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gghostwriter · 3 months ago

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A Series of Happenstance

Spencer Reid x House!Daughter!Reader

Summary: The three times Spencer loathed to see you and the one time he pleaded to Trope:Angst; think post Tobias Spencer Reid w.c: 5.2k Disclaimer: I am no way a medical personnel, least of all a psychiatrist so there will be medical inaccuracies A/N: this is part one of my house!daughter series and it’s angst, babes. Spencer is just mean and lashing out here which is totally understandable. It also took a while since writing such heavy pieces of fiction takes a toll on me but I hope, especially to the ones who were excited for this series, love it still. Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated! 💗 masterlist

The first meeting

Spencer didn’t want to be here—here being in this cream colored, four cornered room, facing off the ultimate nemesis of profiler. Not an unsolvable case, not an unsub, but rather a psychiatrist contracted by the FBI for psych evaluation.

He was fine, he insisted to Hotch. He can compartmentalize well, he rationalized to Gideon. He just needed rest and the comfort of his own bed, he stated to the whole team. But protocols were protocols and his unit chief was a stickler to rules especially when it involved the care for his team.

That was how he found himself on a Tuesday afternoon, sitting in silence and watching the ticking of the clock as if it was the most interesting piece of art there was.

The tension was stifling. Spencer could almost see it tainting his vision red. Biting the insides of his cheek, he wanted to keep everything in.

No, he needed to.

He knew he was being rude, petulant even but for once, he didn’t have it in him to care. He didn’t know you. You were a complete stranger being paid by the government to report back any findings that could keep him out of the field. It wasn’t fair. You were just accepting the call of duty but you bore the brunt of his ire and hostile gaze.

In the normal setting, he would have found you intriguing. Your office colored in taupe—cold, distant, and linked to the desire to escape from the world but in the farthest side of the room was a shelf littered with books and small knick knacks that seemed to be collected over the years rather than curated to match the professional setting. The books ranged from published psychology dissertations, medical teaching materials, and collections of essays from well-revered and obscure writers.

You were dressed in black and white, standard for your importance, but your nails were painted in a pale pink color—close to looking natural but not quite. And lastly, your looks.

You were beautiful, don’t get him wrong, he may not have the same experiences as Morgan did with the opposite sex but he knows a beautiful attractive woman when he sees one. No, it wasn’t that, it was how young you looked—almost or maybe even sharing the same age as him.

A genius, then.

A prodigy in your own field just like him.

“Doctor Reid,” the low timber of your voice bringing him out of his musings. It sent a shiver down his spine when he first heard you speak. A reaction that he catalogued in his mind as a mystery to be revisited later on.

He subtly tilted his head to the side, an indication that you had his attention albeit reluctantly.

“Anything you say in this room is strictly confidential,” you gestured with your hand. “No file or notes will be passed to your unit chief or any personnels of the brass. I promise you.”

He scoffed, breaking his vow of silence. “That’s not a hundred percent true, Doctor. Lying to get your patient to talk can only get you so far.”

“I understand where you’re coming from but all I submit to the FBI is my conclusion if you’re fit to go back to work or not, patient-confidentiality still stands—” your delicate fingers feebly holding your pen. “Now, I sensed a little resentment. Is it coming from your self-loathing about having to choose a victim for Tobias Hankel or is it your displaced anger from separating with your team liaison, Agent Jareau?”

He glared at you. How dare you imply the seething anger from within him is directed at anyone but himself. “What? No, no, no. I’m not angry at anything or anyone! Maybe at you and this whole evaluation but never at JJ or—” he cut himself off.

“The suspect,” you continued on for him, jotting down notes on your black leather journal.

“The unsub. Unknown subject.” He corrected, second nature of him to do so. “We call them the unsub.”

You nodded, a lock of hair falling away from your bun. A distracting motion that momentarily rendered him speechless. “Alright. Are you angry at yourself and your decision to separate with Agent Jareau during the case?”

He scoffed but opted to stay silent. Spencer had already given too much of his emotion away by answering the earlier questions.

For any regular citizen, it may seem like the opposite but given the sound of you scribbling away on the pages of the notebook, you beg to differ.

You crossed your pant covered leg and stared into his eyes, a maneuver that could mean two things: 1) you were sizing him up, which was highly unlikely given the dynamics, regardless of his hostility or 2) you were trying to connect with him, a move backed by science that stated eye contact releases oxytocin—a bonding hormone.

A study he didn’t want to prove right at the moment.

“Do you perhaps feel remorse for the unsub?”

His left eye twitched. “Tobias Hankel.”

“Is there a reason behind why you’d prefer to call the unsub by name?” You further asked, having found a sore subject to poke and prod to elicit a reaction.

The answer was yes, of course. Tobias was just a victim as much as he, Spencer Reid, was—the unsub, in his eyes, was a victim of bad fate that resulted in fracturing his psyche but a shrink didn’t need to know that.

To be exact, the FBI didn’t need to know that he, an active and upstanding agent, felt remorse and guilt for not being able to save Tobias. Human emotion rarely had a place in bureaucracy and paperwork.

“How old are you?” Spencer nonchalantly inquired to throw you off his trail. “You look too young to be a Doctor contracted by the brass.”

You scribbled something again in your notebook before answering in a monotone voice as if your reply has been well rehearsed. “24, about to turn 25 and yes, I do look young. I graduated early due to my intelligence which I believe is the same case for you, Doctor—” you clasped your hands in front of you, leaning slightly forward. “—which brings us back to the topic, the anger inside of you, who is it directed to?”

His eyes shifted to the clock—5pm.

A small smile graced his face. The time was up.

“Well, I believe we’re done here, Doctor—” he proceeded to stand up, picking on an imaginary lint as he did so. “—I would say it’s been nice meeting you but that would be a lie you’d no doubt catch and analyze.”

Your lips pressed thinly together, imitating a smile but Spencer knew that move quite well—you were reining in any unsolicited and possibly inappropriate comment regarding his snappy behavior.

A small chuckle escaped his lips. If he, a profiler, considered you, a psychiatrist, his number one nemesis, there was no doubt you consider him the same.

As he was about to step out of the office, your slender fingers brandished a calling card.

“Here’s my number—” he gingerly took it as if it contained some unknown pathogen. “—and my door is always open when you’re ready to talk, Doctor Reid.”

He nodded once, a goodbye. “Doctor House.”

There was little doubt in Spencer’s mind that he’d never willingly stop by your office again but if he had been paying attention to your subtle patronizing words of farewell, he would have picked up that this encounter was far from over.

Especially when he found out on a busy Tuesday morning from Hotch that you had deemed him unfit to return back to the field—effectively barring him from the jet on its way to Idaho.

The second meeting

There was a series of rapid knocks on your office door.

As a psychiatrist with your own practice, it was highly unusual for clients to suddenly show up with no prior appointments or even a customary phone call.

It was a Tuesday morning and like clockwork, you’ve allotted the first half of the day in catching up with paperwork dealing with your office and evaluations for the FBI.

That gave you a pause, remembering a snipping agent who you deemed unfit for duty. Dr. Spencer Reid. The genius profiler who joined the ranks at the tender age of 22. A prodigy in his old field, just like you.

He was closed off, simmering with rage almost, and there was little doubt in your mind that he was the one behind the door, ceaselessly knocking. After all, when you sent in your evaluation directly to his unit chief, the stoic man’s face twitched with concern and maybe a little bit of annoyance in the paperwork it would entail.

“Come in,” you called out, hands clasping together on top of your desk. A perfect picture of professionalism.

The door swung open, revealing a tightly wounded Dr. Spencer Reid.

With a thick cardigan adorning on his body and a leather satchel draped over his shoulders to his front, he looked normal. But you knew better, his choice of outerwear represented a security blanket in the middle of September and his placement of satchel acted as a shield and its’ straps a stress ball. With just that one look you knew he wasn’t ready to back with his team.

“Dr. Reid, what can I do for you?” You asked, hand unclasping and indicating to the seat in front of you. “Please sit.”

Closing the door behind him, he shuffled closer to your desk but made no indication to sit down. “I’d rather stand, Dr. House, and I think you know why I’m here.”

A show of dominance. Right away, he wanted control the outcome of this conversation to his favor. It was textbook psychology, a taunt you wanted no part of.

A slight smile appeared on your face, one that could be translated as friendly for those open and condescending for those closed off. “I believe I don’t follow.”

“My evaluation, you made a mistake,” the left corner of his mouth lifting for a smirk. There was a vein visible on his temple, his anger and will to bottle it up manifesting physically.

You tilted your head to the side, unwavering in your gaze, hands clasped and index fingers tapping together. The pause and silence was a standard tactic to get a patient to break, similar to what law enforcement uses with suspects but results may vary especially when used on a seasoned profiler.

Right away, Spencer understood your tactic. “That won’t work. We use that in every case, I know the standard—” he looked around the room. “—should I lower the temperature too?”

You answered with silence. The agent in front of you now was no longer thinking clearly. His objective mind that would deem him fit to return for duty clouded with emotion, anger and something else.

His right hand touched above his left wrist. A subconscious move provoked by your unrelenting gaze. A move that gave away an important piece of information that his unit chief no doubt omitted in the reports.

Ah.

Tobias Hankel was a drug addict.

And in turn has subjected the agent in front of you to his vices.

You sighed. Suddenly the case no longer felt black and white, it was treading close to home as you remembered your father who’s abusing Vicodin in lieu of his leg pain. It was a sore spot for you—a clink in your armor.

“Sit, please,” you indicated to the chair in front of you again.

Spencer complied this time, having heard a change in your tone.

“Dr Reid,” you started. “I believe my evaluation of you is still correct—”

He opened his mouth to argue.

“—but, please let me finish, perhaps we can compromise. As a psychiatrist, it’s not in my practice to give in to my client’s demands but as you are not a regular client, I believe it would be beneficial for the both of us to reach an understanding.”

You walked towards the locked cabinet to your right. It was where you kept all medical equipments—including medicine for patients. Reaching back to the depths of the lower shelf, your hand brought out a non-descriptive black pouch from its hiding. You sat beside Spencer, effectively communicating that you are both on the same level.

“I will approve your return for duty as long as you come back for a couple of sessions, not FBI contracted, strictly confidential, and you—” handing him the zipped pouch before continuing on. “—get drug tested.”

Spencer narrowed his eyes. Perhaps he knew that his unit chief and mentor kept the delicate nature of his case out of the bureau and wondered how you pieced everything together. He underestimated you, you realized. A mistake on his end.

“I’m a psychiatrist, I know the signs Dr. Reid, and besides, I’m a genius just like you,” you adjusted your posture, slightly leaning back.

Check.

He smiled, one that you could say no longer contained malice. It was instead filled with resignation and relief. “You’re right. I underestimated you, Dr. House.”

Standing up, you dusted imaginary lint from your black pencil skirt before extending your hand out for a handshake.

He hesitated before reaching over shaking it once. His hands were rough and calloused from frequent holding of his gun but felt oddly warm and soothing. It represented who he was in your eyes—prickly and rough around the edges but soft and good on the inside.

As he exited your office with a soft thud of the door behind him, you admitted to yourself that you took a huge gamble. Rather than a checkmate, all you did was check his king. You didn’t ask if he had built his own stash of drugs after the case was finished. It was a risk you were willing to take just to take a step closer in getting the agent to trust you. Baby steps were better than nothing. You could work with that.

There was still the drug test you could rely on. A black and white piece of paper that would tell the truth if done at the right time. After all, the most important teaching your father, the older Dr. House, has imparted on you was—

Everybody lies.

The third meeting

The bar at the corner Main Street on a Friday night was a rare place for you to be. The echoes of its pulsing music could be heard a couple of shops away, luring bodies than the space could ever handle like it were Pied Piper and the people—by extension, you, were the unsuspecting kids. The lights were colored orange, giving the area a tint of good times and bad decisions. The aged brick walls discolored in a multitude of shades and the decorative posters were aimlessly nailed to the wall. There was a section far from the bar that was filled with moving bodies—people letting loose and exhibiting what you’d call a mating dance for anyone interested and beside the bar were two dart boards, popular with the crowd, but had seen better days.

This wasn’t your usual scene as you excused your way to the bar tucked at the center space. It wasn’t due to snobbery, like what your friend Kyle once joked, it was preference.

The sticky floor beneath your sensible nude heels had you wishing that your feet were tucked in a soft blanket with mind numbing television playing in the background instead of navigating the throng of people holding their drink of choice and inhaling the musky scent of liquor and sweat.

“Haven’t seen you around here,” a tenor voice flirted from beside you.

Your eyebrow raised as you took in the source—a burly African-American with a buzzcut. There was something distinct about him that set him apart from the rest. It wasn’t his built or the way his grey shirt stretched to fit around his biceps. It also wasn’t the twinkle in his eye as he tried to entice you to flirt back. One of his hands drifted down to his waist and with his wide leg stance, you knew.

A cop. An off duty law enforcement officer.

You laughed. “Does that line usually work on women, especially from—” you paused for suspense. ”—a cop?”

“Okay,” the stranger chuckled. “Close, want to try again?”

A smile stretched your glossed pink lips. You were never one to back away from a challenge—it was one of the traits you inherited from the other Dr House.

“Well, if we’re basing it on where the bar is located nearby and my fifty percent guess from a while ago, I’d say you were a cop—maybe for a couple of years, before joining the FBI. Maybe counter terrorism—” the memory of Dr. Reid talking about his team found its way to the forefront of your mind. “—or by any chance, the BAU?”

He could no longer hide the surprise from his face. “Right, that’s right. What gave it away? Was it my ruggedly handsome looks or are you just a mind reader?”

You thanked the bartender before trying to find your way out of the surge of people behind you, clamoring to place their order. The stranger stretched out his muscular arms, guiding you away from the bar towards his booth.

“Just a mind reader,” you simplified—an action that came as second nature to you. In the past, when you would disclose your job as a psychiatrist, people would react in two ways. One, they’d get subconscious that you’d read into every body language they’d have, causing them to shy away or two, they’d become over-zealous and ask you to diagnose them all in good fun like it was some sort of magician’s trick.

A mop of light brown curly hair parked beside a long blonde hair caught your periphery. He had his back turned but it was a presence you’ve slowly started getting familiar with. It was Dr. Spencer Reid, out in the natural setting, a first.

Your eyes slowly widened as you realized where he was guiding you and who he might be.

“Huh,” you uttered under your breath before flashing a smile to the stranger beside you. “Are you by any chance, Derek Morgan?”

“Okay, now you’re starting to freak me out. How’d you do that, Ms. Mind Reader?”

A different timber of voice answered. “It’s because I told her—” a pair of hazel eyes turned to you, filled with accusation. “—Dr. House. Are you keeping tabs on me?”

“Dr. Reid, I didn’t think I’d see you here.”

He scoffed. “In a bar? Near my office? The statistics on seeing me here is actually surprisingly high.”

He was hostile, understandably so as here you were, a stranger, who knows his deepest, darkest secret mixing in with the otherwise innocent parties of his personal life. It was no harm, caused no click in your armor—he’d been cooperative as of the late within the confines of your office but seeing you beyond the four corners of your taupe walls threw him off the loop.

“I’m so sorry, I don’t think I caught your name,” the blonde woman beside Spencer, flashed you a smile, hand stretching out for a handshake. “I’m Jennifer Jareau, but you can call me JJ.”

You shook her hand. “Ah, it’s great to meet you, Agent Jareau.”

“So, how do you know Spence?”

You smiled, unsure on how to disclose your psychiatrist-patient relationship with someone he works with. You didn’t know how much his team members knew about his scheduled Saturday meetings with you or if they even knew at all what Dr. Reid was going through.

From the past appointments, you’ve categorized the agent as an anxious avoidant type—something geniuses who grew up in a non-secure household tend to share. Yourself, included.

Your eyes glanced at Spencer before drifting towards the table behind him, subtly trying to figure out his choice of drink. You hoped it was non-alcoholic. He’d be suffering from withdrawals and if he clung to a substitute vice, you’d have to find a roundabout way to tackle the issue without pushing him to close off again. You didn’t need that, he was just starting to open up after all, plus if he stopped cooperating, you’d have no choice but to bring it up to his supervisors, jeopardizing his career.

A clear glass came into view as he shuffled his weight from one foot to the other.

Water. It was water.

You breathed a sigh of relief before slowly panning up, locking eyes with Dr. Reid. His gaze narrowed, having understood what you were checking on.

Checkmate.

“She’s FBI’s contracted psychiatrist,” he explained, jaw tight from anger.

You flashed him a little smile before averting your eyes in chagrin.

“I hope you don’t mind me saying this, but you look a little to young to be a licensed doctor,” Agent Jareau observed.

“I graduated early.”

Morgan’s left hand pats your back while the other pats Dr. Reid’s. “Another genius, then. You’d get along great with our pretty boy over here. He’s always going on and on about facts and statistics—“

“No offense Morgan, but I don’t think we’d get along at all,” Spencer sneered. “I’d rather not get to know someone who has an ulterior motive.”

Your hand tightened around your glass. “It’s great to meet you, Agent Jareau and Agent Morgan but I think my friends would be looking for me,” you flashed the young agent a dejected smile. “Dr. Reid, hope to see you again soon.”

“I don’t,” he sardonically replied.

You nodded once before turning back to where you friends would be, settled in the four seater booth, unaware that you may have just burned the rocky bridge you’ve built with a patient in need.

The fourth meeting

A warbled hum roused you from slumber.

With one eye straining to stay open, the digital clock on your dresser displayed 12:21. Midnight—the time for humans to all be in stupor but based on the humming, subdued underneath your pillow, there was one exception.

You sat up, blindly reaching for the phone. There was no programmed name for the number and right away, an eerie feeling started swirling in your gut. This was no social call. A call this hour could only be one thing, an emergency.

“Hello. Who is this?” Your voice still rough from sleep.

No answer.

You pressed the phone closer to your ear, hard enough to possibly leave a mark. There were light rustles on the other end that indicated a presence, a person that wouldn’t or couldn’t answer your inquiry.

“Hello,” you tried again, voice raising at the end from tension. “Is anyone there?”

There was silence. The dread in your stomach further worsening as if group of bats decided to wreak havoc in its dark crevices. There was no indication that this was a prank call and there was also no indication that it wasn’t.

You bit your lip, torn between hanging up and waiting for an existence to make itself known. It could be nothing or it could be—your train of thought suddenly taking a sharp left turn to the corner that a certain FBI agent unknowingly occupies. You had given him your number, having scrawled it at the back of your calling card during the very first meeting, purely out of the goodness of trying to put back the broken genius that graced and intrigued your doors.

“Dr. Spencer Reid?” You hesitantly asked, hoping that your intuition was wrong. That this wasn’t the agent calling for help.

A deep groan answered.

“Oh gods,” you breathed out. “Okay, okay. Just—shit, just stay on the line. I’m coming, I swear. Just—fuck.” Your feet scrambled out of the apartment, never mind the lights or the chill that the midnight had cloaked the air with.

It was your worst nightmare. You knew what this call was, you knew his state on the other side of the phone by experience.

Hands trembling as you started the ignition of your car and speedily backing up the parking lot and out the streets in little time.

“Spencer,” formality be damned at this point as you turned a sharp right, your GPS indicating 8 minutes away from destination. “Spencer, are you still there?”

A light rustle replied.

“I’m almost there, hang on for me, okay,” your hand letting go of the steering wheel to push the tousled hair away from your face.

Each second felt like an eternity, each time passed threatened to push your mind into the fog of panic and memory of your very own father taking a whole bottle of Oxycodone and leaving a message for you and your grandmother. The panic, the fear, and the dread of that very moment had come back in two folds.

Your clammy fingers leaving pinch marks on the back of your palm. “Not now, not now,” you whispered to yourself. “I can’t have an attack now, keep it together.”

“Dr. House,” Spencer gravely slurred.

You haphazardly parked the car at the nearest available sidewalk space, uncaring if by some miracle you get ticketed. “I’m here, Spencer. I’m here.”

There was a groan as you hurriedly ran up the apartment stairs, grateful that the security below was surprisingly lax.

Third floor, get to the third floor. I need to get to the third floor—you repeated under your breath. You could have called an ambulance or better yet his team member, SSA Derek Morgan, but you felt the urge to make sure he was alright. To make him see that someone else besides from his mother and team care about him. To make him see that life was worth living, no matter the good or the bad.

“Spencer, I’m outside your door,” you tried to catch your breath. “Do you think you could let me in?”

And for a few seconds, there was only the tense silence before a series of gasps and groans crescendo’ed louder and louder from the phone speaker and on the other side of the door.

Shit. You knew what those grunts of pain and pleas meant, he was seizing.

Slamming down on the ground, uncaring if your exposed knees get bruised, you sent a silent thank you to your past self for leaving a hair pin inside the pockets of your sleep shorts. Breaking and entering was yet another skill set you learned from the other Dr House and his team of skilled doctors, you just never imagined you’d be applying that knowledge in breaking and entering a federal agent’s home.

The door unlocked and you barreled your way to the living space where a frightful sight greeted you—Spencer on the floor, laying still as if he was peacefully sleeping.

“No, no, no,” you slid beside him, mind cataloguing every detail for the right action. An empty needle near his exposed right arm and an empty glass bottle of Dilaudid.

No rise and fall of the chest.

And no pulse. Medical training kicking in, you tilted his head up, clearing the pathway, and started chest compressions.

One. Two. Three—

“C’mon, Spencer, breathe,” you grunted in between pumps.

One. Two. Three. Four—

You leaned down to his chapped lips, blowing air to his mouth. “I need you to breathe for me, okay. Breathe, Spencer.”

One. Two. Three. Four. Five—

“Breathe, c’mon Spencer,” you knew there was a high probability for the agent to have his own stash of narcotics and in by agreeing to keep his secret, lest he loses his badge, to get him to open up was a gamble. A risk you were now regrettably paying for.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six—

“Dammit Spencer, I could lose my license for this. Breathe, I need you to breathe.”

A sputtering of coughs escaped his lips.

“Oh thank you, thank you,” you breathed out, arms sagging from the pressure of performing CPR and the weight of fear that you might have been too late.

Spencer groaned. “Dr. House?”

You nodded, the salty tears blurring your vision. The image of him lying still was burned into your memory, the same way the mirage of your own father lying in a pool of his own vomit. He’s alive—they’re both alive.

Your hands angrily erased the rivulets the tears left behind on your cheeks. Now wasn’t the time to give in to relief and emotion. Although Spencer was out of the woods, there was still a huge uphill battle to tackle.

“I’ll carry you to bed, lean your weight on me,” you huffed as you helped him up the floor, making sure to take in most of his weight that you could.

The form of you, tears still streaming down your face and steps away from a breakdown, and his hunched form, weak and pliant, was a sight to behold. It was a sight after battle—after the white flag had been waved and the injured tying their best to find their way back to life.

It was sad. It was hopeful.

It was a brush on humanity’s eternal friend, death. Death that still loomed in the corners of the apartment, biding his time to take what was promised.

You laid him gently on the bed before running back to the spied kitchen, grabbing a glass of water. The smell of books permeated the air as if to try and bring your panicked mind back to the present. If it were any other day, you would have found yourself perusing his shelves of eclectic classic literature but this wasn’t the right time and place.

Your bare feet sliding across the floor to make its way back to the groaning figure on the bed, threatening to sit up.

“No,” you tapped his shoulder to get him back down. “I need you to rest.”

“But—”

“No buts Spencer. Rest, I’ll stay here.”

His drooping eyes reading yours, trying to find any type of lie that would break his being further than it already was. Spencer was a broken man and this was the first time you could see written in his eyes his plea for help and company. “You promise?”

“I’m not going anywhere. I promise.”

His hands blindly groping across the bed spread before it found the treasure it was searching for, your hand. He enveloped his with yours, calloused fingers intertwining with smooth. A contrast that brought him comfort—you were here. You were real. You felt safe. You saved him.

He was alive.

And with that, his eyes closed to fall into a peaceful slumber, one that he hadn’t had in months.

Comments and reblogs are highly appreciated!

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hellobykittys · 2 months ago

Text

𝐓𝐇𝐄 (𝐈𝐌)𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐅𝐄𝐂𝐓 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐍 ✦ 𝐂𝐋¹⁶

SUMMARY: Charles Leclerc, a Formula 1 star, faces the decline of his reputation after breaking up with art curator Alexandra Saint Mleux. Under pressure from his team, he is forced into a fake relationship with one of the most popular influencers of the moment. NOTES: English is not my first language, so there might be some writing mistakes. I apologize for that, and feel free to point out any improvements. WC: 2.6k WARNING: enemies to lovers, teasing, fake relationship

MASTERLIST | NEXT PART

The meeting room was lit by cold lights reflecting off an impeccably clean glass table. Charles Leclerc sat at the head, his chin resting on his hand, visibly bored. The tension in the air was thick, and he already knew this meeting wasn’t going to end well. Around the table, members of Ferrari’s PR team sat, along with Lorenzo Leclerc, Charles’ older brother and personal manager.

“Let’s get straight to the point,” Lorenzo began, crossing his arms. His voice carried the firmness of someone tired of useless discussions. “Charles, we need to talk about your reputation.”

Charles rolled his eyes, setting his phone down on the table.

“My reputation? You mean the circus the media makes out of everything I do?”

“It’s not a circus if you keep giving them material,” Sofia, Ferrari’s PR head, cut in. A woman with short hair and piercing eyes, Sofia was known for her blunt and impatient approach.

“Seriously?” Charles raised an eyebrow. “Now you want to control my personal life too?”

Lorenzo sighed, rubbing his temples.

“Charles, we’re not here to debate who’s right or wrong. We’re here because your image is directly affecting your career.”

“My career’s fine,” Charles shot back, crossing his arms.

Sofia slammed a folder full of tabloid clippings on the table, making a sharp noise.

“Is it? Because from what we see here, it doesn’t look like it. ‘Charles Leclerc spotted at a party until 5 AM with a mysterious model.’ ‘Ferrari driver involved in a new controversy after a fight at a club.’ This affects the sponsors, Charles. It affects the Ferrari brand.”

Charles leaned back in his chair, rubbing his face.

“Look, I get it. But what do you want me to do? Lock myself in my house?”

“Not exactly,” Sofia replied with a cold smile that made Charles immediately suspicious.

Lorenzo cleared his throat, trying to soften what was coming.

“Charles, we’ve come up with a solution that could help clean up your image quickly while you focus on what really matters: your performance on the track.”

“Great. So, what’s the plan?” he asked, clearly impatient.

Sofia leaned forward, clasping her hands on the table.

“We’re going to put you in a fake relationship.”

The silence that followed was so deep that you could hear the clock ticking on the wall. Charles blinked a few times, sure he’d misunderstood.

“You’ve got to be kidding.”

“We’re not,” Sofia replied, serious. “The idea is simple. We want to associate your image with a public figure who’s seen as positive, inspiring, and… balanced.”

“You want me to fake being in love with someone to save my reputation? This is ridiculous!”

“It’s not that simple, Charles,” Lorenzo tried to intervene. “We’re not asking you to fall in love. It’s a contract. An agreement. None of this has to be real.”

Charles laughed humorlessly, shaking his head.

“And who’s this poor soul you’ve hired for this?”

Sofia smiled, clearly expecting this question.

“Y/N.”

The name hit the silence like a shot. Charles frowned, trying to remember where he’d heard it. It didn’t take long before the girl’s face popped into his mind. She was impossible to ignore on social media, with her impeccable style, viral videos, and appearances at fashion and entertainment events.

“You’re talking about that… influencer?” he asked, incredulous.

“Not just any influencer. She’s the influencer right now,” Sofia corrected. “Everyone loves her. She’s elegant, charismatic, and has a solid fanbase. Associating with her will change the public’s perception of you.”

“You want me to fake dating a girl I barely know and who probably thinks race cars are just fancy toys?” Charles shot back, irritated.

Lorenzo took a deep breath, visibly trying to stay calm.

“Charles, no one’s saying it’ll be easy. But think of it as a strategy. Y/N isn’t just an influencer. She’s professional, ambitious, and has as much to gain from this as you do.”

“Great. So, she’s doing it for personal gain too,” Charles said sarcastically.

Sofia rolled her eyes.

“This isn’t about what she wants, it’s about what you need.”

Charles sat in silence for a few seconds, staring at the table. The idea seemed absurd. He didn’t want to give up his freedom for some farce that, deep down, made no sense to him.

“You guys must be crazy if you think I’ll agree to this,” Charles declared, suddenly standing up. His voice echoed through the room, but no one seemed surprised by his reaction.

Lorenzo sighed, already expecting this kind of response. He knew his brother too well to think he’d accept something so outside his comfort zone without resistance.

“Charles, sit down,” Lorenzo said, his voice firm and authoritative. “You have every right to be angry, but if you keep acting like a spoiled child, you won’t get anywhere.”

“A spoiled child?” Charles laughed darkly, pointing at his brother. “This coming from you, trying to convince me to join this ridiculous show. It’s my life, Lorenzo! I’m not a puppet for you guys to manipulate.”

Sofia intervened, trying to stay professional, but her patience was clearly wearing thin.

“Charles, understand this: we’re talking about your career. It’s not just about you. It’s about the team, the sponsors, the thousands of jobs that depend on Ferrari’s success. Formula 1 is a business, and in this business, your image is as important as your driving skills.”

“My driving skills should be the only thing that matters!” he shot back, pointing to himself. “I’m a driver. That’s what I do. I’m not a celebrity who needs a fake romance to get attention.”

“Don’t be naive, Charles,” Sofia replied coldly. “In today’s world, public perception is everything. You could be the best driver on the grid, but if your image keeps getting tied to scandals, no one will want to invest in you.”

Lorenzo crossed his arms, looking at his brother seriously.

“You know she’s right. You don’t have to like the idea, but you have to accept that it’s necessary.”

Charles took a deep breath, trying to calm down, but the knot in his throat only tightened. He hated the idea of being seen as someone who couldn’t control his own life, but Lorenzo and Sofia had a point: the external pressure was becoming unbearable.

“Why her?” he asked, his voice a little quieter.

Sofia gave a slight smile, as though she’d been waiting for this question.

“Because Y/N is exactly what you need. She has an impeccable reputation, knows how to handle the media, and most importantly, knows how to play the game.”

“And how are you so sure she’ll agree to this?” Charles asked, crossing his arms.

“We’ve already talked to her,” Lorenzo revealed. “She agreed. Obviously, she has her conditions, but she’s willing to collaborate.”

Charles laughed, incredulous.

“Of course she agreed. She’s probably loving the idea of being associated with me. She’ll gain even more followers and the ‘Wag’ title. That must be her dream.”

“Don’t underestimate Y/N,” Sofia warned. “She’s far from being a superficial girl. If she agreed, it’s because she saw value in the proposal, just like we did.”

Charles fell silent for a moment, processing everything that had been said. He felt a mix of anger, frustration, and, in a way, helplessness. He hated being put against the wall, but he knew refusing wouldn’t solve his problems.

“And how long is this going to last?” he asked, his disgust evident.

“The contract is for a year,” Lorenzo answered. “Long enough to solidify the lie, but short enough not to be unsustainable.”

“And what if it doesn’t work?”

“It will work,” Sofia assured him confidently.

Charles let out a heavy sigh, running his hands through his hair.

“I hate you guys.”

“Feel free to hate us all you want,” Lorenzo replied, standing up. “But do what needs to be done.”

Sofia grabbed the folder and gave one last look at Charles.

“Y/N will be here tomorrow to talk officially. Hope you’re ready.”

With that, everyone began to leave the room, leaving Charles alone. He slumped back in his chair, staring at the ceiling, trying to accept that, like it or not, his life was about to change.

The meeting room was spacious and well-lit, with glass walls offering a panoramic view of the city. Charles Leclerc was already there, on time this time, sitting next to the conference table in a relaxed yet attentive posture. He was casually flipping through a document, but his mind was elsewhere. The decision to accept the deal still felt surreal.

When the door opened, he lifted his eyes and saw Y/N entering with confident steps. She looked calm, self-assured. She wore a fitted blazer and pants that accentuated her confident posture. Her perfume reached him before her voice, subtle yet striking.

“Hope I’m not late,” she said, placing her bag on a chair and giving Charles a brief glance before looking away.

“You’re not,” he replied, giving a slight nod, observing her carefully.

Lorenzo and Sofia entered right after, carrying folders and an air of seriousness.

“Alright, now that everyone’s here, let’s get straight to the point,” Lorenzo began, taking his seat at the head of the table. “You both know how important this partnership is, both for the team and for your respective careers.”

“It’s not like we have much of a choice, right?” Y/N commented, not aggressively, but with a touch of realism.

“Not exactly,” Sofia answered, unfazed. “But we expect you to see the mutual benefit in this.”

Charles leaned his elbows on the table and glanced at Y/N for a moment before speaking.

“And you? What do you think of all this?”

Y/N blinked, surprised by the direct question, but maintained her composure.

“I think it’s… unexpected. But I won’t deny it’s an opportunity. And you?”

He tilted his head slightly, as if considering.

“I think it could work, as long as we follow a few rules.”

“Rules?” she repeated, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes,” he answered, with a slight smile. “Like, don’t try to kill me in front of the cameras.”

Y/N let out a short laugh, almost genuine.

“I think I can follow that.”

Lorenzo interrupted, trying to keep the focus.

“Great. Let’s start by clarifying expectations. You’ll need to attend events together, create interactions for social media, and above all, look natural.”

“Does that mean we need to get to know each other better?” Y/N asked, looking directly at Charles, this time with less provocation and more curiosity.

“Probably,” he replied, her eyes holding his for a moment longer than necessary.

Sofia cleared her throat.

“For that, we recommend starting with something simple. A dinner, maybe. Nothing formal, just so you get used to being together outside a professional setting.”

Y/N looked away, pretending to think, but there was something uncomfortably intimate about the idea.

“Seems fair,” she finally said, grabbing a pen to sign the contract placed in front of her.

Charles didn’t say anything but let the corner of his mouth curve into a slight smile. He grabbed his own copy of the contract and signed it right after her.

When they finished, Lorenzo looked at both of them.

“Perfect. From now on, you’re officially a couple.”

Lorenzo’s statement hung in the air like an uncomfortable reminder of what had just been signed. Y/N grabbed her bag, ready to leave, but hesitated at the door.

“Charles?” she called, without turning around.

“Yeah?”

“I don’t plan on complicating this, but I hope you do your part.”

Charles adjusted his watch nonchalantly, as if this kind of deal was something he had mastered.

“I always do.” A discreet smile formed on his lips. “But maybe we should establish a few rules to make sure it works.”

“It’s so nice to see you both so… invested!” Sofia interrupted, letting out a light laugh. “But I’ll leave the details to you two. Just don’t kill each other, please.”

Lorenzo stood up shortly after, giving his brother a nearly conspiratorial look before giving his shoulder a gentle squeeze. When he said goodbye to Y/N, he smiled warmly, as if to say, “Good luck.”

Once the room was silent, Charles broke it with a casual tone.

“So, about those rules…”

Y/N crossed her arms, clearly determined to make everything crystal clear from the start.

“The first limit is simple: don’t touch or kiss me without prior notice.”

Charles raised an eyebrow, surprised, but entertained by her firmness.

“You do realize that’s basically what couples do, right? Touch, kiss, look close… How are we supposed to convince anyone we’re real if we’re so mechanical?”

“I never said it was forbidden,” she corrected, remaining calm. “I’m just saying, don’t do it without a reason or without letting me know first.”

He chuckled softly, tilting his head slightly.

“Do you really think I’m interested in anything beyond what this contract requires?” He stepped forward, not breaking eye contact. “What happened at the club was just an impulse, not a sign that I’m in love with you.”

Y/N narrowed her eyes, as if analyzing every word he said.

“Great. Then it shouldn’t be hard to keep your hands and lips off me.”

Charles opened his mouth to retort but stopped when he saw the look in her eyes. It was a clear challenge, with something more hidden behind that confidence.

“Of course,” he replied, finally curving his lips into a nearly provocative smile. “But I’ve got my conditions too.”

Y/N adjusted the strap of her bag on her shoulder, unfazed.

“Alright, go ahead.”

“You have to attend my races whenever you can. And when you can’t, show support on social media. It’s the least I expect.”

She let out an incredulous laugh.

“I’m gonna be your fake girlfriend, not your number one fan.”

“As my girlfriend, you should show support. Isn’t that what girlfriends do? Plus, my fans will love it. It’ll be good for our image.”

Y/N rolled her eyes but knew he had a point.

“Fine, but I’ve got commitments too. Don’t expect me to be at every race.”

Charles shrugged, still with that annoyingly confident smile.

“It’s a start.”

Silence fell between them again, but this time it wasn’t heavy. It was as if both were evaluating the other, trying to figure out what was coming next.

Y/N adjusted her bag again and took two steps toward the door before stopping.

“One more thing, Charles.”

“What?” He raised an eyebrow, curious.

“If you want this to work, stop trying to always have the last word.”

He smiled, a mix of challenge and amusement.

“That’s asking too much.”

Y/N laughed softly, shaking her head before finally walking out of the room.

Charles stood there for a moment, staring at the door she had just walked through. There was something about her that made him feel intrigued, and he knew this story was far from simple.

Outside the building, Y/N got into the waiting car and took a deep breath. “This is going to be more complicated than I thought,” she mused as the driver started the engine.

Back inside, Charles picked up his phone and quickly sent a message to Lorenzo.

Charles: “If she thinks she can challenge me, this is going to be fun.”

On the other side, Lorenzo just laughed as he read the message.

#formula 1 #formula one #f1 #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 imagine #formula 1 fanfic #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #charles leclerc #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc fanfic

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zhongrin · 1 year ago

Text

caution: these toys aren’t kids-friendly

◇ characters ◇ zhongli, wriothesley, al haitham, kaeya

◇ tags ◇ minors dni, afab!reader, fem!reader, toys (duh), improper use of geo (thanks crys), dragon!li (because..... are you even surprised?), edging (zhongli, wriothesley), 'little one' used (zhongli), handcuffs & collar (wriothesley), 'puppy' and 'slut' used (wriothesley), shibari (al haitham), sex machine (kaeya)

◇ a/n ◇ an offering before wrio's banner drops. was debating on releasing this today or the end of this week, but..... wrio come home please i am begging

𝑚𝑎𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡 ⬙ 𝑡𝑎𝑔𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡

the addition of toys in your bedroom was something you both had discussed beforehand. typical of zhongli, to draft a contract detailing all the things you were both comfortable and not comfortable doing in the bedroom, right after you mentioned that you were ready to be physically intimate with him.

you really should have read the fine print in that contract carefully.

“- my love?”

“h-huh?”

you dazedly looked up at your husband, feeling your already-warm cheeks getting warmer at the expectant look that he and another man were giving you.

was he talking to you? what was the question? where the hell were you again?

“hm, my apologies, it seems like my wife isn’t feeling well. perhaps we will revisit your establishment at a later date, mr. curator. i truly do apologize for the inconvenience.”

you were not even sure what the other party said. all you could hear was the smooth baritone of your husband’s voice. all you could think was how good he could make you feel with that eloquently speaking mouth and lithe tongue of his, those long slender fingers, the two girthy, veiny, deliciously ridged shape of his-

that same voice was now whispering just slightly above your ears, and to others it must have looked like you were both a very loving couple; a husband hunched over his wife, supporting her and bringing her to the nearest shade in this hot weather while lovingly murmuring sweet nothings into her ears - because what else would the gentlemanly mr. zhongli whisper into his dearest spouse?

literal filth, that’s what.

“my my, the amount of slick running down your thighs, darling,” he chuckled as he let you rest against the cooling shades by the side of a building, his gloved fingers trailing up your inner thigh behind your skirt to gather the essence of your drooling cunt, “how scandalous. had i were just a second too late, people would have noticed the suspicious trail of wetness on your leg despite the lack of rain or anything of sort-”

“want you,” you babbled, brain stuffed full of cotton as you tried to press yourself against him, “n-not enough, want more!!”

“was the toy i personally created just for you not enough, hmm? how greedy,” he was fully taunting you now, amused by the sparks of arousal in your voice and in the short bursts of your breathing, “didn’t you say you could wait until we get home, dear? i’m afraid our abode isn’t some decrepit back alley, now, is it?”

“no, no, now, now,” you whimpered like a saddened puppy, trying to grind on his thigh, the soft vibration of the little geo construct within your walls providing pleasure which made your insides clench, but they fell short of pushing you over that precipice.

“you’re so impatient.”

you gasped as the object inside you suddenly whirred into life, pressing against the right spots and pulsing with a powerful energy you couldn't describe. your cunt clamped around it, more slick pouring down and dripping onto zhongli’s slacks, your cries muffled by your lover who had locked his lips onto yours, tongue inviting you to a sensual dance as your senses were drowning in mind-bending pleasure. his scent engulfed you and the tender fondles of his hand on your thigh contrasted with the passionate kiss you shared, and all you could think was how much better it would feel to have him inside you - oh, even just one of his cocks would do at this point. anything that could fill you up so nicely and bully onto your sweetest spots as your husband’s growls echo right beside your ear - as he marked, mated, and bred you full of his-

and then suddenly he pulled away, shattering your daydream completely. the vibrations returned into an annoying hum, and tears threatened to spill from your eyes as zhongli fixed his tie and your rumpled clothes, his touch sending electric jolts whenever it brushed against your heated bare skin. he gave you a deceivingly kind and patient smile, amber eyes drooping in dark lust yet his movements were as refined as ever.

“come on then, little one. let us go home so i can take care of you properly, yes?”

wriothesley hummed as the metals clicked into place. the view before him was making his cock twitch and throb; the way your face was smushed against the pillow, the dip of your bare back and the roundness of your rear, the way your legs spread open and wrists cuffed with his signature handcuffs… and most of all, your bare cunt in all its drooling mess, completely exposed to him as he rubbed his leaking tip on the sodden slit.

whines and pleas and begs escaped your lips but he paid them no mind. you gave him full control when you agreed to be restrained in this position with the new cuffs he had gotten you. the leather looked ethereal against your wrists, and the way it matched so well with the collar on your neck, embellished with his insignia? truly the most divine sight.

the pleased noise escaping his throat was akin to a growl as he slowly pushed into your heat, his smirk widening as he felt you tighten and tremble. the slow drag of his girth against your walls was driving you insane, but the man refused to acknowledge your desperate ‘more’s. instead, his hand crawled down your stomach from behind, and you felt a cold finger press onto your swollen, burning-hot clit, ripping a surprised and needy squeal from you.

the appendage circled slowly, the cold of cryo making his action feel even more pronounced, as the blunt tip of his shaft slowly kissed the deepest part of you with sensual and rough snaps of his hips. the wet sounds coming from the minimal movements were a testament to how aroused and desperate you were for release.

“look at you, puppy… so wet you’re leaking. how dirty,” he drawled as he continued to stimulate both of your sensitivity, watching intently as your ass and thighs rippled with how your body shook and from his hard but short thrusts, “you feel so good, though… i can fuck this tight pussy for hours on end. would you like that, puppy? will that finally satiate my needy little slut? will you finally learn to behave when you’re so overstimulated, all you can do is cry for my cock and beg for my cum?”

the duke smirked when your cunt clenched at his words. even without seeing how you were nodding frantically, it was enough of an answer to him.

“guess we’ll have to find out… but don’t worry - i don’t expect you to learn your lesson in one session.”

‘it’s not like you’re losing anything by doing this’ he said. ‘shouldn’t take that long’ he said. ‘just enough to sate my curiosity’ he said.

well, firstly, al haitham was, as always, correct. but apparently he was also a liar, and you had severely underestimated the curiosity of an esteemed scholar of one of the akademiya’s bests. maybe you should start paying attention to the books he read. how in the world had you failed to notice that your boyfriend had been reading books upon books regarding the art of shibari?

and of course, like the scholar that he was, he wished to do some 'hands-on practice' now that he had committed the theory to heart. and who would be a better partner than you? a personal curiosity should be sated by personally trusted individuals, and you were perfect for the job.

“you said- you said it’s not gonna take l-long…”

he blinked up at your tied form through those pretty lashes with a hungry gaze which was far from being satiated. intricate knots and green ropes pressed against your skin, some digging insistently as you consciously struggled against the bindings. predatory eyes gazed upon you - a delicious prey willingly caught in a trap.

“time is a construct. it seems like our definitions of ‘long’ are vastly different. an unfortunate miscalculation i should have foresighted; my mistake.”

if the monotonous words weren’t enough indication of how he was clearly not feeling bad about his actions, his next action showed it. fingers lightly brushed against your chest, rubbing against the pebbled nipples as he admired the way your breasts looked against the bindings. your beloved raised his eyebrows when the slightest touch made you shiver and moan in anticipation, a smirk tugging at the edge of his lips.

“ah, i see. i suppose it’s quite boring on your part to just stay there and be restrained like this. my apologies, it seems i have neglected to put myself in your shoes,” al haitham’s eyes soften and he presses a gentle kiss onto your forehead, his bare hands slowly inching towards the section of the rope which was particularly drenched with your arousal.

“let me make it up to you.”

“ready?”

“mm…”

“oh, snowflake,” kaeya chuckled and placed a reassuring kiss on your jawline, thumb caressing your chin comfortingly, “don’t you worry, it’s going to feel really good, and we can stop anytime. you know i would never do anything you wouldn’t like.”

“i know,” you mumbled and replied to your lover’s reassurance with a peck on his lips.

with an approving hum, the cavalry captain fiddled with the remote in his hand. the resounding beep was followed by a soft whirr of the engine turning on, and you gasped as the lubricated toy slowly entered you, before it retracted at the same speed and repeated the motion. a warm hand that contrasted against the cold mechanical motion reached under you to continue his ministrations from before, caressing your inner thigh sensually before feathering across your lower lips.

“mmhm- f-feels good…!”

“yeah?” your boyfriend chuckled as he continues to circle your clit with his experienced fingers, “think you can take more?”

you shivered and nodded. kaeya rewarded you with a kiss to your temple and soon enough you felt the machine speeding up a notch, thrusting into you moderately fast now, the sound of your wet arousal vivid in your ears and resonating within your shared bedroom, causing more warmth to explode on your face.

“ooh, look at that, you’re taking it so well. feels good, doesn’t it, baby?”

with an agreeing whimper, you slumped against kaeya’s body, surrendering to his flighty touches which added warmth to the pleasurable but coldly mechanical toy.

“archons, you look so pretty like this…,” he crooned against your heated skin, eyes twinkling with mirth and mischief, “now, let’s see how long you’ll last before you start begging for my cock.”

#minors dni #genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #afab!reader #fem!reader #genshin smut #zhongli #zhongli x reader #wriothesley #wriothesley x reader #al haitham #al haitham x reader #kaeya #kaeya x reader #rin writes

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hellsite-hall-of-fame · 1 year ago

Text

I AM all in a tizzy !!!!

and you truly will never hear the end of it, BECAUSE I AM UPSET >:’(

my lovely Madame Curator has been all in a tizzy over the Tumblr Live button being permanently situated on the home screen of the "Tumbly Tumblr" mobile app

i have not heard the end of it, and most likely never will

#incoming rant oops-#like I understand they need to keep Tumblr live alive bc of contracts and money reasons and whatnot #but having the toggle off thing every week was manageable as long as it got rid of that button #BUT NOW THE BUTTON NEVER GOES AWAY #and I reaaaaaaallllyyyyy don’t like when they mess with the buttons #bc they moved the ‘make a post’ button OFF of the bottom home page thing #and places it RIGHT WHERE NOTIFICATIONS BLOCK IT?!??#so if I want to make a post but i’m getting an influx of notifs I have to FIGHT THE NOTIFS to reach the button?!??#idk I have said I exclusively use the app bc desktop scares me and is just more difficult #but I seriously might use desktop more now bc this is ridiculous #i’m also just upset bc I have purposely refused to update my Tumblr app for over like 3 months I think to avoid the changes I don’t want #BUT THIS STILL WENT INTO EFFECT WITHOUT ME UPDATING THE APP #just UGH I am bothered by this immensely and idk why ugh #anyways I do apologize to the staff that i know follows me oops #but like seriously y’all I haven’t seen a SINGLE positive reaction to this change?!?#like i’ve seen multiple mutuals say this might make them uninstall the app and exclusively use desktop now #like it’s ridiculous and i’m annoyed #but alas what can I do #complain on my biggest blog that’s what I can do lmaooo #anyways I hope you enjoyed museum curator barbie’s tumblr live button rant lol thank you and goodnight (but not actually goodnight lol)#hellsite hall of girlfriend #hellsite hall of fame #tales from the void #tumblr live #tumblr updates #Tumblr ™#hellsite (derogatory)

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fairyhaos · 5 months ago

Text

how seventeen act with their writer s/o

requested by anon ^^

masterlist

seungcheol

he is begging. he is on his knees BEGGING you to pls let him buy you a new laptop because the one you use is literally on its last legs and makes ominous sputtering n whirring sounds like a dying cat stuck in a vent every time you start it up. you don't let him tho bc “no cheol the memories :(((“ cuz you've had it for years but he is nearing the end of his tether and who knows. in a few days ur laptop may mysteriously disappear forever and you'll be forced to let him buy a new one

jeonghan

he's like the pet cat you don't own who likes to slink into the room and make inquisitive noises as he watches you work. drapes himself over your shoulders and makes distressed huffs when you try to dislodge him. he's never usually noticeably clingy, but when you try to write, the clinginess always springs out and you can't go five minutes without jeonghan poking his head into the room to check up on you and see what you're up to

joshua

your biggest fan. buys every single novel you write, puts on his glasses, and reads them very seriously in one go on the very evening it's released with the lamp on beside him. he looks so serious every time, but he'll always peer at you over his glasses and then give you a big grin, telling you how much he loves it. gets you to sign a copy for him and brags to everyone he knows that he has your signed novels with special messages just for him that no one else can have

junhui

he's your personal general knowledge bank. when you're searching up obscure things and slowly losing hope on finding an answer, just ask junhui and he'll either a) know the answer or b) knows someone who knows someone else who knows someone else else who knows the answer. don't ask him how to spell words tho bc he's like. hopelessly bad. blinks at you going “what's an [insert word]” before you give up and google it yourself

hoshi

alwaysssss wants to know what you're working on right now. gets all whiny when you get possessive of your work and refuse to show him before it's finished bc come on, it's surely perfect already, why are you trying to hide it from him?? loves helping you do, like, the non writing stuff. writing out plot? nooo. building fantasy maps, figuring out political systems, getting lost on a tangent on figuring out the price of beans in the 1800s? hell yeah sign him up!!!

wonwoo

knows all the grammar rules in the world. you can ask him stuff like “hey wonwoo can i put a comma here or no” and he'll amble over to peer over your shoulder and tell you whether you can or cannot, in fact, put a comma there. helps you curate all your writing playlists for the different moods you have. gently reminds you to get back to writing whenever you end up scrolling on instagram for too long

woozi

you're even more of a workaholic than he is when in the zone, so he gets to realise how unhealthy it is to be sat in front of a computer for hours straight with no break. you get to act as each other's “let's act like a normal human being now” reminders, depending on which of you is going through a work fixation. you guys both go on runs together in the mornings even though it kills you bc at least it gets both of yo brains kickstarted to spend a day being all creative in ur respective fields

minghao

you value his opinion above anyone else's. above your beta reader's, above your agent's, even above your editor's bc those are more like advice, not opinions. but knowing that minghao likes your work, and knowing which parts in particular he really likes, is so important to you because ultimately, you want the person you love to also love the things that you create.

mingyu

brings up the fact that you're a writer in every conversation he has with anyone ever. “oh my god look, this menu has writing on it. speaking of writing, my s/o writes actual books as a job!!!!”. your agent made him sign a contract similar to an NDA bc he just keeps yapping about your books even when they haven't been released yet. loves the noises you make whilst you're writing. thinks it's the cutest thing ever when you make overjoyed “AHA!!” sounds when you finally realise what the plot is doing

dokyeom

more than willing to be your rubber duck and let you talk at him until u figure out your own plot holes. he could be in his room scrolling on his phone but the minute you call for him, he's leaping up and bounding over to you and pulling up a chair in an instant, more than willing to let you bounce ideas off him. sits there doing nothing but looking all pretty as you talk at him and work out the tangle you've gotten yourself into. beams and gives you a big kiss when you manage to figure it all out.

seungkwan

he buys you a biiiig wheely whiteboard and a bunch of coloured board pens to help you plot your novels. when you get stuck, he comes over and stares at the board with his hands on his hips, very gravely considering your dilemma and what would be the best way to get you out of it. you two talk about plot holes like it's the most serious thing in the world and he just nods like a proud father once you both find a solution

vernon

at this point he's like. a professional tea and coffee and biscuits supplier due to the amount of snack runs he does for you. has walked in on you lying face down on the floor during a meltdown one too many times to bat an eye anymore. also great at helping you block out actions during scenes like. he's the perfect doll. lets you maneuver him into the weirdest positions in the world with zero complaints. he just loves helping you however he can, really.

chan

reads through your drafts whilst you're in the middle of writing, accidentally gets hooked and is begging you every day to finish the novel bc he really wants to know what happens next. he's the best at spotting inconsistencies and plot holes in ur writing so before you even send it off to your beta reader, he gets to have his hands on the manuscript to check for any changes needed. also bc he needs to read the ending asap otherwise he'll probably combust.

request guidelines

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kentoxo · 2 months ago

Text

friction | reader (f) x crush!nanami pt.6

pairing: reader (f) x crush!nanami

synopsis: [AU] you have always had a crush on nanami. since the day you were hired as his personal assistant, you've been right at his side combating numbers and making money within the finance department for the company you two worked for. but, things take a turn when nanami catches wind of your feelings, and rejects you. little did he know the weight of his mistake.

warnings: angst, heartbreak, sexual tension, jealousy (future smut)

a/n: yall... this is so long, so sorry. but thank you again for your patience, always appreciate you guys being so kind and considerate towards me. please enjoy this part!

all parts: pt.1, pt.2, pt.3, pt.4, pt.5,

December | Tokyo, Japan | Tuesday

Nanami’s clients extended their visit.

It has been more than a week since he and Haibara have been hosting them. Within that week, you might have seen Nanami maybe 3 times, if that. As much as it was good not to see him, you were a bit down. The once perfect dynamic now fell in the hands of complicated feelings and uncertain distance. The duality of emotion.

You found yourself a bit lost when clocking in. Subconsciously, you’d head over to the cafe and get Nanami his coffee. But now, as his new assistants have been assigned to do that, your subconscious has trouble assimilating. Your cubicle area feels hollow without Nanami tapping away answering emails and clocking numbers. Lunches that were always coordinated were now taken on your lonesome.

But, Haibara was one who would never let you get tortured by your own thoughts for long. “Y/N,” he sounds from behind. You don’t look over your shoulder, as your eyes are glued to your current assignment. You were fixing the words of a contract that Nanami and Takada curated together for a different client, making sure everything was concise and ready for the legal team to review.

“Mm,” you hum in response, listening as he took a seat in what once was Nanami’s creak.

“I have some work for you,” Haibara begins. “But before that, I was wondering if you’d like to have lunch later? With me, of course.”

You type one more word before freeing the keyboard, “you have the time to catch lunch with me?”

Haibara nods contently, “Nanami and I sealed the deal, so he and Takada shacho will be having lunch with the clients at that boujee steakhouse a few blocks from the office.”

You smile warmly, “congratulations, Haibara! I’m really happy for you guys.”

“Thank ya, thank ya,” he ‘humbly’ bows at your curt praise. “It was grueling but we did it.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t go with them to celebrate,” you ask, furrowing your brows a bit in confusion.

Haibara shrugs, “I was invited to go, but I wanted to catch up with you. It’s been a bit of time since we’ve been able to talk, besides me coming to give you work from Nanami.”

He’s too good to me. “Ah, please don’t let me be the reason you miss out on the best T-Bone steak of your life,” you say in a lamenting tone.

Haibara waives your worries, “you’re going through a shitty time, and I don’t want you to go through that alone. We can have a shitty time together.”

“Pff,” you huff, but you couldn’t hide the smile you had. Haibara truly was a warm soul, and you were beyond lucky to have created such a good friendship with him. “What is the assignment you need me to do?”

“Ah right!” Haibara fishes out a flashdrive from his black dress pants. He plops it on the desk, and flicks it towards you, the hard plastic sliding on the sleek surface. “This is the original presentation that you created for these very clients as the game plan for our collaboration. You made this in the case that it goes well, which it did.”

“Correct,” you kept up.

“Because they have agreed, Nanami needs updated numbers than the ones we have in all the charts and diagrams,” Haibara instructs, “nothing huge, just replacing all of those with our recent numbers. The information written will still be correct as it explains our steady ascension in the market.”

“Got it, got it,” you spew, your brain getting wrecked from all his words. You take the flashdrive in your hand and plug it into your computer. “It shouldn’t take too long, but I’ll review the written work just to make sure it truly is consistent. I’ll also send you and Nanami an email noting all the changes.”

“Sounds good to me.”

“Anyways, where are we eating?” You change topics upon the growling in your stomach. As you click away in editing the powerpoint, Haibara slides over a card to you. Looking down, it’s a small reservation slip for two at a steakhouse. “So you’re still getting steak?”

“I never said I wasn’t getting steak,” Haibara says amusingly. He fixes the small strand of black hair that came out from his excitement and he looks down at the reservation eagerly. “Takada shacho says I should take you out as well, as your work backed up everything we did this entire week.”

You widen your eyes, “me?”

“Y/N, you’re literally the biggest asset to this department,” Haibara whispers, attempting not to make your other colleagues feel inferior. “All these guys here are assets, too, but you are the direct backbone to Nanami’s reputation as our Head of Department. He can afford to make mistakes because you’re always there to reverse them or catch them before they happen. You’ve also made an effort to become the liaison between the team and Nanami, something that wasn’t quite there before.”

You look away, ignoring his praise, “that’s very kind of you to say, but I’m just an assistant. I just do what I’m told, Haibara.”

“You do what you’re told in a way that exceeds what’s expected of you,” Haibara notes. “Like I said, there was a reason you were transferred to our department. You’re resourceful anywhere you go, it seems, as I heard Sales was not your first department either.”

You nod with a small smile, “you’re absolutely right, it was not.”

“It was Legal, no?” Haibara recollects. “Hence why you assist with a lot of our contract-making in this department.”

“Someones gotta get these quick approvals,” you joke, “and you all are the turtles in that race.”

“Yeah yeah, whatever. Finish up what you’re doing and get ready. There’s a steak with my name on it!” Haibara chimes, his brain filled with steak and wine.

This weather was unkind. You knew it wasn’t going to be kind anytime soon, as Japan was going through the heart of the winter time, but you still had some heat to complain about. The two of you trekked through the fury of winds and snow to make it to the restaurant. Tae was kind enough to prepare a very hot tea before your lunch, as you visited the cafe for a few minutes waiting for Haibara to finish his own work (the hypocrite). He even drew a cute smiley face on your cup.

“For Haibara.” Your coats and garments get taken by a few gentlemen at the front before being guided by the host. She guides the both of you through the restaurant, two menus under her arm. You could tell this was a restaurant frequented by the corporate workers in the area. Everyone was ornate in suits and office wear, with discussions of work blaring in every side of your hearing periphery. It made you glad you wore one of your favorite pencil skirts, as it was this tight fitting skirt that complimented your legs. Despite this being somewhat of a work lunch, you were glad to look nice in a room of intimidation.

During your escort, the two of you caught the eye of Nanami, Takada, and the clients in a long table on your own. Haibara allows the woman to finish guiding the both of you, before he quickly nudges for you to join him in greeting them. Your face pales at the thought alone of meeting highly respected clients, but a pair of familiar hazel eyes puts you at ease.

Nanami was the first to get up from his chair, and walked over to the both of you. He was… wearing a navy blue suit, with a black tie. It had been since the first holiday party you spent in the Finance Department that you saw Nanami in such attire. Even now, he still looks ever so sharp, with the fabric struggling to stay together against the mountains of Nanami’s muscles. Even with your feelings in disarray, there was no denying the instant uplift in feelings from Nanami’s smile.

He rests one of his hands on the middle of your back, feeling the light warmth of his palm. His smile towards you doesn’t flicker for a moment, hazel eyes warm and rich like chocolate. “This is my true assistant, Y/L/N-san. Although Takada shacho has kindly lent me his assistants, this woman here is the one who truly does it all for me.”

A few of the clients rise and go towards you to shake your hand. You shyly put out your hand and curtly bow before each of them. “I’m so sorry to make you all stand up and greet me while you all are enjoying lunch. Please, ignore me and continue!”

“We’d be crazy not to greet a woman who is highly regarded such as yourself,” one gentleman hums. He shakes your hand, allowing the hold to linger as he eyed you. “Nanami-san has told us plenty about your work under him, so it’s a pleasure to see the beauty behind his words.”

You feel your cheeks warm, “a-ah, thank you very much! That’s very kind of you to say.”

Another client chimes, “don’t be so modest! Sit and eat with us!”

You look over quickly at Nanami, before you face the president of the company. You find an excuse to free your hand from one of the gentlemen before curtly bowing at Takada. “Good afternoon, Shacho-san. I apologize for interrupting your meal.”

Takada smiles warmly up at you, gesturing for you to go over to him. You lament leaving the safety of Nanami’s hand on your back and go over to Takada. From his seat, he offers you his hand and shakes it kindly. “You are not interrupting a thing, Y/N. If you’d like to join us, you absolutely may. But as you two both have a reservation, I’d hate to take you from that. I assume you two have some work to be discussed?”

Haibara coughs, clearly allergic to the word ‘work’ during his break. But you go along with it, using it as a hopeful excuse to not sit with them. “Thank you for thinking of me when making the reservation, Shacho. Haibara kacho just recently touched on my new assignment from Nanami kacho, so I was hoping to get more details about it during our meal.”

Takada smiles up warmly, “such a diligent worker. Remind me to thank Geto-san, as he was the one who hired you. We should have a meeting soon to discuss your growth here in this company, Y/N.”

>Insert Geto being the head of the Legal Department, and the man who scouted you initially to be his assistant.

Your stomach churns at the thought of being transferred again. Especially since you’ve found a comfortable flow within your department under Nanami. At least, when it was comfortable.

“I’ll be readily available for that conversation, Shacho-san,” you shyly let out.

With your nerves running high, you begin to really realize your setting and take note of a few things. One, all of the clients have kept their eyes on you the entire time. Two, Nanami was glaring at the client that just finished shaking your hand. And three, of all things, you noticed that Takada has 4 vacant seats near him..

“B-but, I do hope you all enjoy your meal!” You quickly spew out, returning to the topic at hand. “I apologize for not being able to greet the remainder of your guests, Shacho-san.” Curiosity truly bested you.

“Ah, they are just my assistants that you’re already familiar with, Y/N,” Takada informs. “They’ve been happily helping us host our dear clients during this time. I hope they’ve given you the opportunity to have some space from your helicopter boss.”

Takadas joke lands well with everyone except Nanami, who now holds a less content expression. He quickly makes his way towards you, his eyes filled with conviction. On his way, he pats Haibara’s shoulder before cementing himself by your side. But you hold no feelings towards Nanami, as you were busy not trying to take any offense. Although Takada offered and you weren’t expecting a seat during this meal, it was peculiar that Nanami made no effort to include you.

“As the both of us are here now, I’d like to take the opportunity to speak to Y/N-san regarding the assignment I recently sent to her,” Nanami hums, moving more in front of you now. You remained quiet, no words finding its way out of your mouth. Nanami looks over at Haibara, “I’ll be borrowing her briefly, if that’s alright.”

Haibara looks at you but you make an effort to tame his worry. Reluctantly, he smiles and nods, “that's perfect. Let us dine to a successful collaboration!” Haibara riles the men, as they begin to beckon over waitresses for a round of drinks.

Nanami takes this moment to guide you away from the suddenly energetic table, and brings you towards an elevator. There, a guard stood, but moved the moment he saw Nanami. He taps the elevator’s button before moving aside, allowing you two to enter upon its arrival. You two stood in the brass elevator, your short heels digging into the tacky red fabric on the elevator floor. Silence sauntered between the two of you.

But now in this limited space, you felt a sense of calm. Though your feelings were still in a ditch, you were giving them more and more thought. You’ve been more or less conducting yourself well, considering the couple of days that you spent crying over Nanami’s words. It draws the question of whether or not your feelings were true towards him. Or perhaps they are true, and you’re just feigning it to cope.

Either way, you couldn’t help but envy Nanami’s indifference. Your eyes lend over to him, seeing his straight stature, and sharp appearance. Both hands were housed in his pockets, and his eyes focused strictly on the doors of the elevator. You couldn’t prove it, but you had a very strong feeling that this was not going to go well.

The elevator halts, and the two of you free yourselves after the ascend. It was the top of the restaurant, which was entirely covered by a glass dome. But the beauty of the floor was its greenery. Trees, shrubs, and flowers alike flourished in this greenhouse-like environment. You were quite impressed that these greens could flourish while the restaurant still maintained a comfortable temperature.

In the center of it all, was a humble bar.

“Would you like a drink, Y/N?”

You pause. “Do you have any more assignments for me today?”

Nanami simply shakes his head, starting the stride for the both of you towards the bar. “Just the assignment I told Haibara to share with you.”

“Then I suppose a few shots wouldn’t be too bad,” you say calmly, loosening your hair from the tight ponytail you had it in. You allow your hair to bounce freely, finding a lot of peace from the release of the pressure. “Are you paying?”

Nanami shakes his head, “Takada rented out the space completely. It’s under the company’s card.”

“6 shots of Anejo, please,” you calmly requested the dark tequila. The bartender nods before disappearing to find the very expensive liquor.

“I didn’t realize you were a drinker, Y/N,” Nanami begins. He pulls out one of the seats and offers a hand. You take his hand, feeling the bursts of emotion in your heart from his touch. His palms were cold, dry, and ornate with callouses. But somehow, his fingers were soft as they delicately touched the top of your own. You carefully take a seat, keeping your free hand under your rear to make sure your pencil skirt didn't hike up. The last thing you needed was to flash the guy who rejected you.

You shake your head, “no, no, ‘m not so much of a drinker. But I do have a preference for dark liquors.”

“I’m shocked,” Nanami takes the seat to your left, “you’re someone with quite the sweet tooth for drinks.”

“I’m not really crazy about drinking, but I do drink. I prefer to get drunk quicker with less, than to waste money getting drunk after 10 sweet drinks.”

“It’s on the company card, you wouldn’t be wasting money of your own.”

You shrug, “force of habit.”

It felt good to talk like this. Not restricted at work, nor floaty from Nanami’s presence. Though, you had to admit that the only reason you could speak like this was because you haven’t met his eyes since you two got here.

Before another word is exchanged, your shots make their way to your area. The bartender kindly splits it between the both of you, and three shot glasses sit patiently before you. You pick up one of the shots, with Nanami following your lead. With a quiet clank, you both down your shot.

“Mm, before I forget,” you murmur, dabbing the loose liquor from your bottom lip. You dig your hand into your pocket, fishing out the flashdrive Haibara passed you. “Here’s the revised presentation. I tweaked everything regarding our company’s growth so far this year, the revenue, how we will benefit from this collaboration, and prospectively how our clients will benefit from it as well.”

“You did that all just today?” Nanami’s words were imbued with surprise. He was impressed.

You shook your head, “I’m not that amazing, Nanami kacho. I was already drafting it during your time with them. I’ve had a lot of free time, as you’ve sporadically given me assignments, or independent work I have long been ahead of.”

He quickly takes the flashdrive from you, “I don’t even know why I ask– you’re excellent, as usual. With that said, I wanted to ask you the question I wanted to ask from the other day.”

“Hm?”

“I’ve been wondering why you’ve been addressing me with ‘kacho,’” Nanami asks simply. “This has been a sudden and recent development that I don’t quite understand.”

“You’re my boss,” you urge, your fingers sliding your second shot closer to you. You could feel your heart get just a bit heavier. “These are the formalities we’re to have with one another.”

“Y/N, you have not called me that since your first month under me,” Nanami reminds you. “It’s perfectly fine if you would like to revert back, but I would at least like a heads up, or a reason why.”

“Do I have to tell you why I’ve decided to address you more respectfully again?” You take the shot glass in your hand, ready to down it. “It's the expectation.”

Nanami shakes his head, “it is not the expectation anymore when this is something we agreed to drop. When you started calling me that, I wasn’t sure what happened. Would you like me to also address you with honorifics again?”

“If you’d like,” you spew nonchalantly. You down your second shot.

“Even the way you speak is different,” Nanami points out. He, too, drinks his second shot. He shakes slightly from the sudden strength of the alcohol. “All of this started happening since the day I came over to your apartment to work. If I may ask, did I offend you on my visit?”

”Does it matter?”

“It does matter,” Nanami coos, “to me, it matters. The way we get along is very important to me.”

Your heart threatens to flutter from his words. But your hurt feelings were riding your mind, and producing your words. “I’m just your assistant. I was forced on you by Takada shacho.”

“And where did you hear that from?” Nanami looks over at you, trying to find answers in your distant expression. “Did you hear that through a rumor? Our department's amount of gossiping is unbecoming of my expectations.”

“You have been working with this company for a long time,” you begin slowly. “Within your tenureship, you haven’t had an assistant since Haibara was promoted. Why did you accept now of all times?”

Nanami emits a sigh, his hand snaking towards the third shot, “I’ll tell you if you look at me.”

A nausea surges from your stomach, and your body goes a bit cold from nerves. You were able to speak so boldly like this from not meeting those hazel eyes, and that handsome face. It was easy to speak this openly without staring at his neat, blonde locks or the way his suit hugs his maintained body. It was all easy when you weren’t facing him, and the reality of your situation. It was easy not to look directly at your crush, and the feelings that haven’t tainted, even after his time at your apartment.

You down the third shot, gesturing to the bartender with a lifted finger spinning in a circle. He nods at your request for another round and clears your now empty shot glasses. You emit a struggling sigh, slowly turning your head to face Nanami. You bit your tongue, noticing the glimmer of hurt in his own eyes. But he smiles warmly still, despite everything.

“You’re still a woman of trade,” he says, almost in a relieving tone. “This sounds like we need to air out a lot of things between us. So I suppose this is the best time to be honest with you, yes? Geto and Shoko have told me all about your talent from being both of their assistants since you started. So I… had known about you before you were assigned to me. Shacho spoke to me about it, and I was less reluctant because I had heard nothing but good when it came to you.”

This was interesting. You had not a clue who Nanami was, only that he was the head of Finance. You never interacted with him, simply only knowing him through passing words from Geto, Shoko and your fellow colleagues between both departments. He was somewhat famous within the company for being such a hard worker, someone who got promoted seamlessly to an executive position within a year's time. But you were here for a paycheck, and paid no mind to irrelevant people. But he knew about you.

“So, you accepted me because you knew I was really good at my job?” You began, squinting your eyes curiously.

“Rather, I wanted to see if you were truly worth what was said about you,” Nanami explains. “Your ability to excel in different areas of work intrigued me, and I wanted to see how you would perform in my department.”

“So you wanted to test me?” You spat, “like some experiment?”

Nanami felt a pit of regret in his throat. “No, no, please don’t take it like that, Y/N,” Nanami backtracks, “you have no idea how impressed I am with your work, and have no regrets taking you on as my assistant. But word of mouth alone doesn’t convince me of someone's greatness. I had to see it for myself, if that’s less brute.”

“What, were you just bored then?” You couldn’t really understand him. This was all too new for you. “What did you gain from this? Satisfying your curiosity by expecting a 50% chance of me not being what I’ve been highly regarded as?”

Shots joined the both of you, but the heat of the conversation made them remain in the background. Nanami rubs his eyes with dragging hands, “Y/N, listen to me good and well, because I’m not going to let you misunderstand me. I am extremely grateful to have gotten an assistant like you because I refuse to have anybody that doesn’t match my work ethic. Although I was not a fan of having an assistant, I only ever heard good things. I knew you’d be great, but you surpassed my already high expectations of you.”

“Nanami kacho–”

“Please, stop calling me that,” Nanami interrupts you. “I admit that it’s a bit upsetting for our relationship to revert back into a strict manner. I can accept that you’re uncomfortable with it, but I’d at least like to know why and if there’s any way I can mend it.”

“Can you make it clear what sort of relationship we have?” You nitpick now.

“What do you mean?” Nanami’s expression held genuine confusion. “You’re my assistant, and I’m your boss.”

You could feel yourself wanting to cry a bit. “So why does it matter if I address you as kacho again?”

“Because we established some comradery between us,” Nanami points out, “is it bad that I feel comfortable with you to drop honorifics and be less formal?”

“Do you see me as a friend?” You ask quietly, trying your best to calm the coating of tears in your eyes. You were seeing him in a gentle blur, almost the physical embodiment of your current feeling of disconnect.

“I… see you as one of my most trustworthy colleagues,” Nanami carefully places his words in his sentence. “We’re friend-ly, in a sense. I enjoy working with you.”

You were coming to your limit. You finally found the deadend that you were trying to avoid for such a long time. But as you faced Nanami, seeing his cheeks turn a light hue of pink, you knew that your heart would always be right.

You like Nanami.

You like the fact that he’s a workaholic, but is always content whenever you are able to ease his workload.

You like that he always shows his appreciation towards you, never forgetting to say thank you, or reminding you that you were an asset to him and the department.

You like that he gets excited when you plan your shared lunch, and already know what he wants/would probably like.

You like that he wears the same blue shirt.

You like that he drinks coffee with half a fig in it. You love that he confided in you regarding the reason.

But, even so.

“Nanami, you did offend me when you came to my apartment,” you changed topics. Your heart was beating fast, your nerves making you want to shut up and run away. But it was time to clear the air. It was time to give the confession you deserved to do before a rumor forced you back into your shell. “It regards the rumor you heard about… me liking you.”

“Oh?” He was surprised.

“Those rumors are absolutely correct,” you admitted, though your throat was ready to close up and force your words back down. You grab one of the new shot glasses and down it. “Mm,” you hum, wiping some loose liquor from your lip, “I do like you, Nanami. I have had a crush on you for a while now, but after the way you reacted to just the rumor of it, I couldn’t go back to how we were.”

Nanami looks at you, his eyes looking desperately around your face. It was almost like he was waiting for you to say ‘just kidding!’ and laugh it off like it was a prank. But you only continued to down your shots, waiting for any response. You found solace in the alcohol, allowing it to rebuild the little courage that was lagging.

“Why… how come,” Nanami’s words were spotty, you finally had him speechless. If only the context wasn’t shitty. “How come you never cleared it up that day? Why did you go along with it?”

“Because you looked so relieved when you believed it to be just a rumor, a lie,” you spouted. Tears were finally welling up in your eyes, triggered by the recollection of that day. “Almost as if you were glad that I didn’t actually like you.”

“It is… easier for me to be on my own than to be romantically affiliated with someone,” Nanami admits softly. His words were still fairly cool, but his tone was low in an attempt to not offend you any more than he has. “I’m not… good with people having feelings towards me. It complicates things. Especially if it's a coworker.”

“We spend more time with one another than with our friends or loved ones,” you rationalized, “it’s not foreign if feelings develop between us, considering how much we see one another.”

“So explain why I don’t share that sentiment,” Nanami says coolly. You widen your eyes at him, your heart finally turning over in its grave. He quickly holds your elbow, noticing the agony in your expression. Warm tears spill down your burning cheeks. His touch feels like lava. “That’s not what I meant to say, Y/N, please let me fix my words.”

You snatch your elbow out of his hand, “thank you for being honest with me about your own feelings.” You grab a tissue from the box at the bar, and blow into it. You could tell your entire face was red, which was embarrassing considering you had to go back to the office in a bit. “I apologize that my feelings brought us here.”

Nanami quickly puts an arm between you and the shot glasses you were aiming for, “Y/N, I’m sorry for being insensitive towards you. I didn't mean to say what I said just now. At least, not the way I said it.”

You shake your head, your eyes giving him a pained gaze, “no, no, it’s better like this. You’re being direct with me… I’d rather that you don’t try to spare my feelings.”

Nanami felt his world go dim. It was strange to confront you like this. You would not be the first woman who ended in tears upon confessing their feelings to him. And he would always attempt to soothe their hearts before paying the tab of whatever bar or dinner they were left to sob. But seeing the light leave your eyes, and your hollow expression left a mark in his memory.

He wanted to respond, but his mouth went dry. It was like the alcohol was on your side, as his tongue couldn’t even bounce off the words he wanted to say. It bothered him that you looked away and have yet to look back, almost like you were ready to leave your feelings behind right this moment. As if… you were moving on right now.

He didn’t want to let you go back, not like this, no. But he felt powerless now. And before he could respond with something, anything, you hop out of your seat. He notices the shot glasses were now empty, and keeps his gaze on you. “H-hey, don’t go back like this– please have a glass of water and calm down first.”

Your body was warm and loose, but you weren’t eager to be near him any longer. You ignore his offer. “Don’t lose that flashdrive for tomorrow.” You properly put on your purse, and adjust your pencil skirt. Before you leave, you face Nanami once more. You see his flush face, a mixture of his own complicated feelings and the alcohol taking its toll. His hazel eyes were dark, their glow was fleeting. He looked lost, and felt distant. But, you lend him a small, weak smile. “Thank you for letting me like you. It’s been fun.”

“Y/N,” your name leaves his mouth like a broken piano key. You curtly bow and turn around, allowing yourself to cry more aggressively (yet quietly) as Nanami watches your figure get smaller until you are completely out of sight.

But he knew better than to think you’d be out of mind, too.

Taglist: [Now Closed]

@blossomedfloweroflove @numblytemporary @everyoneandtheirmothers @animechick555 @inthedarkshadows000

@m-arj-1 @julk4e @hadassery @swoozleee @angxlsatvrn

@v1x3n @s-witch-bitch @furgusonn @watyousayin @thechaoticarchivist

@simp-manhwa @5sos-wdw @ffyona1214 @phantombaby @evangel44xxcds

@ukiyodestiny @jasminelee324 @eurydxceorphxus @moonlightazriel @s3rp3ntsssc0ve

@dusty-dweller @wifenanami @bokuatsubro

#jujutsu kaisen nanami #nanami kento #nanami x reader #jjk nanami #jujutsu nanami #nanami smut #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jjk smut #nanami fanfic #kento nanami #jjk kento

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b38rman · 3 months ago

Text

READ YOUR MIND ᯓ★ Ollie Bearman

tags - ollie bearman x afab!reader, friends to lovers, fluff, slight miscommunication, loosely inspired by the sabrina carpenter song of the same name

synopsis - This was definitely not on the marketing internship job offering for Prema Racing. You swore you had everything under control before this—before Ollie Bearman took up most of the weekend's agenda.

rating - teen and up readers

warnings - slightly suggestive ending

a/n - i wrote this before ollie was announced as a 2025 f1 driver and the slight implications of dread related to that uncertainty are littered throughout this work so just keep that in mind (or not) enjoy!

Thursday — Spain, 2024

The unmistakable sound of the hotel doorbell rang through your room. Admittedly, the best time to go to sleep had already passed you by at this point, considering the 7 AM lobby call time the team had for you. Unfortunately, the restlessness that could only be attributed to constant location changes seeped into your bones.

You got up, trying to dispell the feeling populating your gut. Perhaps, more than anything, it was the dull influx of certainty. You were still learning how to get used to this.

You opened the door slightly, just enough to see who was on the other side.

“Took you long enough.” The familiar rumble of Ollie’s voice filled your ears, as he pushed his way into your bedroom.

At this point, you were 100% sure that any of this was not part of any of the contracts Prema made you sign when they offered you the internship. No matter how much you looked between the lines of wage and non-disclosures, you wouldn’t find what you and Ollie had anywhere.

It was just that it was becoming a routine at this point. From the beginning of the season, Ollie seemingly couldn’t find a better victim than you for his late night musings. You tried to gently reprimand him at first, telling him off about his bedtime and his racing and all of the things he’d scoff at you for and turn a stubbornly deaf ear towards.

Ollie rounded the room slowly, his white sleep shirt and flannel pajamas contrasting against your worn summer camp shirt and cotton shorts. You felt overexposed, as you always did in these situations.

“Wanna play Mario Kart?” Ollie asked, mindlessly making his way to your side of the bed.

You thought about it for a second before responding, “Nope, too tired to be that stressed out.”

Ollie hummed in acknowledgment before laying back onto your bed, phone in hand, with his legs still dangling over the edge. He always took your side of the bed, despite it very obviously being rumpled and occupied.

You climbed onto the other side and tucked yourself in under the sheets. As if on instinct, Ollie moved his head upward, resting it on your stomach, before locking his phone and setting it on his chest.

“I just feel a bit odd, you know? Like everyone says so many good things about me but really, I haven’t done anything.” He looked to the ceiling as he rambled. “I have another FP1 tomorrow and all I can think about is how I don’t know how to be what people want me to be. I don’t know how to keep being good, or how to really be good; will people even look back and think I was good?”

“That’s some bad imposter syndrome you got there, huh?” You stretched your hand out and lightly laid it on his head, stretching your fingers against the expanse of brown waves. Ollie leaned into the touch, shutting his eyes.

“The only thing that should matter is who you want to be.” You grinned fondly at him, even if he couldn’t see it. “Besides, you’re way too young to be worrying stuff like that.”

“We’re the same age.” He opened his eyes just to look at you as he said that.

“And do you see me worrying about my legacy?” You joked, earning a toothy smile and a roll of eyes from Ollie.

At every moment you’ve spent with Ollie so far, he’s not felt like someone that appears on national television broadcasts or on carefully curated Pinterest boards. You could almost see yourself looking across the lecture hall, seeing him, and wondering if he was really paying attention or just browsing on his laptop.

Instead, he was one of the boys you’d keep track of social media appearances for. You managed his filming schedules for both long-form and short-form videos, and wove through seas of people and motorhomes with him to find a spot to record his little post-race briefs. You weren’t assigned to him specifically, but it usually was you and him most of the time.

“It’s, um, getting late.” You tried not to be too awkward about untangling your hand from Ollie’s hair. “I think you should get some rest.”

You waited for him to complete the final part of this routine you had going, wherein he’d sleepily walk to his own bedroom and you’d fall asleep in your own fully warmed bed.

Except for the fact that he didn’t do that at all.

“Could I just stay here? I don’t really want to be alone right now.” You felt Ollie shift ever so slightly from where he was, head still resting on you.

Questions on professionality and ethics rang through your mind one after another.

“Are you sure?” Was all you could muster.

Ollie seemed to recognize your concern without you voicing it. After all, you weren’t particularly discreet about any of it.

“I’ll just wake up earlier, it’ll be fine.” He finally raised his head and began setting an alarm for five in the morning. Part of you knew it was futile. Considering everything, it was a bold move, considering that it was just past midnight.

You watched him mindlessly, as he turned all the lights off, only leaving the light from the bathroom peaking out through a slight opening in its door. For a moment, you let yourself think of a time and place where this was a normal occurrence—one where him curling up in bed next to you in near complete darkness felt like a grounding force instead of a guilt-inducing one.

You turned to face away from where he was laying, opting to try and not make this any weirder than it could be.

“Good night.” He said regardless. “Sweet dreams.” He said, in a softer voice, almost as if he didn’t want you to hear him.

You could feel his body near yours, almost as if the full size bed was too cramped for the two of you.

“Sweet dreams, Ollie.” You replied.

You felt him roll over to his back as you drifted off to sleep.

Friday

Your eyes shot open at the sound of an iPhone alarm going off, obviously being the one Ollie set a few hours prior. What you didn’t immediately process was the arm wrapped around your waist, and the soft snores coming from the face that was nuzzled into your hair. Your heart was pounding.

“Ollie,” You lightly shook the arm that was over you. “Ollie, wake up.”

You were only met with a long grunt and a tightened grip.

“Ollie, please, come on.” You tried sitting up to give him a bit more of a hint, displacing his arm on you.

Finally, he rolled over, turning off his alarm. The sun was barely out yet, and you saw him squinting at you through his sleepy eyes.

“I don’t want to go.” He said softly and groggily, toying with a loose string on your worn shirt.

“You have to.” You replied with every ounce of control in your body.

Ollie grunted faintly before stretching his arms over his head, silently sitting up and making his way out of the door as quickly as he came through it.

Everything kept moving into the next day. You’d comprehensively briefed Kimi in the morning on his share of marketing activities over breakfast and sneaked some Live at Prema footage here and there, with Ollie notably paying less attention and getting called by some F1 media members midway.

The constant elephant in the room was the tinge of disappointment the team felt due to Ollie’s slightly lackluster feeder performances in direct comparison to all of the F1 hype surrounding him, which no amount of sarcastic humor from the team could conceal.

Despite everything that happened the night prior, everything remained calm and professional (he barely acknowledged you outside of what he needed to do, which was both a relief and a punch to the gut).

Between photoshoots and practice sessions, you’d spotted Ollie from afar. Barely anyone could get a hold of him after free practice, as he was justifiably rushing between garages.

He was up and down the paddock clad in his black Haas shirt, clearly moving with an air of confidence that filled your chest with something you couldn’t describe. This Ollie felt worlds away, which brought you as much joy and pride as it did a hint of melancholy. You were still figuring out what he was making you feel, but at times like this, he felt worlds away.

You were pulled away from your thoughts as quickly as they came to you, as you engrossed yourself in content with the F1 Academy drivers. When you weren’t doing that, you were organizing paperwork, analyzing metrics, and sifting through footage on your phone and camera.

The feeling you suppressed earlier only returned as the F1 cars hit the track. You thought about how near he felt at present, just at touching distance in the space between your hotel room and Grisignano de Zocco; but you also thought about how faraway everything would become after Prema, and how much you’d have to feel if you allowed yourself to let your guard down around Ollie.

After all, every sane racing driver would hope that feeder wouldn’t be forever. Deep inside you, though, you wished this feeling wouldn’t just be hidden in the footnotes of what would become Ollie’s career. Nevertheless, the sheer idea of wanting someone who was literally the face of a future generation of racing amidst the backdrop of him being capable of being wanted by every other person in the world felt incredibly absurd and daunting to say the least.

(The two of you weren’t even anything. You weren’t really sure about these thoughts.)

After your rumination and the inevitable conclusion of the free practice session, you continued your work as you were directed to. It was entirely a coincidence, though, that your next duties included bringing parts of Ollie’s race kit and his water to his area in the shared driver’s area in preparation for qualifying. As every internship went, you often had miscellaneous work to fulfill.

Kimi had already finished his personal preparations for qualifying, already looking over last minute data, while Ollie was running late due to his prior commitment. The air was undeniably stress-ridden, as your first real encounter of the race day with Ollie was him scrambling to get into his overalls and suit, but you set everything down calmly while pointedly avoiding eye contact.

“Was starting to think you didn’t miss me at all.” Ollie was the first to break the silence, imploring you to look up at him.

Warmth filled your body at his words. For a moment, you worried that he knew he had some type of effect on you, but you quickly pulled yourself together mentally.

“One less person to persuade to listen to my content briefs.” You shrugged, smiling at him playfully, almost daring him to retaliate.

As the rush caught up to both of you, the only cohesive answer to your banter that he gave you before exiting into the garage was a soft squeeze on your forearm.

“We’re friends, right?” Ollie asked, already tucking himself into your bed without hesitation.

Once Ollie was done slumping over in qualifying debriefs with the team, he made his way to your room again. It was the same routine as last night, just with a lot less talking.

The thing is, you weren’t saying anything either. That in itself said a lot.

You looked at him, eyebrows scrunched together. “Yes?”

Well, you were sharing a bed, tucked under the same sheets, staring face to face at each other in the dim yellow light of your Barcelona hotel room.

“Maybe? I don’t know, Ollie—“ You second-guessed for a moment before continuing, “—I’m literally an intern. We work together, technically.”

Ollie’s face twisted into something unreadable. His eyes shifted to the side as he mouthed the word ‘technically’ under his breath.

“I mean, I guess we could be friends if you want.” You followed up. God, you felt ridiculous for having a conversation that sounded like this.

He took a breath, deep and slow. “I want a lot of things,”He answered.

Ollie looked at right you, eyes so big, bright, and endless.

“I know.” You replied impulsively, in a voice barely above a whisper.

He got so dangerously close to you that you could feel the warmths of his breaths on your face.

“You don’t.” The weight of his gaze felt like it was melting you from the inside out. “You really don’t.”

Ollie closed the gap between the two of you, his dry lips engulfing yours for what felt like an eternity, despite it being maybe a five-second peck at most. When he pulled away, you were breathing like he’d taken all of the air out of your lungs just from the sheer pace your heart was beating at.

A look of uncertainty flashed across his almost annoyingly pretty face. The kiss was so sweet, and you hated to be the one to make him question himself.

“We shouldn’t.” You said in conjuction with your uncontrollable heartbeats and air-filled breaths.

“Then tell me you don’t want this.” Ollie challenged, laying one calloused, warm hand on your cheek.

“Ollie—“ You tried to protest. Every logical part of your brain was telling you how wrong all of this was, and how stupid you were for letting this happen in the first place.

In spite of all that, you couldn’t bring yourself to say it. You couldn’t lie to him for the life of you.

You wanted this so bad. All you could do was want.

You laid your cold hand atop the one cupping your face, and let yourself look back at the earnest look on his face. You felt overexposed, sensitive all over like you’d been put out in the sun for too long.

“Please.” You could barley manage words, but you finally let yourself lean into him to erase every seed of doubt planted in his mind.

The movement of your lips against one another quickly turned hot and heavy, and you let Ollie take and take everything he could’ve wanted. His hand wandered down to your neck and achingly close to your chest, as his kisses migrated down to your neck.

“We—ah—we really shouldn’t be doing this,” You weakly attempted to be rational, even if your hand was tangled in his hair and heat was quickly pooling between your thighs.

In response, he dove right below your collar bone, beginning with a bite and continuing with not-so-subtly marking you there, coaxing a mix between a gasp, wimper, and a soft moan out of you.

It was glaringly obvious that he didn’t care all that much.

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