breath from his jog. You both stand and stare in each others eyes for a moment, adoration in the air between you.

“That felt quite familiar,” you break the trance, laughing as his arms finally move away from you in order to keep a little decorum.

Logan barks a laugh, hand moving to run through his blonde hair as he glances toward the ground abashedly, “Yeah, except this time, you’re not pulling me into a dark corner.”

You glance around at the bustling people around you, realizing how little you cared about people seeing you interact. A weight feels like it’s been lifted off your shoulders at the fact you don’t have to hide your conversations around here anymore. It actually felt quite freeing.

“Yeah, it’s nice,” you reply, smiling as sunlight hits the side of your face, eyes not catching the loving stare Logan is sending your way as you bask in the Miami sun.

Logan grins, eventually pulling you away from the sun as he grasps your wrist. You lean into his side slightly, keeping a reasonable distance for people to think you’re just close friends. You’d already talked about how mad your agency would be if they found out you were dating. So you both agreed interactions in the paddock would be kept to platonic.

But as much as you tried to keep them so, you could only do so much. It was hard to keep the love out of your eyes as you stared at Logan, eyes tracing the side of his face. Anyone with eyes could see how gently he held you, with all the love and care in the world.

As you arrived back at the Williams garage, Logan kept walking and pulled the two of you back into his room as quietly as he could. Shutting the door gently behind him. As soon as the doors closed, your hand is wrapping around the side of his face and pulling him down to meet him in a gentle kiss.

He smiles into it, arms wrapping around your shoulders as you walk the two of you back to the couch, both flopping down onto it. You lean back against the arm rest as he lays against your chest, the exhaustion of a race weekend finally catching up with him.

“Go to sleep baby,” you say quietly, fingers carding through his sun-bleached hair, “You’ve got more than a few hours. I’ll wake you up when someone comes to get you.”

Logan hums half-heartedly, eyes already closing as he shifts to sit against you more comfortably, sleep quickly overtaking him. You scratch his head passively as he sleeps, almost petting him as if he was a golden retriever. You slide your phone open, mumbling lyrics and rhythms under your breath. You mange to type a few verses into your phone with one hand, occasionally having to pull your other hand away from his head momentarily. Every time you did, though, he’d shift in his sleep and your hand would go right back.

It’s a few hours of this before anyone comes to disrupt his nap, the door sliding open without a knock. Your eyes catch Alex’ and you quickly raise your hand with a shushing motion, gesturing down at the man sleeping on top of you. Although, Alex seems more preoccupied with your presence than Logan’s sleeping state, mouth dropping open as he takes in you and his teammates predicament.

“The team needs Logan, they’re about to start getting ready,” Alex manages to spit out, eyes still bouncing between the two of you. You nod, moving one hand to tap at Logan’s face lightly. The man groans through his tiredness, eyes cracking open slowly.

“Teams getting ready, they need you,” you smile down at him. He glances up at you with a small smile, eventually rolling off of you to stand up with a yawn.

Only then do his eyes catch on his teammate stood by the door, shock and confusion lacing his figure. Logan just waves slightly, drowsiness still fogging his mind. Alex blinks, arms frozen to his side.

When Logan grabs his stuff and steps out of the small room, stopping to give you a kiss on his way out, Alex finally snaps out of his haze.

“What the hell, man?” Alex manages to spit out.

Logan yawns as he walks by his teammate, a hand reaching up to rub the sleep out of his eyes, “Huh?”

Alex splutters through his words incredulously, “Why were you sleeping on top of y/n l/n? One of the biggest stars in the world was just hanging out in your room!?”

Logan hums, running a hand over the lines that had appeared on his face during his nap, “That’s my girl, man.”

Alex stops in his tracks, eyes wide and mouth dropped in shock, “What!?”

Logan rolls his eyes at his teammates dramatics, dragging him along next to him and also gesturing for Alex to keep his volume down, “Yeah, we’ve been together for a year and a few months.”

“Mate, what? She’s released like 3 albums in that time,” Alex starts before he seems to come to a realization, eyes snapping back to Logan again, “Oh my god, is reputation about you!?”

When Logan concedes and nods in response, a grin break out on his teammates face, “What about Lover? Or nonsense? Or espresso? Oh my god, so many of her songs must be about you!”

Logan holds back his annoyance, blaming his exasperation on his quite recent wake up call, taking a moment to remind himself that Alex was just surprised. If this had been any other day, he’d take any chance to talk about how cool you were or how much he loved you. But after everything with Landos crush and the boys thinking you’d only ever been seen in their garages, he was honestly annoyed. Not at you, of course, just at how everyone was acting without any tact.

“Yeah, come on, the team needs us,” Logan yawns, dragging his teammate down the hall, the latter still with a stupid grin on his face.

You stepped back into the garage again eventually, eyes scanning the parts of the garage you hadn’t seen before while hidden in the corners. Of course, the Williams garage was completely unfamiliar. But you hoped it wouldn’t be unfamiliar anymore after today.

You can feel the cameras and questioning glances on you, wondering why you’d be at an f1 race, let alone Williams. Everyone thought you’d be in Red Bull or Ferrari or at the least, Alpine, since several of your athlete friends had invested.

You’re not sure what the rules are for drivers going into garages that aren’t theirs but you’re ninety-nine percent sure Lando wasn’t supposed to be here. It didn’t help that he seemed to have dragged Oscar, Max and Charles along with him.

“Oh my god, y/n l/n!” You hear the Brit call out first, giddiness lacing his words. You glance over to see the four drivers approaching, turning your gaze back to the team momentarily to check if this was allowed. There’s uneasy looks on their faces but none of them move to kick them out so you turn back to the quartet.

“Hi?” You smile with a raised eyebrow and you swear you see Lando blush. Oscar rolls his eyes as the older driver starts dramatically fanning himself.

Charles is the first person to respond normally, sticking out his hand as he leans toward you, “It’s nice to meet you, we’re big fans. Some of us obviously more than others.”

You laugh as Charles side-eyes Lando who responds by sticking his tongue out. Their interactions made sense considering you were pretty sure half of them never graduated high school. You reach out and shake Charles’ hand before dropping it as Max reaches out his own.

“I’m Max, not sure how much you know about F1,” Max states, tilting his head. If only he knew just how many races you'd been to.

You nod your head with a small smile, ignoring the way Lando is staring with a dopey look on his face, “Yeah, yeah, I've actually watched a lot of races, so I've seen you win a lot haha.”

Max smirks slightly, shaking his head. Lando frowns as Oscar elbows him and mumbles something under his breath, “She’s never seen you win, mate.”

Your head snaps toward the drivers in papaya as Lando practically tackles Oscar, putting the Aussie in a headlock. You tilt your head toward Charles who’s watching with a frown but makes no effort to separate the pair, “This happen a lot?”

He hums, nodding his head, not taking his gaze away from the thing 1 and thing 2 now on the ground in front of you, “Yeah, they’re like puppies, got to let them get their energy out somehow. No ones been seriously maimed. Yet.”

You snort, finally looking away from the idiots as you hear someone walk up behind you, Charles and Max, the latter turning around as well.

“What the hell are you guys doing?” The commanding voice of the Williams team principal rings out, causing the two mclarens to halt their movements, immediately separating as they stand up.

James surveys the little group for a few moments and you look over his shoulder, catching a glimpse of blond hair before it disappears.

“Now,” James starts, scanning the drivers in front of him, all in varying colors of team shirts, “I could probably get you all in trouble for being in my garage but since I’ve heard a lot of excitement about our guest today, I’ll let it slide.”

You looks back to the man in front of you when you hear a mention of yourself, skin heating as several pairs of eyes all look to you. You look away and back to where you’d seen Logan, hoping for a quick escape. You find him but you watch as he makes eye contact with Lando before turning away as quick as he can. Lando, on the other hand, shoots a hand out to point at the driver, moving forward toward him.

“Logan!” He yells as the aforementioned driver turns away, making himself busy with pretending to be helping Alex, “I need to know what he did to get you in his garage!”

Lando gestures at you before moving to walk past you. He only makes it a few steps before James is stepping in front of him, pushing the lighter man back slightly, “I actually believe you will all be going back to your own garages, yes? It’s almost time for the race.”

Lando frowns with a suspicious look on his face, planting his feet firmly in the ground beneath him as if challenging James to move him. Oscar rolls his eyes before grabbing the brunettes wrist and dragging him out of the room, waving slightly at Logan as he exits.

Charles and Max both wave at you as they leave but Max is the one calling out, “Nice to meet you, y/n.”

You smile at the pair, waving them goodbye. You sigh as you turn around, tiredness filling your face. James stops you before you can stalk off to your seat for the race, hands grasping your shoulders lightly.

“It’s nice to finally meet my drivers girlfriend,” there’s a knowing look on the man’s face and you open your mouth to respond but he beats you to it, “He didn’t tell me. But I saw you two in the hall earlier, the boy had love written on his face, it would’ve been hard to miss.”

You blush, looking down toward the ground with a smile, “Thanks Mr Vowles, it’s nice to meet you as well.”

James laughs, ruffling your hair as he leans away, “Have a fun day, kid. Maybe you’re his lucky charm. And you can call me James.”

You smile as you walk away, smoothing your hair back to place. You weren’t too annoyed by the antics since it was pretty windy anyway, your hair had already been going wild.

“Thanks, James. Good luck, today.”

He just nods in response before slipping away, no doubt to get ready for the race. You turn to talk to Logan but he’s already been swept up in the chaos of the pre-race so you leave him to it, finally making it to your designated seat for the day.

It’s not long before it’s lights out and away we go.

P3. P fucking 3. Logan had just gotten a podium.

You don’t think you’d ever screamed as loud as you had when he crossed the line. Luckily, Alex’ girlfriend, Lily seems just as excited as you, jumping up and down as the team celebrated around you. Fortunately, Alex had had a good race as well, finishing in fifth.

You didn’t bother wiping the tears that were falling from your eyes, too busy trying not to fall over in your expensive heels as Lily dragged you to where the team was meeting at the barriers. Sun shines brightly down on you all, painting your faces with a warming light. Williams employees revel in joy from all around you, pure happiness gracing their usually joy-deprived faces.

The crowd seems to part as you and Lily make your way to the barriers, grasping at each other tightly, trying to make sure this was all real.

Tears stream down your face, no doubt taking your mascara with them. You have to gasp for air more than a couple times, pure elation taking over your breath. You watch as the blue car rolls in front of you, slowing to a stop. Lily hugs your arm tightly, already having heard about your relationship from Alex. You see Alex’ car out of the corner of your eye but you’re too busy trying not to collapse.

Logan steps out of the car, hands visibly shaking. You can practically see the smile through his helmet as he stands on the nose of his car, the crowds of Miami cheering for their hometown hero.

He jumps down and moves to take off his helmet, gloves coming off with them. He glances around at the crowd above him, taking in the moment he gets to be the hero for once, gets to be revered. But his eyes do move away, tracing the crowd for his team.

When his eyes land on yours, another tear slides down your face and drops off into the warm concrete below you. His grin in that moment could move mountains, filled with enough pure joy to heal any aches and pains you’ve ever felt. You can’t look away from his child-like joy, having never seen him this happy in your entire year of dating. His eyes widen with a warmth you wish you could find a way to stay in forever, almost rivaling the warmth of the Miami sun.

Someone from race control tries to get him to go get weighed but he’s dropping his helmet before taking off in a run. He reaches you and before you can even say a word, he’s grasping your face in his hands and leaning down to put his lips against yours, melting into your embrace.

Screams echo around you but all you can hear is the words Logan whispers as he breaks away, leaning his forehead against yours, “I did it, baby.”

You laugh, leaning toward him as he reaches a hand up and wipes away your tears, “Yeah, you did. I’m so proud of you!”

Logan smiles, closing his eyes momentarily to take in the love between you, “Thank you for coming, I love you so much, baby.”

You tilt his head up to catch his lips in another searing kiss, hoping he can feel just how proud and in love with him you are, “I love you too, so, so much.”

You’re both just grasping at each other, praying to be able to simply hold each other for as long as you can before someone pulls him away. Unfortunately, that comes sooner than you’d hoped as someone from race control pulls him away to get weighed. You finally break from the trance he’d put you in, looking around to see Charles and Max staring at Logan as he walks in front of them, glances shared between the pair in p1 and p2.

Lily wraps an arm around you as Alex walks away from her as well and you lean your head on your shoulder, watching as your boyfriends talk after getting weighed, obvious congratulations and pats on the back being shared between the two.

You knew this would make Aimee mad, but you honestly couldn’t find it in yourself to care. You were too busy being young and in love. You could always find a different agency, you were in high demand after all.

Logan’s stood to the side with Alex when Lando walks up, eyebrows furrowed deeply as he surveys the Williams drivers.

“What the hell was that, mate?” Lando calls out to Logan, confusion creeping through his outward disapproval.

Logan laughs at the Brits face, sensing a bit of disappointment in the McLaren drivers demeanor, “The podium?”

Lando rolls his eyes, running a hand through his curls, “You know that’s not what I meant.”

Logan laughs again as Alex throws his arm over the younger drivers shoulder, preparing to steer the two of them to interviews, “Just kissing my girlfriend, mate. Nothing else to it.”

Lando seems to be even more confused as the Williams drivers walk away, although he does eventually manage to shout out a final sentence, “How’d you manage that!?”

Logan practically cackles as Alex snorts, knowing as much as he did that it was a miracle he had pulled you, “I’m not sure either!”

They do eventually make it to interviews and then podium, Logan sending a heart down at you with his hands before Charles and Max turn to him, champagne in hand. Logan stands there and takes it, Miami sunlight bounces off the rivulets of alcohol that cascade across his tanned skin, still hot with the warmth that had infected him during the race.

The next morning, you don’t remember much from the night before. You had gone out to celebrate with Logan and of course, it was Miami and you were known so it wasn’t too hard to find the best spots. Drinks flowed and music pumped and you’re pretty sure you were hanging out with pitbull at one point.

Logan was still asleep in your bed in your Miami home, shirt missing and a distinct smell of beer sticking to his skin. His hair was ruffled and random pieces of glitter floated around his skin. His shins were hanging off the edge of the bed and random marks littered his exposed back, scratches and bruises, no doubt your fault, painting his usually blank skin with hues of red and purple. You’re not sure if you’ve ever been more in love with him.

You slide from the bed quietly, moving toward your guitar as a sudden bout of lyrics plagues your mind, begging to be released. You strum passively as you sit out on your balcony, humming lyrics under your breath as Logan remains asleep soundly in your bedroom.

“Said it’s still reserved for me … who are we.. fight the alchemy?”

A month later, Logan’s entering the paddock, his phone clutched tightly in his hand and headphone covering his ears. He’s making his way to his garage when he’s suddenly bombarded by the same five drivers from Miami, all talking over each other.

“Calm down, one at a time, please,” Logan sighs, waiting for them to quit speaking at the same time. They all stop, Carlos being the one to speak first.

“Have you heard the new y/n song?” Carlos asks, eyes raised widely. Logan laughs as he asks it, sliding his phone open to Spotify, proudly showcasing your new song playing on loop.

The Alchemy - y/n l/n

Logan slides his phone in his pocket, walking away before Lando can wax poetic about you or complain about Logan stealing you away from him. Logan glances back to see Oscar covering Landos ears as the song starts to play from a nearby speaker. Logan laughs as Charles, max and Carlos do the opposite of helping by deciding to sing it loudly in the Mclaren boys face.

Alex watches his teammate walk up, pulling off his headphones to find the song also playing the garage. Alex laughs, leaning his head back in content, basking in the pure happiness radiating through the atmosphere this weekend.

“Good song,” Alex hums, cracking an eye open to see a wide grin split the younger man’s face.

“Thanks man, it’s about me.”

Alex laughs, leaning back against the chair he was sitting in, watching as Logan sways to the song, lips moving to the words no one else had had time to learn yet.

Alex closes his eyes again, letting the rhythm of the song and Logan’s hums take over his hearing. He wasn’t sure about your relationship at first but he honestly hoped you’d stay together just so he could see Logan this happy every weekend.

You, on the other side of the world, were listening to the song at the very same time, singing the lyrics to yourself and dancing to a song Logan had been hearing for the past month non-stop.

As you danced along, you just knew Logan was out there somewhere, dancing with you.

———————————————

Tags: @casperlikej @evie-119

#scheduled #f1 fanfic #f1 fic #f1 imagine #f1 x female reader #f1 x reader #f1 x y/n #f1 x you #f1 smau #logan sargeant x fem!reader #logan sargeant x you #logan sargent x reader #logan sargeant x reader #logan sargent fluff #fem!driver!reader

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nwjws · 1 year ago

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WHO THE HELL IS NI-KI ?! - NRK SMAU

; SYNOPSIS - school sucks. especially when everyone's avoiding you like the plague - all because you're the principal's daughter. so it comes as a surprise when a strip of paper falls out of your locker one day, with a corny pick up line written on it. now you only have one question on your mind: who the hell is nishimura riki?

; PAIRING - riki x fem!reader

; STATUS - complete!

; TAGS - smau, fluff, crack (more like attempt at humor), high school au, riki is a menace, hyper x calm dynamics?? ; WARNINGS - swearing, dirty jokes/pick up lines (maybe??)

; AUTHOR’S CORNER ! i just love starting something new before finishing my other wips 😍 i've made it so the first part of the pick up line is on the masterlist here, and the punchline is on the title of the actual chapter. this is inspired by this pjo smau on ao3 (LMAO??) + my own experiences bc i also slipped a bunch of pick up lines in random lockers

SPAM LIKE = BLOCK !

➼ PROFILES ! losers club ; riki's pr team

PROLOGUE ! all the good pick up lines are taken…

ONE ! i don't need google anymore...

TWO ! i’m so jealous of ur phone…

THREE ! are you fortnite?…

BONUS ! let's play a game of tag...

FOUR ! do you listen to newjeans?…

FIVE ! "nothing is faster than light"...

SIX ! something is wrong with my phone…

SEVEN ! do you play quidditch?...

EIGHT ! this doughnut is pretty sweet…

NINE ! you look familiar, did we share a class?…

TEN ! we should probably social distance…

ELEVEN ! are you 0x1 = lovesong?…

TWELVE ! are you an unfunny meme?…

THIRTEEN ! hey, is it morning yet?…

13.5 ! i can’t hold a conversation…

FOURTEEN ! instead of liking my message…

FIFTEEN ! your hand looks heavy… ↳ written [2.1k] + smau

SIXTEEN ! be careful bumping into others…

SEVENTEEN ! are you a trap?…

EIGHTEEN ! are you the children i keep in my basement?…

NINETEEN ! is it the fire works…

TWENTY ! i’ll give you a kiss… ↳ written [1.5k]

EPILOGUE ! i can’t think of any more pick up lines…

; TAGLIST (closed!) perm . @lovelovelovebts @miyseung @babyy-bambii @haechansbbg @gweoriz @maoyueze networks . @kflixnet @k-films @/k-labels . send an ask or comment here to be added!

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cherrylovelycherry · 2 months ago

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𓂅new order. "tarte aux fraises and a pain au chocolat."

Insolence and control

pairing. Sunday x gn!reader cw/genre. angst, argument, some slow burn, TW(abuse), first time slap, criticism, synopsis. his control-freak behavior started to get on your nerves. full menu note. something short to keep up with the language heh.

As the Family's spokesperson with a hectic schedule, Sunday is arguably the busiest person in Penacony. His workday often extends beyond 15 hours, occasionally reaching over 19 hours. In short, he rarely makes it home, even when he desires to.

On an unusual Tuesday, he manages to arrive home before midnight—a rare occurrence. You casually sit on the living room couch, watching TV until you hear the front door open. It's Sunday. You promptly rise from the couch and assist him with the briefcases in his hands.

"It's okay, Y/N. I can manage them," he declined, visibly exhausted as expected.

You persist, attempting to take the briefcases from his hands, but his demeanor suddenly changes.

"I said it's fine! Can you just fucking leave me alone?!" he shouts, his voice strained. His sudden temper leaves you questioning what has come over him.

You freeze upon his unexpected outburst. His usual composed self was now replaced with a completely different aura.

Sunday drops the briefcases on the floor and takes a step back, averting his gaze. His breathing is heavy, as if he's holding back. The outburst was seemingly triggered by seemingly minor interaction.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have shouted," he says, trying to regain his composure. He's still avoiding eye contact with you, but then his expression suddenly shifts to one of surprise.

His eyes widen slightly upon realizing something.

"Are you…wearing one of my shirts? A hint of irritation laces his tone as he finally looks at you, examining your appearance. You're wearing one of his work shirts that you had borrowed.

You nod, a bit confused by his reaction.

"I missed you—"

You thought he wouldn't mind you borrowing his shirt.

Although hey, he'd never found out you were using them, until now.

He grits his teeth, the irritation in his voice evident, but his eyes remain fixated on the shirt.

"Take it off." he says, his tone firm.

Your heart skips a beat at his command. The shirt suddenly felt too tight.

You look at him, searching for a hint of humor, but you're met only with his intense gaze.

"But why?" you asked, managing to push the words out of you, despite the growing knot in your stomach.

With a great notorious irritation on his face, he spoke again.

"Because you're going to dirty and wrinkle it."

You look down at yourself, noting that the shirt is barely wrinkled and clean, contrary to his statement.

However, the tension in the air was palpable.

You tried to protest, not understanding why he was making such a big deal about something so trivial. "But this won't - "

Before you could finish, he silenced you, his voice filled with irritation and authority.

"Don't argue with me. I said take it off. Now."

But oh right, he wanted to always have everything controlled and in place.

You hesitate, torn between obeying him immediately and questioning his unreasonable demand. But his stern stare leaves no room for argument.

Slowly, you lift the hem of the shirt, preparing to take it off.

However, the moment the shirt slides halfway up, revealing the midriff, he abruptly grabs your wrist.

His touch is firm, his grip preventing you from going further.

"Change in the bedroom, not here," he said.

He released your wrist but recorded your other hand before leading you towards the bedroom, his demeanor still emanating tension and irritation. You followed behind, still trying to wrap your mind around the situation.

Once inside the bedroom, he went to the closet to put on slightly more comfortable clothes.

You stood by the bed still puzzled, wondering why he was so upright about this. It was just a shirt.

But anyway, you approached your side of the wardrobe, to take out your own clothes and put it on.

Once you finish changing, you turn around to find him sitting on the bed, still visibly agitated.

Once you finished changing clothes, you left his shirt on dirty clothes.

You sighed and turned your body towards the bed, he was sitting there.

As you approach, he pats the bed, motioning for you to sit next to him. You comply, taking a seat next to him. The air in the room was thick with tension, each moment of silence felt uncomfortable.

He took a deep breath before turning his gaze toward you. His eyes were filled with frustration.

He spoke, his voice softer but still tinged with irritation. "Do you know how long I've been working this week?"

You replied, a hint of guilt in your voice. "I know. It's been incredibly busy for you lately."

He let out a heavy sigh. "I've been working non-stop, sometimes not even coming home till midnight. I'm exhausted, mentally and physically."

You moved your gaze to his face. Dark rings under his eyes were visible, evidence of his tiredness.

He continued, venting his frustration. "And what do I find when I finally get home? You, wearing my shirt as if it's nothing."

His voice rose, the irritation in his tone evident again. "That's not just some random shirt; it's mine. It's supposed to be clean, pristine, hanging neatly in my closet. Not being casually worn and wrinkled on you."

"I'm sorry," you replied, feeling a mix of guilt and frustration. "I just missed you, and I thought you wouldn't mind."

He pinched the bridge of his nose, letting out an exasperated sigh. "You've been living here, in my house, with me, for how long? You should know not to 'borrow' my belongings."

The tension in the room was escalating quickly, and you found yourself feeling defensive.

"It's just a shirt, Sunday," you said, trying to stay calm. "I thought you wouldn't mind."

He shot you a stern glance, irritation evident in his gaze. "It's the principle, not the shirt itself. I have specific ways I want things organized and kept in order."

His control-freak behavior started to get on your nerves.

"I wanted to feel closer to you, that's why I wore it. Is that such a crime?" You said.

His jaw tightened at your response as he shot back angrily, "You could've done that in a different way; not by disrespecting my belongings,"

His control started to leak out of him completely. The outburst was not only about the shirt, but the frustration built up during the week, from his stressful work to the lack of time you both had for each other.

He paused, taking a deep breath to compose himself. "I expect more from you, especially as my partner. You should understand and respect my boundaries,"

"Boundaries?" you replied, the frustration in your voice evident. "Is it really about boundaries, or is it about control?"

You were starting to lose your patience.

"I do respect your boundaries," you added, your voice starting to rise. "But there's a line between having expectations and being ridiculously controlling. And right now, it feels like you're being the latter."

Sunday's eyes narrowed, clearly not appreciating being challenged. He retorted, "I'm not being controlling; I just have high standards, and I expect them to be met. You know exactly who you're living with."

His voice grew more frustrated. "And instead of understanding and appreciating that, you're questioning me, and accusing me of overstepping boundaries. I demand a certain level of order and respect. Is that really too much to ask for?”

"Are you serious right now?" You snapped back, your frustration reaching its peak, "Of course it's too much to ask for! You're acting as if this is all my fault. You're being completely unreasonable,"

"I can't just sit here and take this—this verbal abuse because I wore your stupid shirt," you exclaimed.

The room was thick with tension.

"Verbal abuse?" Sunday's voice rose, clearly offended. "I'm not abusing you; I'm expressing my expectations and frustrations. There's a difference."

He pointed his finger at you, frustration etched on his face. "And yes, it is your fault. If you had respected my boundaries, we wouldn't be having this argument. It's not about the damn shirt, it's about your disregard for my wishes."

You let out a slight laugh in mockery, as you rolled your eyes.

"You know what? Fine, you win, I'm not going to touch your stuff," you said, as you got up from the edge of the bed.

Sunday's eyes followed you, his expression a mix of frustration and resignation. "Where are you going?"

You replied, "to the living room, i need some space to cool off."

He let out a scoff, clearly not satisfied with your response. "You want space? Fine, take all the space you need. But come back here when you're ready to apologize and accept you're in the wrong."

Your eyes narrowed at his insistence that you were in the wrong. You retorted, "I'm not going to apologize for something that doesn't make sense,"

He clenched his jaw, his tone stern. "You know what, maybe you shouldn't come back until you see reason."

His words stung more than you expected. The implication that you weren't being reasonable made your heart flutter, mixed with the hurt of his cold statement.

You crossed your arms, your voice filled with determination. "Fine, I won't. Consider this a break from your 'expectations and rules.'"

His eyes flared with anger as he responded, "A break from my expectations and rules? You make it sound like I'm controlling, but those boundaries exist for a reason."

He got up from the bed, his voice raised, "And if you can't respect them or me, then maybe we need more than just a break."

The tension between you both palpable, your relationship suddenly hanging on a precipice.

You let out a hollow laugh, the hurt and frustration bubbling up within you. "Maybe that's what we need – a break from each other."

You moved back towards the bedroom door, trying to keep your voice steady. "I'll go stay somewhere else."

His expression hardened, a mix of surprise and stubbornness evident on his face. "You can leave. Go ahead."

You opened the door, your hand gripping the handle tightly. The urge to turn back, to argue further or something, was strong.

"Fine, I will," you said, your voice quiet, almost resigned.

You took one last glance at him, noted his tense stature, and then walked out the door, shutting it behind you with a sharp click.

The sound of the door shutting echoed through the apartment, leaving Sunday alone in the quiet room. He stood there for a moment, his mind racing with frustration and anger.

He ran his hand through his hair, the silence in the apartment felt deafening. He looked down at the floor, the argument still fresh in his mind.

You didn't end up leaving the house, first of all, or know where to stay.

So you stayed in the house, huddled on the couch.

As the hours passed by, the silence in the apartment felt deafening. Sunday still hadn't come out of the bedroom.

You sat on the couch, wrapped in a blanket, a mix of emotions swirling within you.

You lay on the couch, choosing to sleep.

You didn't know how much time passed, but you felt someone pushing you a little bit, to make room for the couch.

As you stirred from your sleep, you felt someone gently pushing you on the couch, attempting to make room. You opened your eyes slightly, groggy from the disrupted sleep.

You noticed Sunday hovering above you, a tired expression on his face.

"Move over," he said, his voice softer than before, but still holding a hint of tension.

You shifted slightly, creating space for him on the couch. He slumped onto the spot you just vacated, his presence immediately filling the room with his energy.

He leaned his head back against the couch cushion, sighing heavily.

The two of you stay there in silence for a moment, the weight of your unresolved argument still lingering between you. The room was bathed in the soft glow of the dim bedside lamp, casting shadows on the walls.

Sunday broke the silence first, his voice a low rumble. "You didn't leave."

You looked at him, your gaze meeting his weary eyes. The tension from your earlier fight still hung in the air, but his comment felt almost like an olive branch, a hint that maybe he didn't want you to leave either.

You replied softly, "I didn't know where to go."

He remained silent for a moment, his gaze fixed on the ceiling. Then, after a few more seconds, he spoke, his voice holding a hint of resignation.

"You could have gone to a friend's place. Or a hotel. Anything but here."

You responded, your voice quieter this time, "I didn't want to go anywhere else."

He shifted his head to look at you, your eyes meeting his. His expression softened for a moment, before the tension returned.

He continued, his voice slightly strained, "You'd rather stay here, even after what happened?"

You nodded, your eyes not breaking contact with his. "Yes. Despite our argument, I didn't want to leave."

He inhaled deeply, his eyes still fixed on you.

After another moment of silence, this time you spoke first.

"Couldn't sleep?" You asked, seeing his tired look.

He let out a weary sigh, stretching his tired figure a bit.

"No," he admitted, "I've been tossing and turning in bed for hours."

His eyes searched your face, studying your expression.

"Why is that?" You asked, curiosity piqued.

He shifted his position once again, clearly not wanting to give a direct response.

"The bed felt too empty," he mumbled, his voice barely above a whisper.

You let go of a little 'mhm' while also moving yourself a little on the couch, looking for comfort.

"Then let's sleep," you said, closing your eyes.

There was another moment of silence, this one felt heavier.

Sunday didn't say anything at first, but then you suddenly felt his arm wrap around your waist, pulling you closer against him.

You allowed yourself to intertwine your legs with his, feeling more comfortable so you could sleep on the narrow couch.

You both settled into a rather tight, but somewhat comfortable position on the couch, with your head resting on his chest.

The sound of his steady heartbeat and the warmth of his body were strangely soothing, despite the lingering tension between you.

His arm remained around you, his hand gently tracing light circles on your back.

It didn't take long for you to fall asleep again.

The sky outside had started to darken, dusk painting the horizon in hues of purple and deep blue. It was getting late, signaling the end of another workday.

Sunday was still at work, finishing up a few tasks before returning home.

You were sitting on the couch once again, scrolling through your phone when you heard the sound of keys in the front door.

The door opened, and in walked Sunday. He looked weary and tired, exhaustion evident in his gaze.

This time you didn't get up to try to help him, because the last time you did he was too irritated to be kind.

"Hey, sweetheart," you greeted, as you turned your gaze towards your phone again.

He closed the door behind him, locking it as he always did.

He took off his jacket and hung it on the hook next to the door, his movements weary.

He turned to face you, his expression revealing his fatigue.

He couldn't help but make a grimace when he saw you sitting there.

"Did you wash the dishes?" He dared to ask, as if he knew the answer.

You immediately felt the irritation rise in you. Despite your attempt at not letting it affect you, his first words felt like another challenge.

You replied, trying to keep your tone even, "Yes, I did."

He walked over to you, stopping in front of the couch.

He didn't seem convinced, as he raised an eyebrow and asked again, "Are you sure?"

His tone was laced with skepticism.

The doubt in his voice made your annoyance flare up even more, the feeling of being constantly questioned and disbelieved by him was wearing thin.

You shot him a look, before answering again firmly, "Yes, I'm sure. I wouldn't lie about something as simple as washing dishes."

He shifted, leaning his arm against the back of the couch, towering over you.

He responded with a dry tone, "And how am I supposed to know? You've been known to forget before."

You crossed your arms, meeting his skeptical gaze with your own. "I'm not a child, Sunday. I'm perfectly capable of doing basic chores, without being questioned and doubted constantly."

He didn't respond and headed to the kitchen, where he saw for himself that the dishes were clean.

But not in the right way.

Or at least that's what he thought.

"Y/N, did you dry the dishes with the cloth for the dishes or to dry your hands?" He raised his voice, from the kitchen, so that you could hear his words.

You felt your frustration rising again. Why was he always so nitpicky about every little thing?

You stood up from the couch and walked towards the kitchen. "What difference does it make?" You replied, trying to keep your voice even. "They're both clean, aren't they?"

He looked at you, his expression stern. "It does make a difference. One cloth is supposed to be used for the hands, not as a drying cloth for dishes."

You couldn't believe what you were hearing. The way he was picking on such a trivial issue was mind-boggling.

You retorted, "Sunday, this is ridiculous. It's just a cloth, and it serves the same purpose, right? The dishes are clean."

He shook his head, his expression remaining stern.

"No, it's not just a cloth. The dish cloth is for the dishes, and the towel is for your hands. It's about order and organization," he responded matter-of-factly.

You forced yourself to take a deep breath.

"Well, I'm going to wash them again and dry them with the right cloth," you said, in a tense voice.

As you approached to start putting the variety of dried dishes inside the sink.

He stopped you with a gesture, placing his hand on your shoulder. "Wait."

His tone was firm, preventing you from moving forward.

"Let me do it. You'll probably just use the wrong cloth again." he declared, his gaze fixed on you.

You let go of an unconscious mockery after his words reached your ears.

"How nice," you said, as you left the kitchen.

You left the kitchen feeling frustrated and annoyed. The fact that he thought you couldn't handle such a simple task as washing dishes felt like a blow to your pride.

You sat back down on the couch again, still see something but trying to control yourself. You picked up your phone, pretending to be distracted, all while feeling his presence in the next room, taking care of 'your mistake'.

And yes, you thought he was just irritated and it would only be the only times he would make those kinds of comments.

Oh, aeons. How wrong you were.

Time after time again, every time he came back late at night, he insisted on criticizing the things you did, from how to fold your clothes, to how you eat.

At this point you were starting to feel frustrated, and of course, you couldn't help but defend yourself, sometimes speaking badly or raising your tone of voice.

It wasn't the best way to speak for you, but it was infuriating for you to criticize everything.

And obviously, he didn't like your attempts at defense and tone of voice.

At this point, you were sitting on the couch, somewhat relaxed not to have Sunday in the living room.

You were now glad that he spent so much time away from home.

The door opened once again, revealing the tired figure of Sunday once more. As he stepped into the room, his gaze instantly focused on you, sitting on the couch. The moment he saw you, a disapproving frown settled on his face.

He closed the door behind him and approached the living room, his footsteps reverberating in the quiet apartment.

"Y/N," he began, his voice stern. "You're sinking into the couch again. It's going to wear it out."

You couldn't believe it.

He was now criticizing how you were sitting on the couch. It was as if everything you did was wrong in his eyes.

You rolled your eyes, trying to keep your composure.

"I'm just sitting comfortably," you replied tersely.

But Sunday wasn't satisfied.

"You're sinking in the couch," he repeated, his tone disapproving. "You know it's not good for the couch, or your back, to sit that way. You need to sit up straight."

His constant criticism and corrections had been wearing on your nerves, and this latest comment was the final straw.

"Oh, for Aeons sake, Sunday," you snapped, your frustration boiled over. "Can you just relax for a moment? I'm tired, I'm just trying to relax."

He didn't take your response kindly. His expression hardened.

"And I'm tired of coming home every day to find you slouching on the couch," he replied firmly. "It's not respectable, or good for you."

Your eyes widened at his words and this time, you lost it.

You stood up, your voice raised and filled with frustration. "Respectable? Are you serious? You're more worried about how respectable I look on the couch than how I feel?"

He was taken aback by your outburst, but stood his ground. "It's about maintaining a certain standard… "

You interrupted him, your voice filled with sarcasm. "Oh, spare me, Sunday. We're not living in some uptight Victorian house."

Sunday's expression tensed, his eyes narrowing. "Watch your tone, Y/N. I'm just trying to help you be more presentable… "

You laughed bitterly. "Presentable? Is that all you care about? My appearance and how it reflects on you?"

Sunday tried to maintain his stern expression, but the tone of your voice was starting to chip at his composure.

You continued, your irritation rising, "You're always criticizing me, finding faults in everything I do. I can't relax without you nagging at me to be 'more respectable' or to do things your way. It's like I'm walking on eggshells every moment you're here."

Sunday clenched his jaw, clearly growing irritated. "You're exaggerating. I just want you to have some basic decency and standards,"

You couldn't believe what you were hearing. "Decency and standards?! Is that what you call it? I call it suffocating and controlling. I can't even relax in my own home without you breathing down my neck, telling me how to sit, how to fold my clothes, how to talk‐"

Sunday interrupted you, his own irritation seeping into his voice. "Because you're not doing it right! Someone has to keep things in order around here. You think the house will magically stay organized and tidy without any effort?"

You retorted, "I'm not saying we need to live like pigs, but there's being tidy and then there's being overly obsessive about every little detail."

"You're making me feel like I can never do anything right, and it's driving me insane."

"It's about showing some self-discipline and self-respect. You're always so slovenly and careless…" He said.

You felt like you couldn't take his comments anymore. "Slovenly?" you replied, your voice filling with incredulity. "I'm not a slob, Sunday. I'm just being comfortable in MY own home."

The tension in the air was palpable. Sunday's irritation was now almost palpable, and he looked like he was on the verge of losing his composure.

"Your 'comfort' is an excuse for being undisciplined," he said, his voice growing louder. "You think because you're at home, you can just relax and do whatever you want. You have an obligation to yourself to maintain a certain standard of behavior and appearance."

'Obligation?'

You snapped.

"Who the hell do you think you are to dictate my behavior and appearance?" Your frustration boiled over. "You're not my boss, Sunday. You're my partner. You're supposed to support and respect me, not nitpick and control every little thing I do. This isn't a military drill, it's a home."

Sunday's own frustration flared up as you stood your ground. "I'm just trying to help you be better. If you'd just listen and take my advice - "

"Oh, so it's 'advice' now?" You interrupted, your voice dripping with sarcasm. "You're not advising me. You're ordering me around like a damn soldier."

"I'm not just supposed to sit idly by and watch you act carelessly. It's my duty to guide and correct you when you're veering off the right path." he shot back, his voice rising in volume.

You couldn't help but use sarcasm again at his loud tone of voice. "Oh, right, right."

"In the process, teach me how to breathe, yes? I'm sure I'm doing that wrong too."

That comment clearly hit a nerve and Sunday's irritation turned into anger.

"You're being sarcastic and disrespectful again," he said.

"Disrespectful my-!" Your words were quickly cut off.

By he stepped closer, towering over you.

"How insolent!" And the moment he spoke, his hand rose above his head.

Just as you were about to retaliate, your words were cut off by a swift and firm slap across your cheek.

The sudden shock left you stunned, your mind spinning for a moment. Your hand gingerly touched your now stinging cheek.

Sunday stood there, his face filled with disbelief. It was as if he was just as surprised as you were by what he had just done. For a moment, both of you remained silent. The air was filled with shock and a tense silence.

You knew Sunday was stern and strict, but this was the first time he had ever raised a hand at you.

The atmosphere in the room was now even more tense. You felt a knot forming in your stomach and throat, fear and anger mixed together forming a confusing sensation.

The realization of what had just happened was slowly reaching your brain.

He slapped you. He actually dared to lay a hand on you.

The room echoed in deafening silence, the only sound was your own breath, which now came in and out rapidly.

Sunday stood there, his hand still slightly raised as if frozen in time.

Sunday's breathing started to quicken as he began to regain his composure.

His eyes widened after realizing what he had done, his gaze fixed on your reddening cheek.

Your own mind was reeling, trying to process this moment. Just moments before, the conversation was heated, but it had never crossed the line into physical violence.

The stinging sensation on your cheek was slowly turning into a dull ache.

You could feel tears start to sting the corners of your eyes, at that point, you couldn't identify whether it was because of the fact that he had dared to do that or because of the sudden sharp pain in your face.

Sunday's expression morphed from shock to something akin to helplessness. He had crossed a boundary that he never thought he was capable of crossing. All this time, he thought that words were enough to guide and correct, but for the first time, he had crossed the line.

He tried to speak, but the words got stuck in his throat. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, trying to find the right words, but all that came out was silence.

The tension in the room was palpable.

He finally managed to speak in a shaky, low voice. "I… I didn't mean… I'm sorry, I don't-"

But you were already at the brink of breaking down. The pain on your cheek combined with the emotional turmoil was becoming unbearable.

You couldn't hold it back anymore.

A soft sob escaped your lips, your tears starting to spill down your aching cheek.

Sunday's heart ached as he saw you starting to break down before him.

He captiously took a step forward, his hand reached out towards you, but stopped midway. He didn't know if he should comfort you or keep his distance after what he had just done.

His voice was a hushed whisper. "Please, let me-"

The sight of him trying to touch you after what he had just done sent a shockwave of fear and anger through you.

"Go ahead," you said, trying to get your voice out without any sobbing.

"Go ahead," You repeated, turning your face a little, pointing to your cheek that wasn't hit. "slap me again,"

At no time did the tears stop, practically you spit out the words between cut-down and agitated breaths.

"Surely this is how your 'father' hit you," you said again, with hatred in your tone. "Surely he did the same for you to be obedient,"

Your words, despite being fueled by anger and pain, stung like a dagger through Sunday's heart.

He stood frozen in place, shocked at the comparison you had just made.

Sunday had revealed to you in a previous conversation how strict Gopher Wood was, raising him to be obedient and disciplined. Growing up, there were times him had used physical means to discipline him for mistakes.

He couldn't deny that his upbringing had influenced his way of thinking and acting, but he had never, ever considered crossing the same boundaries Gopher Wood had.

He had never spoken about it with pride, and in fact, he often looked ashamed when he spoke of the times he was reprimanded in such a manner.

He shook his head, voice shaky. "I'm not like him, It's not the same-"

"Isn't it?" you cut him off, your voice quivering with pain and anger.

"Why? Because you love me?" you continued, the tears now flowing freely down your face.

"Because your father didn't love you? That's the difference?"

Sunday clenched his jaw, your words hitting him deep.

You continued, your voice choked with emotion. "If that's the difference, then you're just as bad," your words cut like blades.

"Maybe even worse, because you should know better." you finished, your voice a broken whisper.

The room was once again heavy with silence, the only sound being the occasional soft sob that escaped through your tears.

Sunday's face was pale, a mix of shame and helplessness.

All he could do was stand there, watching you fall apart before his eyes.

The sight of you broke his heart, but the knowledge that he had caused this breakdown weighed heavily on his soul.

He didn't know what to say, how to justify this to you or even to himself.

He just stood there, feeling like a complete failure.

"I hate you, Sunday," you murmured, As you passed your hands across your face, be careful not to dry your tears abruptly, down your sensitive cheek.

Maybe he is a failure.

©cherrylovelycherry do not repost, copy, translate, modify

#honkai star rail #hsr #hsr x reader #hsr x you #hsr angst #angst no comfort #angst #hsr fanfic #honkai star rail fanfic #sunday #sunday hsr #sunday x reader #sunday angst #sunday honkai star rail #sunday x you #sunday x y/n

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rafecameronssl4t · 3 months ago

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What is French for priceless? || Rafe Cameron x fem!reader

GIF by @baocean

Summary: Canon fic based on s3 ep 1 :)

Warnings: swearing, rafe being a dick but what's new lol

Word count: 1,640

MASTERLIST

divider by @h-aewo

Watching from the balcony, you watch the sleek car come to a halt in the driveway, its polished exterior gleaming under the afternoon sun. Rafe had mentioned earlier in the week that he was expecting someone from overseas to look at the cross. "To make a deal," he had said, a glint of excitement in his eyes.

You turn on your heel, only to come face to face with Rafe. His tall, imposing figure blocks your path, his piercing blue eyes scanning your face. "You good?" he questions, his voice low and laced with concern. His eyes search yours as you stare at him with an expression he can't quite decipher. Your brows are furrowed, lips pressed into a thin line.

"Fine," you reply in a monotone voice, unable to mask the skepticism you feel. The tension between you is palpable. You are wary of Rafe's dealings, especially the idea of bringing someone he barely knows to the house to inspect the cross.

Rafe's eyes narrow slightly as he gauges your reaction. "It's going to be okay," he says, attempting to reassure you. "These people are professionals. They know what they're doing." But his words do little to quell your unease.

You remember the stories you've heard about deals gone wrong, about the dangers of dealing with high-value artifacts in the market. Rafe, with his charismatic but unpredictable nature, often walks a fine line between legitimate business and dangerous ventures.

As you stand there, the man and woman approach the front door, their footsteps echoing on the stone pathway. You glance back at them, then return your gaze to Rafe, who is now watching you intently, as if waiting for you to voice your concerns. "I just hope you know what you're doing," you say softly, your voice tinged with worry. "This seems too risky, Rafe."

He places a reassuring hand on your shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. "Trust me," he says, a confident smile playing on his lips. "I've got this." You nod reluctantly, but the nagging doubt remains. As the front door opens to admit the visitors, you can't shake the feeling that this deal, like so many others before it, could lead to trouble.

"Again, thank you both for coming. I know it was a long way to travel. But I think what we have is..." Rafe trails off beside you, his voice filled with an enthusiasm that you find hard to match. You watch his profile as he glances at you, seeking your approval or at least some acknowledgment. "Is pretty worthwhile." He smiles charmingly, but you respond with a quiet sigh, unable to shake your apprehension.

"Yes, well, Michel is the most prominent antiquities dealer in the West Indies," the woman begins, her voice smooth and practiced. She is dressed in a sharp business suit, her demeanor exuding professionalism. You cut her off abruptly, your skepticism boiling over.

"How come I've never heard of him then?" you interrupt, your tone sharp. Rafe whips his head toward you, his eyes narrowing into a hard gaze. The tension between you is palpable, but you ignore him, focusing on the woman.

The woman pauses, looking between the two of you with a slight frown before Rafe intervenes. "I'm so sorry, my girlfriend is a bit tired. Still jet-lagged from our travels," he says, chuckling awkwardly. He places his hand on top of yours, a gesture meant to soothe, but it only makes you roll your eyes. The woman nods with understanding before continuing. "Unfortunately, he only speaks French."

"No English," Michel chuckles, a warm, almost apologetic smile on his face. He is a middle-aged man with round glasses and an air of authority. You turn your attention outside, feeling bored and restless.

"Yeah," Rafe chuckles, trying to lighten the mood. "What is French for priceless?" His attempt at humor falls flat as you turn your head back at his words, your expression unamused. You observe the three in front of you, feeling like an outsider in this high-stakes game.

When the cross is unveiled, Michel's reaction is immediate and visceral. His eyes widen, and his breath catches as he stares at the artifact, almost awestruck. You watch closely as he steps closer to the gold cross, his fingers twitching with the desire to touch it. His translator, looks on in amazement.

Michel says something in French, his voice filled with reverence. The translator turns to Rafe. "May he touch it?" she asks. Rafe smiles, clearly pleased with the reaction. "Knock yourself out, Michel." As Michel feels the intricate design under his fingertips, Rafe looks to you for some sort of approval. You only glare at him, still skeptical and unimpressed.

"He wants to know where you found it," the translator says. Rafe shrugs, shaking his head dismissively. "Don't worry about it. We got it. That's all he needs to know. It's here. It's for sale. So, who can we get to buy it?"

Michel takes off his glasses, his face serious as he speaks. The translator translates his words with care. "For a piece of this value, there are very limited buyers. An institution, a museum." Rafe nods along, understanding the implications, but he looks deflated.

"But, he has a client in Barbados who will be interested," the translator continues. You tilt your head at her words, alarm bells ringing in your mind. "Rafe," you say firmly, trying to get his attention. "This is already risky enough."

He, of course, ignores your protests, his focus entirely on Michel. The anticipation in the room is thick, almost suffocating. "This client will have lots of questions. He'll want to meet with you in person," the translator says. At these words, you can no longer contain your frustration.

You stand up abruptly, the chair scraping loudly against the floor. "Jesus fucking Christ," you mutter under your breath, casting one last look at Rafe before storming out of the room.

"Y/n, I don't have time for this, okay?" Rafe says in a dismissive tone, his impatience evident. "I gotta get to Bridgetown, I'm taking the boat." From the first floor, you watch as he places a black duffle bag on the ground with a sense of urgency.

"Come on, Rafe. You don't even know this guy," you reason with him, your voice edged with concern. Rafe removes his sunglasses, glancing at Michel's business card with a nonchalant air. "You can't just go out and try to make a deal, Rafe. That's so risky!" Your eyebrows furrow in disbelief as he leans against the railing, looking down at you with a smirk.

"I can't?" he retorts in a mocking tone, a sarcastic smile playing on his lips. "I know you think you know what you're doing," you call out as he walks back into your shared room, his presence filling the space with tension. "But there are people out there that know your dad is alive—no! Not just people, Pogues." You correct yourself, taking a sip of your drink, the frustration evident in your voice.

"Pogues, Pogues," Rafe mumbles dismissively as he packs a suitcase with determined efficiency. "Listen, they can't prove it, alright? They don't know where we are," he shrugs, walking back into the room again as you rub your forehead, already feeling a headache coming on.

"Your sister does!" you yell, the desperation in your voice growing. Rafe emerges from the room, his expression hardening. "Oh, Sarah does!" he calls out, a hint of mockery in his tone. "Listen, Sarah's not going to do anything, baby. She's too afraid, and if the Pogues show up, I'm just gonna handle it," he says in a calm tone, but his words do little to reassure you. You narrow your eyes at him, the anger bubbling up inside you.

"Oh, you'll handle it?" you retort, crossing your arms defiantly. "When have you ever handled anything for us, for your family? Huh?" Your voice grows louder with frustration. "Rafe, everything you touch turns to—"

Your words are cut off by the sudden sound of Rafe's hand slapping the wooden railing. "Hey! Hey!" he shouts, his eyes flashing with anger. You stare at him, shock evident on your face, as he takes a moment to calm himself down.

"Listen," he says, his voice now calmer but still laced with intensity, "I'm gonna sell the cross that I found, okay? That I saved, and when Dad wakes up—" You roll your eyes, shaking your head in disbelief as you take another sip of your drink. "-okay," you mutter quietly, barely listening.

"—he's gonna see that I took care of it. Not my fucking girlfriend," he says in a belittling tone, his words cutting deep. You scoff, maintaining a calm composure despite the sting of his words. "Sure, Rafe. Sure."

"So, why don't you go have yourself another Tom Collins?" he shrugs, pushing himself off the railing with an air of finality. "While I go make us all a shit ton of money, okay?" He speaks slowly, his words dripping with condescension.

Your grip tightens on your glass, the frustration boiling over. Without thinking, you hurl the glass toward him, but it hits just below where he was standing, shattering on the wall. Rafe looks down at the broken glass, a smug smile on his face. "You missed."

Your breath quickens, each exhale laden with a mix of anger and hurt. “Get. Fucked. Rafe,” you seethe through gritted teeth, your voice a dangerous whisper. Without waiting for a response, you turn on your heel and stride away, leaving him standing there with that infuriatingly smug expression. “Love you too, babe!” he calls out sarcastically, his voice dripping with mockery.

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loserlvrss · 5 months ago

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꒰ 𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐀𝐌𝐄 ꒱ 박성훈

summary : you and your boyfriend were too much alike in a lot of aspects, especially stubbornness

genre : angst, suggestive, sunghoon x afab!reader, drabble tws : language, suggestive content, arguments author notes : this ones for my wife xx word count : 0.6k

"sunghoon," your thumb and index finger pressed to the bridge of your nose in an attempt to ease the tension coursing through you. "you're not listening right now."

truthfully, neither one of you wanted to hear the other out—and that's resulted in an argument. one that seems like it won't fizzle out no matter how much the two of you raise your voice.

you both had too much pride to give the other the last word. you were too much alike; your friends and family only confirming your hard-headedness. but, you had to admit that he was pretty when he was mad.

"no, y/n," he laughed, humor twisted with frustration and disbelief. "you're not listening. i have to do this, it's not something i can just skip—believe me!"

you rolled your prettily-done eyes, which only furthered his annoyance, slumping into the wooden chair you paired with your pine table. "i don't care that you made other plans—we decided months ago. we have to go, sunghoon, we've already canceled... twice!"

"and now i'm saying that i can't go. you can go by yourself, can't you? it's not a big deal, is it?"

your mouth practically hit the floor at his audacity. "it is a big-fucking-deal, babe! i need you there, you know this!"

and despite being mad at each other, the love was still there. he drove you up a wall, but at the end of the day, there's no one else you'd rather have push your buttons. yes, it was a hostile environment right now, but it was bound to break; it always does.

"well, i can't go."

your head met your hand, elbow pressed to the table. "fuck," you were going around in circles, neither one willing to compromise. "sunghoon, how many times do i have to tell you that i don't care? you promised the last time we canceled that that would be the last time. so, you just lied to me?"

it seems like fuel to the fire was the only thing you both could throw at it, poisonous words with a twisted tongue. "oh my god, are you kidding me? you're really going to fucking hold that to me, baby?"

your eyes widened, hand hitting the wood with a smack. "well, when i promise you shit, i actually mean it. so, yeah, i'm going to hold it over your fucking head."

"we're getting nowhere." he stated the obvious, making you huff. "let's talk later."

he wasn't asking, but you honestly didn't have a care in the world for it; to you that was just as good as a suggestion. you got up, approaching him with a calm demeanor. you didn't want to back down, but you knew you'd be here for a lifetime if you didn't let the dust settle—even if only a little bit.

as you were passing, you mumbled out a defeated. "fine, hoon. do whatever you want."

you felt a firm grip on your wrist, him pulling so you'd face him again. and before you got the chance to angrily-question his intentions, his lips were pressed to yours, a firm, yet gentle, hold on your cheek.

you both felt the wire snap, your bodies relaxing into each other.

between alternating sides, he whispered a confession of love to you; reminding you that despite the attitude, he was made for you.

you pulled back momentarily, still prideful enough to not let him have the last word. "i'm still mad at you."

"you know i'll make it up to you, baby," he smiled, hoisting you onto the wooden surface carefully, and slotting between your parted knees. "i promise."

but he was just like you, wasn't he?

reblogs, likes and comments are greatly appreciated! thank u!

— perm tag list .ᐟ send an ask to be added c:

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roach-works · 2 years ago

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On Jew-Coding

thinking about like, jew-coding, and how often people point to whatever greedy little assholes exist in any given media property and go ‘those are an antisemetic depiction of jews’ and it’s like, thanks, i guess, but why were you connecting those two dots in the first place, so here we go! quick and messy guide to checking if a character is jew-coded in a Good or Bad way.

BAD JEW-CODING i.e, if this makes you think a character is jewish, you’re the asshole here (and possibly so is their writer):

-ugly little creature

-greedy

-thick accent

-mercantile and mercenary

-hateful

-conniving / scheming / tricksy

-cowardly

-unusually ‘swarthy’/ oddly colored

-big strident violent females and cringing wimpy little males

shadow council of beardy elders

-from new york (solidarity shout out to italians)

NEUTRAL JEW-CODING i.e, these are just common characteristics of many jews you can meet in real life:

-short

-curly hair

-regarded with confusion and suspicion by Normal Folks

-from new york

GOOD JEW-CODING i.e these character traits reflect real jewish values and which jewish people will themselves enthusiastically Vibe With:

-argumentative, curious, always searching and questioning

-kvetching, i.e, extended but humorous bitching about every last little thing

-sardonic and mocking sense of humor / punches up (and well above their weight class)

-extremely difficult to control and suppress, refusing to play by rules that don’t serve them

-defiant, rebellious, even spiteful towards agents of authority

-involved in arts, crafts, science, and social reform, multidisciplinary

-surviving and even thriving in a marginalized social status

-creative and incredibly annoying nonviolent resistance

-believes in restitution, not redemption, i.e transgressors should attempt to fix what they have broken rather than be forced to suffer an equal amount to the harm they have dealt

-plays with binaries but doesn’t take them very seriously; fluid and creative approach to if/then black/white good/bad dichotomies

-values wealth specifically as a way to safeguard life, health, safety, and justice; does not ever value material goods above a sentient life

-quietly but perpetually Big Mad

-from new york if it’s funny

#writing jewish characters #jews #writing #reference #don't NOT write jews #just write em real

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kaleldobrev · 2 months ago

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The One Bed, Two People Problem (2) — The 15 Year Problem Series

Pairing: MOC!Dean Winchester x F. Reader

Feat. Character(s): Reader & Dean Winchester

Series Summary: Needing help on a poltergeist case, you ask fellow hunter Sam Winchester for help. Despite having a broken arm, Sam agrees to help you. But, just as he’s about to head out and meet you, Dean tells him that he’ll take his place and help instead.

Chapter Word Count: 1.8k

Chapter Warnings: Cursing (2x), Age Gap (15 years), Sexual tension, Slightly vulnerable Dean, Self-Loathing Dean & Implied sexual fantasies (very minor)

Authors Note: A prequel series to the Old Man Universe (OMU) on how Dean and reader met | Takes place a few days after Dean is cured from being a demon in 2016 (please read this post for reasonings why it’s 2016, not 2014) | If you liked this, don’t forget to like & reblog. I really appreciate it! Feedback is always welcome ♡

⋆ The 15 Year Problem Masterlist ⋆

⇠ Go Back & Read Chapter 1

"One room please," Dean said, as he plopped down his credit card onto the desk in front of the motel worker: a big grin on his face.

The worker looked at him tiredly and picked up the card. Looking at the name on the card, he looked at Dean, who maintained the same smile. "John Paul Jones?" He asked, his voice matching the tiredness in his eyes. "Like the dude from Led Zeppelin?"

"I get that a lot," Dean stated, trying to sound convincing, despite the motel worker probably not needing to be as he looked tired enough as it is. The worker nodded and started putting Dean's information into the computer; Dean swayed back and forth on his heels, looking around the motel lobby, not enjoying the awkward silence that was between the two. "It's a good thing I'm a Zepp fan," he added, a bit of humor in his voice, as he attempted to make awkward small talk with the man.

"Huh uh," the worker mumbled, not seeming interested in having any sort of conversation with Dean, as he was trying his best to concentrate on what he was doing, as the lack of sleep and pulling all-nighters the last couple of nights was starting to catch up to him in this moment.

Dean started to get slightly nervous, as the worker seemed to be taking a little bit more time than usual to be placing the information into the computer. "Is there a problem with the card?" Dean asked, after the motel worker started making a face that looked similar to confusion.

The worker shook his head. "Nah man. Just tired. It's my third night shift in a row and it's been a killer. Can barely keep my fucking eyes open. But I'm thankful to be doing anything at least. You're the first person I've seen in days, since the regulars haven't even come by." Dean decided not to ask about who or what the regulars were, but he would be lying if he wasn't the least bit curious.

"Surprising," Dean said. "Thought you'd get more on-going business being right on the highway like this. I mean, I've been to Tulsa a few times, and it's always pretty lively, even this time of night."

The man scoffed, almost chuckling at his words. "People don't like motels like they used to. They rather stay at the Holiday Inn down the street. Apparently, motels give people the creeps now," he said, rolling his eyes. "Too much shadiness I guess for people."

"I've stayed at more motels than I can count, and uh, they basically feel like home to me. They've never once given me the creeps," Dean told him, partially telling the truth, as he has stayed at plenty of motels over the years that have had questionable stains and clientele more times than he could count.

The worker nodded, handing Dean back his card. "Alright, we have one room available with a queen," he said.

Dean gave him a semi-puzzled look, unsure how true that really was, as the worker just said that he was the only person he's seen in a few days, and the parking lot was essentially empty besides his and who he assumed to be this man's car. "Nothing with two beds?" Dean asked. He didn't mind sharing a bed with you, but he wanted to get two to be safe, as he was afraid that he'd somehow hurt you in the middle night if he had one of his PTSD style nightmares he occasionally got, more often than he'd like to admit.

"Look, I have one room left. And that one room has one bed that you're either going to have to share with your guest, or one of you is sleeping on the floor," his voice had no hint of tiredness anymore.

"One bed it is," Dean said, his lips forming into a fake smile.

"And you're in room three," the worker smiled, handing Dean the room key.

After getting off the phone with your boyfriend, you hit your head repeatedly against the headrest, frustrated that you had let him get to you again. He was hours away, and yet, he had managed to re-anger you, which was something that you were close to getting rid of during your nice and peaceful drive here.

In addition to your re-anger, you were minutes away from meeting someone new, and there was a part of you that felt bad for Dean, because being angry and mean was the last thing you wanted as your first impression. "Okay, you got this," you whispered to yourself, taking a few breaths before exiting your truck.

Walking out of the motel lobby, Dean started thinking of ways in which he was going to break the cliche news to you, as a one bed for two strangers seemed like something that came straight out of a chick flick or romance novel. "So bad news, we have to share a bed because for some reason despite the motel parking lot being empty as fuck, there was only one room that had a single bed in it," he thought to himself, cocking his head, thinking how saying that to you might work. Then again, he didn't want you thinking that he got a room with a single bed on purpose because you were a chick, and hoping to get lucky. Then again, he certainly wasn't against it...Then again, Sam told him that you had a boyfriend and you were off-limits.

As he started walking toward the room to put his stuff inside and examine the room, he looked at the parking lot, and noticed another vehicle had pulled into the lot since he had come into the motel; and it was parked a few spaces away from Baby. It was a Generation Seven, F150, in a brownish beige color that looked to be in brand new condition.

And that's when he saw you, or at least he hoped it was you, pulling out a large duffel back from the truck bed, that seemed to be a little beat up.

He started walking toward you, making a mental note to introduce himself just far enough way, because he wasn't sure how quick to the draw you were.

You sighed, grabbing your duffel, and slung it over your shoulder, as you were mentally preparing yourself to meet someone new. But you were tired, angry, and a little bit hungry; and all you really wanted to do right now was take a scolding hot shower and hit the pillow face first, instead of making awkward small talk.

"Hey, you must be Y/N," you heard a male voice say from a few feet away from you. Closing your truck bed, you noticed a blonde-haired man, who appeared to be a little over six feet tall, wearing a flannel and denim jacket similar to you, walking in your direction. This must be Dean, you thought.

"And you must be Dean," you said, when he was just a few feet in front of you. As he stood there, he leaned his arm on your truck bed, and stared at you with a smile that could easily melt the iciness that was inside your heart; you hoped that you weren't blushing. You're here to do a job, and you have a boyfriend, you told yourself.

"Nice truck," he complimented, as he patted the side. "Gen seven?" He questioned, but his tone insinuated that he already knew the model; he just wanted to see if you knew. And of course you did, as this truck was one that you had practically re-built over the course of a single summer without barely any help.

You nodded, and smiled at him, practically grinning from ear to ear; your smile was breathtaking. "He sure is. I practically re-built him over the course of a single summer before I started hunting. You should have seen the shape he was in; the whole body was practically rust," you explained.

Dean listened to the way you spoke about your truck, and he admired it, as it was similar to the way he would speak about Baby. But the way you spoke about the truck was not the only thing he was admiring; he was admiring the way the denim jacket you were wearing was slightly falling off your shoulders because of how big it was, as if you had borrowed it from someone Sam's size. Even though it was still slightly dark out, and the harsh yellow lighting was doing nobody any favors, you still somehow looked absolutely gorgeous in this lighting. Your skin looked so smooth, except for a few scars that he noticed in several places. He couldn't help but wonder the stories behind them. You're here to do a job, he reminded himself.

"That's pretty impressive that you re-built him without any help. Not a lot of people can do that," he said, trying his best to pay you a compliment. "Especially since you taught yourself."

"Yeah. My dad knows some stuff about cars, but he's no expert or anything. My best friend was the one who..." your voice trailed off, and you slightly had a blank stare on your face, as if you were reminiscing about something.

"I've re-built Baby more times than I could possibly count," he said, pointing at her for a moment before turning back to you. Your blank stare finally fading.

"When Sam told me, I honestly didn't believe him. You must be really good with your hands," you said, with a slight hint of...was that...flirting? Were you flirting with me? Dean thought. No, there's no way.

He chuckled a little. "I'd like to think so." I'd do anything to put my hands all over you....he thought. "Oh, um, since I got here first," he began, attempting to change the subject before his brain started to create some fantasies. "I was able to get us a room. But, there's only one bed, so we either have to share, or one of us is going to have to sleep on the floor."

You felt your heart starting to race a bit faster now, and your throat was beginning to get a tad dry. Were you actually nervous about the possibility of sharing a bed with the eldest Winchester?

"I don't mind sharing a bed as long as you don't," you said. But as soon as you said those words, your brain was starting to create a moral dilemma. You have a boyfriend, this counts as cheating, you thought. No, it doesn't count as cheating, I don't plan on sleeping with him as much as I'd like to.

"I don't mind. But uh...just a heads up, I get um...nightmares," he said, sounding hesitant.

"It's okay, I get them too," you reassured. "Want to head inside then and see if we can get a few hours before we go to the station tomorrow?"

Dean nodded. "Sounds good to me," he smiled.

⤑ Move Forward & Read Chapter 3

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#dean winchester x you #dean winchester x reader #spn #supernatural #spn imagine #supernatural imagine #spn one shot #supernatural one shot #reader insert #female reader #the 15 year problem #dean x you #dean x reader

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touyas-multi-purpose-saline · 1 month ago

Text

DAY IV. — FIRST TIME (STUDENT AU)

cw: Fluff, Suggestive Content, Attempt at Humor, Students but 18, Hints at Past Intimacy (Light Fondling), Kissing, Gender-Neutral Reader. 18+ Only!

author's note: I was terrified writing for Shouto because I wasn't as confident with his character. However, I had a lot of fun trying to work this fic out. I hope you enjoy it!

word count: Approximately 1.9k words.

“Well, I mean, perhaps Midoriya’s onto something. There’s absolutely no way that it could have gotten stupider, but then that one guy showed up and—”

Shouto listens silently while you gesture for him to enter your dorm room before you follow after him, free hand waving in the air mindlessly. The door softly clicks shut behind you, so you lean your back against it to hear the full pop of its latch before you slide off your slippers. Your eyes drift to Shouto, who’s currently standing there awkwardly glancing around with his hands stuffed into his pockets. He turns his head to meet your gaze, so you smile wide and goofy.

“You saw what happened! Can you believe that he thought I was Pro Hero: Hawks for a solid two weeks at the beginning of the school year? I could barely talk to the guy without Midoriya melting into a puddle of agony.”

The shag carpets that cover your sticky and cold floor hiss whenever you slide across them in a faux shuffle, and you shake your head side to side to the inaudible beat. Once you get close enough to Shouto, he blinks and then glances away.

“I think you terrorize Midoriya.”

A gust of air sputters out of your mouth in a cackle, so you slap your hand across your face and squeeze. Your head dips in between your shoulders.

“Look, I don’t do it on purpose. I can’t help that he couldn’t handle the sheer amount of simp power I possess. ‘Sides! How come he gets to be such a fanboy of All Might but suddenly it’s a crime whenever I try to be a villain fanboy—”

“He thinks you’re serious.”

Whenever you reopen your eyes, Shouto’s mismatched ones are bright and reflecting under the fading rays of sunlight fluttering into the room. Your eyes widen slightly, so you blink them back to normal and cast your focus to the side.

“Yeah, but it’s kind of funny to tease him. Midoriya gets so riled up! Like today whenever Tetsutetsu barged into your little birthday lunch while he and Kirishima were trying to figure out where the pain goes whenever your leg gets chopped off—he—”

A hand falls on your shoulder, so you quickly meet Shouto’s eyes again. There’s the tiniest hint of a smile across his face whenever he speaks.

“They did pose an interesting question, didn’t they?”

Your wail of laughter nearly flings your body back so you shake your head, shrug Shouto’s hand off, and then stumble a few paces before you flop onto your bed. It bounces underneath your weight, and your body follows its lead. Everything feels weightless for a few moments before you exaggeratedly sigh before your limbs go limp and they fall to dangle.

“Shouto, you never fail to impress me. Now come over here and sit with me, I had promised to show you the very romantic and thrilling Velocipastor to really send your birthday off with a bang.”

He doesn’t hesitate, but you can see his eyebrows furrowed by a fraction while he treads the distance. You watch Shouto lower himself onto the bed with a goofy grin. Shouto looks slightly uncomfortable resting on your bed, so you shimmy closer and bump your shoulder into his. You continue to lean against him, and his hair tickles your cheek a little whenever he turns his head to face you. His eyebrows have returned to normal, but now his eyes seem more reserved so you tilt your head and shift your arm to clap between his shoulder blades.

“C’mon, what’s with that look? Don’t tell me Sero already spoiled the plot for you. I begged him not to do that.”

Shouto’s head withdraws back a little, eyes opening for a moment before lowering again, and he barely shakes his head.

“Yes. No. That’s not it.”

His words sound more clipped than normal, so you start to move away from him. Shouto’s gaze follows the entire time—and if you didn’t want to sound crazy, you could swear that he attempted to follow. You squinted, clambering to sit on your relaxed haunches before you flattened your palms against the bed and hummed.

“Okay. Tell me what’s up? If you don’t want to watch the movie, then we can just chill for the rest of the night. Or if you’re tired, it won’t hurt my feelings if you need to retire.”

Shouto moves a little, too, drawing a leg up so that he can mimic your stance. His face doesn’t falter, so you begin to wonder what’s troubling him. You try to reflect on the day, but nothing feels off. Sure, yeah, there were a couple of things that didn’t go quite as planned—such as the Tetsutetsu incident, Bakugou showing up and doing his horrors, Kaminari and Mineta harassment—okay. You’re starting to see opportunities for Shouto to be a little bothered by the hectic dilemmas. It’s understandable, really! You don’t think he’s ever had much of a normal birthday, so you were just trying to be a swag partner and give him something sweet. However, Shouto didn’t seem all too miffed during all of the mishaps. In fact, he even smiled a couple of times, so really what is with that look? You open your mouth to speak, but Shouto is faster.

“Sero gave me this idea yesterday, so I’ve been waiting to ask.”

The wind gets knocked out of your puffy lungs, and you crunch a little in the middle. Well, you definitely weren’t expecting that but that’s better than him being genuinely upset. You’d probably get a little peeved at your classmates if Shouto’s birthday was ruined because then you would have to slowly implode them from their chest cavities as revenge. Your head cocks to the side, lashes fluttering and eyebrows arching.

“Oh, okay. Don’t scare me like that, though! I was worried.”

You then fix Shouto with a glittery smile.

“So what do you need to ask?”

Shouto doesn’t even bat an eye.

“Would you like to have sex with me?”

As it would seem, it was your head that imploded, so you straighten your posture and then fix Shouto with a serious countenance. His doesn’t even splinter, so your eyes continue squinting before you lick your suddenly dry lips.

“Is this a joke?”

“Why would it be?”

You don’t falter, and neither does Shouto. Time ticks endlessly, yet you both sit here staring at one another as the sun sinks further into the horizon. Your fingers clench a little against the bed, so you slide them further up and bury them in the pit of your lap. It’s hard to tear your eyes from Shouto’s stoic expression, but you glance down at your knees and hum again.

“Sounds odd that Sero would put that in your head earnestly. Honestly, I’m surprised it wasn’t Kaminari and Mineta.”

Silence.

Your shoulders sag, your eyes roll back into your head, and you toss your head back with a slight lipped moan of agony. The ceiling greets you back, gray and emotionless, and you try to piece through the thoughts zipping through your mind at a lightyear per second. Sure, yes, your boyfriend is hot—ethereally beautiful, pretty, handsome. He’s every synonym in the dictionary and more, but damn if he isn’t accidentally very blunt sometimes. And you’d be lying to yourself if you admitted that you had never thought about pushing him down onto the bed and riding him into oblivion, but you can’t believe Shouto would be the one to suggest getting freaky first.

You are going to find Sero later and either thank him or obliterate him.

“So I take it that you don’t want to?”

You jerk up a little, attention immediately returning to Shouto. He’s still staring at you, head slightly tilted now and eyes shining. You can’t even tell if he’d be offended or cool with you saying no, but you’re also unsure of how he’d respond if you said yes. Sero was the one who talked to him about having sex with you, so clearly Shouto must have thought about it, too, but, ohhhh. You’ve kissed him a few times, yeah, and they never really grew more passionately besides some small embraces and a thigh touch here or there. To be frank, you didn’t think Shouto even knew much about anything raunchy—but you suppose there’s only so much you can avoid whenever you hang out with a few of the guys in your class. So perhaps Shouto knows the bare, very very veryyyy bare, basics. Well.

“I didn’t say that. No, I—Shouto, I’d, um, love to have sex with you but are you sure you’d even want to do something like that? Just because a friend suggested it doesn’t mean that you have to.”

Shouto draws a little closer, one of his slippers slides off and tumbles to the floor with a few bass thumps. You let the sounds steal your attention, but Shouto quickly shifts his body in a way that blocks your view so you have to face him again.

“I want to, too. It’s not just because of Sero.”

Now staring ensues, so you swallow and then start to glance around your room. Your various knicknacks don’t offer wise words, so you have to breathe and collect them on your own.

“Epic. I mean, we can. Here, let me just—”

With zero grace and elegance, you start to crawl towards Shouto. He follows, carefully taking off his other slipper and then climbing onto the bed fully with you. His back rests against the wall now, and you nearly trip over yourself whenever you catch those pretty eyes of his again. Shouto looks so calm and collected, but you feel like you’re about to pop like confetti and trickle down everywhere. You have to wonder if he finds this awkward, or if he’s just going with the flow like he normally does. It’s almost intimidating how it seems like he can be solid and unbreakable even in the most dire of situations, but it’s also one of the many reasons you admire him. That realization reassures you, so you regain your senses and crawl until you're hovering near the end of Shouto’s legs. One lays bent on the bed while the other still bends over the edge.

You try not to break Shouto’s gaze before you decide to boldly start to stretch yourself between his two legs. Electricity and excitement course through your veins, and you already start to feel a little lightheaded and he hasn’t even touched you yet. Maybe it’s his heat and chill, maybe it’s the way that his face never greets your own with repulsion or annoyance, maybe it’s the way that he seems to spread his legs a little wider so that you can slot yourself perfectly in between them. He starts to lean his head back until it silently thuds against the wall while your body starts to form a canopy against his chest.

A slight chuckle leaves your lips.

“Tell me if you want to stop, okay?”

One of Shouto’s hands carefully presses against the small of your back, fingers and thumbs fanned out.

“Isn’t that what I’m supposed to say?”

A smile snakes across your lips before you lean in to kiss Shouto, the words a balmy whisper against his mouth.

“You’re so cute, Shouto,”

punctuates itself with a kiss.

#my scoville lit.#shouto todoroki #todoroki x reader #shouto x reader #shouto x you #shouto x y/n #shoto x reader #shoto x y/n #shoto x you #shoto todoroki x reader #shoto todoroki x you #shoto todoroki x y/n #shouto todoroki x reader #shouto todoroki x you #shouto todoroki x y/n #mha x reader #bnha x reader

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skzteezfanatic · 3 months ago

Text

Closed doors

Pairing : Geto Suguru x gn!reader

Contents : angst , happy ending, miscommunication(?), humor at the end, Geto comes off slightly aggressive in the heat of the argument

Authors note : My first time writing angst , I think it came out okay but anyway you guys can be the judge of that. Also not thoroughly proofread but enjoy anyway.

Geto missed you dearly. He didn’t think rejecting your love confession would cause such a deep rift in your friendship. With every wave and every smile, he was met with nothingness. Without you, he was left with an ache in his chest that he couldn’t begin to unpack.

He tried to give you space, he really did, but when hours turned into days and days turned into weeks, he grew increasingly frustrated. Even if the romantic feelings you harbored could not be returned, he still had love for you—platonic love, right?

He doesn't know how he ended up here. One second he was leaving his dorm for a late night walk and the next he was stood infornt of your door, staring blankly.

With a long moment of hesitation, he manifested the courage to lightly knock on the door.

“Why are you ignoring me?” he asks the as the door opened, his usual blunt and straightforward personality still strong, his stoic expression masking his thoughts and emotions.

You observed his facial expression, slightly puzzled as to why he was stood infront of your door demanding answers at this hour.

"It's too late for this , Suguru , we'll talk tomorrow." You mumbled as you slowly began to shut the door before being stopped by his foot , peaking out the edge of the door frame

“We’re talking now. So, why’re you ignoring me?” he responds, his voice still as firm as ever. There was stubbornness laced in his every word, his determination to get an answer from you driving him not to back down—no matter how badly he might want to.

"I just needed some time for myself , I didn't mean to Ignore you for so long." You replied half-heartedly , in a desperate attempt to shoo him away.

He studies your expression, his lips forming into a thin line as he silently scrutinized you. The crease between his eyebrows deepens, his eyes narrowing slightly as he continued to look at you. It was only when he spoke again in a quiet voice did the tension in his expression melt away a little.

“Why do I feel like you’re not telling me everything?” he questions. His words are heavy with concern and doubt, his mind already swirling into turmoil as he lets his mind wander—thinking about what might be the reason for your distance.

"I'm telling you as much as I can , truthfully" you attempted to assure him , seeing the way he analysed you making you fidget.

His jaw clenches in response to your answer. A mixture of anger and worry swirls in the pit of his stomach, making him feel nauseous. Part of him wanted to press for more information, dig deep into your answer and tear it apart, but another part of him was terrified of what he might find.

“Damn it, you know I hate when you’re vague.” he mutters under his breath, his hands clenching into fists as he tried to keep his emotions under control.

"I was embarrassed okay? I thought I could never face you again" I broke ,as I felt his stare intensify.

There was a brief moment of surprise when he heard your answer. He wasn’t expecting that, his head slightly tilting to the side as he lets his eyes soften, his expression melting as his heart ached with pain.

“...Why did you think that?” he asked, his voice gentle. His eyes scanned your face, searching for any sign of a lie, but he found nothing. Only a hint of embarrassment and genuine sincerity, and that only made things worse on his heart.

"I..don't know"

An exhale escapes his lips as he lets his guard down a little more. There was a hint of frustration present as he ran a hand through his hair.

“Damn it. Stop being vague for like two seconds and answer me properly.” he muttered, his voice low but clear. He didn’t expect you to say what he wanted to hear, but he still wanted you to speak honestly, even if it just shattered his heart further.

"But it's true!, I don't know why I did " you said as you looked up at him for a brief moment , your tears building up.

His eyes widened for a second when he saw your expression, his entire breath hitching in his throat. The sight of your eyes made something in his chest stir—an overwhelming sense of guilt for being the cause of your sadness.

He took a hesitant step forward, closing the space between you.

“Why... why were you embarrassed?” he asked, his voice lowering even more than before, now just above a whisper.

"I just said I don't know , I can't even begin to explain the feeling," you said, the agitation in your voice becoming prominent.

He groans in frustration, his lips twisting into a grimace as he was met with yet another unclear answer.

He takes another step forward. Now standing directly in front of you, his towering height making you feel small as he had to tilt his head down just to look at you. He was trying to keep his feelings at bay, but the pang in his chest just got steadily more and more painful with every passing moment.

“Try.” he murmurs, his voice barely audible.

I stay silent for a moment trying to conjure up some sort of explanation

"I guess I thought you found me disgusting, for even thinking of you like that and that you would hold it against me." You mumbled, semi-aware that the reasoning was stupid.

His eyes soften even more as your words sink in, his jaw tightening for a second, before he slowly lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

Without thinking, he lifted a hand and placed it on your shoulder, his touch gentle as his thumb brushed against your bare skin. “...How could I hold it against you when…” he trailed off, his teeth clenching in hesitation as the next word threatened to stumble out of his lips.His heartbeat grew louder in his chest, his fingers gripping a little tighter on your shoulder, the thought of pulling away never even entering his mind. He held your gaze firmly, his eyes flicking around your face for a moment before he finally spoke up.

“When I don’t mind it?” he whispered, before pausing briefly. He could feel his heart racing at a hundred miles per minute, but somehow, he forced the next words out of his mouth.

“When I don’t hate the idea.”

You looked at him with an expression that was jumping between the line of confusion and anger.

"what?"

You scoffed in slight disbelief , eyes glistening with the tears piling up behind them.He can't be serious.

"Why did you reject me in the first place then l, I'm- i" you stammered as you pulled his arm off your shoulder, unable to finish your sentence from the sheer shock.

He blinked in surprise as you pushed his arm away, his eyes widening at the tears in your eyes, the pang in his heart coming back in full force. He felt like he just got stabbed in the chest, his own heart wrenching in response to your own distraught.

Without thinking, his hand moved on its own, grabbing your wrist and pulling you back toward him, his other hand gripping your chin and forcing you to look at him, his eyes narrowing.

“Let me finish.” he said, his voice firm.

"No!, you don't get to finish! Not after you rejected me for , for no logical reason!Who even does that!" You snapped , your voice gradually beginning to waver.

“For no reason?” he retorted, his tone sharp, eyes narrowing even more as an odd, confusing wave of anger washed over him at your words.

He stepped closer to you, his hand still grasping your chin, even his grip on your wrist got tighter, his body tense from the mixed emotions that was swimming through his mind and body.

“There was a reason, goddamn it!"

"Then what the fuck was it" you hissed between your teeth , tears gliding down your skin and your voice threatening to break on you

He flinched slightly at your cursing, caught off guard by the amount of anger and despair that was mixed into every word that left your lips. The sight of your tears made something in his chest ache, but he quickly shoved aside the feeling, trying to not get distracted by it.

He leaned closer to you, his face nearly touching yours as he spoke, his voice low and harsh, but the edge to it felt like it was more at himself than you.

“Because I’m scared.”

"Scared? You're scared? of what!" The disbelief practically coating your voice

He lets out a scoff, his hand clenching into a fist at his side in frustration. The emotions were starting to overwhelm him and he was getting increasingly frustrated at how easily you got under his skin and the way you effortlessly tore down all his defenses. But he still forced himself to answer, despite his reluctance.

“Scared of losing what we have, damn it. Do you even know how important you are to me?” He muttered through clenched teeth, his gaze narrowing but with a hint of fear and desperation in his eyes.

"Do you know how important you were to me ?" You snapped back at him, the tears that had been trapped for weeks finally making their escape "Had you thought about how I felt ,for even a nanosecond, then you would realised I confessed because I cared about you and I didn't want to loose you either." You choked out through your tears before going silent , the sound of your sobs so quiet yet so deafening.

Suguru froze, the words hit him like a punch to the gut. He had never seen you like this before, heartbroken and distraught because of him—because of what he said.

His eyes widened, his mind growing increasingly dizzy from the overwhelming sense of guilt that suddenly hit him like a truck.

“I…I knew you cared about me.” he mumbled, his voice low and soft, all the anger and tension that was present earlier completely vanished, his grip on your wrist loosening.

"No , you didn't" you said bluntly, pulling away from him and stepping back "You had your chance , Suguru , and you missed it. Goodnight" you whispered as you shut the door on him before leaning against it and sliding down onto the floor , your head buried deep in your knees.

For a second, he just stood there, speechless, not knowing what to do or say. The silence echoed in his mind as he watched you slam the door in his face, the sound of it reverberating in his head.

He should’ve just let you be, he thought. He should’ve turned on his heels and walked away instead of showing up unannounced to your dorm room, but the moment he saw your door he’d acted on nothing but impulse and desperation—desperation to fix what he’d messed up.

He stepped forward and rested his forehead on the door, his jaw clenched in frustration, before taking a breath to steady himself. He knew he still wanted you, but he had already rejected you once.

He let out a long sigh, his head thudding softly against the door, the sound of you trying to hold back your tears not escaping his ears. He knew he couldn’t leave you alone like this.

”C’mon, open the door,” he called out, his voice quiet but still able to be heard through the wood.

you stayed silent, as your tears continued to trickle down your face.

He could only hear the sound of your soft sniffles from behind the closed door, but that was enough for his already aching heart to ache even more. The thought of you sitting on the other side of the door, trying to hold back tears because of him, made him feel sick

He closed his eyes, shutting out the world to focus solely on you.

“Please. Let me say one more thing and then I’ll leave you alone, I swear.” he pleaded through the wood.

You lifted your head up , hearing his pleas through the door and the sincerity behind them.The memories of all the times he would give you his advice as if he was some wise old man and you dramatically rolling your eyes in response, all the times you'd beg him to help you with your assignments and studying for an upcoming test before he'd finally give in because he couldn't say no to you and all the times he'd help you after a shitty day or a terrible breakup, coming to your dorm with snacks and plushies in hands.it all came flooding back to you, as if your relationship was having a flashback before it took its last breaths.

Were you really ready to let go of all of that?

He blinked, surprised you opened the door.He slowly lifted his head to look at you, his expression solemn as his eyes focused on your puffy, tear-stained face. He hated how you looked, knowing he was the cause of your distress, but the guilt only fueled the intense emotions within him even more.

He studied your face, his gaze flickering between your eyes and swollen lips, before his eyes settled on your still-damp cheeks, his hand reaching out to gently press his thumb to your skin

He used the pad of his thumb to brush away the tear streaks on your cheek, his palm resting softly on your skin. This feeling, seeing you like this and knowing he was the cause, made him feel like he’d rather die than lose you. He hated seeing you cry, and yet ,he was the very reason for your tears—he was a hypocrite at his best.

His heart beat heavily in his chest, his breath catching in his throat as he looked at you, his mind torn between doing the right thing and doing what he truly wanted.

He wasn’t used to pleading like this, he usually got everything his way by just giving a stern, commanding tone and making his intentions clear but you—you always made him weak. You made him stumble and hesitate and stumble again.

He took a sharp breath, steeling himself before finally saying the words he’d so desperately wanted to say moments ago.

“I…I don’t want to lose you.”

"I know you don't, Suguru, but it always feels like you're too busy guarding your emotions that you fail to consider the effect your actions will have on me, you thought you were doing us a favour by rejecting me but you were so busy trying to shield our friendship you lost sight of how you actually felt about me when I expressed my romantic feelings."

He flinched. The words you said stung, and part of him wanted to argue back, to protest and say that you were wrong, but he knew you were right. He knew he had done this to himself.

He had built his walls around himself for so long, always keeping his emotions tightly in check. But that came at the cost of being unable to show how he really felt, how he truly care for you but was too scared to show it to you. He was caught in a web of his own making.

He exhaled deeply, his head slightly dropping as he felt defeated. He hated this—the feeling of being so vulnerable. He was supposed to be strong, he wasn’t supposed to feel so weak and powerless, but yet here he was, in front of you while you broke down his walls.

He lifted his head again, his gaze locking with yours as his heart hammered in his chest.

“Damn it, you really do know every single weakness of mine, don’t you.” he muttered, his hand still caressing your cheek.

"They're not weaknesses, they're what makes up you , your values and your morals"

He let out a soft scoff, not out of mockery but from disbelief. Here you were, after everything he did and said, you still managed to find the good in him even when he couldn’t see it himself.

He studied your face, his hand moving so his palm was fully cupping your cheek, his touch gentle yet firm as he tried to wrap his mind around the fact that you still wanted him, even after everything he put you through.

“You’re… you’re way too good, you know that?”

"I have my imperfections too you know" you said , a smile creeping onto your face.

Seeing the hint of a smile on your face made his heart flutter in his chest, a relief washing over him after seeing your eyes so puffed and red. And despite your puffy eyes and tear-stained skin, he still thought you were the most beautiful person he’d ever laid eyes on.

His thumb gently caressed your cheek, a small smirk appearing on his face as he said, “Oh, I know. I have a list. Multiple, actually.”

You slowly began to close the door on him as he poked fun at you.

He let out a scoff, slightly amused by your cheeky gesture, but also feeling relieved that you had somehow lightened the mood after the seriousness of the conversation.

He pressed his hand on the door and pushed it back open. “What do you think you’re doing?” he asked, raising an eyebrow at you.

"Teaching you a lesson" you responded casually.

He chuckled, his hand still pressed on the door, holding it open. The sight of you playfully smiling and bantering with him made his heart flutter just slightly. He liked this, he liked you.

He smirked, leaning a bit closer to you, his eyes narrowing slightly.

“And what lesson would that be?”

"How to treat your partner right, you bonehead" You said , playfully nudging him.

His smirk grew as a wave of both disbelief and affection washed over him at your words. It was the first time you’d called yourself his partner, and there was a warm feeling that suddenly blossomed in his chest because of it.

“A bonehead? Really?” he asked, raising an eyebrow at you, but he felt far from insulted. In fact, he was trying his hardest to not smile like an idiot.

You grinned mischievously in response to his reaction

The cheeky grin on your face only fueled his love even more, and he found himself inching even closer to you.

He gently cupped your face in both his palms, his thumbs brushing over your cheeks as he looked down at you.

“You’re a brat, you know that?” he mumbled, his tone somewhere between annoyed and amused.

"You know you love me"

He rolled his eyes, his heart racing a hundred miles per minute at your words. He did love you, but hearing you say it so boldly sent his mind into a frenzy, and he couldn’t help but swallow, his mouth suddenly feeling dry all of a sudden.

He pulled you closer by the waist, trapping you between him and the doorway as he leaned in and looked at you.

“I might tolerate you.” he muttered, a slight smirk on his lips.

#geto suguru #jjk x reader #jjk #jjk angst #jjk geto #geto x reader #geto suguru x reader #geto #geto angst #geto suguru angst

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kingofbodyrolls · 10 months ago

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Stuck at a Christmas party (m) | pjm

It’s Seokjin’s Christmas party and you’re trying your best to be social with your friends, but it’s really hard when you feel the burning stare of your nemesis, Park Jimin, lighting your skin on fire. It doesn’t help when you feel his hand between your legs under the dinner table.

→ Pairing: Jimin x female reader → AU + genres: enemies to lovers, pwp (very little plot – let me be honest, it’s just pure smut). Humor/crack, smut. → Rating: Mature/explicit/R18 - this is mature/explicit content, so minors, please do not interact. → Word count: 5,1k → Warnings (explicit): exhibitionism, fingering, oral (male receiving), orgasm denial, cum eating, creampie, unprotected sex, choking (in a sexual context), degrading name calling (brat), hair pulling, dirty talk, multiple orgasms. → Taglist: @yopjm → Author’s note: the snowstorm couple are back!!! 🥳 For reference, please think of GDA 2019 Jimin with his sleek black suit when reading this 🥵

[s.masterlist] → this is part of a mini series ‘The Winter Collection’, but it can be read as a stand alone (as can all the installments in the series).

As you stand there, befuddled and speechless, you can't fathom how Seokjin deduced the intimate encounter between you and Jimin, your mortal enemy. The questions swirl in your mind—how, what, and why—leaving you utterly mystified.

Rage simmers within you, and you clench your hands into tight fists, resembling an enraged child ready to lash out. However, before you can unleash your fury, Jimin beats you to the punch with a nonchalant explanation, “We got cold.”

Your jaw drops once more as Jimin strolls past you and Seokjin, casually hanging his coat on the rack and discarding his shoes. He carries himself as though what transpired between you is the most ordinary thing in the world.

Seokjin's laughter, that annoying windshield wiper sound, echoes in the air. It grates on your nerves, and the urge to smack him for it intensifies. However, he ushers you inside, and with a frustrated sigh, you release your petty thoughts, letting your shoulders slump in resignation.

“Not a word to the others!” you hiss, jabbing your finger forcefully in Seokjin's face. It's crucial to drive the point home; the last thing you need is for the rest of your friends to find out. The mere thought of enduring their endless teasing is unbearable.

Seokjin mimics zipping his mouth shut with exaggerated hand gestures, and you shoot him a stern glare for good measure, silently urging him to grasp the gravity of your seriousness.

Seokjin accompanies you into the living room, where Jimin lounges on a couch, wearing that infuriatingly smug expression. Despite the lingering resentment, he acknowledges you with a subtle nod, licking his lips teasingly. A shiver snakes down your spine at the suggestive gesture, and you can't shake the feeling that this evening is destined to be nothing short of torturous.

The music pulses through the air, creating a lively atmosphere that encourages conversation with friends. Despite the chatter and laughter around you, there's an undeniable sensation of being watched. Your attempts to catch up with girlfriends are accompanied by the persistent feeling of a gaze, like smoldering embers, leaving your skin tingling with heat.

It's Jimin, his captivating dark brown eyes following your every move, setting you ablaze amidst the festive chaos.

Despite your best efforts to steer clear of him throughout the evening, the inevitable moment arrives when dinner is served. The grand table is a vision of Christmas elegance, adorned with festive ornaments and pristine white plates boasting delicate gold rims. As you approach, the once plentiful seats have dwindled, leaving only two vacant spots side by side. The realization hits you like a silent shock – everyone is settled in their places, except for one person: Park Jimin.

A smirk dances on Jimin's lips as your eyes lock, and with a gentlemanly flourish, he pulls out the chair for you. The attention of your friends is inevitably drawn to the unfolding scene, their curious glances making you squirm. You take your seat, feeling the weight of Jimin's gaze as he elegantly settles his perfect plump ass in the chair beside you.

Amidst the lingering stares and unspoken questions, you divert your attention to the spread before you, purposefully loading your plate with an array of delectable dishes. The clinking of cutlery becomes a welcome distraction, and for a brief moment, you find solace from the constant scrutiny of Jimin's eyes that have tracked your every move since you arrived.

Engulfed in the lively chatter around the table, you savor each bite while selectively tuning in to the diverse conversations unfolding. The clinking of cutlery and the hum of laughter weave a symphony that, for a moment, allows you to lose yourself in the festive atmosphere.

Your senses tingle as a warm sensation caresses your thigh, an unmistakable touch that sends a jolt of awareness through your entire being.

A rush of longing surges through you, an electric pulse that ignites every nerve, and without needing to glance down, you're keenly aware of Jimin's hand, a potent source of warmth, intimately tracing the contour of your thigh. As he gives it a firm, possessive squeeze, you close your eyes, surrendering to the tantalizing dance of desire that envelops you.

A relentless wave of need courses through you, the mere touch of Jimin's hand on your thigh igniting a fiery pool of arousal in your core. It's almost absurd, the intensity of your response—his hand, just on your thigh, and yet it feels as if the entire universe has conspired to stoke the flames of desire within you.

His attention remains fixed on the conversation with Namjoon, his eyes avoiding yours, but the impact of his touch on your thigh is impossible to ignore. The simple act of eating becomes an insurmountable challenge as his hand, like a brand, leaves an indelible mark on your senses. The silk of your dress offers little resistance to the searing heat emanating from his touch, rendering the task of composing yourself an elusive feat.

You grit your teeth, attempting to conceal your mounting frustration, and in a clandestine exchange of glances with Seokjin seated across from you, you're convinced he sees right through the charade. Damn it all.

Jimin's hands persist in their exploration, journeying beneath your dress and ascending higher on your thigh. A stifled gasp escapes your lips, your attempt to conceal the pleasure coursing through you as his fingers delicately trace the contours of your panties.

Your mind races as he inches perilously close to your core, your pussy pulsating with anticipation. Damn, the intensity of the sensation is overwhelming.

His apparent nonchalance fuels your frustration. How can he engage in casual conversation with Namjoon, seemingly unfazed, while his hand stealthily explores the contours of your thigh beneath the table? The audacity, especially in the midst of your friends, leaves you seething with a mix of desire and irritation.

His fingers delicately dance over the fabric that shields your pulsating core, sending a shiver down your spine. Conflicting desires surge within you – an undeniable craving for his touch and the hesitation born from the inappropriate setting, surrounded by the prying eyes of your friends.

With deliberate slowness, he trails his fingers along the edge of your panties, expertly sliding them to the side. A single finger ventures into your slick folds, and an involuntary exclamation of desire escapes your lips. Fuck!

Panic and pleasure collide within you as your body ignites with an uncontrollable fire. Fumbling for composure, you desperately try to conceal the intoxicating sensations Jimin's hand is orchestrating beneath the table. Casting a surreptitious glance at your friends, relief washes over you—it appears they remain oblivious to the clandestine dance Jimin is leading on your fevered skin. Thank god.

Your entire being tenses as an electric current courses through you, a silent struggle unfolding within as you grapple with the urge to control your escalating breaths, ensuring each intake is hushed and every gasp remains concealed.

Jimin's fingers expertly plunge in and out of you, a relentless rhythm that leaves you quivering in your seat. The addition of a second digit amplifies the sensations, intensifying the shivers that course through you. Fuck you, Park Jimin!

You shoot him an incredulous look, but he remains unfazed, deep in conversation with Namjoon as if his fingers aren't skillfully working their magic on you. Frustration bubbles within you, the tightening knot in your stomach threatening to unravel. Shit.

His fingers abandon your pulsating core, and just when you dare to hope for a reprieve, he redirects his attention to your swollen clit. Electric jolts course through your body, and an involuntary flinch escapes you, catching the curious gaze of your friends. The intensity of his touch threatens to betray the secrets you're desperately trying to keep under wraps.

“Are you okay?” Concern etches across Hoseok's face as he leans in, his voice laced with worry. His eyes search yours, dissecting the panic in your stare and the sudden gasp that escaped your lips.

Summoning every ounce of strength, you lift your chin and strive for confidence as you reply, “Y-yes.”

Even as the words leave your lips, their uncertainty rings in your ears, a desperate plea that he won't press for more answers.

The sensation of Jimin's fingers expertly tracing figure eights on your clit sends electric chills down your entire body. Your thighs clench involuntarily, and you find yourself biting your lip, desperately trying to stifle any sounds that might betray the pleasure coursing through you. It's a delicate dance between ecstasy and secrecy, his skilled touch weaving a spell that makes it increasingly difficult to maintain your composure.

As Jimin's fingers work their magic, your heart races, and the sensation is akin to running a marathon. A lone bead of sweat forms on your hairline, evidence of the intensity building within you. Fuck Jimin, unraveling you like this in front of your friends. The promise of payback simmers in your mind, determined to teach him a lesson he won't soon forget.

As your breath quickens, the telltale signs of impending release manifest—quivering thighs betraying your desperation.

You're on the verge, yearning to pry Jimin's hand away from your pulsating core. The last thing you want is to climax in front of your friends; the situation is already precarious. Imagining their potential disgust only adds to the thrill.

The forbidden allure of the moment perplexes you—why does the idea of their judgment fuel your arousal?

Despite your futile attempts to swat his hand away, Jimin remains resolute, intensifying his efforts to push you over the edge. A determined glint in his eyes, he skillfully manipulates your senses. As he continues to stimulate your clit, a rush of liquid heralds your surrender, leaving you slumped against the table, your body succumbing to the waves of pleasure.

An electric surge courses through your body, causing every muscle to tighten, your clit pulsating beneath his expert touch. Desperately trying to collect yourself and avoid drawing attention, you navigate the fine line between pleasure and discretion.

Yoongi's concern cuts through the haze, and he observes, “Are you alright? You seem out of it.”

A quiet, low moan escapes your lips, and in that moment, you become acutely aware of how disheveled and spent you must appear—fatigued and lost in a dazed gaze. Rising from your chair, Jimin's hand reluctantly withdraws from your core, and as your dress gracefully descends with your movement, you manage to murmur, “T-toilet,” your chest heaving with the lingering waves of lust.

In a frenzied hurry, you bolt into the bathroom, your hands gripping the edge of the sink, and you confront your disheveled, panting reflection in the mirror. It feels pathetic, the way Jimin effortlessly coaxed an orgasm from you under the table, using only his fingers. The realization hits hard – you are undeniably and thoroughly fucked.

Inhaling deeply, you attempt to steady yourself just as the bathroom door creaks open, heralding the impending return to the outside world.

As you gaze into the mirror, the source of your overwhelming frustration materializes before you: none other than Park Jimin.

You emit a hiss, a potent blend of frustration and arousal, as your eyes lock with his. Despite the turmoil, you can't deny the magnetic pull of his irresistible gaze, a look saturated with sin, his eyes half-lidded, and his tongue seductively gliding across his lips.

You sense your core clenching with a frustrating ache, an insistent reminder of desire for the infuriating man you both despise and secretly crave.

He teasingly presents his fingers to you, wiggling them suggestively as a sly grin plays on his lips, “You came.”

Your gaze locks onto him in utter disbelief—did he stroll around casually with your essence adorning his fingers?

“Suck them dry,” he commands, a smug smirk playing on his lips as he surveys the aftermath—your flushed cheeks and the deep rhythm of your breaths.

His words linger in the air, a challenge you're quick to accept. Without hesitation, you wrap your lips around his digits, tasting the remnants of your essence. His low groan reverberates as he watches you skillfully suck him dry, a silent dance of desire between you.

With each deliberate suck, you reclaim every trace of your essence from his fingers. When the task is accomplished, you fix him with an intense gaze, a silent challenge in your eyes, daring him to unleash the pent-up desire that simmers between you.

“Can’t stop thinking about me?”

Your gaze locks with his, a mischievous glint in your eyes as you bat your lashes, feigning a sense of dominion you both know is illusory. He meets your challenge with a smug smirk, dragging his tongue over his lips, and in that moment, the taste of him floods your senses, a lingering memory that refuses to be forgotten.

You want more so you decide to match Jimin's honesty with your own vulnerability. As the words escape your lips, confessing, 'I can't get you out of my head either,' a gust of candid truth hangs in the air. The charged atmosphere between you two becomes palpable, an electric tension that leaves you yearning, your desperation laid bare.

With a sultry whisper, you proposition him, your voice dripping with desire. Your eyes linger provocatively on the pronounced bulge in his pants as you suggest, “I can suck you off. It’s the least I can do.”

He skillfully unbuckles his belt, swiftly unzips his pants, and sensually lowers both his trousers and underwear, unveiling his throbbing, substantial dick that eagerly springs forth.

Your tongue darts out to moisten your lips, the lingering taste of him still fresh in your memory, and an undeniable yearning builds within you, an insatiable desire to descend upon him just as you did in the heated confines of the car a mere few hours ago.

He strides purposefully toward the toilet, ceremoniously lowering the seat, and with a provocative gesture, positions himself on it, legs enticingly spread, an open invitation for you to draw near and indulge in the feast of his dick.

You swiftly descend to your knees on the welcoming warmth of Seokjin's floor, grateful for the cozy indulgence of heated tiles. Running your tongue across your lips, you seize his throbbing cock with a determined hand, evoking a hiss of pleasure from his lips.

“Fuck! I missed you.”

“It's only been a few hours, Jimin,” you chuckle before enveloping his pulsating dick in your saliva-coated warmth. He fills your mouth perfectly, and you establish a steady rhythm, savoring the delicious anticipation in the air.

You skillfully handle what can't fit in your mouth, teasing with your hand. Jimin throws his head back, emitting a delicious moan in response to your artistry. Sucking him off with an intensity that borders on desperation, you flatten your tongue and expertly play with his frenulum, eliciting a hiss and soft moan from him.

With a firm grip on your hair, he tugs at your ponytail once more. Drool drips from your mouth as you glide over his cock, expertly hollowing your cheeks to create the perfect suction.

His fingers tighten in your hair, urging you further. Breathing in and out through your nose, you navigate down to his pubic hairs, humming sensually around his dick. The subtle shiver you feel from him fills you with a sense of pride, knowing the impact you're having on him.

“Fuck. You’re so good,” he moans, pulling your hair tighter in his grip, the raw desire in his voice sending shivers down your spine.

“Shit, I’m close already,” he gasps, his voice breathy with anticipation, and you can sense the pulsating urgency of his cock in your mouth, signaling that he's on the brink of release.

Unexpectedly, you withdraw from his throbbing cock, leaving him suspended on the precipice of release. His eyes widen in disbelief, watching as you sensually lick your lips, a spark of mischief and fiery playfulness dancing in your gaze.

“Brat. Finish what you started!”

His demand hangs in the air, laden with urgency, but you defiantly shake your head, a smug smirk playing on your lips. In this tantalizing game of desire, you've decided to level the playing field, returning the favor with a mischievous glint in your eyes.

With a sly smirk stretching across your face, you assertively declare, “No.” Your lustful desire is unmistakable as you deliberately pull away, leaving him hanging. “You made me come in front of our friends, embarrassing me. So now,” you add with determined confidence, “you don't get to come.”

As you swing the door open, you exit, leaving him in the bathroom, his fully erect dick on full display, a silent challenge echoing in the air.

“Fucking brat!” His voice reverberates through the air, a raw and frustrated yell, trailing after you as you make your exit.

A mischievous laughter escapes your lips, an odd mix of satisfaction and empowerment swirling within you. Striding back to the table with your friends, you effortlessly dive back into the conversation, as if leaving Jimin high and dry is just another casual move in your repertoire.

There's a subtle thrill in knowing that maybe, just maybe, you've imparted a lesson on not messing with you.

After a few minutes, Jimin saunters back to the table, and you can't help but notice the lingering outline of his arousal beneath his pants. Apparently, he didn't tend to his needs as you assumed he would. The intrigue in the air grows thicker, adding a layer of curiosity to the already charged atmosphere.

The remainder of the evening unfolds without any further advances from Jimin, and despite the undeniable tension in the air, you manage to restrain yourself, keeping your hands to yourself. The pulsating undercurrent of arousal lingers, fueled solely by the magnetic pull of Jimin's presence.

Dinner concludes, and after lending a hand with the cleanup, the music swells to an even higher volume, enticing people to the dance floor. Amid the lively atmosphere, you join in the dance with your girlfriends, playfully swaying your hips to the rhythm. The pulsating energy is infectious, but beneath the neon lights and thumping beats, you sense Jimin's intense gaze fixed on yours once more.

Sensations of arousal ignite within you, yearning for a more intimate connection that goes beyond the pulsating dance floor. Amidst the crowd, you feel a magnetic pull, a desire for his crotch to be the one you're grinding against. However, such an encounter isn't suitable in the presence of your friends. Suddenly, Jimin materializes on the dance floor, seizing your hand and drawing you into a close embrace. His warm breath grazes your ear as he utters, “Come with me, brat.”

He pulls you away from the pulsating crowd of friends, a flicker of distress in your eyes, yet a clandestine thrill seeping through your veins. The covert glances from your friends affirm that they caught the provocative scene. With determination, he leads you into a secluded room, the door securing your privacy with a decisive click.

His eyes blaze with an inferno of lust, an intensity that borders on fury. There's a dangerous edge to his gaze, and he licks his lips with a hunger that suggests he's poised to consume you whole.

“Some nerve you have,” he begins, a low growl in his voice as he presses you backward, drawing you closer to a waiting bed, its presence dawning on you like an ominous realization.

Nervousness courses through your body, a relentless tide, as he exerts control over you with the sheer dominance of his presence.

“Leaving me like that, you fucking brat,” he hisses, forcefully pushing you down onto the bed.

Despite your nerves, a chuckle escapes your lips, “Well, I think it was only fair.”

“Do you?” he raises an eyebrow, his face hovering dangerously close to yours, the air thick with anticipation.

“Fuck. What do you do to me?” he murmurs, diving in to kiss your lips. Your hands instinctively find his cheeks, and you melt into the soft, plush sensation of his mouth, lost in the intoxicating dance of his lips.

Instantly, your body relaxes, and you wrap your legs around his waist, provocatively pressing your core against his erect dick, eliciting a hiss of pleasure from him.

“I could say the same to you,” you pant, “and I don't even like you. I don't understand,” you murmur between kisses, grappling with the conflicting emotions that the intensity of the moment brings.

“But I want you. Damn it, I want you to fuck me so bad,” you confess with a breathless mixture of desire and urgency, punctuating your words with a daring roll of your hips, leaving no room for ambiguity about your craving for him.

“Fuck.”

He unbuckles his belt with a purpose, the metallic clink resonating with the promise of what's to come. Swiftly, he unzips his pants and skillfully lowers them along with his underwear, gracefully joining you on the bed with a hunger in his eyes.

His arousal is evident, his dick appearing more heated and flushed than ever. The crimson hue tells a tale of the desire he harbors, heightened by your previous act of leaving him hanging and hungry for more.

“You’re such a brat. I’ll fuck you senseless.” His voice, a sultry promise, sends shivers down your spine. With a self-assured stroke of his dick, he spreads your legs, deftly teasing your underwear aside.

Hovering above you, his breath dances on your skin as he murmurs in your ear, “I’m going to shut that pretty mouth of yours up.”

Your body quivers in response as he deftly lifts your legs over his shoulders. In this moment, he appears both commanding and delicate, a paradox you can't help but be drawn to. As your moans escape, his eyes light up, as if you hold the key to his universe. Yet, the bitter truth remains—you are enemies, drowning in mutual hatred despite the intensity of the desire that binds you.

His fingers dance over your sensitive folds, ensuring the cascade of wetness that engulfs you. You're a river in anticipation, and he chuckles, pulling back a glistening digit to savor your essence. His words, whispered with satisfaction, echo in the room, “You taste so good.”

You moan, your body craving his touch, and impatiently inquire, “What's the hold up?”' as you yearn for him to fulfill his promise to ravish you.

In the dim light, he chuckles down at you, gripping his hard dick once more and skillfully aligning it with your eager entrance. The head of his cock nudges your folds, eliciting a desperate mewl of pleasure from your lips. Despite the intense disdain you harbor for him, all you crave now is to feel him deep inside you.

With a powerful thrust, he impales you on his dick, plunging deep into your core with reckless abandon. A primal scream of his name tears from your throat, echoing in the room, encapsulating the sheer intensity of the moment. “Fuck, Jimin!”

His grin turns wicked, a hint of danger in his eyes, as he accelerates, showing no mercy and denying you any chance to acclimate. Every powerful thrust widens and fulfills you in the most exquisite way, leaving you breathless and aching for more.

Though mere hours have passed, the yearning for his dick consumes your thoughts. The magnetic pull of his desire leaves your mind shrouded in dangerous fantasies that dance provocatively through the corridors of your consciousness.

“Fuck, you’re still so tight.”

Moans of pleasure escape his lips, breathless and raw, as he utters your name in a fevered whisper. Holding your legs aloft, he thrusts into you, skillfully navigating the depths, each movement a calculated dance that hits your soft spot with precision, sending ripples of ecstasy through your body.

His intoxicating scent envelops your senses, a heady mix of musk that clouds your mind. The rhythmic dance of his tie brushing against your dress on your tummy mirrors the cadence of his thrusts.

Amidst the tumultuous waves of pleasure, you find yourself caught in a paradox of conflicting emotions. “Fuck, Jimin. I hate you. I don't understand,” you blabber, your words intertwining with the rhythmic surges of arousal coursing through your body. With each relentless thrust, the coil in your stomach tightens, weaving a complex tapestry of desire and disdain.

“I do,” he utters, punctuating his words with a forceful thrust that reverberates through your core, causing a symphony of sensations to cascade through your body.

“You like me, that's why,” he pants, each powerful thrust resonating through your pussy, an electrifying dance of pleasure and desire. It's a truth you're reluctant to acknowledge, and as your heart races, you turn your head away, unable to meet his intense gaze, even as your body betrays your feelings.

“No, no, you look at me while I fuck you, brat,” he seethes with anger. He presses himself down on you, your legs parting to rest on the sides of his arms. His hands find their way around your throat, giving it a light squeeze as he maintains the fast pace of his hard thrusts. The intensity in his eyes matches the fervor of the moment, a collision of passion and dominance that leaves you breathless.

He forces you to turn your head toward him, and the grip on your throat tightens even more. “Just admit that you like me, brat,” he demands, his voice a potent blend of authority and desire, making your heart race as you navigate the thin line between resistance and surrender.

Your mind swirls in a hazy mist, a product of his presence or the firm grip around your neck — it's hard to discern. Yet, amidst the uncertainty, there's an undeniable thrill that courses through you, a strange liking for the intoxicating blend of dominance and desire.

Released from his grasp, you inhale desperately, your breaths echoing the tumultuous whirlwind of emotions within. With the tightening coil in your stomach, you reluctantly admit, “Fine... I don't hate you.”

His hands reclaim your throat, a firm grip that mingles pleasure and restraint, synchronized with the rhythmic precision of his thrusts hitting every exquisite spot within you. “That's not good enough, brat,” he growls, his control both intoxicating and exhilarating.

“I know you like me, because your body tells me so,”

“I know you like it when I choke you, because you clench so much around me when I do,”

“Your body can’t lie, brat.”

Holy fuck. He’s right. At least in some parts. Your mind is a tempest of desire, clouded with thoughts of him, and suddenly you’re screaming, the sound muffled by his firm hands around your throat. Your body spasms uncontrollably, a tidal wave of pleasure crashing around his pulsating dick.

“Fuck. Yeah, cream my dick, brat.” he maintains his relentless thrusts, your orgasm surging through you like a wild storm, leaving you with a symphony of sensations and a loud ringing sound in your ears.

His hands finally release their grip on your neck, and you find yourself panting for air, gasping his name with a mixture of desperation and lust, “J-Jimin, fuck.”

“You’re doing so good. Even if you behave like a brat. Fuck. I’m so close.”

And then his thrusts become erratic and even more frantic, as he desperately seeks his own climax.

“Fuck, Jimin, just like that!” you scream as he relentlessly targets your sweet spot, igniting the familiar coil in your stomach once more. Fuck.

Jimin seems to sense your escalating pleasure, and one of his hands skillfully finds your clit, circling it with a tantalizing touch that nearly makes you scream. “Shit!”

He skillfully pinches your clit, and suddenly, you see stars—you're gone. Squirts of your release gush out, painting his pubic hairs, and Jimin gazes down at you. You thrash around the bed, frantically breathing, your muscles tightening as your vision becomes a canvas of small, white dots.

“Damn. You just squirted all over me,” he breathes in a soft voice, a hint of adoration laced within. However, you can't really decipher his tone as you're lost in the moment, your ears ringing again.

“Damn, that's hot,” he exclaims and thrusts into you again, releasing his warm load inside you with a scream of your name.

He continues to thrust into your core, the rhythm slowing down to a more sensual pace. Your body feels dazed and sweaty, the dress clinging uncomfortably to your skin, the satin now undoubtedly soaked through.

You gasp for air, still catching your breath. “Fucking hell, that was amazing, Jimin.” He chuckles, offering you a gentle smile that quickly transforms into his trademark smirk.

His laughter dances through the air, accompanied by a mischievous glint in his eyes. “You know, we can totally do this again,” he says, a teasing smirk playing on his lips. You can't help but roll your eyes, though deep down, the idea doesn't seem entirely unwelcome. Keeping a sense of mystery, you respond with a playful glint in your eyes, “Maybe.” The rebellion in your spirit mirrors the dance of sparks between you, a familiar game of push and pull that seems destined to continue.

“Brat.”

He chuckles, yet defies the teasing nickname by bending down to kiss you; it’s sweet and tender, a stark contrast to how he just fucked your brains out.

You cast a dismayed gaze at your drenched dress, muttering, “I can't go out in this,” and you groan, feeling the uncomfortable cling of the fabric to your skin, an unwelcome sensation adding to the aftermath of your heated encounter.

“How about we raid Seokjin’s closet?” he suggests, winking with a playful lift of his brows and a light chuckle.

“Is this Seokjin’s room? Did we just fuck on his bed? Damn, he’s going to be furious!” You burst into laughter at the absurdity of the situation. “No way! Imagine if everyone finds out we fucked.” You shriek, wildly waving your hands in the air, the possibility suddenly sinking in.

“Why are you so hell-bent on keeping it a secret?” he asks, genuinely curious, a playful glint in his eyes as he chuckles at your distress.

“Because you're my sworn enemy,” you state matter-of-factly, giving a nonchalant shrug.

“Are you sure about that?” he teases, his eyebrows wiggling playfully. You can't help but roll your eyes at his cheeky demeanor once again.

“And I think they already know,” he laughs, amusement dancing in his eyes as he observes your irritated expression. You groan into your hands, grappling with the realization that he might be right. However, you're determined to cling to any shred of hope you can find.

“We'll just stay up here until my dress is dry,” you declare, as if it's the most brilliant plan you can conjure. Jimin chuckles, his gaze lingering over your heaving form with a hunger that ignites a spark of desire. He licks his lips, suggesting, “Then take it off. That way, it'll dry faster, and we can go for round two in a moment.”

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sxcret-garden · 6 months ago

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3rd Desire ღ A Little Jealousy [M]

ღ Aspects of Desire series ღ Ateez Jongho x fem!reader ღ feat.: Yeosang & Wooyoung ღ words: ~4.8k ღ genre: established relationship, college AU, fluff, some humor, slice of life, smut (dom!Jongho, sub!reader, clothed sex, teasing, tiny bit of finger sucking (idol receiving), oral (idol receiving), he’s a lil mean again, hair pulling, biting, dacryphilia, bit of brat-taming, reader goes into subspace, sir kink, fingering (reader receiving), unprotected sex) ღ warnings: heavy dom-sub dynamic, (he runs his hand through reader’s hair and picks her up)

Desc.: When you’re meeting up with your classmate and friend Yeosang in order to finally finish that dreaded uni project that’s been keeping you on edge for the past weeks, you don’t expect him to bring along his flirtatious friend Wooyoung. What you also don’t expect is said friend knowingly attempting to flirt with you in front of your boyfriend, who just can’t help but let the hint of jealousy it makes him feel influence his actions once you’re in the comfort of your own home.

Author's note: This is actually one of my fav chapters so far, and 80% of the reason is because the first scene was so much fun to write kasjdfkljsöldka

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Arriving at the café a few minutes early, you find Yeosang already waiting for you. You came here from your university dorms, about 20 minutes by bus, so you didn’t expect to be late, but you tend to always leave a little earlier than you have to anyway, just to be sure.

Your meet-up place is a cute little café that turns out to be a lot more spacious than one would assume looking at it from the outside, and it serves all the classics, as well as a couple of drinks that are especially popular these days.

“Did everybody send you their parts?” you ask, starting up your laptop, while Wooyoung watches the alarm that’s supposed to tell you when your drinks are ready.

“I thought they were supposed to send them to you…?” Yeosang replies, eyes widened because he doesn’t want this meeting to already turn into a catastrophe. The frustration that your teammates have continuously nurtured with their incompetence over the past two weeks bubbles up deep inside you again, until you check your emails and you find that they did indeed send their parts to you.

“Sorry, my bad,” you sigh deeply.

“It can happen,” Yeosang assures you, while the alarm goes off, shaking the whole table as it vibrates, and Wooyoung immediately grabs it and gets up. You’re glad he’s at least being useful in that regard - otherwise you’re not sure why Yeosang brought his friend from an entirely different major along to your café date of hell.

“He insisted,” your teammate tells you upon posing your question. “Actually I don’t know why I brought him either.”

“Excuse me?!” Wooyoung exclaims in offense as he returns with your order, having heard his friend’s reply. But Yeosang is quick to wave it off.

“It’s nothing, don’t worry about it.” To your surprise his loud friend merely sits down while eyeing him with a doubtful expression, but he doesn’t say anything more to that. Finding yourself more fascinated than anything else by their dynamic, you shake your head eventually and redirect your attention to the screen in front of you.

“I’ll send you the parts so we can go over them together,” you announce as you’re already dropping the files into your kakao chat with Yeosang, the familiar tone coming from the speakers of his laptop signaling an incoming message that tells you he received them quickly. Wooyoung leans in, nosily looking at the files his friend is opening.

“Looks good… if you ignore the formatting,” Yeosang shades, making you chuckle, and Wooyoung lets you hear a loud “Hey!”

“You didn’t do yours any better!” he teases Yeosang, attempting to pinch his side but his friend evades the attack.

“Personal space,” he just remarks, pushing Wooyoung away with his flat palm against his cheek. Once again you find yourself fascinated by their cartoonish behaviour most of all, but you don’t comment on what just unfolded in front of your eyes. “And also, mine doesn’t look very interesting, but at least it has the correct formatting.”

“Yeah, this professor doesn’t really have an eye for aesthetics,” you add, grinning yet unhappy about the way the paper you were supposed to put together looks overly sterile. “But I guess that’s what science wants.”

“Well, the contents are what matters,” Yeosang adds, this time not defending himself when Wooyoung throws an arm around his shoulders, but you can tell he’s not happy about the pda. With curious eyes he leans in, skimming through the text on Yeosang’s screen, and you give him an annoyed sigh. You really just want to finish this damn project already, before it consumes any more of your nerves.

“Oh. Sorry,” Wooyoung grins as he notices your distress, moving away from the computer as he straightens his back, and you’re not sure what to make of his reaction. Telling yourself to focus on the problem at hand instead of him, you begin pasting the text into one collective document, while Yeosang starts reading through everything in search of any possible errors.

“Looks good,” he eventually announces, and you agree, having joined him in proofreading everything.

“You two sure are fast,” Wooyoung comments, and he shoots you a gaze filled with mischief.

“This is the tenth time we read through these, so…” you explain.

“I see… Yeosang here told me about how horrible the others were to work with,” the guy sitting next to your classmate continues.

“You’re also horrible to work with, and you’re not even a part of this,” Yeosang mutters under his breath, causing you to chuckle, and Wooyoung immediately complains.

“That hurt! I know when to be serious, in contrast to some people.” He says it so ominously that you think at least Yeosang must know who he’s talking about, but he too shoots him a questioning look. “Whatever,” Wooyoung brushes it off with a hand gesture. “You’re done now, aren’t you? So we can finally get to know each other,” he adds, directed at you. “This guy told me a lot about you, so I’ve been dying to meet you.” He points at Yeosang, whose ears grow bright red and he waves his hands in front of his face.

“It’s not what it sounds like. I don’t talk about you all the time, this guy here just likes to blow things way out of proportion,” he explains, and with the way Wooyoung is grinning from ear to ear now, all you’re left with is to believe Yeosang’s words.

“Figured,” you say. “So? What did he tell you about me that made you so interested?” You give Wooyoung a challenging smile, and the guy is eating up your attention as he watches you with a spark in his eyes.

“How you took the lead in your project after everyone else did nothing, for example,” Wooyoung replies. “I respect people like that! You know, people who get things done.” You chuckle at his enthusiasm.

“Don’t be mistaken, I’m not usually the leader type. Just… when I need to be… for the sake of my own sanity.”

“I see,” Wooyoung says, leaning back in his chair now, taking on a comfortable stance.

“I’m sorry about him, I shouldn’t have brought him along,” Yeosang says, once again. “He flirts with everything that breathes in his direction, it means nothing. He’s just doing this for his own entertainment, but I can punch him for you if you want?”

“It’s fine, it’s fine,” you say. “It’s fun to do this every once in a while.”

“Oh? What do you mean - every once in a while?” Wooyoung pries, a broad grin now playing his lips as he leans back in his chair. “You’re not the type to go out and meet people like this?”

“Not to flirt with them,” you laugh, directing your gaze towards the entrance of the café, where the image of Jongho walking inside has caught your eye. You decided to have him pick you up after your meeting with Yeosang, so that you could grab dinner together. You didn’t expect him to be here this early, though. “I’m not sure if my boyfriend would like that,” you add, looking back at Wooyoung, whose mouth forms the shape of an o, before he once again merely grins at you.

“I see, I see… but the fact that you flirted back at me tells me you like to live dangerously,” he remarks, before letting out a giggle that seems both very sudden, yet not out of character at all. Yeosang can only sigh beside him. He looks like he wants to snark at his friend for that, but he bites back the words, as your attention is visibly drawn elsewhere and you scoot over on the bench to make space for your boyfriend.

“Hello,” he greets the other two, politely bowing his head in front of them, before he sits beside you. And now you’re the one grinning to yourself, seeing his shyness that seems even weirder now, that you’re getting to know more and more very different sides to him.

“Wait… is that the boyfriend?” Wooyoung points his finger at the guy next to you, eyes raised in surprise.

“Yeah,” you answer.

“You’ve been talking about me?” Jongho asks, raising his eyebrows as well. There’s a hint of disbelief in his voice, and for a second you wonder if you should use this opportunity to tease him a bit. But of course Wooyoung, the loud one, is faster.

“She’s been talking about you.”

“Don’t believe a word he says,” Yeosang utters, before you can defend yourself. “He just says whatever.” Another highly offended Wooyoung-noise is what follows, while you feel Jongho tapping your arm lightly, and when you glance over to him you can see him quietly laughing. Apparently he finds their dynamic just as amusing as you do.

“Yeah, so… that’s Yeosang, who I’ve been working on the project with. And that’s his friend Wooyoung, who has nothing to do with the project but came along anyway to be a distraction,” you introduce the two guys, then you point at your partner. “That’s my boyfriend Jongho.”

“You think I’m distracting?” Wooyoung retorts, because that appears to be all he heard, and he says it proudly and with this shit-eating grin on his face as he puts his elbow on the table, supporting his head with his chin in his palm. You can’t lie, his bold attempt to continue flirting with you in front of your boyfriend both makes you think he must be incredibly stupid, and somehow also makes you admire his courage.

“Not in the way you think,” you answer calmly, trying to sound almost cold. Next to Wooyoung, Yeosang is muttering an “oh my god”, but most importantly your boyfriend doesn’t react to it. Instead he diverts the conversation into a different direction, and in your head you thank him for it.

“So… were you able to finish everything?” he asks, and you nod.

“Almost,” you say. “The formatting needs to be checked again, but that’s Yeosang’s job. So… if you want to go get dinner now, we can!”

“Ah, no, I wasn’t trying to rush you,” he assures as he balances somewhere between seeming friendly and polite.

You end up leaving pretty soon anyway. Yeosang informed you that he still had things to do (you assume he just wanted an excuse to get rid of Wooyoung) and so you packed your things and split up into pairs in front of the café, with your friend and his friend taking the route to the bus stop across the street, and you and Jongho walking a couple of blocks to get to a restaurant you’ve been wanting to try. It’s serving stew as its speciality, just right for a chilly evening like today.

A groan of satisfaction escapes you as you link your hands above your head and stretch your arms and back after entering the apartment. Your boyfriend smiles at the sight in front of him as he puts his jacket on a hanger and then he follows you into the living room.

“Getting dinner there was a really good idea,” you remark as Jongho comes up to you from behind, placing his hands onto your hips and leaning in.

“Right? You should let me pick restaurants more often,” he mutters right beside your ear, and when you whirl around to get a proper look at his face, he laughs softly.

“I think it was my idea to go there?” you retort, taking offense in him attempting to take all the credit, but he’s quick to appease you.

“I know, I know, just joking.” You huff at his attitude with a smile, before he adds, “I thought you liked mischievous guys.” He walks away and towards the kitchen as you’re still confused about his words, but when you begin to have a hunch about what made him say this, he’s already out of sight. You follow him, finding him pouring himself a glass of water, and without a change in expression he takes a few sips. You can only stare at him, hoping for him to say anything to help you figure out whether that hunch is right or wrong, but he doesn’t look like he’s in a hurry. Setting down the glass, he seems to be thinking about something as he’s supporting his weight with his hands on top of the kitchen counter, and then, when he finally shoots you a glance, the expression on his face has changed.

“You liked that, didn’t you?”

“Liked what…?” Jongho pushes himself off the counter in front of him, taking a few steps towards you instead. He comes to a halt when you’re merely a few inches apart, his head tilted to the side ever so slightly, and his hand finds your face.

“That guy flirting with you,” he says, his voice dangerously low, and he lets his thumb trace the outline of your bottom lip. “You liked that.”

“I…” You gulp as you look up at him. So he did realize it. You should’ve known better than to assume you could hope he wouldn’t be able to read you that well. But you were mistaken. It seems he already learned to notice and correctly analyze even the smallest of signs, and you guess in some way that’s a good thing, you’re just not sure what this means in a situation like this.

“It’s fine, dear,” he speaks, his voice merely a whisper now, and he leans in to press one feathery light kiss onto your lips. “You can admit it.” Again, you find yourself gulping. But the sweetness of his kiss mixing in with the soothing effect his words have on you leave you unable to ponder on this for longer. And so you simply say it, without thinking about the consequences.

“I liked it.”

It was only yesterday that you had another conversation, figuring you should talk more in depth about your wants and what you don’t want, after he almost crossed a line last time. You talked about your relationship, your sexual relationship mostly, the kind of dynamic that’s slowly growing between the two of you, and the kind of dynamic you two wish for. Surprisingly, from what you’ve discussed at least, your wishes align mostly.

You both agreed you want more. More than a kink or two incorporated into your sex life. More than a barely noticeable difference in power. He made it clear he’s willing to go into this with you, take you by the hand, and that he’d make sure to satisfy you.

But you know he also wants to be satisfied himself. And it’s exciting you, thinking about it then, and thinking about it now, as he’s steering you towards the nearest wall, until your back gently comes in contact with it. It’s not much, no grand gesture, and yet you can already feel the flames of desire burning up in your stomach.

“I see.” He speaks slowly now, the tone in his voice sending a shiver down your spine and you know he can see you tremble. From excitement for what’s to come, and curiousity about what he plans to do with you now. “What?” He raises an eyebrow, one hand resting against the wall right next to your head, the other reaching out until his fingertips come in contact with your stomach, and he lets them dance up until he’s almost reached your throat. When he sees you gulp at his action, he huffs, as if laughing at you. “You think I’ll give you what you want that easily?” Jongho asks, pulling his hand away and you inevitably frown at him for it. “After flirting with another guy? After you tell me you liked it? I don’t think so.” He takes a few steps away. There’s a calm expression on his face, his look feels almost icy as he lets his gaze wander from your head down your body. “You should know who can please you best,” he warns. “Or, don’t tell me you think that cheeky guy could make you feel better than me?”

“No!” you respond immediately and without having to think about it.

“But you still liked the attention,” your boyfriend states, matter-of-factly.

“Y-yeah…” you admit, making yourself smaller instinctively.

“Cute,” he huffs at your apologetic gesture, and there’s a hint of a smirk sitting on his face. You weren’t 100% sure about it before, whether he really is jealous or if he’s doing this for fun, but now you can clearly tell - he’s enjoying this. And that’s fine, because you talked about this too - what you’re about to get yourself into, and how far you’re both willing to go in the process.

“Come here,” Jongho orders along with a gesture of his hand and you oblige. You step closer, let him put his arms around you, and the kiss he presses onto your lips is surprisingly soft. Slowly, he moves his lips against yours, tilting his head so he could deepen the kiss eventually, taking his time as he runs the tip of his tongue along the front row of your teeth, and just when you begin to want him to kiss you more passionately, he parts from you. One look at your face, his darkened eyes making you shiver in his hold, then he brushes his lips against the corner of your mouth. Trailing kisses across your cheek and eventually halting beside your ear as he cups your face with both hands now.

“Get on your knees, beautiful.” You don’t hesitate, and you don’t protest. It’s like his words put you in a trance, making sure you wouldn’t even think of disobeying him. And so you do, you drop down to the floor in front of him, hands immediately fumbling with the button on his pants, because you know what he wants. There’s only one thing a guy could want when he tells you to get on your knees for him, and you’re set on giving him that. But your eagerness doesn’t go uncommented. “So greedy,” he mutters, as he calmly watches you pull down his pants and underwear, exposing his half hardened length. His hand finds its way into your hair, fingertips massaging your scalp and for a second as you glance up at him you think you can see his features soften. “You already know what to do, hm?” your boyfriend continues, yet you wait for the okay to touch him.

“Can I…?” you ask, making him let out a short laugh. And there it is again, that grin that would tell anyone that he knows he’s in control, and he’s enjoying it.

“Are you gonna make me wait?” he poses a question in return, and in that same breath phrasing the answer himself. “I don’t think so.”

You keep one hand resting on his thigh, while you wrap the other around his cock. Peering up at him to watch him as he watches you, you start moving your hand slowly, and the second your palm brushes against his head, you can see the way his lips part to make way for a quiet sigh. You bring your fist all the way back down his shaft, repeating the motion a few times, until you find a hint of impatience on his features.

“Dear…” he mutters, untangling his fingers from your hair to cup your chin instead. As he lifts it up, his thumb presses against your lips, and when you open your mouth to let out a shaky breath, he pushes the finger inside. Your eyelids fluttering shut, you meet him with the tip of your tongue, instinctually swirling it around his finger once, before you close your mouth around it and suck on it. “Like that…” Jongho breathes a praise in your direction, before pulling his thumb out of your mouth and putting his hand back on top of your head to steer your field of vision back towards his core. He stays quiet, but he wouldn’t have needed to say anything more anyway to get you to finally do what he wants you to. You move closer, extending your tongue for mere kitten licks, quick strokes that wouldn’t possibly be near satisfactory against the tip of his cock. You glance up at him again, seeing the impatience building up behind his gaze that won’t leave you, and for a moment you wonder whether you should try and see what happens if you push him a bit more.

But your own hunger wins over that desire. He was probably right, you really are greedy today, because the second you wrap your lips around him, you find yourself moaning at the feeling of having him in your mouth. The hiss of pleasure he lets out forces you to suppress a grin. Instead, you take him in further, hollowing your cheeks as you let him fill you up with his size.

His hips stay still. You wonder whether it would stay like this, whether he would make you do all the work and merely guide you into the pace he wants, as he is doing currently, with his fingers grasping onto strands of your hair, or if he would eventually lose patience and start fucking into your mouth. All you know is you’re fine with either, and yes, you’re eager to please him, eager to get him off.

Your hand still wrapped around him moves along with your head for additional friction, and you keep peering up at his eyes, wanting to see the moment he breaks apart, and all the expressions leading up to it. And yet he stays in control, disappointingly much, so you take him in even further as you sink back down on him, until his tip hits the back of your throat, making you gag in response. You furrow your brows at the uncomfortable sensation, and yet you do it again with your next repetition of the movement. So long, until tears are starting to well up in your eyes, and that’s when he takes his hand away from your hair and cups your face instead, cursing at how good you’re being for him.

“Fuck, Y/N…” he groans, and now you can see the pleasure distorting his face - it’s not much, but it serves as a motivation to work even harder for him. The sound he lets out as you swallow around him makes you moan as well, until you move your head and your hand faster, and the lewd sounds of you sucking him off, as well as your boyfriend’s heavy breaths fill the room. “Y/N, stop,” he mutters, and you don’t, because you want to push him over the edge so desperately. Instead you mewl at the taste of his precum leaking onto your tongue, and you close your eyes, preparing yourself to take his load.

What you don’t prepare yourself for is him yanking your head away by your hair, the shock from the sudden action and the immediate wave of pleasure that follows as he growls,

“I said stop.”

“Yes, sir.”

A sudden weakness washes over you, and the only thing you can do is move your head up just a little bit, leaning into the touch of his hand on top of it. And you don’t miss the way the words affected him. After he had suggested you calling him that and you had refused, saying you found the thought of calling your boyfriend sir a bit weird, you know he didn’t expect you to say it after all. But you did. And now there’s an entirely new expression on his face, an entirely new burning passion reflecting in his eyes, and you know it’s only a matter of time until it burns you too.

“Get up,” he says eventually, and you do as told, finding yourself held up safely with his hands resting on your sides as soon as you stand. Your body feels light, almost like he’s taken control of your will, when he steers you back a few steps, into your original position against the wall. Without hesitation, he kisses you, teeth clashing together as he tears at your clothes, and he only parts from you to pull them off, piece by piece, one after the other, and when he has gathered half of them on a pile somewhere on the floor, he decides that should be enough. Your pants gone should do, and when his lips smash onto yours again, you feel his hand between your thighs, fingers prodding at your folds.

“Shit,” he hisses against your lips. “You’re fucking soaked… can’t wait to fuck you…” His words make your head spin, and the way his fingers slip inside you effortlessly only adds to your lightheadedness. You throw your arms around his frame, fingernails digging into the fabric of his shirt covering his back, and you buck your hips into his palm as he starts curling his fingers inside you. You can only mewl at the pleasure, sentences are too hard to form right now, maybe if you tried you could get out a few words with no correlation between them.

“...p-please…” you slur, “...f-fuckme…”

“Who do you belong to?” Jongho asks, his fingers working you at a speed that should give you time to answer, but that won’t keep you sane for long. And yet you can’t say anything, only pathetic whimpers come out when you open your mouth. “Who?” he repeats. “Is it me? Do you belong to me?”

“Y-yessir…” you manage to say, and he bites his bottom lip hard.

“That’s right.” You can hear his voice trembling as he speaks, and you let out another sorry excuse of a moan as he presses his thumb against your clit. “Gonna make you cum so good, pretty girl… just wait…” All you can do at this point is cling to him for dear life, incoherent whines and whimpers falling from your lips, in between words that are supposed to tell him you want to cum on his cock, but you’re not sure how much of that actually gets through to him. And still, when your walls are starting to clench around him and your whole body tenses up, he finally pulls out of you. With his hand soaked in your juices he gives himself another few strokes, before telling you to hold on tight and lifting you up with his hands placed on the underside of your thighs. You cry out as he pushes into you, tears welling up in your eyes again, and this time they fall. Rolling down your cheeks as the pleasure overwhelms you, arms wrapped around him so tightly that you’re not sure if maybe you are squeezing a bit too tightly after all. But it doesn’t matter. All that matters in this moment is the chase for your high, and it ends with merely a few of his thrusts. Your body shakes violently as your orgasm hits you, you bite his shoulder and yet the moans won’t stop escaping you, and as you do, he too comes undone. You keep clenching around him as you feel him spilling inside you with a groan, and even as you start coming down from your high, your body won’t stop trembling.

He tries to help you stand, but realizes quickly that all attempts are futile. So he carefully lets you sink down onto the ground, staying close to you in order to keep holding onto you.

“How was that?”

“Good…” you manage to whisper an answer, not having the energy for a more elaborate one, but your boyfriend understands.

“I’m glad.” Jongho collapses with his back against the wall next to you, letting you rest your head on top of his shoulder and him leaning his head against yours. His hand finds yours naturally, fingers intertwining, as your mind is still drowned in bliss from the afterglow of your orgasm.

“It was perfect, actually,” you say, correcting yourself. “You were perfect.” You lift your other hand up to comb your fingers through his short hair, eventually letting it rest against his cheek and bringing him in for a short but sweet kiss. And then there it is again, that soft smile appearing on his lips, and when you lift your head he buries his face in the crook of your neck - to hide that expression from you, as you assume.

“Well, I didn’t think you’d actually call me that, after saying you didn’t want to at first,” he says, and you retort, questioningly,

“Sir?”

“Yeah…” Jongho looks away, still visibly affected by it, and you shoot him a mischievous glance.

“I’m… really enjoying this though. And I’d like to keep… trying new stuff too…” you speak, and your boyfriend gives you a smile.

“We just tried a lot of new stuff, and you already want more?” He gets up, walking over to one of the cupboards and getting you a glass of water. “Drink this, first of all,” he says as he hands it to you. “And tomorrow we can sit down and talk again.”

#ateez smut #jongho smut #ateez x reader #ateez fanfic #ateez drabbles #ateez series #ateez x fem reader #ateez x you #ateez scenarios #ateez imagines #jongho imagines #jongho x reader #smut

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zgvlt · 2 years ago

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sending your crush a survey form hcs part 2 second years x reader (separate) -> riddle, ruggie, azul

author's note: jade, floyd, kalim, jamil, and silver will be posted separately because of the tumblr image limit, i can't fit them all into one post (also i'm having trouble with massive lag for this post as is huhu)

general tags: gn reader, fluff + attempt at humor, sfw, not beta read, mix of text and images (for images, alt text/image description available)

part 1 w/ first years

character: RIDDLE ROSEHEARTS premise/trope: sending Riddle an "academic survey" to answer

HOW HE REACTS WHEN YOU SEND THE FORM LINK

You've done too good a job at making the link look legit, at hiding your intentions. Using a link shortener like twst.ly so that no preview would show up, talking about how you needed respondents, all that jazz.

Riddle would help any student in need (academically) if he was capable of doing so, he was just that kind of person, but because he liked you he was very willing to go above and beyond.

He was going to help anyway, but telling him things like "I really appreciate you doing this for me," seals the deal for him.

You had a survey that needed answering and you wanted him to answer it because you needed respondents? Well, what if he sends the link to other people as well?

He asks you about how much respondents you still need, though you don't respondent yet. He decides to delay sending it to the rest of Heartslabyul for now, only sending it to Cater and Trey.

Thank the Sevens for that.

Trey and Cater are immediately poking fun at him, telling him to actually open the survey first because they knew that he wouldn't want to send it to anyone if he saw the contents.

"Aren't you lucky you sent this to us and not the rest of Heartslabyul?"

"How embarrassed would you have been if you sent this to the Dorm Leaders gc?"

"Or worse... to Ace and Deuce."

He's rather angry, not necessarily at you (though he is a little bit annoyed, could you not have done something else less... troublesome?) but mostly at himself for not checking first. He should be more vigilant next time.

RIDDLE: Cater said this was a trend, but... I still don't understand why you would make something like this.

You haven't responded yet, so Riddle decides to answer the form all the way through.

In his head he wonders, whatever happened to regular courtship? Like he's not flustered by the whole situation.

Riddle's answers carry that tone where it feels like he's seriously questioning your intentions/decisions, but also like he's trying to answer genuinely. It's almost like he's trying to let you have your cake and eat it too (that is to say, letting you have your fun) despite not being quite sure of how to go about it.

The point is, the fact that he actually answers it is a miracle in itself, and you don't shy from letting him know you appreciate it.

HOW HE ANSWERS THE QUESTIONS

AFTER HE ANSWERS THE FORM

Actively seeks you out in person to confront you about the form. He has a feeling you were being serious about it despite the formatting, so he pretty much confirms that you do like him.

Also asks you why you would want to go about it this way, and most answers don't exactly satisfy him, but at the end of the day he's happy about the results.

You like him, he likes you, and that's what's important, really.

(Though he has no real intentions of telling his mother that he's getting into a relationship, he wonders how she would react if she found out not only did he not ask his s/o out first, but that you did it in such a bizarre manner)

"I don't think I would even give this the time of day if someone else sent it," Riddle tells you honestly, "but because it's you... even something this weird is endearing."

character: RUGGIE BUCCHI premise/trope: sending Ruggie the classic crush form, except you send it when he's busy with work and now he can't concentrate because he's too busy blushing and giggling and kicking his legs at the thought of you 👍👍

HOW HE REACTS WHEN YOU SEND THE FORM LINK

He hadn't planned on viewing any of your messages at first (or anyone's messages, really). He planned on viewing them once he finished up for the day.

But Leona was getting annoyed with the constant beeping, and honestly he was too (like, couldn't they just send it all in one message, whatever it was they wanted to say?) so he moved to view the messages quickly, maybe answer if he felt like it, then mute his phone for an hour.

Except he saw that the messages were from you, and he caught a peep of the link preview... and then he just lost it.

"It" being all sense of focus and comprehension and he knows it's bad because Leona's staring at him weirdly.

"Why are you blushing and giggling like a school girl what the hell..."

Leona just doesn't get it, Ruggie justifies. When the actual love of your life confirms their feelings for you it's enough to make anyone collapse to the floor and weep, and if anything Ruggie is holding up pretty well by, well, still being able to fold a shirt properly in spite of it all.

And then he almost messes up the laundry by mixing the colors with the whites, so maybe he is too distracted after all.

RUGGIE: ya rly hda to go send it now of all times, dontcha?? do ya want me to embarras myself in fornt of leona or smth???? wth have mercy on me

He makes a bunch of typos but he can't be bothered to correct them.

He can't really focus for the rest of the day, and when he's free from his assigned tasks he heads straight for his phone. He should be studying, but he doesn't think he can focus on that at this point without reading the form and just... seeing if you're for real, for real.

Ruggie answers like he's trying to be slick but he also can't help but slip in just how much he likes you and the types of reactions you get out of him.

HOW HE ANSWERS THE QUESTIONS

AFTER HE ANSWERS THE FORM

He needs to call you (honestly would prefer to meet up in person, but it's pretty damn late and he wants you to get your rest and... yeah, the in person talk can wait for a little bit)

Honestly you've just... lightened up his mood, like a lot. Like he just knows he's going to be full of energy and motivation tomorrow, and maybe the days after because of how much happiness you've given him.

You can tease him all you want for his answers and the spelling/grammar mistakes (in his defense, his hands were shaking the whole time!) but he can't even get himself to be too upset by it. You're laughing and giggling and that's all enough for Ruggie's good mood to skyrocket.

After that dies down, though, the two of you end up planning for your upcoming date.

"Don't think I'm not gonna getcha back for this, shishishi..."

character: AZUL ASHENGROTTO premise/trope: sending an s/o application form to Azul, who's been crushing on you for a while now

HOW HE REACTS WHEN YOU SEND THE FORM LINK

Makes sure to check the link properly first since bait links are popular these days (he learned his internet safety from Idia). Messages you in a different platform to ask if you've been hacked.

When you tell him you were the one who sent the link, it still doesn't quite sink in that you're being genuine. Before a crush you are a friend and he does trust you, but a part of him wonders if this is some prank or if someone forced you to send him something like that. You must know how badly he likes you, don't you? Please don't make fun of his feelings like this.

He calls you to really make sure, and with some reassurance from you he finally understands that this isn't something mean, that it was a trend you wanted to hop on, and that you won't judge him for his answers

You tell him that he doesn't have to answer if it makes him uncomfortable, that you just thought it seemed fun, but he tells you he does want to answer it.

"If... if you really consider me as someone who could become your partner... When opportunity knocks on my door, who am I to not answer its call?"

He tries to sound more confident, but inevitably hangs up because he doesn't think he can answer properly with you on the phone. He might end up typing a bunch of nonsense!

Azul struggles with having a fun answer and answering completely seriously, almost like it's a job interview or something. Doesn't realize until the last few questions that there are no other candidates to compete with. Maybe he should have skimmed all the questions first before answering.

The good thing, though, is that you do learn about how Azul sees romance, so even if the whole form was meant as something silly at first you do learn more about him.

HOW HE ANSWERS THE QUESTIONS

AFTER HE ANSWERS THE FORM

The last two questions gave Azul some confidence when it came to pursuing you. There's just something reassuring about actually knowing that his feelings weren't unrequited as opposed to having to make assumptions or having to make the effort to get you to fall for him.

You've already made most of the first moves, from confessing your feelings (albeit not quite in person, maybe he could try doing that...), to being the one to ask him on a date... There must be something he can do. He wants to play on equal ground, make the first move as well.

That's when the idea strikes him. It's not very innovative, but there's no need to fix what's not broken, is there?

Azul sits in front of his laptop for approximately an hour, and when he's satisfied he converts the file into a PDF. It's not a very serious document, even if it's formatted as such, and that's how you know that he's finally eased up.

"Since I've passed the application period, the next step is to sign a partnership contract, is it not?"

masterlist | end notes

[ 1 ] twst.ly is basically bit.ly, the link shortener

[ 2 ] compared to part 1 (the first years) where it was set post-NRC, this time i set it during NRC. the remaining second years will also be set during NRC, though the third years is mixed 👍

[ 3 ] the text versions of the images are in the alt text/image description but do let me know if you would prefer it to be in the post itself!

[ 4 ] i'm thinking about whether i should continue making the forms manually instead of just using the actual google forms app, it's such a hassle my laptop keeps overheating these days huhu

#twst x reader #twst headcanons #twst hcs #riddle rosehearts x reader #ruggie bucchi x reader #azul ashengrotto x reader #nathya twst writing #twst #twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland imagines #riddle rosehearts x you #ruggie bucchi x you #azul ashengrotto x you #twisted wonderland #ruggie bucchi #riddle rosehearts #azul ashengrotto

2K notes · View notes

fandomgirlz01 · 1 year ago

Text

Love Uncovered Pt. 5

Colby Brock x Reader

Prompt?: No

Request?: Yes

Requested prompt?: No

Edited: Yes

Word count: 4,737

Ko-fi

Master List

Warnings Here

You can listen to the story be read out loud here {coming soon}.

Post Date: October 5th 2023

Post Time: 11:54pm

Author's note: I will be changing this chapter up a bit more from the video. The last few chapters have stuck pretty closely to the videos, but this one might be changing up just a bit for me to fit it into the story. I will also be attempting to talk about aura stuff again, but I’ve never studied that stuff or anything so you guys who do, please just bear with me and if I say something incorrect please please please educate me on it. I will never ever pass up if you guys tell me something is wrong in what I’ve written, I will simply just try my best to go back and fix it. So please just bear with me and enjoy the story.

Based off of this video:

youtube

Y/n’s Pov:

After a few minutes, Amanda is the first to move as she takes a step back and the rest of us look up. Sam stands behind me as Colby stands off to the side with the camera on us. Amanda steps back a little ways from us as Stas moves next to Sam now.

“I just put protection over y/n, Stas and Kat. Nothing is allowed to touch you, nothing is allowed to come near you,” she promises us as she explains to the camera what she’d just done before pausing.

“You might see things-” Amanda starts again before Stas speaks up, cutting her off as one of the bells makes a small chime sound.

“Dude it’s just- I can’t. That freaked me out,” Stas comments as she reaches out to the bell.

“That I can’t stop,” Amanda finishes as Sam holds up another bell.

“Someone’s gotta go upstairs and put some up there,” he comments, holding a bell out.

“I’ll do it,” Amanda adds as she reaches for the bell from Sam.

“Someone’s gotta help you, though,” Sam tells her and everyone looks around for a moment.

“I mean he’s got a point. You can’t do the entire upstairs alone. I’ll come with you,” Colby speaks up as he reaches out to grab some bells from Sam.

“What about y/n?” Sam asks as he hands him the bells.

“I can go with them. Just have to stay with Colby,” I inform and Colby turns, smiling at me.

“That’s a good idea, babe,” Colby agrees with me and I smile softly at him.

“Ok. Then let’s go,” Amanda agrees before heading towards the stairs.

Colby looks at me as if questioning if I’m ready and I hesitantly nod. He smiles softly at me before grabbing my hand and I give him a confused look. He keeps a calm smile on his face as he gently puts my hand on his back, right next to his back belt loop.

I smile in understanding as I loop my finger through the loop. He grins this time before leaning back a bit to kiss my cheek.

“Come on. Let’s go babe,” he comments as he starts to walk and I smile softly before following him in the direction Amanda had gone.

We meet up with her next to the stairs and she goes up a few of them as we stop at the bottom. She turns to us, holding her bell out.

“We've got the duty of going upstairs,” Colby comments humorously and he smiles.

“How did we get so lucky?” Amanda jokes back, making both me and Colby laugh.

“I know. The most haunted spot,” Colby comments back and I feel a shiver go down my neck as we start the rest of the way up the stairs.

We make it up the stairs and decide to split up and go separate ways. Colby and I go and hang some on one side of the upstairs as Amanda goes the other way. Once we’re done, Colby checks in on me and smiles once I tell him I’m doing ok.

When he knows I’m fine, we decide to meet up with Amanda in the middle. We walk up to her as she hangs her last bell on the door handle on the outside of the small hall to the birthing room.

“There’s something in that back room,” she informs us as we come up next to her.

“I just watched it,” she finishes as she continues to tie the string to the door.

Once she’s done, she stands straight and walks back into the room. Colby and I follow her as she grabs another bell from the bed.

“I haven’t told Stas yet or you, y/n, I told you guys before we even came here when I was giving you a low down on the spirits,” she explains to us while playing with the string in her hand as she looks at Colby, who gives a small ‘yeah,’ in conformation.

“They disguise themselves as children and pets,” Amanda continues explaining and Colby agrees, repeating ‘that they disguise themselves,’ in awe as he remembers what she’d said.

“That’s why she goes ‘I just saw the little boy,’ and I let her know that was not a-” Amanda explains but pauses and Colby interjects.

“That was not a little boy,” Colby adds in shock and Amanda closes her eyes for a moment before opening them again.

“Was not a little boy,” she repeats in confirmation of what Colby said.

“So when we first came there were two children I told you about, right?” she asks and Colby nods as she takes a step back, beginning to play with the string in her hand.

“Right. Right. They were happy, right? They were like, trying to like, play games?” Colby asks for confirmation and Amanda gets happy as she explains farther.

“Yeah. One of them was shy. The little girl was shy, but the boy, he kept like, peeking his head around the corner like…” she describes as she motions what she’s trying to explain.

“Like, are you gonna come chase me?” she continues to explain and Colby nods in agreement, giving a very audible ‘yeah.’

“So I think it’s insane that when the negative thing came through it disguised himself as a little boy,” Amanda tells us with an expression full of awe.

“And Stas, as scared as she was, would feel more comfortable with it because I told her about the little boy here,” Amanda explains as she points to herself.

“Manda?” I ask, moving around Colby and hugging on his arm.

“Yeah? What’s up, y/n?” she asks me, giving Colby and I a small smile.

“Do you think Stas’s little boy could be the one taking interest in me?” I ask and she gasps as her face lights up.

“That’s a very real possibility. Did you feel sick or anything when she said she’d seen him?” she asks and I take a moment to think it over.

“Well, now that you mention it, no, but me and Colby were connected then. He was cuddled up to me behind the camera,” I explain and she nods vigorously.

“I think you might have a point. It could have been him trying to get to you,” she agrees, nodding.

“The little girl could possibly have been the lady that was pointing at you earlier too,” she explains and my face falls.

“So he can change forms, great,” I roll my eyes and Colby rubs my arm lightly.

“I’m right here. He can’t hurt you while I’m here and Amanda put a protection over you, but I get it if you want to leave. I’ll take you home right now,” Colby tells me but I sigh, shaking my head.

“No. You’re right. He can’t hurt me. I’ll be okay,” I promise him with a nod and he smiles softly.

“Okay, but at any point if you want to leave, just tell me,” he informs me and I nod.

“I promise I will,” I tell him softly before reaching up on my tip-toes to leave a kiss on his cheek.

“Ok. Let’s finish putting these up, then we can go back to the rest of the group,” Amanda comments before moving away to start hanging the last few bells.

We hang a few more and I stay with Colby the whole time. He walks over to the closet and pulls it open.

“Oh my God,” he exclaims as he looks into it.

“What?” Me and Amanda ask in unison.

“This closet is huge. It goes like, all the way around. It’s like a secret crawl space area,” Colby says in shock as he looks into the deep closet.

“This house has-” Amanda starts, but pauses to listen. “Did you hear that in there?” she asks after a moment, making Colby turn around.

“No. What was that? I missed it,” Colby comments before going quiet so we can all listen.

“Can you hear the walking?” Amanda asks as she looks up at us and I nod while Colby gives out a very audible ’yeah’.

“That’s the exact room that when we walked up here I told you something was back there,” Amanda tells us in amazement and I shiver lightly.

“I don’t like that…” I speak out and Colby nods before reaching down for my hand.

He squeezes my hand softly as we all stay quiet for a moment. When we clearly can’t hear the sound anymore, Colby stands straight and starts to look around again. I follow him over to the bedside table and together we look at what’s on it.

“They got a bunch of things that little kids would like to play with here, too. Like toy cars, jellybeans?” Colby comments as he lets go of my hand for a moment to pick the car up before smacking the pack of jelly beans. The car then starts to roll back off the table, but Colby quickly catches it before setting it back down.

“Babe. Don’t do that, what if the spirits like, get mad at you for messing with their stuff,” I lightly admonish him as I slap his arm and he chuckles.

“It’s not like I took them. Just gave them a small little tap,” he replies and I shake my head, rolling my eyes.

“Oh, put the car on the ground,” Amanda speaks up as she turns to us.

“Ok,” Colby agrees as he picks it back up and together we both turn around.

“Let’s find out,” Colby comments as he steps back to watch it with the camera.

We watch the car for a moment but nothing happens, so Colby bends down and scoops it up off the floor with a quick ‘alright,’. He walks back over to the table and sets it back down before turning to me and offering his hand. Colby, Amanda, and I start walking though towards the stairs.

“Woah. Woah. Wait. Amanda, do you mind talking about some more details about ghosts real quick?” he asks and she smiles, nodding.

“Of course,” she sweetly answers and Colby grins.

“Sweet. Ok, ah… sweetheart, do you mind holding the camera for me?” Colby asks and I smile softly at him before nodding and holding my hand out to him.

“Thanks, babe,” he tells me after handing it off to me and kissing my cheek.

“Ok… the number one question people wanna know is like, what do these spirits or entities or demons whatever you see look like?” Colby asks her as he claps his hands together.

“Are they happy, are they expressionless, is it as clear as, like, a person that you're seeing?” Colby asks, using his hands to animate his words.

“It doesn’t look like a person, but it’ll be as clear as like, if you were just standing there dressed in all black,” she explains, motioning with her head where she means.

“I grew up with a spirit in my home and I-” she starts to say before pausing and turning along with Colby when there’s a thump in the back of the room.

We all pause and listen for a moment. The sound soon becomes distinct and we can tell it’s the others of our group.

“Oh god, they're coming upstairs,” Colby breathes out in relief as we hear their distinctive footsteps and voices now.

“Geez, we’re literally talking about demons and that happens, not down,” Amanda comments as Colby lets out a big puff of air.

“The demon I grew up with in my house… looks like a person most of the time. He was much, much taller, much, much thinner and he had red eyes,” Amanda continues to explain just as Sam walks into the room and she looks over at him.

“I saw a spirit when I was with you and you asked me to describe it,” Amanda adds on and Colby nods as Sam walks farther into the room.

“Yeah. At the Lizzy Borden house,” he clarifies as he nods and so does she.

“It was extremely tall, probably seven feet tall, very, very thin. Like unhumanly thin,” she tells us before pausing to look at Sam.

“Are we ready to head to the seance room?” Sam asks and we all nod.

“Here. I can take the camera and set it up,” Sam tells me as he comes over and takes it from me.

He then walks back over to the stairs and starts to head down so he can set it up. I walk over to Colby and he smiles softly at me as he reaches his hand out to me. I grin and grab onto his hand. He gently pulls me along as we follow the others back down the stairs.

Once we’re in the seance room, we all sit down and Colby sits down first, gently pulling me onto his lap for a moment and cuddles me.

“You doing okay?” he mumbles into my ear as he leaves a light kiss on my neck.

“Yeah. I’m fine. I’ve been absolutely fine the whole time you’ve been with me,” I whisper back to him and I feel him smile against my neck.

“Good. I love you,” he mumbles back and I smile, squeezing his hand that sits on my stomach.

“I love you, too, nugget. Always,” I reply and he nuzzles into my shoulder.

“Okay. I think we’re ready. Enough canoodling, you two,” Sam jokes as he playfully rolls his eyes, making Colby and I laugh.

“Okay. Okay. Can we please get this started?” Stas asks and Colby groans.

“Fine,” Colby groans out as he lets go of me so I can get off his lap.

“Don’t worry, babe. I’ll be right here next to you the whole time. Wanna hold hands?” I ask as I take the spot right next to him and hold my hand out to him.

“How well do you know me? Of course I wanna hold hands,” Colby quips as he grabs my hand and I giggle as we hide them behind ourselves.

Kat laughs as she sits down next to me on my left and Stas sits to her left and they grab each other's hands. Sam sits down to Colby’s right and Amanda sits in the chair to the right of Sam with her headphones in her hand along with a notebook.

“Okay, are we ready to start?” Sam asks and we all nod.

“Okay, then. We are in the seance room,” Sam explains for the camera, “Where Ed Lorraine Warren performed a seance on Carolyn and she literally levitated.”

“She is going to wear noise canceling headphones on a spirit box,” Sam points to Amanda before pointing to his own ear. “Basically letting us know whatever she hears. We’re gonna be asking questions, kinda as we were saying we have ping pong balls, bells all over the place, the entire house.”

“Upstairs as well,” Colby adds, pointing up before grabbing my hand behind our backs again.

“So if we hear anything happening, we’ll be able to catch it,” Sam continues while Colby rubs my hand a bit and I have to hold myself back from cuddling more into him.

“Starting this recording, see if we catch any evps,” Sam states as he holds the device he’s using out for the camera to see before he sets it on the ground.

“It just said Borden,” Amanda speaks just as Sam sits back.

“Borden?” Colby questions, his eyes widening ever so slightly as Sam quickly looks at him with his hand over his lips.

“We just said that they were very similar cases,” Sam comments in shock as he looks at Colby, who agrees.

“Okay. We’re going to turn on this other spirit box, put it right here just in case we get things on it as well,” Sam explains to the camera as he holds the device up and out to the camera.

“Okay. Should we start asking questions?” Colby asks Sam, who nods.

“Yeah, let’s start,” Colby agrees and Sam nods.

“Okay. Ah, is there any spirit here that wants to talk to us?” Sam asks out into the air and we all stay quiet as we wait.

Colby turns and looks up at a corner behind me. I squeeze his hand and he squeezes mine. We stay quiet for a little more and I push the feeling of cuddling up to his side away.

“Can you please, like move something?” Sam again asks into the air and it’s quiet for a moment.

“Not Colby,” Amanda almost yells out as Sam looks at Colby, shocked.

“Isn’t that silly?” Sam asks as he points at the device on the floor.

“Kill,” comes an ominous voice from the device and Colby’s mouth falls open, as does mine. He turns to the camera before looking at me.

“Wait… Wait… Wait. Did that just say what I think it did?” I ask and Colby slowly nods to confirm my question.

“Are you a bad spirit?” Sam asks and it goes quiet again.

“Kill Colby?” Colby questions and I shake my head.

“That’s what it sounded like…” I tell him as I tighten my hold on his hand.

“All only here,” Amanda speaks and we all listen as carefully as we can.

“Is there anything here that can give us a sign at all? We have bells around this entire house. If you can, just make them ring. We want to talk to you,” Colby calls out and we all pause.

Some time passes and it just stays quiet. I continue to keep Colby’s hand tightly gripped in mine.

“I don’t like this…” I whisper into his ear and he nods in agreement.

“It’s okay. I’m right here,” Colby replies back as he rubs my hand and it again goes quiet for a while.

“There’s someone here with us,” Amanda informs us as Sam sets the device he had in his hand down on the ground.

“Can you make yourself known if you're here with us?” Sam questions and then there’s a faint shuffle sound.

Colby looks up in shock, first he looks at me, then he turns to Sam, who looks back at him with the same amount of shock. Katrina holds the phone, but after giving me a look she leans back a bit and lays the phone on her thigh. She grabs my hand and holds it like she holds Stas’s. She squeezes my hand and it helps my worry only slightly.

“Woah, what was that?” Colby asks as he looks at Sam again.

“There was a huge crack,” Sam comments as he and Colby turn away from looking at each other.

“It sounded like a shuffle almost,” Colby comments. “Was that you that just made that noise?” he goes on to ask and I squeeze his hand again.

“Yes,” comes Amanda’s voice and Colby jumps.

“Yes?” Sam asks Amanda and she nods at him as Stas lets out an “oh,” while bringing her hand up to her lips.

“Can you make a noise closer to us? We’d love for you to come sit with us,” Sam asks the spirit, making us give each other worried looks. Amanda shakes her head no and rubs her chest.

“Um… no… no,” Kat tells him, shaking her head at him. “Sam, we can’t do that,” Kat continues to tell him while still shaking her head and he just lightly grins.

“Sam, let’s not do that, unless you want to switch spots with me right now,” Stas informs him in a very matter of fact tone and suddenly the sick feeling I’ve had throughout the day comes back.

“Y/n is literally shaking after that, Sam, no,” Kat sternly comments as both her and Colby rub my hands.

“I’m okay. Just had a small bout of that sick feeling,” I inform them and Colby shakes his head.

“Sam, I second not inviting the spirit. If it’s gonna affect y/n, we don’t do it,” Colby sternly agrees with Kat and I shake my head.

“Colby. Hon, I’m okay. Honestly,” I inform him, squeezing his hand for more reassurance.

“Yo, is my chest red?” Amanda cuts in to ask as she scratches at her chest. “It felt like something just scratched me,” Amanda tells us.

“No. It doesn’t look red,” Kat replies, shaking her head.

“Ok. That scratch just felt like something is mad,” Amanda adds in and the chill of sickness comes back ever so slightly, but goes away as quickly.

“We know you’re in this room with us. Can you show yourself?” Colby asks as he rubs at his chin with his other hand and both Kat and I quickly look at him.

“Babe, why are you asking it to show itself? No,” I tell him, shaking my head before it goes quiet again and Colby lightly rubs my lower back.

“I’m here,” Amanda calls out and the sick feeling comes back for the millionth time, except this time it stays even though Colby still holds my hand.

“He’s here,” Amanda continues to say what she hears.

“Who’s here?” I ask, looking at Colby and growing a little more scared as the sick feeling slowly intensifies.

Colby shrugs as it goes quiet and stays that way. After a while of nothing coming through, Sam decides to switch places with Amanda. Colby picks up the device Sam had put on the ground, then scoots down to the end of the couch and I scoot after him.

“Alright, Sam’s trying this now. Do we have somebody-” Colby starts as he looks around, but the voice from the device cuts him off.

“News,” the device’s voice speaks out and Colby turns back to look at the device in his hand.

“News?” Colby repeats it in confusion.

“News?” Stas asks and Colby repeats it, nodding.

“Did you have any news for us?” Stas asks softly and Colby scratches his forehead.

“Is there news that you want to tell us?” Colby asks.

“No, there was a hanging in the barn. A noose,” Amanda cuts in and another chill runs down my back.

“Noose. Interesting," Colby comments as Stas hums. The sick feeling continues to get worse and worse, but for some reason I can’t get any words out.

“Just ask,” Sam speaks as he holds a hand over his right earphone.

“Were you the person that got hung here?” Stas asks as I try to open my mouth and talk, but my tongue feels heavy and my mouth just won’t move.

“Help,” Sam again speaks out what he hears.

“Are you the spirit that tormented the Perron family?” Amanda asks. “No one ask another question for a moment,” Amanda informs us and we all stay quiet.

“God,” Sam says out loud and now I try to squeeze Colby’s hand to tell him how I’m feeling, but it’s like I’m just frozen and can’t.

“Don’t ask anything else. Wait,” Amanda adds in and again everyone is silent.

“Not here,” Sam again says what he heard.

“Who are you?” Amanda asks. “Are you the demon that tormented the Perron family?” Amanda again asks, only this time a little more sternly.

We wait for a few minutes with no response coming from Sam. Finally the sick feeling seems to just wash away and I’m confused.

“Possible,” Sam says, making me stop to listen and forget about it. “Freedom,” he continues to tell us what he hears.

“Are you- are you- can you not leave? Are you trapped here?” Amanda asks as she tries to figure it all out.

“Do you need to escape?” Colby asks as he looks over at Amanda.

“Modern gate,” Sam says and Amanda seems to get involved more now.

“Is there-” Amanda starts to ask, but then Sam says, “Limits,” repeating what he hears.

“Is there some kind of gate or limit and reason you're not allowed to leave this home?” Amanda continues her question and we all pause.

“Though,” Colby reads the word on his device out loud.

“Are you trying-” Colby starts to ask something, but gets cut off by Sam saying “Found me”.

“I was literally just about to say I feel like we connected-” Amanda starts, but Sam cuts her off again with “Coat.”

“There was a guy right over here,” Amanda explains as she points over to her left. “He looks like a soldier.”

“Really? Like the story of the seven soldiers?” Colby asks as Stas hums.

“He looks like one of the three that I saw walking outside. He’s in like, like-” Amanda tries to explain, but Sam cuts her off with a “Believe.”

“Believe?” Colby questions as Amanda gives a look of confusion.

“He’s in light colored clothes,” Amanda explains with a look of worry.

“Hello, Protect,” Sam again says now and we all look at each other with even more confusion.

“Why would he say protect? Protect what?” I finally find my words again and Colby squeezes my hand.

“I don’t know, but I was literally about to say, he wants to talk to us,” Amanda adds as we all look at each other.

“Focus,” Sam speaks out again.

“We need to believe and focus more?” Colby guesses as he sighs, rubbing his face.

“Do you remember the Perron family?” Colby asks and it goes quiet for another moment as Colby sits with his hand on his closed eye.

“Be with me,” Sam says what he’d heard and again the sick feeling creeps up.

“We’re here?” Colby says, confused before it falls silent again for a good while.

“Underground,” Sam eventually speaks out.

“Underground…” Colby repeats under his breath.

“Basement,” Colby adds in realization.

“Do you wanna-” Amanda starts to ask, but Sam cuts her off, saying “Stuck.”

“Are you stuck in the basement? Do you want us to go down in the basement?” Amanda asks, but again there’s no response as we wait a while.

“Please,” Sam finally speaks up.

“What’s in the basement?” Amanda asks and after she does, there’s a knock that sounds off.

“Heaven,” Sam says and soon it goes quiet again.

We wait about a minute before Sam pulls the headphones off and gives Colby an incredulous look.

“Whoa,” Colby comments as he lets out a breath.

“What happened?” Sam asks after he sees Colby’s reaction.

“We think there’s a soldier here that is just saying that he wants us to be with him and like that he’s been trying to escape this sort of hell and find heaven, but he can’t,” Colby explains and Sam nods understandably.

“Also when we said, like, ‘do you want us to go to the basement’, you said please,” Stas chimes in and helps explain what happened to Sam.

“I wrote down some things. I wrote ‘not ever out’ and ‘protect’. Those are the things that stuck out most,” Amanda informs Sam as she clicks her pen and reads over the words.

“It was really difficult to hear when you guys weren’t asking questions,” Sam informs us as he looks away for a moment then back.

“Yeah, when we were all quiet, we just tried to be quiet for a couple times, you would never say anything,” Colby explains as he points at Sam.

“Weird!” Sam explains as his eyes widen.

“Yeah! That- that’s weird,” Stas agrees in a shocked tone.

“I didn’t even think about that,” Amanda adds into the conversation.

“True… yeah,” Kat says, nodding and smiling a little.

“What the f***?” Sam questions in astonishment.

“Anyone else wanna try to see what we’ll get?” Sam asks as he looks between all of us.

“I think I will,” Colby speaks up and he goes to get up after Sam nods.

“Colby. I don’t know. Something feels off,” I tell him as I hold onto his arm.

“It’ll be okay, babe, I’m sure it’s just nerves,” Colby replies before he leaves a kiss on my cheek.

I sigh, shaking my head as he gets up, switching places with Sam. As soon as he leaves, the sick feeling comes crashing down on me tenfold. I try to call out to tell them, but like before my tongue feels like dead weight in my mouth. I watch helplessly as he sits there with the headphones over his ears and Sam holds the device. Tears form in my water line, but for some reason I can’t actually shed any.

To Be Continued….

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callmedaleelah · 2 months ago

Text

i’m gonna love you like it’s the last night

[ suguru geto psychological fiction au series ] - i

author’s note ; angst, mental health issues, heartbreak trope, long written chapter, no mention of (y/n), english is not my first language

[ master-list ] | [ ask daleelah go to box box 🐭 ]

You sit in the hospital’s waiting area, legs crossed, fingers nervously tapping the armrest of the chair. The room smells like antiseptic, its harsh, sterile scent settling uncomfortably in your nose. The gentle murmur of people coming and going barely registers; your mind is occupied by the weight of your thoughts.

It’s been six months since you were discharged from the psychiatric hospital, and today’s therapy session was just a routine check-in. But your thoughts have been restless, especially after a particularly sleepless night. The weight of the past still lingers. You’ve made progress, sure, but some wounds take more time to heal than others.

You’re staring blankly at the receptionist's desk when you hear a familiar sound—a low, deep voice that pulls you out of your head. Your heart skips a beat. You tilt your head slightly, just enough to see him from the corner of your eye.

Suguru.

He’s walking down the hallway, flanked by a few others who seem engrossed in conversation with him. Dressed in a tailored suit, he looks striking, his presence commanding the space. His long hair is slicked back, and even from a distance, you can tell that time has been kind to him. Too kind.

The sight of him, so composed, so put together, is like a punch to your chest. Your throat tightens, your hands clamp together as they grow cold, and you force yourself to stare down at your lap. Your heartbeat quickens, thudding in your ears so loudly that it drowns out everything else.

After two years—two long, agonizing years—you never expected to see him again, let alone here, in a place that has become so intricately tied to your pain and healing. You want to disappear. You want him to walk past without seeing you, without knowing how far you’ve fallen since the last time you spoke.

But then, as if defying your silent prayer, you hear the unmistakable sound of his footsteps approaching. The air feels thick, heavy, almost suffocating, as his shoes come into view in front of you.

You freeze.

There’s no escape.

"I didn’t expect to meet you here," Suguru’s voice, calm and steady, cuts through the thick tension. It’s too familiar, yet it feels distant—like a memory you’ve tried so hard to bury. His presence is overwhelming, and before you can process what’s happening, he sits beside you.

Your body tenses, every muscle tightening in a futile attempt to hold yourself together. The room feels too small, the air too thin. You glance at him, briefly, and then back down at your hands, struggling to find something—anything—to say. Your throat feels dry, your palms sweating.

“Probably because you didn’t expect to see me at all,” you finally manage, trying to inject a bit of humor into your words, but your voice is shaky. You’re not sure if the joke lands, but you see the faintest curve of a smile on his lips.

The sight of that smile does something to you—it sends a ripple of old, buried emotions surging to the surface, emotions you’ve spent months trying to suppress. He still has that effect on you. And that terrifies you.

Suguru’s eyes, dark and intense, flicker with a hint of something—surprise, maybe? But he quickly masks it, just like he always does. His calm demeanor never falters. He was always so composed, always in control, and now, sitting next to you, he’s no different. He looks so calm, so unaffected, while you feel like you’re barely keeping it together.

"How are you doing?" he asks gently, his voice soft but probing.

You hesitate. Your chest tightens, and for a moment, you think about lying, about brushing off the question with a simple, empty answer. But something in his gaze makes you pause, forces you to confront the truth that’s been gnawing at you for so long.

“You mean how I’m doing recently or how I’m doing after you, you know—” you glance at him, giving him a small, awkward smile. “—left me.”

The words hang between you like a fragile thread, and for a second, you see his composed mask crack. Just a little. His eyes widen, barely noticeable, but it’s there. He wasn’t expecting you to say it out loud.

He regains his composure quickly, nodding slightly, his calm exterior firmly back in place.

"If you mean how I’m doing recently, I’m fine," you continue, trying to keep your voice steady. "Yeah, I found a new hobby.”

Suguru’s brow arches, a faint look of curiosity crossing his face. "Oh? What is it?"

You let out a dry laugh, more for your own comfort than anything else. “Running. It clears my mind, you know? I only think about managing my breath."

You watch as Suguru chuckles softly at your words, the sound sending a pang through your chest. It’s almost too much—this casual conversation, this normalcy, when everything between you feels so broken.

Then, his voice lowers, and with a slight tilt of his head, he asks the question you were dreading.

"And how were you doing after, you know—i left you?"

For a moment, everything stops. The world narrows down to just you and him, sitting side by side in that cold, sterile hospital waiting room. You blink, trying to process his words, but it feels like they’ve stabbed you in the chest.

You swallow hard, forcing yourself to answer. “I don’t really remember much about it,” you say, your voice quieter now. “But long story short, I survived.”

There’s a pause. A long, excruciating pause, where neither of you speaks. Your heart is racing, and your palms are sweating again, but you keep your gaze fixed on your hands, avoiding his eyes at all costs. You can feel the weight of his stare on you, the intensity of it burning into your skin.

Suguru shifts slightly in his seat, his fingers twitching as if he wants to say something but doesn’t know how. His presence is overwhelming, and every second that passes feels like an eternity.

"And how are you doing, Suguru?" you ask, your voice strained. Saying his name again feels wrong. It feels foreign on your tongue, like something you shouldn’t be saying anymore.

"I’m good," he answers quickly, too quickly. "Been busy with work.”

You nod, but his words hit you harder than you expect. "Good." He’s been good. Meanwhile, you’ve been drowning, barely keeping your head above water, and he’s been fine.

You nod, trying to keep your expression neutral, but the tightness in your chest tells a different story. The words “I’m good” echo in your mind like a cruel reminder of the contrast between his life and yours. You bounce your leg nervously, wishing your name would be called, wishing this awkwardness would end. Every second with him feels like standing on the edge of a cliff, and you’re one wrong word away from falling apart.

“Then I better not hold you up from work,” you mumble, your voice barely audible. You glance down at the floor, avoiding his eyes again, but you can still feel his gaze on you. It’s heavy, lingering, like he’s searching for something in your expression that you can’t afford to give.

Suguru hesitates, as if he’s contemplating whether to stay or leave. His fingers drum lightly on the armrest, a nervous habit you recognize from the past. But finally, he speaks again, his voice low, almost cautious.

“Why are you here?”

You freeze at the question. The truth is something you’ve been avoiding, even with yourself, but there’s no way to dodge it now. You take a deep breath, your fingers gripping the hem of your shirt as you try to summon the courage to speak.

“Therapy,” you say softly, still not looking at him. The word feels raw on your tongue, exposing a vulnerability you’ve tried so hard to hide. You hate that he’s seeing you like this—broken, fragile, not the person you once were.

“Oh,” is all he manages, and the silence that follows is suffocating.

You can feel the shift in him, the weight of his realization settling between you. His calm facade falters for just a second, but it’s enough for you to catch the flash of pain in his eyes. His jaw tightens, and he looks down, as if trying to make sense of it all.

You clear your throat, trying to break the tension, but the lump in your throat remains. “How’s work?” you ask, your voice shaky. Anything to steer the conversation away from your mental health. You’re not ready for that. Not with him.

Suguru’s expression softens, though his eyes are still clouded with concern. “Busy,” he repeats, though it feels more like a reflex than an actual answer. “Our company’s expanding, working with medical institutions. That’s why I’m here.”

“Sounds important,” you say, your voice strained as you force a smile that doesn’t reach your eyes.

He nods, but you can see the discomfort in his posture. He shifts in his seat again, like there’s something he wants to say but doesn’t know how to. The Suguru you knew was always in control, always calm and collected, but now there’s a tension between you that neither of you can ignore.

“How was university?” he asks, as if searching for a safe topic, a neutral ground where things won’t feel so heavy. “I’m sorry i didn’t come to your graduation last year like i… promised,”

You wince at the question, and for a moment, you don’t answer. It’s not something you want to talk about, not here, not now. But you know you can’t avoid it forever. You force yourself to meet his gaze, and when you do, you see the faintest flicker of worry in his eyes.

“No, it’s okay—I haven’t graduated,” you admit quietly, and his eyes widen in surprise. “I dropped out last year.”

The shock on his face is palpable, and for the first time since he sat down, you see his calm facade crack completely. “What?”

You swallow hard, the words coming out thick, like they’re stuck in your throat. “Last year… was harder than I expected. My cognitive function got… messed up. That’s what the doctors said, after my aunt brought me to the psychiatric hospital.”

Suguru blinks, his expression unreadable as the reality of your situation sinks in. His eyes are glistening now, but he blinks quickly, forcing back the tears that threaten to spill. You’ve never seen him cry—not once in all the years you knew him. But the sight of him fighting his emotions now nearly breaks you.

You force yourself to keep going, though your chest feels tight, like there’s a weight pressing down on you. “I couldn’t… think. I couldn’t focus on anything.” You pause, swallowing the lump in your throat as tears well up in your eyes. “I thought… losing you was hard enough. But then I tried to live without you and… it was worse.”

Your voice cracks at the last word, and you quickly wipe away a tear that escapes down your cheek. The silence between you feels unbearable now, the weight of your words settling into the space like a heavy fog.

“I didn’t know there was life after you, Suguru,” you whisper, your voice barely above a breath. “I couldn’t eat. I couldn’t sleep. Some days I couldn’t even get out of bed. But other nights… I wanted to sleep forever. It was like I couldn’t control anything—my mind, my body. It was all too much.”

You finally meet his gaze, and the look in his eyes breaks something inside you. His calm exterior is gone now, replaced by raw emotion, his eyes wide with guilt and pain. His lips part as if he wants to speak, but no words come out. He’s stunned, frozen, unable to process what you’ve just told him.

Your breath is shaky as you try to pull yourself together, your hands trembling as you wipe away another tear. “I swear… I tried to let you go,” you continue, your voice barely holding together. “I thought if I just stopped thinking about you, I’d be okay. But it wasn’t that simple. It was like… there was no life without you in it.”

Suguru inhales sharply, his hands clenching into fists as he struggles to contain the surge of emotions coursing through him. His chest rises and falls with each shaky breath, his calm, collected facade shattered completely. His eyes are glassy with unshed tears, his lips pressed into a tight line as if he’s physically restraining himself from breaking down.

“I’m so sorry,” he finally whispers, his voice thick with emotion. “I never… I didn’t realize how much I hurt you.”

You look away, unable to meet his eyes any longer. The intensity of the moment is too much, the raw emotion too overwhelming. Your chest feels like it’s been ripped open, exposing every vulnerable part of you that you’ve tried to protect for so long.

You hear Suguru exhale shakily, the sound of his breath unsteady as he tries to compose himself. But when you glance at him again, you see the tears welling in his eyes, threatening to spill over.

“I… didn’t know,” he says softly, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’m sorry.”

The apology hangs in the air between you, heavy with the weight of everything that’s been left unsaid. And for the first time in a long time, you see Suguru not as the calm, composed man he’s always been, but as someone who’s just as lost as you are.

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