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sokuroo · 1 month

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in the spirit of matrimony.

𓆩♡𓆪 summary — iwaizumi hajime is getting married, and you and your ex, oikawa tooru, must pretend you’re still together to avoid ruining his big day. the charade, however, proves to be a lot more complicated than you thought.

pairing — oikawa tooru x fem!reader genres — romance, angst; exes to lovers, fake dating!au word count — 3.0k

warnings — profanity, alcohol consumption author’s note — please excuse the writing, it is wildly inconsistent, and most of it feels like i wrote through a fever dream 😭 a little bit of info on some terms used: an izakaya is a type of informal japanese bar; oshibori is a wet towel offered at dining places used to clean one’s hands before eating; otoshi is an appetizer offered at izakaya

Oikawa Tooru is currently using the shower in your hotel room, and you are running late for dinner with Iwaizumi Hajime because of this.

You sit on the plush armchair in the corner of the room, picking at the raised swirls and curlicues embroidered on the cushion. You’re supposed to be meeting with Iwaizumi for dinner in fifteen minutes, but Oikawa seems to be taking his own sweet time getting ready. You can’t say you’re surprised.

Irritated? Yes.

When he finally bursts out of the bathroom, looking like a Louis Vuitton model, you simply grab your purse and hotel card, and stride out the door without a second glance. Oikawa Tooru isn’t worth your time or energy—for now.

He catches up with you quickly—volleyball legs, and all that—and you can smell his perfume: Cremo spice and black vanilla. You hate the fact that you remember; you’d rather not, but he hasn’t changed the scent in five years and it’s always the little things that are the hardest to forget. In his black button down shirt and with his hair styled carefully with gel, Oikawa definitely looks attractive. He knows it, too, probably, and it gives you a twisted sort of satisfaction knowing that he can’t go about flirting with every person who catches his eye.

He simply cannot, because as far as Iwaizumi Hajime is concerned, you and Oikawa are still together.

“Don’t forget,” you mutter, just low enough that only he can hear you.

“Yeah, yeah.” He waves his hand dismissively before tucking it back into his pocket. “It’s just Hajime. Don’t worry.”

You bite back a sigh. It would do you no good to appear so visibly vexed—and it would cause Hajime to worry unnecessarily, which does a lot more harm to everyone involved. The only thing you want him to be worried about is wedding preparations and becoming a husband in three days.

Your old friend meets you at the hotel lobby, right before Oikawa furtively slips his hand into yours. Iwaizumi looks tired—his clothes look rumpled and he has dark circles under his eyes—but he still smiles at you and Oikawa in the same way: boyish and crooked. You grin back at him.

“Hey, you two.” Iwaizumi opens his arms and pulls you in for a hug. His stubble brushes against your cheek, and you frown.

“You’re growing a beard?” you ask incredulously, when you pull away.

He chuckles. “I wish. I need to look handsome on the day of the wedding. Akari thinks it makes me look rugged.” He shrugs and adds, “Personally, I can’t tell the difference.”

“How’s Mrs. Iwaizumi doing?” Oikawa cuts in. He smiles at his best friend, a quick flash of his teeth that you haven’t seen in ages. It almost makes you wish he still smiled at you like that. Almost.

“Akari’s great,” Hajime answers, the edges of his smile turning fond. His fiancé is truly the sweetest, and she’s perfect for Iwaizumi in ways no one else ever could be. It’s difficult to doubt their love, and you consider yourself lucky to have witnessed them falling for each other in college. “Really great, actually. She told me to tell you she’s sorry she couldn’t make it today, but she can’t wait to see you both tomorrow.”

Your ex-boyfriend sighs dramatically. “Iwa-chan. The only entertaining person of the evening is missing. Whatever shall I do?”

“I’m sure your girlfriend will provide ample entertainment, Oikawa,” Hajime deadpans.

Your cheeks flood with heat at the implication. You’re the furthest thing from being Oikawa Tooru’s entertainment tonight, and you don’t need to look at him to know he’s laughing internally at the predicament.

“She’s good at entertaining me with other things,” he retorts, waggling his eyebrows in that infuriating way of his. “Not funny enough, unfortunately.”

You bristle. “Uncalled for, Oikawa.”

He turns to you—the first time he’s looked at you properly since you arrived at the hotel in their hometown—and, taking your hand in his, rubs his thumb along the back of your palm. You nearly shiver; Oikawa used to do that all the time when you were still together, and the small gesture now makes a lump form in your throat.

“Just kidding, babe,” he says indulgently. “You know I make up for the lack of humour on your part.”

You have to give it to him. Oikawa Tooru is a magnificent actor.

The way he talks to you, as though both of you hadn’t walked out of the hotel room without saying a word to each other is a feat in itself. He speaks to you as though nothing has changed, as though everything about the way you’re projecting yourselves to your friend is completely natural. You close the hole in your chest where Oikawa used to reside; you will not fall for his little antics—not when he chose to leave you alone.

You roll your eyes, meeting Hajime’s fond—if exasperated—gaze. “Ignore him.”

“I’ve been doing it my entire life,” he responds.

“You are mean and I hate you both,” Oikawa whines. Both of you ignore him.

“Let’s go,” Hajime says. “The izakaya gets really crowded later in the night.”

You wipe your hands on the soft cotton of the oshibori, scanning the menu taped onto the wall. Next to you, Oikawa digs into the otoshi, and in front of you, Hajime sips on his glass of beer.

“Yakisoba noodles sounds good,” you murmur, “don’t you think?”

“I wan’ the chmmkn kraagh,” Oikawa says immediately through a mouthful of potato salad.

Iwaizumi sighs and translates, “He wants the chicken karaage.”

You scowl. You and Oikawa Tooru can never agree about things. You’re both too stubborn and hot-headed to budge from your opinions, and towards the end of your relationship, the number of petty arguments that were a result of your clashing personalities was high. At one point of time, you might have said that it was one of Oikawa’s qualities that you admired.

Right now, it just irks you to no end.

“We can order both,” you suggest. “Don’t talk with food in your mouth.”

Oikawa rolls his eyes. He makes a show of swallowing, exaggerating the bob of his throat, before he turns to you and states, “I want the chicken karaage, and I know Iwa-chan likes it more than yakisoba noodles.”

“Actually,” Hajime says mildly, “I kind of want the sashimi.”

“Let’s just order all three.” You bring your glass of beer to your lips and take a sip.

Iwaizumi looks curiously between you both. You take another sip of your beer, and you come to the realisation that for an outsider—like Hajime—you and Oikawa look absolutely nothing like a couple.

The fault is yours: You didn’t tell Hajime about your break up with Oikawa, and neither did he. Hajime still thinks you’re together. Neither you nor your ex-boyfriend are tactless enough to tell him that you aren’t dating anymore three days before he’s getting married. Iwaizumi is excited, and you aren’t about to dampen his happiness by telling him his two best friends haven’t spoken to each other in months.

That’s how, for the first time in ages, you and Oikawa Tooru decided that you couldn’t ruin Iwaizumi Hajime’s Big Day, and it was also how Operation: Pretend Like You’re Madly In Love So Your Surprisingly Intuitive Best Friend Doesn’t Feel Bad came about.

You set your beer down again, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand.

“Can I try some of that?” you ask, nudging Oikawa’s shoulder with yours.

He pauses mid-chew, chopsticks held high in the air. “Sure.”

You nudge his shoulder again, a little bit more forcefully this time. Oikawa glares at you. You narrow your eyes at him, trying to send him some sort of telepathic signal. His eyes widen.

“Here, babe,” he says, plastering a grin on his face. He picks up a chunk of the creamy potato salad that was served as the otoshi and holds it up. He uses his thumb and pointer finger to gently bring your face closer to his chopsticks. You fist your fingers, nails cutting crescents into your palms, and accept the mouthful he holds out to you.

“Good?” Oikawa murmurs, his eyes not leaving your face.

You hum. It is good, rich and tart with a touch of sweetness, but for some reason, you can’t bring yourself to verbalise it. Your gaze flits downwards as you gently pull away from his grasp. Your jaw tingles where he held it.

Iwaizumi grins at you—almost knowingly—when you pick up your beer again. He holds a hand up, calling for the waiter to take your orders.

The alcohol washes down the taste of the food, but your heart is about to leap out of your throat.

It is always alcohol that loosens your tongue, and it’s the same for Oikawa Tooru as well. The beer you had at the izakaya lowers the towering walls between you both somewhat. It’s easier to speak to him, now, and after you switch on the lights in the hotel room and kick off your sandals, you whirl around and face Oikawa.

“What the hell was that?” you seethe, glaring at your ex-boyfriend.

He pauses in the middle of taking off his shoes. “What the hell was what?”

“You almost blew our cover! Didn’t you see the way Hajime looked at us?”

Oikawa cocks his head to the side, and his cluelessness only infuriates you even more.

“God, you haven’t changed one bit!” you rant. Your chest heaves with emotion—you’re not sure what emotion, exactly. Anger? Resentment? Foolish hope? Or perhaps a cocktail of all three that causes you to feel nothing but confusion. “Hajime is getting married in two days, and I know you couldn’t care less, but for his sake, can’t you make this whole—whole act more believable?”

“You— What the fuck is that supposed to mean?!” Oikawa’s eyebrows raise upwards incredulously. “You think I don’t care about Iwaizumi’s wedding? I met him before I even knew you existed.” He scoffs. “Of fucking course I care!”

“Then would it kill you to act like you still love me?” You take a step forward, eyes narrowed and index finger pointing at him. “Is that it? Is it so repulsive to pretend like you still have feelings for me, so that your best friend doesn’t worry about us?”

“That’s not it, and you know it,” Oikawa snarls, a frown marring his features. “We should’ve told him as soon as it happened.”

Hearing him refer to your relationship as it feels like a slap to the face. You falter, cursing yourself inwardly.

Of course he doesn’t care for you now. Why would he, after he decided that long-distance relationships were too much effort? I don’t see us working out in the long run, he’d explained over FaceTime. I’m sorry.

Two days later, you declared yourself officially single. You burrowed yourself in piles of work and forgot to tell Iwaizumi Hajime because talking to Hajime would remind you of Oikawa, and you weren’t ready for that yet. Eventually, you just… didn’t tell him.

That’s why it came as an unwelcome surprise to you when you walked into the hotel lobby and found Oikawa Tooru waiting there, with his arms crossed over his chest and his suitcase by his feet. You’re here, he’d said, and you wanted to punch yourself for the way your heart somersaulted in your chest.

You finally find your voice again. “But we didn’t, so would it kill you to just… not be so fucking obvious?”

Oikawa remains stoic, though you suspect he’s just as agitated as you are. “Yes. I don’t want to do this at all.”

Something in you breaks. How easy it is for Oikawa to break your heart. You’d given him the fragile thing, made of glass, and he had knocked it over like it was a house of cards more than once.

“Fine,” you grit out, bending down and picking up your footwear again. The alcohol buzzing in your head isn’t enough—you need to stop thinking, need to find some way to stop yourself from constantly imagining him. “See if I care.”

You shoulder past him and place your hand on the doorknob.

“Where are you going?”

If you really strained your ears, you could almost hear the imperceptible concern in Oikawa’s voice. You brush it off; he doesn’t have any feelings towards you, as he’s made so amply clear.

“Why do you care?” you retort, before pushing open the door and heading in the direction of the hotel restaurant’s bar.

The room is dark when you open the door.

It’s a little past one in the morning—or so one of the bellhops had said when he kindly escorted you back to your room. Your mind is swirling.

It seems even getting yourself batshit drunk isn’t enough to eradicate all thoughts of Oikawa.

The walls spin. You stumble inside. Your hip bumps against something solid—a table, probably—and you let out a startled yelp.

Oikawa’s voice is like a balm, soothing your feverish forehead, when he says your name.

How are you supposed to get over him? How are you supposed to go back to living alone when you’ve had this taste of what it could be like, regardless of how authentic it is?

The answer is clear as day: You cannot.

A pair of hands guides you by the shoulders to the bed. Oikawa is careful, gentle with his hold on you. You sprawl on the bed sheets, the fabric cool against your cheek. He appears like an outline in the darkness.

“Are you okay?”

“God,” you mumble, screwing your eyes shut. “You can’t keep doing this to me, Oikawa.”

He remains silent for a moment, before he clears his throat and says, “You asked me why I care about where you go.”

You don’t say anything.

“I just do,” he continues, “and I don’t know how to explain it. But I do care.”

His fingers are warm when he caresses your cheek. The last thing you do before succumbing to sleep is murmur his name—a curse, but somehow reverent.

When you wake up the next morning, the sheets next to you are rumpled. There is no sign of Oikawa anywhere in the room, but there is a tall glass of water placed on the bedside table.

Through the pounding of your head, you squint at the note written using the hotel stationery placed beside it.

Drink up. Hajime and Akari are bringing us breakfast.

Breakfast is a lively affair. You’re glad to see Akari again, happy to see the to-be-newlyweds so patently in love with each other.

Oikawa keeps his hand on your thigh, steady and comforting, and offers you golden smiles whenever you catch his eye, and you swallow down the awful lump in your throat.

The day passes by in a blur.

It’s on the day before Iwaizumi’s wedding that Oikawa Tooru kisses you.

Wedding photos are unnecessary, you think. After all, you’re not the one getting married. But Akari had been insistent that you and Oikawa take some pictures together, and you couldn’t refuse her beseeching gaze.

Oikawa, clad in his dapper suit, with his hair styled using copious amounts of hair gel, places his hands on your waist and draws you in. His fingers bunch up the material of your dress. The photographer asks you to place your hands on his chest. His heartbeat is a steady thrum underneath the pads of your fingertips.

“Is this okay?” he whispers, leaning in.

You nod.

His mouth tastes like spearmint and the chocolate muffins he’d shared with you at breakfast.

The afternoon passes by in a daze.

As you walk through the wedding venue, noting all the decorations and the flower arrangements, Oikawa slips his hand into yours.

“You don’t have to,” you say. “No one’s here to see us.”

“I want to,” he replies simply. He is serious now, not his usual boisterous self, the way he is around Hajime and Akari. “It’s a nice place, no?”

You press your lips together. His words are oddly reminiscent of what he said the night you were drunk. Your stomach twists into knots, but if you don’t ask him the one question that has been nagging at you since then, who will do it for you?

“Tooru,” you say.

He stiffens. It’s the first time you’ve used his first name since you broke up with him.

“Why didn’t you tell Hajime we broke up?” you ask.

His shoulders loosen and his mouth twists upwards in a crooked, sad sort of smile.

“Because I love you, and breaking up with you broke me in some way.”

Your voice is quiet when you ask, “Why did you?”

“I didn’t want to be the one holding you back,” he says, just as quietly. “I didn’t want you to be constantly worrying about someone who didn’t even live in the same country as you. You deserve someone who will be there for you. Someone you can come home to after work, and talk about your day, and cook dinner together with. I couldn’t give you that.”

You want to hit him and kiss him at the same time. What a stupid, idiotic fool you’re in love with.

“Silly,” you say. “I only want you.”

The wedding happens on a sunny afternoon, and it is beautiful. Akari is radiant, and Hajime tells her that he’s the luckiest man ever. They are in love, and looking at them doesn’t hurt anymore. Your ex-boyfriend turned current boyfriend presses his shoulder against yours and gives you a small, knowing smile when he catches you almost tearing up. You nudge him back, and his smile grows into a grin that envelops his face in gold.

(“You’re the golden one,” he’ll tell you later, pressing feather-light kisses to your collarbones and cheeks. You’ll say he’s wrong.)

Right before the crowd disperses, Oikawa takes your hand and brings it to his lips. He presses a soft kiss against the knuckle of your ring finger.

Later, he whispers to you that it’s all in the spirit of matrimony.

Oikawa Tooru is using the shower in your bedroom, and he’s running late to catch his flight back to Argentina, and everything is perfect.

author’s note (again): this fic is a birthday gift to my best friend, @hanluex! it's the most last-minute thing ever and i apologise but HAPPY BIRTHDAY LOKI!!!

#haikyuu x reader #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu x you #haikyuu x y/n #oikawa tooru x reader #oikawa tooru fluff #oikawa tooru x you #oikawa tooru x y/n #oikawa x reader #oikawa fluff #oikawa x you #oikawa x y/n #oikawa tooru #haikyuu

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gyeomsweetgyeom · 3 months

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[9:16 am]

(cw: course language)

Dating Jeno was like a dream. You knew it was early, 2 months to be exact, but you were fairly certain he was the best man ever. He was sweet, thoughtful, he listened, he was funny, and he was handsome. He took you on dates that you could tell he put effort into, he gave you gifts just because he was “thinking about you,” and got you flowers weekly. What wasn’t to like about him?

You had just seen him the night before, he had invited you over to his so he could cook for you. His excuse was that he’d been wanting to try out a recipe, but it was too much for one person. He’d listened to you talk all night about your annoying boss and how she went on and on about anything under the sun. She made it impossible to make or take calls with her roaming the floor and talking. She tried too hard to be friends with her employees.

He had had glimpses of her before when he came by to pick you up for lunch or picked you up from work. She was always the first one to the door, twirling her hair and batting her lashes. She tried flirting and didn’t even try to hide her frown when he greeted you with a kiss on the cheek.

“And I saw that little boy toy of yours yesterday! He was out and about during lunch yesterday and we had lunch together! You’re not mad right? According to what I’ve heard he’s not your boyfriend yet…” you heard her annoying voice, but she wasn’t talking to you, right?

You turned in your desk chair, “are you talking to me?”

“Yes! Jeno, your little boy toy! He’s a real cutie, a real gentleman. I can totally see what’s so attractive about him. We sat and talked together and got carried away. I was almost late,” she laughs.

You give her a fake laugh, claiming you have work to get back to while turning to face the computer screen. Instead of working, you mull over her words. On one hand yes, you and Jeno weren’t official or exclusive in the fact that you hadn’t discussed it, but you had assumed you were. There was also the fact that when you asked him about his lunch he had been very short and moved on as if it were nothing.

Had there been signs that you missed before? Were there moments that they shared when you weren’t around? Were there hidden moments? God, this was putting you in a downward spiral.

She was still stood near you when you heard an unfamiliar male voice. “Uhhhh, flowers from Jeno?” He asked.

As you moved to identify yourself, your boss squealed, reaching for the flowers. She pulled the card from bouquet and began to read out loud, “I had the greatest time seeing you yesterday. I can’t wait to spend more time with you. Love, Jeno. He’s so sweet! So sorry you had to find out this way, but I need to go put these in some light. Get back to work.”

The rest of your day was awful. Maybe he had sent those to her. Maybe he liked her more than you. Maybe he was two-timing you.

From there your anger grew and grew. Her voice was like nails on a chalkboard. His texts made your anger boil and bubble inside you to the point where once you saw him standing alone in the lobby of your workplace you walked right past him.

“Hey! Wait- hey, where are you going?” You heard Jeno’s voice as he followed after you.

You turned, your voice cold while your emotions were heated, “if you liked my boss you could have just said that instead of stringing me along. I know we never talked about being closed off, but at the very least I deserved to know you were seeing another person inside my office!”

He held his hands up, as if in surrender, “I don’t- I’m not seeing anyone but you. Can we talk about this?”

You groaned, running a had over your hair in frustration. You exhaled, calming your feelings, “my boss came in this morning and told me that you guys had lunch together. That you were such a gentleman and she totally gets what I see in you and that you spent the whole lunch talking and getting to know each other.” Your voice breaks as you keep explaining, “and then flowers were delivered that said you enjoyed your time with her yesterday. It’s just- I wish you had just told me.” You loon away from him as your eyes fill with tears and you desperately try to blink them back.

Jeno gives you your time to breathe and cool off before he speaks. “Babe, I didn’t get lunch with your boss. I happened to be at the same spot for lunch to pick up my order and while I was leaving she walked in. We did that whole awkward stepping the same way over and over again, and I greeted her just to be polite. I asked her how she was, but I didn’t have lunch with her. I don’t like her, she makes me feel weird and gross when she talks to me and I think she’s the same age as my mom, that or she has really bad work done.” You laugh at that and he smiles explaining even more, “the flowers were for you, babe. I have the receipt, it has your name on it as the recipient. They were supposed to be your weekly bouquet and that’s why the note says what it said. I don’t want to spend time getting to know anyone but you.”

“God, I hate that bitch. I’m sorry I assumed,” you exhale deeply, feeling an immense weight off your shoulders.

He pulls you into his chest for a hug, rubbing a hand up and down your back, “it was an unfortunate mess of coincidences mixed with delusion from your crazy ass boss. It’s the last time I’ll use a delivery service too, all your flowers are coming right from me.”

“You still want me after I made that horrible assumption?” You ask with a playful tone, but the nerves in your stomach have yet to calm down.

Jeno smirks, tsking nonchalantly, “if anything, I want you more. Something about you getting jealous, a little possessive, that’s hot.”

You shove him lightly, leaving him behind as you begin walking home again. You can hear him laughing and his steps as he runs to catch up to you. His arm wraps around your shoulders and he presses a kiss to your temple while you both dodge the other people trying to get home. He takes your bag off your shoulder and smiles at you warmly, “I didn’t think we really had to talk about it, but in all seriousness I do like you a lot. I don’t want to see anyone but you.”

“I like you a lot too,” you smile back, “so what? You’re like my boyfriend now?”

“Nothing would make me happier, and you should report your boss to HR. She’s a total bitch.”

#kpop imagines #kpop au #kpop scenarios #kpop reactions #nct #nct imagines #nct fluff #nct timestamps #nct x reader #nct dream #nct dream imagines #nct dream fluff #jeno imagines #jeno x reader #jeno fluff #jeno drabbles #jeno timestamps

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reminiscingtonight · 6 months

Note

would you do a blurb or headcannons for prior engagements?

Prior Engagements Headcanon:

You miss graduation due to an away game scheduled the day of

The barca girls try raising your spirits but they can tell you’re a little disappointed

The game is won easily but by the time you get back to the hotel you’re tired, grumpy, and just want to cuddle with your girlfriend

To your disappointment Alexia all but bolts the second the bus door opens

You don’t even have time to play the wounded girlfriend card because Mapi all but glues herself to your side the moment Alexia’s gone

Dropping off your things in your room? Mapi’s giving you unsolicited advice about your nonexistent cat that she thinks you should adopt

Hunting walking around the hotel in hopes of finding your girlfriend? Mapi’s talking your ear off about the trip Ingrid’s taking her on after the season’s over

Showering to get some peace and quiet? Mapi’s sat outside with the bathroom door wide open, yelling above the shower so she can be heard

By the time you’ve pulled on a change of clothes, ready for your dinner with some of the barca girls, you’ve hit your Mapi limit

The Spainard looks nonplussed when you hint heavily that she should go find Ingrid

“Oh don’t worry, Frido invited me and Ingrid to dinner. She’ll meet us there.”

When Mapi starts directing you to the rec room, you try digging your heels in

She whines that she left her sweatshirt there yesterday but you tell her you’ll wait in the lobby for her with a straight face

When she “accidentally” hits the floor for the rec room, you have to resist the urge to strangle her

The lights are off when you push open the door, which you find strange

Even stranger, when you turn around Mapi has seemingly disappeared

“Goddamnit, Maria, where--”

You jump when the lights flicker on, confetti raining down over you as you’re met with the sight of your grinning teammates

Everyone’s wearing makeshift caps and gowns, a few of them even with fake scrolls in their hands

Alexia comes forward, plopping a graduation cap onto your head

“My smart scholar, I’m so proud of you”

The training staff turns a blind eye when Alexia excitedly pulls you forwards deeper into the room where you can see a cake on the table with a crudely drawn hat and diploma over its top

You’re trying to be polite about it, but Mapi has no qualms making fun of her artwork

Alexia frowns and Ingrid’s already beginning to scold her girlfriend, but you find your justice by grabbing hold of Mapi by the shoulders and shoving her face first into the cake

Alexia decides the debt paid at the sight of Mapi sputtering and wiping frantically to clear her vision

Send me a fic title

#alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas imagine #woso x reader #woso imagine #Ace writes

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thatsdemko · 1 year

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the devils on my shoulders - c.sainz & l.norris

threes company masterlist

masterlist

part two - coming soon

pairings: lando norris x fem!reader & Carlos sainz x fem!reader

warnings: not intended for minors + mentions of oral ( f + m receiving) + plot twist at the end

the tasteful dinner in front of you, is rather boring.

the cocktails and small conversations are yawn worthy, as you sit in between your father and his business partners.

they toast to another successful weekend. another yawn escapes your lips.

you’re so thankful your eyes catch something more entertaining than the snotty rich business men.

a classy pair of gentlemen dressed in suits. one dapper in black and the other in blue. one with curls and the other with soft thick brown locks.

you feel your heart pounding out of your chest. their enigma pulls you in. curiosity strikes, as you shift upward in your seat and excuse yourself.

you brush past the two gentlemen. your hand lingers on the elder looking one, and when you walk past you make sure you give him a quick glance over your shoulder.

you’ve reeled him in.

“she’s hot.”

you step up to the bar. reaching into your purse, it’s fake out move, he swoops in and slams his card down. you had no intentions of paying, either one of them wouldn’t have wasted the time, and it seems the younger one stepped up to the plate first.

“who are you?” he shifts towards you as the bartender is off with his credit card. no introductions, no nothing. he’s straight to the point.

“what do you want me to be?” you tilt your head upward to eye him when his mate steps up beside him. the one you original made a move on.

he looks over at the elder one and back at you, “what do you want from us?”

—

Carlos and Lando are their names. Formula 1 drivers are their professions. you’ve seemed to land yourself another rich snotty man men.

they were a duo— at least claimed to be a duo.

they weren’t a package deal, you visited one more often than the other but it never meant you were exclusively seeing that lad.

he’s dressed in bright orange, the other in bright red, as they enter your hotel lobby. it doesn’t take long for them to spot you, you’re in the corner booth cheering another successful weekend. that yawn escapes your lips.

“come on,” Carlos gestures for lando to follow into the hotel restaurant. they take a seat at the bar directly across from your table. they have a perfect view you in your tight mini black dress.

from the corner of your eye you see the two of them seated at the bar. both accompanied by drinks in front of them. Carlos is talking to the bartender, his index finger points at your table and you feel the heat instantly rush to your cheeks.

you can’t make out what’s being said, but when the bartender walks away from Carlos you catch him flash you a wink and settle into his seat.

“excuse me, miss,” your waitress taps your shoulder making you turn towards her. the chatter of the business men die down to hear what she has to say, “those two gentlemen sent you this drink.”

she sets the napkin down first and you recognize the handwriting on the bottom of the tiny cloth. it’s the room number that lando was staying in. Carlos must’ve wrote it down for you, like he thinks you haven’t been in that room enough times this weekend.

“tell them thank you.” you say quickly pocketing the napkin into your purse and sip on the rather strong cocktail.

your eyes flicker over at the two of them, cheeky smiles on both of their lips you’ll make them pay for.

—

“happy for you to join us.” lando’s bright smile is the first thing you see when he opens the door. you want to wipe that smile clean from the embarrassment those two gave you.

“you realize the men I was with are my dads business partners and potential clients? you could’ve got him fired!” you push past lando to find Carlos cozied up in the hotel bed, your missing pair of expensive lacy pants lay beside him neatly folded.

“ay, we’re sorry, amor.” Carlos sits up from the bed, his hand gently cups your shoulder, thumb brushing your exposed skin of your collarbone, “it won’t happen again.” his smile is sincere, and when you feel landos hand against your back you see the same look on his face.

you sigh, allowing your stiff muscles to relax, “you two are the devils on my shoulders.”

lando chuckles from beside you. he moves to the bed and tosses you the pair of panties, “you left these at Carlos’ place.”

“no I’m pretty sure I left them with you?”

“you don’t remember that night?” a smile is pulled on lando’s lips. you back away from Carlos carefully before plopping your body down onto the bed. your eyes scan the two boys trying to recall that night. there was too many nights with them.

“lando, help remind her of that night, will you?”

lando sits in the chair in the corner of the room, his hands are placed on the arms of each chair, “well we first started out here.” he wiggles his eyebrows, “you claimed it not good enough for yourself.”

you feel a fire against your skin. you can begin to recall some of the memories of that night.

“this isn’t big enough for the both of us.” you whispered in between kisses. your fingers work undoing the buttons on his shirt, “we need to move.”

“don’t forget me.” Carlos’ hands roam your body. he pulls you close into his chest, hands creeping upward towards your breasts, “did you think I’d let him have you all to himself?”

he presses his thumb gently against your nipple beginning to make circle motions with it, “so pretty you are.”

your body molds against his, butt pressing against his hardness in his pants. a whine escapes your lips while you tilt your head upward, lips sucking on his collarbone.

Carlos chuckles to himself making your head snap in his direction. he’s leaned against the wall beside lando, “what’s funny?” you press, eyebrow’s furrowed together his laughter stops.

“nothing, just remembering an important detail.”

“which is?”

“how you sucked his dick in front of me. took like the good girl you are.”

your back straightens up, the hairs on your arms stand tall. how could such filth be spit out of his mouth? you must’ve been in such a euphoric state to forget sucking landos dick or Carlos eating you out. they seemed to enjoy sharing you more than you would’ve thought.

“so what do you two want from me?” you ask. the question comes back in full circle from the very first night you met them both. the night that seemed to change everything.

Carlos looks at lando with a devilish grin, lando mocks him before turning back to you, “you into foursomes?”

“you boys and your games,” you tsk them shaking your head. it doesn’t occur to you until you stop and think about what they’re asking that they are being serious. they aren’t smirking or laughing like it’s rather a funny hypothetical. it’s very much a real question.

“what do you have in mind?”

tags: @softtdaisy @oconso @xcicix @imsorare @weasleyswizardwheezes-blog @monzabee @lpab @frreyaa @motorsp0rt @lovelytsunoda @smoothopz @jaehyunluvcult @iloveyou3000morgan @lunnnix @leclerc13 @ophcelia

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jjungkookislife · 3 months

Text

Available Ch. 5

pairing: namjoon x f. reader

genre: strangers to lovers, smut [18+]

summary: You’ve run out of time to find a date for your high school reunion. While having a drink at the bar, you meet a handsome stranger who agrees to be your fake husband for the night.

wc: 2.6k

warnings: making out, hair pulling, one-night stand, the heels stay on!, oral sex (f. giving and receiving), protected sex, petnames, multiple orgasms, cum swallowing

Date: June 15, 2024

Namjoon is silent as he leads you through the bar toward the lobby, his large palm on the small of your back to guide you. His touch sends tingles down your spine, butterflies swirling in your stomach as you think of something to say, something to keep you with him longer but alas, you can't find the words.

It's Namjoon who breaks the silence once you arrive at the lobby, the elevator doors open to allow guests off and he moves you to the side to avoid a collision.

"Are you staying in this hotel?" he asks to be sure you won't need a ride. After all, he's sure Jimin and Taehyung would find and threaten him should you come to any harm.

"Yes," you answer softly. "Jimin thought it'd be the best plan considering the open bar."

"Smart man," Namjoon chuckles.

"He's a sweetheart," you add with a smile.

Namjoon smiles in return, his hand cupping your cheek, and his thumb tracing your bottom lip. His dark eyes sparkle as he looks at you, and he hates that your night has to end. Would he see you again? Would you want to see him? Would he remember the taste of your lips or would they fade into poor recollections of tonight?

You stare back at him, breath caught in your throat, wishing he would kiss you already. You don't want to end the night without the touch of his lips on yours; without feeling the broadness of his shoulders beneath your hands, without knowing what your name sounds like escaping his lips in the throes of passion.

Namjoon chuckles at the look that crosses your face, smoothing the crease in your forehead when your brows furrow. "I had a lovely time tonight, baby. I wasn't expecting anything when I walked into the bar but then I saw you and I knew I had to speak to you."

"Talk about fate, huh?" you grin.

"Maybe it is," he wonders as he leans forward, his lips brushing against yours in a soft kiss that leaves you wanting more. Before the kiss can grow deeper, Namjoon pulls away, a smile on his lips as he takes your hand in his. "I wish tonight didn't have to end."

"Perhaps, it doesn't," you respond, biting your lip as your eyes lock with his.

Namjoon raises a brow in question, but the look you give him makes his dick twitch instead. Fuck.

"I'm staying in room 912," he states nonchalantly, leaving the ball in your court.

"Care to show it to me?"

"Gladly," Namjoon brings your hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to it before leading you to the elevator. You're excited as he hits the button to call them, and it arrives soon enough. Namjoon moves you to the side as guests leave the elevator and then guides you inside, taking the left corner after hitting the button for his floor. You remain glued to his side, his hand in yours, and for a few floors you're both silent until he turns to you and whispers, "Fuck it."

He kisses you deeply, his hand cradling your face as you're pressed to the wall and the elevator goes up and up and up. Your leg is hiked up around his hip, a handful of your ass in his hands as your fingers card through his hair, tugging and pulling just to hear him moan and groan against your lips.

Too soon, or not soon enough, the elevator comes to a stop and the two of you break apart panting. Your lipstick is smeared on your lips, half on Joon's face as well. You both laugh when you look at each other and he takes your hand to lead you out of the elevator. You follow him with a giddy smile, body thrumming with excitement as you reach his room. He easily swipes his card to get inside.

You're in awe of the fanciness when you step into the suite. This is a major upgrade from the room you had booked on a lower floor.

"Wow! This is fancy!" you comment as you take a look around. Namjoon blushes.

"I wanted something more private when I came into town for the convention. I didn't think they'd put me in a suite but it's nice. You should see the hot tub in the bathroom. Those jets will leave you feeling like a new person," he says as he sets his wallet and room key on the coffee table.

The living room is large with black leather couches and a giant TV mounted on the wall, off to the side there's a dining area near a desk with a plush desk chair sitting in front of it. Off to the right, there are three doors, and you assume one of them must be the room Namjoon claimed as his own.

"Can I get you a drink?" he asks, and you decline as you sit on the couch before he joins you. You set your purse behind you as you scoot closer to Namjoon, who welcomes you into his arms as he kisses you once again.

It's not too long before you're climbing into his lap, legs on either side of his hips as you grind against him, your fingers working the buttons of his jacket, pushing it down his broad shoulders and helping him out of it before you're quickly undoing the buttons on his shirt, eager to see the muscle that lays beneath.

Breathless, you're rewarded with his golden skin, and he chuckles when you bite your lip to smother a moan.

"Like what you see?" he asks teasingly, his hands on your hips for a moment before his fingers toy with the zipper of your dress. You gulp, nodding.

"Do you want to keep going, baby?" he asks as he still his movements.

“Yes,” you answer as you kiss him again, your hands working his belt as he pulls the zipper of your dress down.

You moan his name softly when he helps you out of the dress, left in your heels and panties. Namjoon doesn’t ogle you like others have before. Instead, he takes your hand and leads you to his lush bed.

Namjoon is a god among men.

There was no one else that compared to him. He was broad, thick in the most wonderful sense and his dimples were so deep you could probably drown in them if you tried hard enough.

His eyes shine with mischief, almost as if he can read your mind as you admire him in all his glory.

With skill, Namjoon unbuttons his pants and pulls down the zipper in one go. His eyes never stray from yours as you lick your lips. You blink owlishly as you sit back on the bed, resting your weight on your palms on the mattress. Your breasts jut out and Namjoon curses quietly.

You were a beauty. He knew the moment he saw you, that he had to know you. You being in his bed was just the cherry on top.

Namjoon doesn’t break eye contact as he pulls his pants down his mouthwatering thighs. He picks them up and folds them on the nightstand before he approaches you.

Your lips are on his the moment he’s close enough. You moan his name as you fall onto the mattress, your hair a mess on the sheets.

“So beautiful,” Namjoon whispers as he trails kisses to your jaw, neck, and between your breasts. “So, so beautiful.”

When he takes your nipple in his mouth, teeth scraping your skin lightly, you’re done. You grab a handful of his hair, arching into him as his large hand palms your breast, fingers pinching your nipple lightly.

“Joon!” you exclaim as he continues to suck, his tongue swirling around the stiff peak. Namjoon continues his ministrations, his hard cock twitching in his boxers. He grinds his hips into the mattress, groaning from the stimulation.

“Fuck, love,” he mutters as he switches to your other tit to give it the same treatment before he kisses down your body. His hands grip your hips, cursing at the feel of them. He wants to eat you up, split you open, stuff you full of him until you’re begging for more.

Namjoon meets your gaze, “Can I?”

“Please,” you whimper as he tugs your panties down your legs, smiling when you lift your hips to help.

He throws your panties near the nightstand, neither of you caring where they land.

“Beautiful,” he murmurs as he spreads your legs further apart, surprised by how wet you are. He licks his lips, eyes hooded as he notes your heels are still on.

They’ll feel so good digging into his back.

Namjoon takes his time kissing up one leg and then the other, smirking when you arch your back and lift your hips, trying to get him to touch you where you need it most.

He’s slow with his movements, careful as he grips your thighs to tug you toward him, placing your legs over his shoulders, cursing when your heels dig into his broad back.

“Joon!” you moan when the flat of his tongue licks up your folds. He curses, diving in, fueled by your moans and sweet sounds. Your hand grips his hair tightly, fucking his face as he teases you with his tongue and plush lips.

Your thighs shake when you hit your peak, crying out his name.

Namjoon curses, licking his lips as he climbs over you to kiss you. You kiss him back, nails digging into his shoulders as you pull him close, feeling his weight over you. You’d let him smother you if he asked.

“Do you want to keep going?” Namjoon asks as he cups your hand.

“Yes, please,” you nod as he brushes his lips against yours.

Namjoon reaches for the condom on the nightstand. He easily rips it open and slides it on. You hope you’ll get the chance to have him in your mouth before the night ends.

Your hands cup his face, kissing him as he slides home. You moan into the kiss, his tongue meeting yours as he wraps your leg around his hip.

“Fuck,” he breathes. “You’re so fucking wet, baby.”

“Joon,” you moan as he rewards you with a thrust. He starts slowly, allowing you to adjust to his thick cock. You’re already seeing stars, heat pooling deep in your belly.

“Fuck, baby,” Namjoon grunts as you meet each of his thrusts, clenching around him like you want to milk him for all he’s worth. He rubs your clit before he takes a nipple into his mouth and pleasure courses through you until you’re tugging his thick hair and cumming on his cock.

“That’s it, love. Good girl,” he praises as you whine, not wanting to let him go. He kisses you deeply, making you fall in love. Hearts in your eyes, cock still in your cunt, you know this has to be more than a one-night stand.

Namjoon is gentle with you as he gets you on your hands and knees. He admires your body, licking his lips as he grips your hip with one hand and uses the other to line his thick cock at your entrance before he fills you fully once again.

You’re willing to crawl to the ends of the world if it means getting fucked deliciously by him on the regular. You’re not even sure you asked where he lives, too fucked out to think about anything except his fat cock splitting you in two.

He grabs your hips, fucking your harder as stars fill your vision and you curse his name. Drool threatens to escape your lips as tears roll down your cheeks. You can’t remember the last time you were fucked this good.

You cum again with no warning, tightening around Namjoon and making him see the heavens as he fucks you through it, praising you through the first wave and the second.

“Shit!” Namjoon exclaims as you cream his cock. He cards a hand through his hair as he watches you fucking yourself on his dick, still hungry for more.

Namjoon doesn’t disappoint as he fucks you until you’re hoarse. Galaxies explode behind your closed eyelids, love, and lust mingling to make your heart bloom with giddiness as you cum once more.

Namjoon pulls out of you, ripping the condom off as you grab him, stroking him as your lips wrap around the head of his dick. He tangles his fingers in your hair, moaning as he cums in your mouth and you swallow every drop.

You’re both spent, lying beside each other in his bed.

You both laugh as you turn to face each other, kissing as he leads you to the hot tub in the bathroom.

You’re sure you’ve found the love of your life but you don’t want to get too ahead of yourself.

Morning comes much too soon as you dress as slowly as possible, kissing Namjoon goodbye before heading down to your room to get dressed and ready for your flight.

Jimin wants all the details and you share some over breakfast, wishing you had more time to spend with Namjoon.

The reunion had gone better than expected with Namjoon at your side, and that was all that mattered.

The ride to the airport is quick, as is boarding. Jimin and Taehyung fill you in on Seokjin’s shenanigans, including his escort out of the reunion by hotel security when Jin took the microphone again and tried to place bets on how long Vanessa’s relationship would last and if anyone would end up waking up beside Daniel.

You daydream about your night. Namjoon had fucked you on his bed, the tub, the couch, against the wall, over the desk, and even in the desk chair. It had been hard to say goodbye in the morning. The both of you kept kissing, hugging, promising to call and text before you ran out of time and had to go.

You wonder if you’ll ever see him again.

“Excuse me, Miss?” you look up when you feel a tap on your shoulder. It’s the flight attendant. “You’ve been upgraded to first class. If you’ll follow me.”

Confused, you do as you’re told.

Surely Jimin hadn’t done this? You know it’s something he’d do, but why? What was he up to?

When you arrive at your seat, your neighboring passenger is already in the window seat, looking at the workers getting the bags into the plane and getting ready to direct the pilot.

You look around, trying to spot Jimin.

You find him across and back a row.

“Jimin!” you hiss. Why hadn’t he sat you beside him?

Jimin waves, blowing you a kiss. “Thank me later, babe.”

“What?” you hiss in response as a passenger walks by and you settle in your seat. You take an earbud out of its case and place it in your ear as you open your podcast playlist.

“Oh, this isn’t my seat,” The man beside you says as he gets up after you make room for him. You sit back down once he’s gone and go back to your podcast.

What was Jimin even going on about?

“Excuse me,” A deep voice sounds beside you.

“Is this seat available?” you look up, eyes wide as Namjoon smiles down at you. You gape at him, surprised to see him after you had said your goodbyes this morning and shared a few longing kisses.

“Go ahead,” you say as you rise to let him pass by you and into the seat. He makes sure it’s his before he settles in.

“Funny seeing you here,” he says with a laugh.

“Funnier than you’d think,” You state as you send a knowing look to your best friend, who raises his glass of champagne to the both of you.

“Still believe in fate?” Namjoon asks as he takes your hand in his.

“Yes,” you answer honestly. “But if not, I think Jimin’s got us covered.”

<< previous

#namjoon smut #namjoon x reader #namjoon fanfic #namjoon x you #namjoon x reader insert #available!namjoon

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thebeast-dennis-etcetera · 5 months

Text

Karma

Prompt: You go undercover with DiNozzo as his wife, and Gibbs, your boyfriend has no choice but to watch from the sidelines.

You weren’t happy about being partnered with DiNozzo on your current undercover case but not nearly as unhappy about it as Jethro. Nothing against DiNozzo but pretending to be his wife was almost close to a nightmare for you. Vance denied Jethro posing as your significant other only because he didn’t fit the profile and Tony already had established contact, which actually worked in your favor since you and Jethro had gotten into a slight argument before the op and had you been partnered with him, you might’ve ended up strangling him.

So as Tony and you stood in the elevator, you closed your eyes and mentally stepped into your alias.

“Alright DiNozzo, Y/L/N. Com check,” you heard Jethro speak in your earpiece.

“Heard ya loud and clear boss,” Tony responded.

You ignored him, finishing going over your cover story in your head, making sure you remembered every detail. The way you talked, walked and even smiled mattered.

“Y/N!”

“No need to yell in my ear Gibbs, I can hear you just fine,” you finally responded as the doors opened and the two of you walked out into crowded lobby.

The plan was simple. Your target was having dinner in the hotel restaurant, all you two had to do was have some dinner as well, scan the room so Abby can run facial recognition software through Tony’s glasses and get out of there safely.

“Hi, reservation for my husband and I,” you told the hostess with a fake smile as your hand intertwined with DiNozzo’s.

“Of course, right this way ma’am.”

She led you two through the restaurant, seating you in one of the corners, per DiNozzo’s request so that you had a better vantage point at identifying your suspect. She then handed you off to your server who stood by the table and handed you both a menu.

“May I start you off with any drinks tonight?”

You spoke before Tony got the chance.

“We’ll have 2 glasses of your Coup De Foudre Gauchiste and start off with Gruyère and Crab Palmiers please.”

DiNozzo gave you a slight look of bewilderment but quickly covered it with a smile. The server nodded and left as you heard Gibbs speak.

“We have a budget on this op, Agent Y/L/N.”

“Hm. Then it’s a good thing I brought your card just in case,” you answered back while taking a sip of water. It was quiet for a second before you heard him sigh in exasperation.

“Torres is a really good teacher. You should think about starting a class.”

“Abby get anything yet boss?” DiNozzo jumped in, changing the subject.

“Not yet. Keep looking.”

You both spent the rest of the fake dinner, sipping on the expensive wine, scanning the room, and you giving DiNozzo occasional caresses that you knew made both him and Jethro uncomfortable. Once the dinner ended and the both of you had gotten up to leave, you noticed something out of the corner of your eye. A man matching the description of your suspect was following you. You knew you couldn't let him follow you to the surveillance van so using your high school improv skills, you pulled DiNozzo by the hand into the opposite direction, once you were outside.

"What are you doing?" Tony asked you which you replied with a fake giggle.

"Just follow my lead. We've got a tail."

You pulled him back towards the side of the restaurant where it was dimly lit and stood so that his back was against the wall. You made sure you weren't standing completely in front of him so that his glasses could pick up a good picture of the man following you.

Keeping up the act, you smiled fakely at him and began playing with his tie, moving your hands so they trailed up his chest and settled around his neck. He chuckled nervously, clearly unprepared for the unscripted intimacy.

"Ah, jeeze. I can't watch this," you heard Jethro speak faintly in your ear, making you smirk. Serves him right.

"At least pretend like you're enjoying this Tony. Has he passed by yet?" you asked, snapping him out of it.

"Uh, not yet."

He finally put his hands on your waist and then unexpectedly pulled you into his chest for a hug, pretending to nuzzle your neck.

"Got him," you heard Abby confirm. "It's him."

"Tell me when he leaves," you whispered to Tony, continuing to pretend that you two were just a lovestruck couple cuddling in the parking lot.

"McGee, Bishop. Move in now," Gibbs ordered a little harshly.

The two of you gave it a little more time before pulling apart and now following the suspect as you saw McGee and Bishop's car come speeding in from the other side and stop in front of him. They both got out and pulled their weapons out.

"NCIS, stay where you are," McGee called out.

The suspect turned to run but stopped once he saw you and Tony aiming your own weapons at him.

"Too bad you didn't stay for dessert. Their Tiramisu was delicious," Tony joked, making you roll your eyes.

- - - -

You watched from the other side of the interrogation window as Jethro slammed his hand on the table, making both McGee and the suspect jump.

"You think he's a little worked up?" you jokingly asked DiNozzo who stood next to you.

"Yeah, I am not envious of McGee right now. I already feel the major head slapping that's coming to me for the stunt you pulled in the parking lot."

"Stunt? Hey, I was doing my job," you defended.

"Yeah well Gibbs had direct feed to my glasses, seeing what I was saw and you were making it very difficult to keep an eye on the suspect."

You laughed and turned to Tony, putting your hand on his shoulder.

"He's not gonna fault you for being a man, Tony. You did your job. Very well might I add."

He smiled just as the door opened and Jethro stood in the doorway.

"Uh, good talk Agent L/N but I think I should go see what Abby is up to," Tony stuttered, stepping away from your touch and turning to leave. Jethro stayed where he was, blocking Tony's path, increasing his nervousness.

"Uh boss. About earlier. I really wasn't expecting any of that to happen. I mean-

"Get out of here DiNozzo," he ordered, stepping into the room, allowing Tony to pass.

"Right away boss."

He pretty much ran out and you couldn't help but giggle. Jethro's hard stare turned to you as he shut the door and you bit your lip. Your plan definitely succeeded in getting Jethro thoroughly worked up and you loved it. He slowly took steps towards you until you were inches apart, his chest level with your face but your gaze never leaving his. The air was charged as he spoke.

"Is this what I should expect from you every time we have an argument?"

"Only if we have an undercover op the next night."

His hand came up to brush some hair behind your ear and trailed down your jawline to hold your chin.

"Then I'll have to make sure you're always partnered with me."

#gibbs x reader #leroy jethro gibbs #ncis #ncis fanfiction #agent gibbs #mark harmon #ncis request #jethro gibbs x reader #ncis imagine #jethro gibbs fanfiction

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goldsbitch · 8 months

Text

That one taxi drive

part 8 to That one Christmas flight

summary: Thanks for coming.

warning: pure angst this time and tiny smut (no minors), cheesy af, swear words I guess, cliche probably, typos most definitely

I managed to delete one full draft of this and I'm still not ok with it. Save your drafts, kids.

"Just be cool and act like you belong," was the last text Y/N received from Lando. It was meant more as an encouragement rather than anything else. He sensed from Y/N's hesitant replies that nerves were getting to her.

Y/N was supposed be with her father this week. Instead she was standing in yet another hotel lobby, this time in the middle of Barcelona. It was a strange feeling, her name being secretly listed on his room with the knowledge of the hotel staff and his assistant only. Adrenaline running high. Dirty little secret that had to be kept hidden away - now why was this turning her on?! She felt a bit like a hooker, bit like a fan and just a little bit like a girlfriend. Her and Lando were nowhere near the last option yet, but the thoughts had started creeping in lately in Y/N mind. They'd rarely go few hours without texting and few days without a facetiming. Lando was yet to come to his own room, as he had some media duties to fulfill. And there was no way he would greet her downstairs with the photographers waiting outside the entrance.

She waited at the counter, big glasses and big hat, clothes that she did not normally wear. It was all a little too intense around the official f1 hotel. Dirty little secret. She could have some fun with that. An overly annoyed receptionist lightly nodded once Y/N said her name. She felt some disapproving looks from the girl behind the counter. What was that - disgust? Nevertheless, she received a room card and a huge bouquet with a card.

"This was left for you, you will probably know from who," the receptionist was really not afraid to put in her own opinion, hidden in the way she spoke to Y/N, who found it quite amusing. Y/N panicked a bit. She and Lando both agreed that confidentiality was the top priority for the good of them both, so what the hell was this. Y/N shared one fake smile with the receptionist, grabbed both of the things and headed straight to the elevator, not wanting to hang around too long with a giant bouquet that drew attention.

"Wait miss, the breakfast starts at-" yelled the receptionist after her.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever, thanks," cut her off Y/N, thinking to herself how in the hell could such a prominent place have such tragic receptionist. Only once the elevator doors closed, she relaxed a bit and finally took a look at the flowers in her hands. It is hard to resist the power of a bouquet. Y/N never received one before from a guy, only from her grandpa, who was an old school gentleman. Smile crept to her previously serious face.

Card read "Thanks for coming" - and Y/N knew she'd be keeping it forever.

All her fluffy thoughts were sharply interrupted by the elevator floor opening at the first floor, extended lobby and conference rooms. Joining her in the elevator were two random people in different team attire, but Y/N attention was immediately caught by the one and only. Oh, and his teammate. Brilliant. It took Lando less than a millisecond to recognize her. One smile sneaked in before he came back to his senses and regained control of his face and gestures. Their eyes locked. Y/N's body shifted. She became anything but relaxed. Lando was in a middle of a conversation with Oscar and had to ask him to repeat his last point after getting over his initial shock. They all entered and Y/N paid attention into which floors they were heading. Oscar was the only one heading to the same flood and Lando and her.

Oscar was blabbering unusually today and was not planning on stopping it. Lando could care less. She was right there. He wanted to kiss her so badly, Oscar and all the others be damned. He would love to comment on the hat. He would kill for taking her by her waist and biting her lip just a little bit. It's been a little too long since Italy for impatient Lando. Their looks met for what must have been the seventieth time during this elevator ride. Lando shot her one quick cheeky smile, which almost broke Y/N. You could cut the tension between them with a kitchen knife. The longest elevator ride in the history of elevator rides.

"Oh yeah, and why do you think that is?" he tried to trick Oscar into talking so that he could shut off. Elevator stopped, people left, leaving the trio in elevator alone.

Y/N was panicking for real this time. It would be too obvious to get of at the same floor as they would, right? There must have been very few rooms on the very top. A decision was made and she pressed the button leading to the floor below that. Her awkward movement caught attention of the second McLaren driver for a moment. She smiled awkwardly and avoided any additional contact. Lando was a bit confused by her actions, his impatience growing by the second. She confidently got off one floor than she was supposed to go, leaving Lando bewildered. He and Oscar continued upstairs.

"I think we need to talk more about how to approach the engineers together, Lando. Do you have time now?" Lando had lots of things right now and time for his teammate was not one of those.

"No, sorry man. Gotta prep....Oh, and I forgot something downstairs. Stupid head today," he mumbled, went back to the elevator and waved at Oscar while pushing the button as Y/N had.

The door opened. Lando and Y/N's looks met once again, this time with no prying eyes.

"Got lost?" Lando remarked.

"Just wanted to avoid Oscar. He's not my favorite McLaren driver."

"Oh. That brings up a question who is your favorite driver out of all of the teams."

She smirked and walked all the way to him. Lando hit the elevator button and bit her upper lip. Then he kissed her so deeply one would think it was impossible to untangle them apart again. Y/N melted in his embrace. Any all thought leaving her mind leaving her completely locked in the present moment. Shame that elevator rides had to end sometime.

They left the elevator checking all the hallways for any people passing by.

"Thank you for the flowers and the card," Y/N chatted casually.

"Ha, the card needs to be deserved though," smiled Lando like a teenage boy.

"Does it now?" she asked.

"Uhm...You get to keep that only if you come," he continued with a wink. Her cheeks went red.

She could not help but objectify his body quietly. As summer approached, he had more of a tan, highlighting his toned muscles. They reached his suite quietly, she walked past him, exploring the way light hit the back of his neck. His hair in perfect disheveled state. There are just some details that can't a Facetime call does not catch.

The room was in complete stillness in contrast to the buzz of the hotel lobby. Lando was nervous in the best way possible. She was here. To be with him, to watch him race and he only wanted to make her proud. And satisfied. He let her walk to explore the place, admiring her from behind the same way she had just second ago. Y/N heart went to normal heartbeat once they were finally alone and together. Which was the precise moment when Lando's went up. Her perfume filled the room and he knew he'd be secretly checking out the brand and take a note of it. It felt strangely familiar and other-worldly at the same time. As she stood by the large window, Lando noticed the strap slipping down her shoulder. How was he supposed to stay still? He approached her and hugged her softly from behind, kissing the shoulder which called for him. He felt proud when her he saw the goosebumps he created.

"Like what you see?" he whispered to her ear and bit it lightly. Y/N felt like he had a talent for finding all the secret spots on her body.

"I like what I feel," she sighed and closed her eyes.

"This is merely a starter," he smiled to his kiss.

"I have airport sweat all over me. Would mind helping me wash up?"

His voice went really up with excitement escaping his body. "I would mind being excluded from that, honey."

The shower would have been big enough for five people. But Lando and Y/N stood so close to each other you'd think there was room barely for one of them. He had undressed her painfully slowly, enjoying the hungry look she obviously could not control. Whenever she reached for his own McLaren shirt, he'd reply with something along the lines "Ladies first." Y/N really wanted to look him in the eyes, but how was she supposed when the water falling on his skin made it all wet and shiny. She reached for his shower gel and rubbed it on his chest, making a detailed map of his muscles to imprint in her memory. There was nothing to hide, she felt Lando's erection pushing on her body. He was in a particularly raw mood ever since he saw her today, built up energy coming out. No time for sweet gestures. His left hand gripped her ass and the right one traced the the line from her boobs, squeezed her nipple just a little harder than ever before and it was sending Y/N to a different dimension. Somehow, he got even closer to her than before, pushing her until she was pressed against the shower wall. Water mixed with saliva when their tongues touched and they both got lost in each other. Her hand in his hair and his pressing her neck like nobody who would call her a friend would. She could come right then and there. It was passion mixing with supressed feelings, both of them being really honest only when they did not speak. He squeezed her ass again and pulled her legs up and around his on waist. She opened her eyes only to meet his hungry look. She sensed a question and without needing to hear it being asked she nodded in agreement. He was strong enough to give her full support and felt a little too proud when he saw her give in completely in his direction. He was slow when he first entered her, giving her time to adjust, making sure he was careful enough to keep going. It was a relief to feel him inside, finally after some many wishful nights. Once you taste the sweetest candy, it's impossible to go back to the usual stuff. And together, they were the premium shit. Lando soon found a steady rhytm and her soft moans echoed through the bathroom. She fell completely into his embrace, letting him lead and do anything he wanted - because his instinct was apparently set on the exact setting designed for her body. He wished she hadn't heard his phone ring. And in a way she did too. But he felt her body tensing with every beat of his ringtone. "Lando..." she said in a tone that suggested that the moment was over.

"Just a moment more, honey," he pleaded. Seven thousand moments was what he was really asking.

"We can't...you need to be at places." He did not give a shit - but she did, so he stopped. For a moment they were both catching up with their breath. She smiled at him and kissed him. Lando's erection was not going away easily. "We'll finish later," she promised.

He smiled into their kiss: "Don't think you'll get away so easily next time." Their shared last look, before he reluctantly left the shower, cursing his PR manager who just had to book another interview for this afternoon. It got real quiet for Y/N right after he left. She stood in the shower for sometime, gathering up her thoughs. She has had some pretty stressful couple of days finishing her course and had some deadlines to meet. Managed to get everything in check for the end of the year, but every free minute she had was occupied by the guy, who just left minutes after she came to see him. All of a sudden, it was hard to feel excited about this whole thing. Yes. She understood, or at least tried, the level of responsibility he held. Hell, she even told him to go work. So why where was this irational come down coming from?

She left the hotel room hoping she picked a time when most of the crew would already be working and headed to the grid in time for qualifying. They'd agreed that normal VIP pass would be the right decision at this stage, no paddock or McLaren base. It all seemed just a little too intimidating. NDA was sent to Y/N email for her to sign the minute she jumped on the plane. She signed it with a strange bitter feeling in her stomach once Lando left their room, still not sure how she felt about it, not sure if the fact this had been dealt with completely by his assistant, instead of him bringing it up, was alienating her. So she sat on the grandstand, alone once again. Only this time it hurt just a bit more to sit there by herself. It was all or nothing with Lando. Up and down. Stale than suddenly full speed. Don't be seen. Don't stand out. Don't be crushing so obviously. She gathered intrusive thoughts who kept her company while people around her screamed with joy and anger depending on the situation. She never expected to feel to strange in Barcelona. Hell, she'd been looking forward to it for days, so why was it like this?

Lando was over the moon and head over heels. Everything clicked - his car, the team and Y/N was watching him from right here in on the track. He felt proud. Showing off was his normal personality trait, but that had skyrocketed this week to abnormal heights. There was just something in the air making life intoxicating. He was handing out smiles as it if was oxygen and the crowds absorbed as if their life depended on it. He took all he had and gave everything to the quali. Got in the zone and the wind flew in his direction.

"P1, Lando, P1. Congrats." were dry words his engineer said as soon as everything was set. Lando could carry the whole team excitement wise in that moment, so he didn't need encouragement from him. "Yes!!! Yes, baby, Yes, here we go! I can't believe it!" He beat them all. An achievement he needed so much after all that hard work. P1 meant at least a chance of a podium. He was quick and a good driver - and he finally believed it again.

Y/N wondered for a moment if this was what if felt like being dead. Watching and not interfering. She immediately slapped herself mentally for being so overly dramatic. Just like Lando, she also had big dreams of her future and it felt like a privilege to be there to see her crush crushing his. No, this was crazy, she was overhelmed by the energy the crowds around produced and by the obvious joy that streamed out of Lando during post race interview. She chucked and yelled a loud "Oh come on!" when he said that that the result was great, but the real battle was tomorrow. If only he could stop sometimes for a moment and enjoy it while it lasted, she thought. There was just a tiny tiny part of her, that wished this had happened the race before. Just so that she could have more time with. Surely he was suppose to have meetings and getting ready and stuff. Not exactly an envinroment for late night fucks and talks.

He joined her in his hotel room later that evening. Overjoyed, excited, slightly nervous and repeating his jokes about Leclerc 2023 season and how he will surely follow his steps a bit too much. Y/N sat there, listening and having Lando explain to her the whole deal, as she was quite new to this stuff. He was wrapped in his own head, for very obvious reasons. Y/N felt as if he was and also was not there at the same time. She was quiet and let her anxiety out only once he fell asleep. Honestly, what was the point of her being here. The unspoken hope about their potential future she held deep inside was slowly slipping away. She felt selfish, hated herself for it and yet knew her needs were valid. The initial excitement with which she arrived here leaving like a long distance friend on a Sunday afternoon. Lando's mind would usually run wild before a race. This time it was Y/N. She was happy to be the one to share his afternoon and night. Her skin just crawled when the thought that this was just a casual hook up for him entered her mind. Who was the one keeping him company on the next race?

Once Lando kissed he goodbye and quickly left for his pre race work, she buried herself in her phone, doomscrolling endlessly. At one point she debated not going to the race. Nobody would notice. But she would feel like an absolute idiot if she stayed there. What exactly were the expectation coming here? That he would have all the time for her? She picked herself up and went, now really wanted to slap herself. She was in Barcelona on a F1 race for god sake.

Once again she went and this time tried to sink in the atmosphere of the grandstands and focus less on what might be happening in the paddock and around Lando. When she opened up more the the world around, the world responded and threw a group of young Spanish fans in her way. They took her as her own - and there was no one to complain that she spend her time at the race with Alonso fans.

Podium. Podium when he knew that she was there watching. Was there more to wish for? His team surrounded him overjoyed, the fans were ecstatic and ever the journalists seemed to be on his side for this once. There was a post race interview, then Netflix and lots of autographs. Lando felt truly rewarded for all the hard work he put into his racing. The team insisted on Lando joining them at the club, it would have probably been impossible to avoid it, they were determined to celebrate. He barely found a moment to breathe - let alone check his phone, where a celebratory text from Y/N was sitting among 70 other texts.

Minutes turned into hours and usually patient Y/N was losing it. There was nothing else for her to do than join her newly found pack at the bar in the city, where they continued after the race. They were typically Spanish in their ways, so the energy was high and contagious. She shared her frustrations without revealing Lando's identity, because she just had to get it out somehow. Two shots was the maximum she allowed herself in order not to start drunk calling and throwing away her last piece of dignity she felt towards herself.

"I don't wanna know. I don't need to see him on instagram wrapped around someone else. Just tell me if he texts me back," she said and handed her phone to one of the girls, the one that seemed to get it the most.

It was intoxicating to watch his usually stressed teammates and crew finally relaxed and happy. He'd been at the team for a good chuck of years now, these people were family. Few times during the night a thought entered Lando's mind. He should have just brought Y/N here. It would have been fine. So there would be some headline tomorrow. Then his memories of his exes crying at the horrific comments his "so called fans" were capable of leaving nonstop. He read her text after three or something hours, not making anything out of his response time, deciding to wait for a proper quiet moment to record a voice message.

"I only smoke when I want to feel bad," she laugher while sharing a cigarette outside the bar filled with singing people.

"Chica, you have a voice message!" her designated phone guardian exclaimed. Received 28 minutes ago. Great.

She listened to the message for two times, having trouble deciding whether she felt happy or angry. Nothing personal, nothing specific, just a happy Lando talking in the same tone he uses for interviews, she watched him enough to see the difference, asking about her whereabouts, making it sound like he just assumed that she is back at the hotel. His James Dean smile felt bitter in her memory. Her own joy that she felt when listening to his voice was the thing making her mad. He just had such an upper hand.

She took a few minutes to reply. Why the hell not. "I'm in the centre of Barcelona with some people." was the only thing she wrote. Her dirty little secret fantasy turned out to be sad undermining dream. She was leaving tomorrow evening and felt as if Lando hadn't even asked her how she was doing in the two days she'd been here. Somehow, she felt further from him than when there were miles and oceans between them.

It's hard to tell the note from a text sometimes, but Lando has shared hundreds of texts with this girl. So he knew something was up.

"Can I come and see you?" he asked straightforward.

"If you want to...but there are like people here, so..?" she replied after another pause and sent her location.

The taxi drive dragged for minutes and Lando sighed demonstratively to let his annoyance out of the system, having little to no care of what the driver thought of him.

"I'm right outside the bar, in the alleyway," he finally sent once he arrived and got a photo of his POV. She took her time, letting him evaluate what had been happening even more. Was the magic gone? Did she stopped caring? Or worse, did she never start?

He was not exactly relieved when he spotted her coming his way. There was an uncharacteristically strange look on her face.

"Hey," she said with no clear emotion for Lando to read.

"Hey," he replied passively and carefully.

"Congrats again," she said quietly. "Sorry I dragged you out of the party," she said honestly. There was a sudden wave of guilt making her feel very small. She stopped unusually far away from Lando, not exactly where a person who has shared his bed that night would. They stood far away from crowds, but blended perfectly into the street life scenery. Just a guy and a girl.

"Is everything like, alright?"

"I don't know. It's just...guess I find it harder to stay behind and pretend I don't know you than I thought I would," she managed to slowly voice her biggest concern. There was a part of her that was proud for that.

"Ok. I'm sorry it's so unfortunate. I guess I act a little different when I'm afraid of being watched." She had to admit he was right, it he had stepped out of the alleyway, there would be a crowd immediately. that must have been really suffocating at times.

"No, you don't have to say you're sorry or anything. I get it. I'm a regular girl, just some student. No model or a daughter of a driver or whatever. I obviously don't fit into your life. It would be crazy of me to assume that anyway. And I got carried away with my little crush on you. It's my own expectations that let me down, not you or anything. I get it, I just need some time to process and get over it." Her voice was sweet and honest with no other undertones. He had not seen this emotion on her face before. He found it fascinating that the more he saw her, the more types of expressions he was allowed to observe.

In that moment, Lando was more than sure of where he wanted the conversation to go. There wasn't a thing that would make his second guess. This realization makes one nonchalantly braver than usual. "But I don't want you to get over it. The last you are to me is ordinary. Or some fucking shit like that." The concept of her thinking this was really fucking up his own head.

"Lando, I can see this thing we do is making me someone I don't want to be. An insecure sucker for a drop of your attention. It's honestly embarassing," she stated. "I like Lando, don't give a fuck that you happen to be Lando Norris."

He was shocked how she managed to hit him where it hurt without even realizing it.

"But that's the thing. I'm obsessed with you. Me, Lando. But Lando Norris does not leave when you enter the room. I know the price of that better than anyone and I just want to protect you for as long as I can. The thing I'd love to do the most is to introduce you to my friends and definitely not talk to them about how amazing time I have when I'm with you."

Y/N took a moment to take in what he was trying to say to her. She was took busy getting through her own thoughts that she almost did not listen to his. Lando took a step closer to her, knowing that if he fucks this up, they will hardly see each other again. There was no room for any cat and mouse games. Destiny set them up for the level hard. It's not like they will bump into each other in the paddock.

"I want to enjoy what we have in private for as long as we can. I want to get to know you and have the space to do so. I'm terrified of someone giving you any hate," he whispered. Y/N has probably never felt as stupid as she had then.

"I don't know why I'm so weird. And overreacting."

"You're not," he said firmly, kicking himself mentally for not taking more of an effort when he had her here. "I'm sorry for neglecting you. And for hiding you. It's definitely not because I find you not enough," he said, disgusted with the word enough leaving his mouth.

Once some barriers are broken, it's impossible to take a step back.

"We don't need to parade around, Lando. I get what you're saying and all," she said.

"Yes. Not until we both feel ready, if that's ok."

"Great, " she smile. There was silence for a moment. Lando's mind was suddenly clear as a day.

"Y/N. I want to see you again. And more often. Not as a fuck buddy or a special friend. How do you feel about that?"

"Like what...like dating or something?"

"No," he smiled, seeing how it made her all awkward and tight. "Not something. Proper full on dating, all in. Let it flow and see where we end up." It was like a weight she had no idea she carried lifter of her.

"Yes," she replied and bit her lip to hide her excitement.

He smiled back. "Ok, honey". With that he kissed his newly found girlfriend. New set of slightly different butterflies entered the chat.

"So I guess I'll have to change your contact name, huh?" he asked with his signature cheeky grin.

"To what?"

"How did you put it, sucker for my attention?"

She hit him playfully and he responded with another kiss.

epilogue p1

__________________________________________________

Tagged all those who like to suffer: @prudyhoo @anuksunamon @sagestack @esquerkaren @ushygushybaby @ilove-tswizzle @thehufflepuffavenger1 @superlegend216 @mehrmonga @lovely-blackinnon @mylifeihate1029 @lausdigitaldiary @tswizzleismother @goldenharrysworld @llando4norris @classiclitfreak @ophcelia @leclerc13 @starmanv @k4r1402 @biitch-with-wifi @drunk-teens-doing-drugs @starmanv @formulaal

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steveslevis · 9 months

Text

delicate - chapter two

is it chill that you're in my head?

pairing: steve harrington x reader

chapter contents: not a lot happening in this one, just the two of them being awkward

wc: 3.6k

a/n: hope you guys enjoy!!! sorry it took so long, hopefully ch3 won't take me as long

Everything that comes after your so-called interview at Ralph’s happens in what seems like a matter of seconds. Before you know it, you’re standing on Fifth avenue with Eddie the next day, your two large suitcases, one duffle bag and backpack being the only things you needed to tow across the city.

Eddie had been the opposite of excited for you, in all honesty. He told you damn near a thousand times over a span of 24 hours that you should just move in with him and Alexander, and that you should try to negotiate with him about still working for him until you can save for your own place. Much to his dismay, you ignored your best friend’s concerns, shaking your head with confidence every time he tried to ask if you would stay. You had a good feeling about this, the voice in the back of your head telling you to go for it, that it would be a good growth opportunity, that you would never heal by spending your time rotting on Eddie’s couch.

So that’s how you ended up here, walking into one of the most expensive luxury housing buildings in the entire city with your weary best friend in tow. The two of you had made the mile and a half long trek across the city instead of using one of the Harrington family’s chauffeurs – you had insisted to Steve that it wasn’t necessary for the little amount of belongings that you had.

“Holy shit,” you hear Eddie mumble behind you while you push open the heavy glass door and walk into the lobby.

The lobby is grand, with white marble floors, sleek black walls, gold accents, and arguably the biggest crystal chandelier you’ve ever seen hanging from the ceiling in the middle of the room. There’s two gray leather couches sitting in front of a modern fireplace on one side, while a black granite front desk is on the other, with a young, blonde woman standing behind it.

“Hi there!” The woman calls to you from behind the desk, bearing the fakest smile you’ve ever seen as she eyes you and Eddie up and down, likely judging how out of place the two of you look in such a luxurious area, “can I help you two?”

“Yeah, we’re looking for the Harrington residence,” you say while approaching the desk with an equally fake smile plastered on your face, “are we in the right place?”

The woman, whose name is Carolyn according to her nametag, immediately turns off the fake niceties once you say who you’re looking for. The fake smile falters for a moment and you see her furrow her brow while looking you over once again. She looks down to the desk in front of her for a moment, reaching for an envelope that’s off to the side.

“You must be the new nanny,” she says, and you almost swear you hear a hint of jealousy in her voice as she speaks.

“Yes, that’s me.” you say with a small chuckle to yourself, raising your brow at her when she nearly frowns at your response.

Her lips fall into a thin line at that, her hand coming up from behind the counter to shove the envelope onto the granite in front of you.

“Here’s the access card and key to the apartment,” she says to you as you grab the envelope, inside is a glimmering golden card and a silver key that’s attached to a small tag with your name on it, “you have to scan the card in the elevator to get to the top floor, then use the key to open the door. Don’t lose them, or you’ll have to pay for them.”

She turns back to the computer in front of her without a word as you nod. You turn to Eddie once she does, exchanging a confused look before making your way towards the elevator on the other end of the lobby. You scan the key card and the elevator’s doors automatically close as the circular button with a large “P” at the top of the pad lighting up as it begins its ascent.

“Jesus, the fucking penthouse?” Eddie scoffs under his breath in disbelief, shifting your duffle bag on his shoulder.

It only takes a minute for the elevator to reach the top floor, the door of the elevator sliding open to reveal a short hallway with only one door at the end. The two of you step out and make your way over to the large front door, you look over to Eddie once you stand in front of it. The look on your face is filled with nervousness and excitement, but mainly nervousness.

“Should I knock?” you question, staring down at your key.

“You have a key for a reason, don’t you?” he quips, raising an eyebrow at you.

You shoot him a quick glare and sigh, flipping the key in your fingers a few times as you try to compose yourself. Eventually you reach for the door, sliding the key into the lock to open it. The door swings open and you’re met with arguably the nicest apartment – penthouse, rather – that you’ve stepped foot in while living in the city.

It’s much more cozy and less grandiose than you had expected, a stark contrast from the marble lined, golden and glittering lobby you had just entered from. You step into the living room when you first walk in, a large olive green couch and two matching chairs face a fireplace on the far wall, a comically large TV hanging above it. Everything is clean and definitely luxurious, but also feels lived-in, much more welcoming and warm than the rest of the complex.

The kitchen is to the left through a wide archway, but you don't have time to explore, as your thoughts are interrupted by Steve bounding into view from the kitchen. There’s a welcoming smile on his face as he steps into the living room, wiping his hands with a kitchen towel before tossing it over his shoulder to free his hands. He’s wearing a pair of slacks and a navy button down. His hair is a little more disheveled than it was last time the two of you met, but still looked perfectly put together somehow. You could tell that he had recently gotten done with work for the day, partially from the fact that he had two buttons undone on his shirt, and partially from the air of remnant stress that he was carrying.

“Welcome! Please, come on in.” Steve says with a smile as he watches Eddie close the door behind him. “Thank you for coming on such short notice, again. I really appreciate you starting so soon.”

“It’s no problem, I’m glad to help.” you say, shifting the backpack on your shoulders.

Steve extends a hand to Eddie to introduce himself, and Eddie gives him a reserved introduction in return, still hesitant about everything as he scans the penthouse.

Steve looks between you and Eddie once more, eyeing the four bags between the two of you before asking, “Is this everything you had to bring up, or is there still more downstairs?”

“Yeah, this is it, actually.” you laugh, knowing the amount of belongings you had was quite underwhelming, “that’s why I said we could just make the hike with the bags instead of taking one of your cars.”

“Oh, it would’ve been no problem either way.” he says while shaking his head, reaching for the suitcase that was by your side, “C’mon, I’ll show you to your room.”

Steve guides the two of you to a room off to the right on the first floor, explaining that the people who owned the penthouse before him had used it as a place for their in-laws to stay. He opened the door to the room, letting you and Eddie walk in before him. The bedroom was much nicer than you had expected in all honesty, with a queen-sized bed in the middle adorned in obviously expensive cream-colored linens, a sitting area equipped with a stocked bookshelf (perks of being employed by the CEO of a famous publishing company), and a desk for you to work on school during your time off. There was an en-suite bathroom as well, which looked larger than the entire living room of your previous shared apartment.

“Wow, this is–this is so amazing.” you gasp, looking over to Steve gratefully. “I wasn’t expecting anything this nice, to be honest.”

“Gotta make sure you’re comfortable so you stick around,” he says with a wink, which instantly sends your stomach into a fit of butterflies. “Go ahead and get settled in, I’m gonna go check on Amelia and the food.”

Before you could thank him, Steve was through the door and back in the nearby kitchen. You could tell why he needed your help, his mind worked at a thousand miles a minute, like he always had something that he needed to be doing.

“You still sure about all this?” Eddie implores, breaking you from your thoughts.

You look over to your best friend to see a face contorted with genuine concern and hesitancy, unsure of if he should leave you here alone or if he should tote you out over his shoulder regardless of your wishes.

“I am one hundred percent sure, Eds.” you assure him with a soft smile, pulling him into a hug.

Eddie wraps his arms around your shoulders with a sigh, finally giving up his fight on your decisions. He knew you were too stubborn to listen to him and deep down he could tell that Steve meant well, but he was just so unsure.

“I just want you to be safe.” he says finally, resting his chin atop your head.

“And I will be,” you state confidently, pulling back to look up at him. “This place might be, like, one of the safest places to live in the city. And besides, anywhere is safer than where I was.”

“You mean on my couch?” Eddie says, feigning an insulted look as he speaks. He knew you were talking about living with Luke, but he also knew you didn’t want to talk about him.

“I appreciate everything you do for me, Eds, but your couch is the second to last place I would like to sleep tonight.” you say with a teasing smile, watching as he rolls his eyes playfully.

“Alright, alright, but don’t come crying to me when sexy Mr. CEO Harrington turns out to be crazy like I said,” he replies, and you shoot him a glare. “What? There’s gotta be something wrong with him, he’s too hot and too perfect on paper to be normal.”

“I think you gotta stop obsessing over my ‘hot’ boss before you get me fired before my first day has even started,” you laugh, shoving his shoulder after using air quotes when saying hot – you didn’t think Steve was hot at all, right?

“Okay, fine I’ll stop tormenting you.” he chuckles, “as long as you promise not to fall in love with him or some shit like that.”

You immediately laugh out loud at the thought, shaking your head immediately. “That’s not gonna happen, Eds. He’s my employer and I’m only here to take care of his daughter. Besides, I’ll probably barely see him since he’ll be working all the time.”

Eddie gives you an incredulous look before pulling you in for another quick hug.

“Please, just call me if there’s anything you need and I can be here to get you, okay?” he says and you nod.

The two of you walk out of the bedroom shortly after, saying your goodbyes at the door with one last hug (that Eddie almost doesn’t let go in) before you make your way to the kitchen, where you know Steve is.

Unsurprisingly, the kitchen is just as nice as the rest of the penthouse that you’ve seen, but is currently in a bit of a state of disarray. Steve is standing next to the stove, and he’s serving what looks to be a pasta dish onto plates on the counter. Amelia is sitting at the long, dark dining table on the other side of the room. She’s zeroed in on two dolls in front of her, mumbling a conversation between the two of them to herself.

“Food’s done, sweetheart.” Steve called out to his daughter, grabbing a pink plate from the pile, presumably for her. “Why don’t you put your dolls up on the counter while we eat so they don’t get dirty, okay?”

The little girl nods, grabbing her things from the table to put them up, clearly excited for the dinner her dad had prepared, “want butter on my bread, please Daddy.” she requests, a smile on her face when she spots the pink plate atop the counter.

“I’ll get you some once I sit down, love.” he replies, smoothing down his daughter’s hair when she comes to stand next to him.

There was something so sweet and so domestic about the situation unfolding in front of you, a father and daughter busy in their own little worlds, but not too busy to share a kind interaction.

“Just in time, I was just gonna come see if you guys were hungry.” Steve says, peering over his shoulder to meet your eyes when you take another step into the room.

“Oh, sure!” you reply, “it’s just me though. I’m sorry to disappoint, but Eddie left just a second ago.”

Steve laughs in response, shaking his head at your words. He quickly serves up some penne alla vodka, extending the plate and some silverware to you once he does. You follow him to the table as he carries his and Amelia’s plates, setting one in front of his excited daughter, who almost immediately digs in.

“Well, I’m sad your boyfriend couldn’t stay for dinner, but it was very kind of him to help you move over on such short notice and be so understanding of the situation.” Steve says once you both settle at the table.

You had just taken your first bite of food when Steve started to speak, and the suggestion of Eddie being your boyfriend nearly makes you choke on the pasta. A small laugh escapes your lips as you play off your near-death experience with a cough, shaking your head at the thought.

“Are you alright?” Steve questions, setting his own fork down as he watches you carefully, making sure you’re not actually choking.

“Yes! S–sorry, I’m fine!” you stammer quickly, shaking your head, “I just–Sorry, I thought that was funny. Eddie isn’t my boyfriend.” you reply with a nervous smile.

“Oh?” Steve retorts, raising an eyebrow at you.

“He’s just my best friend, I–I was actually sleeping on him and his boyfriend’s couch for a few days so he just wanted to make sure where I was going to be living was safer than that.” you say, cheeks flushing red at the admission of couch surfing less than 24 hours prior to ending up in this penthouse, of all places.

“Sleeping on his couch?” he implores, “I thought you said you lived in a small studio in Yorkville?”

“I did, with my ex. That is where I was but we–well, we had a nasty breakup a few weeks back so that’s how I ended up on Eddie’s couch. It all happened so fast that I keep forgetting I don’t live there anymore –” you blurt out, stopping yourself when you realize how much you’re sharing with this man you barely know. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be telling you all this, you’re my boss for God’s sake, I am so sorry, Steve.”

“Hey, no, no, you’re fine!” he replies quickly, shooting you a reassuring smile. “I’m, uh, I’m sorry you had to deal with that.”

You give him a small, sad smile in return, choosing to focus your gaze on the food in front of you so you don’t embarrass yourself any more than you already have.

“I know it probably doesn’t mean a lot coming from me since I don’t know what happened, but I’m sure that you didn’t deserve to be the one left on your best friend’s couch without a place to live.” Steve was rambling now, “and I’m sorry for assuming that Eddie was your boyfriend, I just didn’t think it was possible for someone like you to be single.”

There was an awkward beat of silence after Steve finished his nervous ramble, leaving you with a million thoughts that you couldn’t process in the moment, all being ones that made your stomach flutter. You didn’t really have time to process any of it though, as your thoughts were interrupted by Amelia tugging on her dad’s sleeve.

“Where my butter bread?” she questions, giving her dad a very stern look, clearly impatient from not getting her bread with the meal.

Steve opens his mouth to retort, but you’re up from the table and grabbing the plate with baguette slices and a pad of butter Steve had forgotten on the counter next to the pot of pasta. You give the little girl a smile, swiping some butter on one of the slices before reaching across the table to hand it to her. She grabs the bread and hastily takes a large bite, giggling to herself in satisfaction.

“What do you say?” Steve says to her, giving her a knowing look.

“Tank you,” she says to you, mouth full of bread as she grins over at you.

The once awkward moment quickly resolved after Amelia’s interruption, and dinner went by smoothly after that. You discussed what you would need to do to help Amelia throughout the day and night, and what days Steve would be around to help out. He let you know that you wouldn’t have to cook dinner, as he insisted on sitting down with her almost every evening for the meal and making it on his own. After dinner, you insisted on helping Steve clean up, but he insisted against it, that he would finish up. Instead, you opted to get Amelia ready for bed, getting her showered and cleaned up before reading her one of the dozens of children’s books that she had littered around her bedroom.

It was around 9 by the time you finished getting her to bed, leaving her room with the bedroom door cracked slightly. Both her and Steve’s bedrooms were upstairs, along with Steve’s office that he used to work from home on occasion. You passed the office, noticing a small light flooding from the doorway as you did. Before you could walk down the stairs, you heard a voice from inside the office call for you.

Steve was sitting in the dimly lit room, at the large oak desk that sat in the middle of the room. He looked up from his computer when you came in, there was a tired look on his face that changed when he locked eyes with you. Thin rimmed glasses sat on his face that you hadn’t seen before, and he was freshly showered, his hair still drying and the collar of his gray t-shirt was slightly damp. He looked exhausted, but still managed to look extremely attractive and that made you want to crawl into his lap and – no, stop it. Your mind was wandering, it had been too long of a day already.

“She went down okay?” he questioned, breaking you from your trance.

“Yeah, she was fine. She made me read Goodnight Moon twice before she fell asleep, she said I read it wrong the first time around.” you say with a laugh.

“That sounds about right,” he chuckles in reply, shaking his head. There’s a beat of contemplative silence, then Steve looks back up at you, “also, before you head to bed. I just wanted to apologize for earlier, I–I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable by asking too many questions or anything, I’m sorry if I did.”

“Don’t apologize, you’re fine. I’ve been asked worse things, don’t worry about it.” you say with an assuring smile, earning one back from him in return that makes your heart skip a beat. “Goodnight, Steve.”

Steve says goodnight in reply and you turn on your heels to walk back downstairs. Exhaustion hits you all at once when you make it to the bedroom that you now call your own, throwing yourself onto the bed with a sigh.

It’s in that moment that you’re thankful for changing and getting ready for the night before you made your way up to put Amelia to bed, because now you can just cuddle into your new bed with no worries. Well, that is until your mind starts to wander.

All day you had brushed off the thoughts you’d had about Steve, the remarks Eddie had made about Steve, and the remarks Steve had made to you at dinner about being surprised that you were single. There was no reason for you to be overthinking it all, you told yourself. There was no reason for your stomach to flutter at the thought of Steve, your new employer, winking at you jokingly. There was no reason for your mind to wander when you saw him with wet hair and glasses, but you couldn’t help yourself.

What did it all mean? You shouldn’t even be thinking about anyone right now, you just went through a disgusting breakup with an even more disgusting man, you should be thinking about nobody but yourself.

You weren’t sure what any of it meant, and were truthfully terrified to find the real answer.

But that was for another time, as sleep overtook you not long after you set an alarm, mind still running as you drifted into slumber.

taglist: @siriuslysmoking @blackholegladiator @cultish-corner @cris-wants-a-word @nervousmumbling @angelbabyivy @ohheyitsrowan @sweetdazequeen @royalestrellas @20orca00 @taeteddybear @different-spokes @paleidiot @frostandflamesfanfic @tulips2715 @rainbowfruity14 @shinytinywhispers @corrodedcoffincumslut @definitionwanderlust @starsinsidemyeyes @mikeschmidtgf @haruari @shallowparadise @micheledawn1975 @rexorangecouny @hollandweather @redbarn1995

#steve harrington #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington smut #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington angst #steve harrington fanfic #stranger things #stranger things fanfic #stevis writes

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nonasuch · 4 months

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so I went to New York this weekend!

I tagged along with some friends who were going to the Five Points Toy Festival in Brooklyn, and convinced them to come see Sleep No More with me on Thursday night, since it’s allegedly closing at some point and I’ve always wanted to go.

And since they had to head back to DC a day before me, I decided to get another ticket for the Sunday matinee on my own.

Unfortunately my cards were a 6 and a 7, so I missed a few things right at the beginning, but I’m still really happy with my experience. My first show I spent a bunch of time following the Tailor, which I really enjoyed — he had a duet with the Taxidermist in his shop where they played tug-of-war with his measuring tape, and another with the speakeasy bartender. I saw Hecate eat her dinner and sing “Is That All There Is” in the 4th floor bar, and the Porter try to save Lady Macduff from the poisoned milk and then do an amazing dance in the bag check room. Plus a bunch more small lovely moments that I caught in passing as I explored.

My second show I had my bearings a little bit more. I got to chat with “Benji” (who I now know was actually Will Boyajian!) in the Manderly before my card was called, which was really fun!

Before this trip, I did do some advance reading, so I’d have a general sense of what to expect and wouldn’t be totally lost. This also gave me an idea for a little art project: I made a set of papier-mâché eggs (using a trashed copy of Macbeth for the paper) with thematically appropriate prizes inside, sealed with a wax seal and a red ribbon you could pull to open them. Basically fancier versions of the mystery eggs I have at the shop. I made eight, because that was all I could fit in my dress pockets. The prizes were:

a glass jar of vintage mother-of-pearl buttons

a glass vial with a dried flower inside, sealed with wax

another sealed vial with a fossil shark’s tooth

a tiny bell jar with mini (fake) butterflies on pins

a brooch made from a vintage medal ribbon and vintage keys

a tiny glass bird

a little bag of vintage game pieces

a wooden acorn with more tiny treasures inside it

I ended up giving “Benji” the shark tooth egg, which turned out to be perfect because he said he collects shark teeth! The others I saved until I got inside; I wanted to be careful about making sure I could give them out without interrupting anything.

I was super lucky to have some time entirely alone with the Tailor while he sewed up the Taxidermist’s coat, so I just set his egg (the buttons) on the corner of his desk and stepped back, and he tucked it into his jacket pocket when he was done.

I watched the Taxidermist make his bone sculpture assemblage and then smash it in frustration, so I hid an egg under one of the skulls after he left. I did get to see him find it when he came back. Same with Hecate, when I left an egg under her fan on her table at the wrecked bar.

The speakeasy bartender invited me to play a card game with him. I lost, but I gave him an egg as a thank-you.

I watched the Porter make a paper boat and blow it off the edge of the counter towards me. I caught it, and tried to give it back with his egg. He took the egg, but gave me back the boat. And I caught the witch in the green dress in a quiet moment in the lobby, and handed her an egg across the counter.

I realized I’d accidentally given the Taxidermist the wrong egg, but I managed to catch him at the last possible second, before he disappeared after the walkouts, gave him the right one, and told him I’d given him Malcolm’s egg by mistake. (Some of them were labeled, but the lighting is so low and my labels were tiny).

Aside from my self-imposed side quest, I got to see a bunch of scenes I’d missed last time. I caught the rave, I followed Agnes for a while, I saw a lovely waltz between Duncan and Mrs. Danvers in the ballroom. I kind of forgot the fifth floor existed, oops.

Afterwards, I was totally exhausted and must have looked it, because someone let me into the reserved section so I could sit until the crowd thinned out and I felt a little less wiped. I have some really cool souvenirs — my mask, and the paper boat, and I bought a poster too.

If they extend it into the fall, I’ll totally go again.

#sleep no more #sleep no more nyc #the mckittrick hotel

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fakelobbycards · 7 months

Text

Godzilla Minus One, fake Japanese Lobby Card. 2023

#godzilla minus one #godzilla minus 1 #lobby card #lobby cards #fake lobby card #fake lobby cards #takashi yamazaki #godzilla

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trlvsn · 1 year

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the significance of music and sound in aa4 is something that means so much to me. phoenix's horrible piano playing, apollo's loud screech and klavier's tasteless music all blend together perfectly into a melody that makes kristoph gavin's ears bleed: irritating, second-grade, something that soils the silence of the court in which he is the only one standing, the only one talking, him and the law, only his voice deciding the outcome of the trial. they displease him greatly: he makes rude remarks about phoenix's skills and insults apollo's voice, and i can't imagine he approves much of klavier's music. they threaten him, ruin that little violin tune of his. phoenix, apollo and klavier are the three who dare to make some noise, to speak up, to cut through the uncaring silence.

and music is a form of art that only becomes this significant by the fourth game: before, the main one was paintings (hund in the lobby, sketched by larry, critiqued by phoenix, photos, posters, visuals visuals visuals), but we can't trust what we see anymore by aa4, can we? we see an innocent girl and a diary page and think nothing is wrong with the picture. thank god for ema skye - now we can take those paintings drew misham made and look underneath, layer by layer, because we can't afford to trust the surface anymore, can't afford to trust our own eyes. phoenix decides we couldn't, anyway - what use is it to tell people to open their eyes when all they will see is the darkness of the law. what use is it when the lights in the courtroom are off and what remains is the merciless knock of the gavel. our eyes deceive us, everything is fake - forged pages, forged letters, forged paintings, forged cards, forged identities; all tricks, tricks, tricks, a magician with a shiny prop, a performance.

so what we are left with in the dark age of the law is the power to speak up, to paint pictures with music instead, like lamoir does: because music speaks to people's souls. music is not clear, music is emotion, music is something that touches your heart and makes you think. phoenix asks the court of they would even hear him out of he spoke up after he presents the forged page. the court says no. it takes seven years for him to get his voice back and scream "objection".

so when the only impact kristoph gavin can make is laughter, the only sound he can make, he makes sure it rings in the court for as long as it can.

#had to get this out of my system sorry #ace attorney #phoenix wright #kristoph gavin #klavier gavin #apollo justice #aa4 #ajaa #aj:aa #apollo justice: ace attorney #ace attorney meta #aa

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suddencolds · 9 months

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The Worst Timing | [2/?]

happy (late) new year :') after a month (and a lot of editing and dissatisfaction), i am back with part 2 of the 'yves has had too easy of a time' series (6.4k words). you can read [part 1] here!

this is an OC fic - here is a list of everything I've written w these two!

Summary: Yves invites Vincent to a wedding, in France, where the rest of his family will be in attendance. It's a very important wedding, so he's definitely not going to let anything—much less the flu—ruin it. (ft. fake dating, an international trip, downplaying illness, sharing a hotel room)

—

When they get to the hotel Aimee’s booked for them, it’s already late enough to be dark out. Yves helps unload their suitcases from the back, while Leon loads them up onto a luggage cart.

It’s an exceptionally nice hotel—picturesque brick walls, glossy windows all in a row, slanted red rooftops rising up into the sky. He’d looked at it briefly when Aimee consulted him about the bookings, but it looks even more like a castle in person, like something straight out of a storybook. Yves will have to remember to thank Aimee and Genevieve again for picking such a nice place for them to stay at.

They check in at the lobby. Yves makes sure the suitcases make their way up to Leon and Victoire’s room, which is on his and Vincent’s floor, but at the other end of the hallway. (“Don’t be late to breakfast tomorrow,” he tells them, sternly, and Leon—who has slept through his alarms for as long as Yves has lived with him—laughs. “I’m especially talking to you,” Yves adds, looking straight at him).

Then he wheels the luggage cart down the hallway. “I’m so ready to crash,” he says, to Vincent. “It’s been a long day. Are you tired?”

“I’ll be tired once I lay down,” Vincent says. He carefully extricates one of the key cards and holds it out to the door card reader.

The interior of the hotel room is a little colder than the hallway is. Vincent flicks on the light, slips the key card back into its designated slot, and leaves his shoes in a neat line at the door. Yves follows him in.

Their room is a standard suite—there’s a small sitting area just next to the entrance, a bathroom off to the side, and a door frame—though not a proper door—which leads to the bedroom. On the far end, translucent white curtains give way to a sliding door which opens up to the balcony. It’s a nice room, Yves thinks, with a nice view of the rest of the hotel, its pool and gardens, the circular sun umbrellas stretching out floors below them. It’s only when Vincent hesitates, standing in the bedroom, that Yves realizes what’s wrong.

The bedroom has a singular queen-sized bed, and nothing else.

Of course. It makes sense for this to be the living arrangement, if they’re really dating.

“I can take the couch,” Yves says, clearing his throat, which doesn’t feel any better than it did earlier.

Vincent turns to look at him.

“I mean, this whole pretend-relationship thing doesn’t have to extend to us sharing a bed.”

Mentally, he kicks himself for not having the foresight to predict this. Just because Vincent is fine with putting on a show in front of his friends—and in this case, family—doesn’t mean that Vincent will be fine sharing a bed with him when they’re in private.

“You can have the bed,” Vincent says. “The bed will probably be warmer.”

Whether that’s a comment about how Yves has been too cold all day, or whether it’s just an offhanded appraisal which has nothing to do with him, Yves doesn’t know.

“It’s fine,” Yves says. “I don’t mind the sofa. Besides, hotels usually have extra blankets. I’m sure they’re just hidden in some drawer somewhere.”

He rummages through a few of the cabinets and looks through the closet until he finds what he’s looking for—a feather comforter, folded neatly on the top shelf. He takes it down, keeping it folded under his arm.

“See,” he says, flashing Vincent a smile. “I’ll be perfectly warm, like this.” Vincent still looks a little unconvinced. “You should wake me if you’re not,” he says. “I don’t mind switching.”

“Duly noted,” Yves says, even though he has no intention of waking Vincent for any reason.

“The couch probably extends into a pull-out bed,” Vincent says, already heading back into the living room. “It should be more comfortable. I can help you set it up.”

“I can do it,” Yves says. All this talking is not helping with his throat. Worse, somewhere over the course of the past couple hours, there’s a faint tickle that’s managed to settle into his sinuses.

“It’s the least I can do, if I’m taking the bed,” Vincent says.

Yves is about to say more, but he finds that he really needs to sneeze. He lifts his arm to his face, his eyes watering, his breath hitching—

“Hh-! hHehh’IIZSCHh-IIEW!”

“Bless you,” Vincent calls, from the next room over.

“Thanks,” Yves says, turning into his shoulder with a small cough. His breath hitches again, irritatingly. “hHeh-! HEHH’IiITSHHiEW! snf-!”

When he heads into the living room, Vincent is already almost done setting up the pull-out bed. Yves helps him lock down the legs of the frame.

“Thanks,” Yves says, fluffing out the blanket he’s holding so that he can lay it out over the mattress. “All set up.”

He looks the bed over. It looks inviting enough—a little smaller than the bed in the bedroom, the mattress thinner, but fluffy and clean regardless. Vincent steps past him to duck into the bedroom and emerges a moment later, carrying two pillows.

“Are these your pillows?” Yves says.

“They’re yours now.”

“I can sleep without pillows.”

“They gave me two sets, anyways,” Vincent says. “I wouldn’t have made use of these ones.”

“Okay.” Tentatively, Yves takes a seat at the edge of the mattress. From the doorway, he gets a limited view of the bedroom—he can see the curtains at the far end, the desk pushed up against the wall, and the very foot of the bed. “Do you think this is what couples do when they’re traveling and they get in a fight?”

“Is that what we’re doing?” Vincent asks.

“It might as well be,” Yves says.

“If your family walks in and sees that I’ve banished you to the sofa, I don’t think I’ll ever be forgiven,” Vincent says, so seriously that it almost doesn’t register as a joke. Yves laughs.

“You can just say I snore,” he says. “Or, worse. Maybe I kick you in my sleep.”

“Do you?”

Yves doesn’t—at least, he’s been told he doesn’t—but it’s of no consequence. They’re not going to be sharing a bed. “Luckily for you, you won’t have to find out.”

He gets settled—sets his suitcase out on one of the side tables, sets out all his toiletries in the bathroom, puts the clothes he’s planning to wear for tomorrow in a neat stack, and hangs up the suit he’s going to wear for the wedding in the closet. He’d been careful folding it, but he’ll probably have to give it another good iron before the wedding date. By the time he has everything accounted for, the bathroom door is closed, and the shower’s running.

The hotel has left them a couple bottles of water on the nightstand but he heads downstairs to buy a couple more from the on-site convenience store on the first floor. Victoire had them exchange dollars for euros at the airport, which Yves thinks he might have forgotten to do in their haste. Even though she’s the youngest of the three of them, sometimes he thinks she is the one with the most common sense.

He strikes up a brief conversation with the cashier, in French that he thinks is fairly fluent but probably accented—it’s been awhile since he’s gotten any practice with it. His speaking is good, but there are some colloquialisms and some idioms that he’s not familiar with and ends up having to ask about.

By the time he gets back up to the bedroom, bottled waters in hand, Vincent is done showering, his hair still a little damp.

“I got us extra waters,” Yves says. “There’s a convenience store down on the first floor.”

“Oh,” Vincent says. “Thanks. You didn’t have to.” He looks nice, even with his hair damp, even though he’s wearing just a t-shirt and shorts to sleep, Yves thinks, and then immediately tables that thought.

“It was nice to stretch my legs,” Yves says. “And nice to have a chance to practice my French. My relatives are going to be disappointed in me if I sound worse than I did last year.”

“Are you fluent?”

“Fluent enough to hold a proper conversation. Not fluent enough to not sound like a foreigner. I grew up speaking French and English, but obviously in the states, there aren’t as many opportunities to practice French.”

“I don’t think you would have lost much of it,” Vincent says, as if from experience.

Yves laughs. “For my own sake, let’s hope not.”

When he steps into the bathroom, the mirror is still fogged up from the steam. He swipes a hand over the glass to clear enough of it so that he can see.

He looks fine, still, at least outwardly—a little tired, maybe, if the dark circles under his eyes are anything to go by. There’s a faint flush to his complexion, too, which is strange, because he doesn’t feel like he has a fever. He’s just a little colder than usual, is all.

All in all, he still looks passable. At first glance, it doesn’t seem very evident that anything is wrong at all.

He takes a shower, cranks the water up until it’s almost scalding, and stands under the hot water, shutting his eyes. The warmth is a welcome change. It’s the first time today that he’s been really, properly warm—if only because he’s turned the water up a couple degrees higher than he usually has it at.

The water splashes over his shoulders. He leans his head back, taking in a deep breath of the steam.

It’s fine. It will be fine. He’ll drink tons of water, take all the vitamin C he can find, and sleep this off tonight. He’ll be good as new tomorrow.

—

When Yves blinks awake, it’s still dark out.

The first thing that registers to him is that he’s cold.

What started off as a slight headache has turned into something much worse—his head is throbbing, and even with the blanket, he’s freezing. The air conditioning in the room is on—he can hear the low hum of it through the vents—and everything feels unbearably frigid. Even the bedsheets, which are at the very least warm from his body heat, seem to always be losing heat, unpleasantly, when he shifts.

When he checks his phone, the time onscreen is 3:45 am. Too late to call the front desk and ask them to send up more blankets, probably—even if they are technically in operation, he doesn’t want to be that one asshole to ask for a favor at this time of day.

He’ll ask tomorrow, he thinks, at a more reasonable hour. It’s almost morning, anyways. Maybe if he manages to get back to sleep, he won’t feel the cold as much.

There’s a dull pressure to his sinuses, a slight tickle that seems only to sharpen as he rubs his nose. His breath catches, too quickly for him to do anything to attend to the subsequent—

“Hheh—! hHEHH’iISHHhi-iEw!”

Fuck. The sneeze is loud enough to echo a little within the confines of the living room. Vincent is in the next room over. Vincent is asleep, presumably, like Yves should be.

And Yves’s nose is starting to tickle again.

He raises the blankets to his face, presses his nose to them to muffle the next—

“hhEH— hehh’IZschhH-IIEW! snf-!”

The sound is marginally quieter this time, muffled into the cotton, but it’s far from silent. He hopes, desperately, that it’s quiet enough, or that Vincent is a heavy enough sleeper for it not to matter. There isn’t even a proper door between them.

He reaches up to swipe a hand over his eyes. How did this get so bad so quickly? His head feels heavy, and every sneeze that tears through him is harsh enough to scrape at his already-raw throat—whatever hope he’d had for sleeping it off seems to be diminishing with every passing minute.

He listens, for a moment, for anything: any shifting from the room over, any motion, any footsteps. But to his relief, there’s nothing.

His head is swimming. Worse, he still has to sneeze. The tissue box is on the nightstand in the bedroom Vincent is in, but Yves thinks that it would be too unwise to make a trip right now and risk waking Vincent up a good three hours before sunrise.

“hHh-! hhH-!...”

Fuck. He stays frozen like that, for a moment, one hand hovering over his nose and mouth. His nose tickles, badly, kept just narrowly on edge. It feels like one wrong breath would be enough to set off a sneeze, but sometimes it seems to evade him at the last second—he can’t seem to get his body to settle on something decisive. “hhHEh-!”

The sneeze is unexpected, when it comes, at last—loud and forceful and vicious.

“hehH’NGKT’shhH’EEW!”

A short burst of pain shoots through his temples. Yves can’t claim he’s ever been good at stifling, and this attempt is no exception. It’s not much quieter than the others, even muffled into his pillow, and the attempt to stifle has only made the pressure in his head feel worse.

“Hheh… hh-!” He sniffles. His eyes are watering so much he thinks they might spill over. “hHeh… hh-hHih-HEHh’DJJSHh’iEEW!”

This one he muffles into his hands, ducking forward into his chest. The relief he feels from letting out the sneeze is unfortunately short-lived. He’s nowhere close to done. He can feel it, in the tickle in his nose which refuses to let up, in the pressure to his sinuses which only seems to worsen with each sneeze.

For a moment, Yves contemplates spending the rest of the night just outside their room, out in the hallway. It will almost certainly be colder, he would be quieter there, at the very least—there would be a proper door and a wall between him and Vincent, and that’s something, isn’t it?

Before he can seriously consider it, he’s snapping forward at the waist, muffling another loud sneeze into the covers.

“hhHeh-iIDDSHHhh’YyiiEW!”

He finds himself coughing, after, muffling the coughs tightly into the feather blanket in an attempt to cough more quietly. He shivers, huddling deeper into the covers. His head is pounding. Every time he swallows, sharp, hot pain lances his throat.

He hears nothing from the room over, even when he listens carefully. This much is a relief—truthfully, he would feel awful if he were keeping Vincent up because of this. Yves has survived on less sleep—back in university, 6am crew practice meant waking up early even when he’d been up late to finish projects or coursework, or otherwise out late with friends—but the thought of keeping Vincent up makes something uncomfortable settle in his stomach. Vincent hadn’t slept at all during the flight. He must be tired, now. The last thing he needs—after the stress of being surrounded by strangers in a foreign country, after traveling for almost 10 hours straight, after being assigned to room with his coworker, of all people—is to be woken up at an ungodly hour just because Yves can’t keep this damn cold under wraps.

Yves thinks he should try to sleep too, if only because it means he won’t be awake to succumb to the next sneeze that threatens to tear through him.

But if he’s entirely honest with himself, he’s not sure if sleep is going to come to him anytime soon.

—

Yves doesn’t remember falling asleep, but he wakes up to his 7:30am alarm so tired that he feels like he hasn’t slept at all

“Morning,” Vincent says, emerging in the doorway. He’s fully dressed already, his shirt crisply ironed, the collar upright, his hair neatly styled.

“You’re fast,” Yves says. His voice sounds a little hoarse—all the sneezing last night probably hasn’t done it any favors. But if Vincent can tell that it sounds off, he doesn’t say. “Have you been waiting long?”

“Not really,” Vincent says. “We have time.”

“Give me a few minutes to get ready,” Yves says, hauling himself out of bed. “I’ll be out in five.”

He changes in record speed, washes his face, brushes his teeth, and stuffs everything he can see himself needing into a backpack to take down to breakfast.

When he emerges, Vincent is waiting for him in the hallway.

“How did you sleep?” Yves asks.

“Fine,” Vincent says. “You?”

“I slept well enough,” Yves says, before muffling a yawn into his hand. At Vincent’s pointed glance at him, he adds, “I’m just a little tired. It’s probably jetlag. It’s what, like, 2am over in New York?”

“1:42,” Vincent says, checking his watch. “Is your whole family going to be at breakfast?”

“I’m not sure if everyone’s up,” Yves says. “But Leon and Victoire will be. I told them to be downstairs by 8, so obviously they’ll kill me if I’m not there first.”

The breakfast lounge is on the first floor, a few hallways down from the reception desk. Yves saves a table for them.

He isn’t very hungry, for some reason. Still, he fills his plate with breakfast pastries and scrambled eggs and grabs a cup of hot tea while he’s at it. He really doesn’t want to lose his voice entirely before the ceremony. Even with his jacket on—which is probably even excessive, considering the temperature of the lobby—he isn’t as warm as he’d like to be.

Victoire joins them next. She waves to Vincent as she passes. “Hope you guys got some sleep,” she says innocently.

Yves says, “We got perfectly good sleep, thank you.”

“Morning,” Leon says, appearing in the doorway at 7:59.

“You’re really cutting it close,” Yves says, sniffling.

“It’s 7:59,” Leon says. “Whether I’m on time is a binary, not a sliding scale. I’m entirely on time.”

The table Yves picked can fit more than four, so they spread themselves out through the seats. “Mom and dad said they’re having breakfast at one of the cafes nearby,” Victoire says, shrugging her sweater off and leaving it perched on the back of her seat. “They said they’d report back if it’s anything life changing.”

“There’s a welcome party tonight,” Yves says to Vincent, “For everyone who’s flown in. You’ll get to meet them then.”

“Is there anything your parents hate in a partner?” Vincent asks.

“Don’t worry too much. I don’t think— hEHh…” Yves scoots back from the table turning away as he reaches blindly for one of the cocktail napkins he’d taken. “HEHh’DDJJSHh-iiEW! Ugh, sorry.” His nose has been running all morning—he’d made sure to take a generous stack, and stuff some of them into his pockets for later, but it’s been all of fifteen minutes and he’s already nervous that he might run out. “I don’t you could get them to hate you even if you tried.”

“Mom and dad met in college, at a bar,” Leon says. Yves, who has heard this story many times before, busies himself with eating, and tries hard not to visibly shiver. In a way, he’s grateful to the two of them for filling in the space for him—the less he strains his voice today, the better. “Mom was super drunk, and for some reason when she started talking to dad the conversation topic turned to, like, something super specific and not at all romantic.”

“It was whether or not it’s ethical to clone extinct species,” Victoire says, idly folding her napkin into a pinwheel. “Though this was before it had ever been done.”

“Apparently she was drunk enough to ask his hand in marriage mid argument, and he was drunk enough to say yes, because he thought it was a joke,” Leon says. “And it was a joke. But he proposed to her seriously a year later, and all she said was ‘at least you kept your promise.’”

“But now they’re happily married,” Vincent says.

Leon nods. “They’ve been happily married for almost thirty years now. Anyways, my point is that whatever relationship you have with Yves, you don’t have to try and impress them. There’s no need to overthink it.”

“I understand,” Vincent says. “My parents got married because my dad did well in a business competition at the time, and my mom thought he was going to make a lot of money.”

“And how did that turn out?” Victoire says, interested, propping her head up on one hand.

Yves watches Vincent cut a pastry into four even pieces. “Better than you might expect,” Vincent says.

—-

The welcome dinner is held at a local restaurant—Aimee and Genevieve have rented out the outdoor space for seating. The table—a long table that seats thirty, or so—is set with tall, elegant white candles, all in a row; wine glasses with delicate stems; vases spilling over with flowers—lilacs, pink and white roses, orchids.

Above them, string lights are strung up in neat lines. When Yves sees Aimee, he doesn’t drop all of his things to run over and hug her, but it’s a close thing.

“Yves! You made it,” she says.

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” he tells her, in French. “God. Did you plan out all of this? It looks gorgeous.” “Genevieve did a lot of it,” she says. “She has a good eye for decorations.”

Genevieve is off to the side, talking to someone who Yves recognizes as her sister—Yves follows Aimee’s gaze over to where she’s standing. When he looks back, Aimee is smiling in a way Yves has never seen her smile before—the sort of fond, private smile that he feels like he isn’t sure he’s supposed to be seeing.

Yves is stricken, for a moment. It’s so clear that she’s in love. It shows all over her face, plainly, the kind of love that’s uncontestable; the kind of love that makes love, of all things, look simple. Has he ever looked like that, to someone else?

“How have you been?” he asks. “I imagine preparations have been hectic.”

“Never better,” she says, turning back to face him at last. “You’re right—it’s been exhausting. But I feel like the adrenaline is carrying me through, you know? Like I’m so happy this is happening.”

“You two deserve a perfect wedding,” Yves says, and means it. He clears his throat, sniffling. It’s a little cold out, even though the sun hasn’t gone down yet; he really hopes his nose doesn’t start to run visibly. “If you ever need any help—with last minute preparations, or if anything comes up, or if you need someone on transportation or moving things—let me know. Even if it’s like, 3am or something. My hands are completely free.”

She laughs. “Thank you, that’s so kind of you to offer! It has been hectic, but I haven’t been up at 3am this week, thank God.”

“I hope to keep it that way.” Yves turns away from her, raising an arm to muffle a fit of coughs into his sleeve.

Aimee takes a step forward, her eyebrows furrowing. “Are you okay? You sound a little off. And you’re coughing.”

And Yves thinks: she can’t know. He has his toasts to give at her wedding. He has the wedding rehearsal tomorrow and the wedding ceremony on Saturday to attend. If Aimee finds out he’s coming down with something, she’ll probably tell him to sit things out—to get some proper rest, to disregard virtually everything she has planned, and to not leave the hotel room until he’s feeling a hundred percent better—even if it’s at her own expense.

Worse, she’ll be worried for the entirety of his illness, he’s sure. As if she doesn’t have enough on her plate already, between the setup and all the accommodations and the last minute changes.

Aimee deserves a perfect wedding.

That’s the bottom line in all of this. This is a once in a lifetime thing for someone he cares and cares deeply about. Yves is not going to ruin it. He’ll get through the next few days, even if it means pushing himself a little past his limits. He can crash afterwards, on the plane ride home, after all the festivities are over and everyone bids farewell.

“I’m fine,” Yves says, clearing his throat. “I’m—” This is really the worst possible timing. He takes a few steps back, craning his neck over his shoulder. “hH-! hHhh’kKTSSH-IEEW! snf-! Ugh. I’mb just getting over a slight cold.” Getting over might be a bit of a stretch, and a slight cold might be even more of one, but other than that, it’s not entirely dishonest.

Aimee frowns at him. “Bless you. Does your throat hurt? There are cocktails on the side table, if you want anything to drink. Wine, too. I can get something for you if you’d like.”

“Nice try, but there’s no way I’m letting the bride go and get things for me,” Yves says, grinning. “Do you want any cocktails?”

“I need to be sober until I’ve officially said hi to everyone,” she says. “Can’t make a fool of myself just yet. Speaking of which, where’s your boyfriend?”

Yves waves Vincent over. “Come say hi!” he says, in English.

“It’s very nice to meet you,” Vincent says, in slightly accented French, which is a surprise. He seems to hesitate, thinking hard. “Congratulations on your wedding.”

“Oh my gosh!” Aimee says in English, pulling him close for a hug. Vincent hugs her back. “It’s good to meet you too, Vincent. Thanks for always looking after Yves. I’m glad to have someone keeping him out of trouble overseas.”

“Thank you for having me here,” Vincent says, hugging her back. “I know it was really last minute with the flight and everything. I hope it wasn’t too stressful for you.”

“It was no trouble at all!” Aimee says. “Yves is like a younger brother to me. Last summer was pretty rough for him, I think.” she doesn’t mention Erika, but Yves is sure Vincent knows what she’s referring to, regardless. Aimee smiles, a little wistfully. “I’m just so grateful that he met you. I’m glad to see him happy again.”

“I don’t think I can take credit for that,” Vincent says, blinking.

Aimee smiles warmly at him. “He’s the happiest he’s been in months,” she says. “I think you are selling yourself short.”

After Aimee asks Vincent how his stay has been (good, Vincent says, it’s actually my first time in France, to which Aimee excitedly lists off places he absolutely has to see while he’s here) and Vincent asks Aimee how the wedding preparations are going (nothing’s gone terribly wrong yet, Aimee laughs, which I suppose is all I can ask for), they find their way to their seats at the table. Someone has set out little name cards with all of their names written in calligraphy. Yves realizes, faintly, that the handwriting isn’t Aimee’s. Maybe it’s Genevieve’s, then.

“I didn’t know you knew any French,” Yves tells Vincent, in English.

Vincent looks away, a little sheepish. “I took a crash course into it when you mentioned the wedding would be in France,” he says, which Yves finds somehow disproportionately endearing. “I know maybe five sentences total, plus a few common terms.”

“Five sentences is impressive given that you had, what, just a few weeks to learn them?”

“I’m not sure if they are very coherent,” Vincent says. “The vowels are different from English. I’m still trying to get the hang of saying them.”

Yves is about to respond, but he’s cut off with a sharp, unexpected gasp. He pitches forward, raising his elbow up to his face just in time to muffle a—

“Hh… HhEHH-!’IihH’DZSCHh-IIEW!”

He’s glad, for once, that he’s not wearing the suit he’s planning on wearing for the wedding. His nose is running again, which is embarrassing, especially because he can still feel Vincent’s eyes on him.

“À tes souhaits,” Vincent says.

Yves laughs, rummaging through his jacket pockets for one of the napkins he’d taken at breakfast to blow his nose into. “Merci. Is that one of the common terms you learned?”

“No,” Vincent says. “I looked it up last night.”

“Last night?” Yves asks.

For a moment, he’s afraid that Vincent might reveal to him that Yves had kept him up last night, after all, despite all of his efforts to keep quiet.

“On the car,” Vincent clarifies. “During the trip to the hotel. I was just curious.”

“Oh,” Yves says, relieved. He blows his nose into the napkin he’s holding, which he’s sure he has reused at least a couple times already—but with his nose running so much, he doesn’t exactly have the luxury to be picky. “Well, you’ll be an expert at saying that phrase by the end of this trip, at the very least.”

It’s easy to lose himself in the throes of conversation, after that. Aimee and Genevieve have arranged it so that he and Vincent are sitting directly across from his parents. Leon is right—his parents have never really been the type to subject the partners he’s brought home, over the years, to any sort of interrogation. It’s a fun night, especially after everyone’s a couple drinks in.

“I think it’s a good thing that you guys are in the same line of work,” Yves’s dad says, conversationally. “Yves won’t have to explain why he’s always working overtime.”

Yves’s mom says, “Isn’t that a bad thing? We shouldn’t be encouraging their workaholic tendencies.”

Yves neglects to mention that he’s pretty sure Vincent (who worked the entire flight here)’s workaholic tendencies will persist, even without any encouragement.

Vincent tells them how they’d met—it’s the same story as he’d told the first time they’d done this, during Margot’s new year party a few months back, but Yves’s parents seem to find it extremely entertaining.

Yves’s mom says, “I told you Yves was the one who asked him out.”

Yves’s dad says, “I didn’t know if he had it in him.”

Yves’s mom says, “I remember hearing him say something about having an attractive coworker. It wasn’t that much of a logical stretch to assume he’d make a move at some point.”

(Yves thinks he sees them exchange a twenty dollar bill under the table, but he can’t be sure.)

Vincent practices his French with Yves’s parents—Yves fills in for him when he stumbles on a word, or when he hesitates, wracking his memory for a term he can’t quite translate.

“A fantastic attempt,” his dad says, when Vincent is done talking. “I can’t believe you learned so much in just a few weeks. I can only hope you’ll keep learning..”

“I will,” Vincent says. “Maybe next time we can have this conversation entirely in French.” There’s no uncertainty to the way he says it. Yves doesn’t mention that there’s a real chance Vincent won’t see them again, after this. It’s not a thought he particularly wants to confront.

At some point, Leon rises to his feet and shouts, in French, “Let’s toast to Aimee and Genevieve, everyone’s favorite couple!”

They all stand and raise their glasses. Yves finds he feels a little unsteady on his feet—maybe he’s had too much to drink. He feels warm, through the flush of alcohol in his cheeks, despite the evening chill.

He’s marginally worse at covering when he’s tipsy—and worse, too, at anticipating that he’s going to sneeze in the first place. At some point during the night, someone—maybe Vincent, or maybe one of Aimee’s friends from work that are seated nearby—sets down a stack of cocktail napkins in front of him.

Yves just hopes whoever’s put it there knows how grateful he is. The night is getting colder, even though he can’t quite feel it, and his nose is running so much that he finds himself grabbing a new napkin every couple minutes to blow his nose. It’s strange, he thinks, how such a small thing can be so comforting.

At some point, too, Vincent takes the glass of wine out of his hands and switches it out with a different glass. Yves thinks it might be a cocktail, at first, but when he takes a sip, he finds it’s just orange juice.

“I think you’ve had enough to drink,” Vincent says.

“I haved’t had that much,” Yves says. But come to think of it, his head feels hazy in a way that suggests he’s just a little drunk. “Just a couple— glasses— hh-! hHhEH’IIZSCHh’iIEw! snf-!” He barely manages to cover that sneeze in time.

“Bless you,” Vincent says.

“Ugh.” Yves reaches for another napkin from the stack. He feels a little dizzy, now that he’s paying attention. “I swear, my toleradce - snf-! - used to be a lot better before I graduated.”

Vincent hides a laugh behind one hand. Yves is too tipsy to pretend he doesn’t find that a little endearing.

“What?” he asks, faux-affronted.

“Nothing,” Vincent says. “I should’ve known that you went to parties and drank irresponsibly.”

Yves laughs. “Along with every other college student in the world.” He turns aside to muffle a cough into his sleeve. Perhaps he hasn’t been especially conscientious about saving his voice this evening—with all the talking he’s been doing, it will probably sound even worse tomorrow. “What, don’t tell me you’ve ndever gotten irresponsibly drunk!”

“Once or twice,” Vincent says, which is a bit of a surprise—he can’t imagine Vincent being drunk enough to lose the air of… well, composure isn’t the right word, perhaps. Professionalism? Self-assuredness? But maybe even drunk Vincent is professional and self-assured, all the same. Yves wonders, faintly, if he’ll ever have the chance to find out.

—

Dinner winds down slowly. Yves helps Genevieve collect all the name cards, gathers everyone’s plates to set them in a couple neat stacks at the end of the table, says hello to the relatives he’s closer to, and strikes up a conversation with some of Genevieve’s friends, who look to be just a few years older than he is. They talk first about the planning she’d kept them in the loop about, and then about the planning that she’d pulled off behind the scenes. Yves tells them about the many aesthetic and managerial decisions Aimee had consulted him for early on over text. The common consensus seems to be that Aimee and Genevieve are vastly overqualified when it comes to making sure that everything is logistically sound.

“Do you want to head out soon?” Vincent says, after some time, when Yves returns to his seat and some of the other guests have begun to filter out.

“That might be a good idea,” Yves says.

He says his goodbyes—to his parents, to Leon and Victoire, to Aimee and Genevieve, whom he’ll see tomorrow. Then he follows Vincent out. The hotel is a fifteen minute walk from where they are—some of their relatives have cars, but they’d walked here, and Yves thinks it’d be more work to try to coordinate a ride with someone.

Everything feels bright, Yves thinks, blinking.

“You’re cold,” Vincent says. It isn’t a question.

Yves realizes, faintly, that he’s shivering. He crosses his arms over his chest. “I don’t feel it that much.”

“That’s because you’re drunk.”

“I’m ndot drunk.”

“Tipsy, then.”

Yves can’t argue with that. “Just a bit. I’ll probably— hhEh-!” He turns aside to direct the sneeze over his shoulder, away from Vincent. HH-! hHEHh’iIITSHh-IIEw! Snf-! —sober up soon.” The end of the sentence catches wrong on his throat and suddenly he’s coughing, a little harshly, into his wrist. The coughing fit is harsh enough to leave him faintly lightheaded, which is a surprise to him.

He thinks it shouldn’t be visible, but Vincent reaches out and grabs his shoulder to steady him. For a moment, Yves contemplates how nice it would be to lean into his touch.

Then he catches himself. He’s tired, but not so tired that he can’t sustain a short walk from the dinner venue to the hotel. It’s dark, but they don’t have any early obligations tomorrow, and it’s not late enough that he won’t have time to shower, get changed, and get a good night’s sleep, with time to spare.

Yves shifts out of Vincent’s touch. “Sorry about that,” he says, with the most convincing smile he can muster. He’s sure Vincent would be understanding if he brought it up, but truthfully, it feels like a waste of time to say anything at all.

Vincent doesn’t reach for him again, but his eyebrows furrow. “Are you okay?”

“What?”

“You almost fell,” Vincent says.

“I just tripped. The roads aren’t very even, and it’s dark.” They’re standing in the middle of a small, winding cobblestone street. None of the roads around here are very flat for very long.

“Are you saying that because you believe it?” Vincent says. “Or are you saying that so that I stop worrying about this?”

Yves stares at him for a moment too long. He’s sobering up a little.

For a moment, he contemplates telling Vincent everything—about how tired he’s been, all day. About how much it’s taken out of him to keep up this front, the whole day; about how he feels worse than he did waking up this morning—tired and cold and congested, a little unsteady on his feet. If he’s not mistaken, he thinks he might be running a slight fever; it’s hard to tell through the jacket, through the brisk evening air.

Maybe Vincent would understand. Maybe Vincent would insist that he get some rest, tomorrow, before the wedding. Maybe Vincent would tell him that this is all going to be fine—that this wedding that Yves’s been looking forward to for months, that he desperately doesn’t want to mess up, is going to be perfect, just as Aimee and Genevieve has planned it, even if he isn’t feeling his best.

But this is not Vincent’s problem to solve. Yves’s bad timing and his unfortunate circumstances are not Vincent’s responsibility, and Yves extended the invitation because he wanted Vincent to have fun on this trip, and no part of that entails having to look after Yves. Vincent has always been reliable, but Yves can’t start to expect things out of him—to take his kindness as a given, to take more than Vincent is willing to give.

He already asks more than enough of Vincent, as it stands.

“I’m fine,” Yves says, a lie, as easily as any other lie he’s ever told. The smile that follows comes easily, too, though he’s not sure if Vincent can see it in the dark, can’t tell if it’s more to fool Vincent or more to fool himself. “I’d tell you if I wasn’t.”

[ Part 3 ]

#sneeze fic #snz fic #snz kink #snz #i edited this for a week straight #and now i have given up officially #i hope this doesn't feel too much like a filler/otherwise uneventful 😭#next chapter i promise yves is in for a bad time #yvverse #my fic

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hearts4hughes · 2 years

Note

hi bestie! could i get 22. “are you serious?!” “what’s wrong?” “there’s only one bed.” with jack hughes ?

one bed - jack hughes

jack hughes x fem! reader

warnings: swearing, intoxicated reader, mentions of alcohol, let me know if i miss anything :)

a/n: i was half asleep writing this. i’m sorry for any mistakes because i just skimmed through the proof read😭 hope you enjoy reading, lovies!

gif is not mine

i’ve been going on vacations with the hughes ever since i was born. my mom and ellen, have been friends since middle school. so it wasn’t coincidental when i became best friends with all the hughes brothers.

well, not exactly with all of them. jack and i have never been friends. i’m not sure what i did to him, but my presence just seems to annoying him. the ironic part about this though is that i also have the fattest crush on him. i’ve learned to live with the fact that we are never going to be anything more than acquaintances.

as we arrive at the hotel, we get out and grab our luggage. luke so kindly grabs one of my suitcases after ellen lectures him on normal chivalry.

“i can’t believe mom is making me carry on of your suitcases.” luke huffs, rolling his eyes as he aggressively wheels the extra suitcase into the lobby. i giggle hitting him on the shoulder.

“oh my god, it’s so much torture to carry a small suitcase into a hotel.” i tease, letting out a fake gasp, causing quinn to giggle.

“she’s right, lukey.” quinn tags along, a big grin spreading across his face.

“fuck you!” luke jokingly yells, scrunching up his face in disgust.

out of the corner of my eye, i notice jack next to us. he wears both airpods in his ears and scrolls through instagram. he catches me staring and mutters a ‘what are you staring at?’. i roll my eyes and decide to just look away instead of arguing.

“what’s up jack’s ass today?” i ask quinn and luke quietly. they both look over to jack, examining his stern features and look back to me.

“probably just being a little bitch as usual.” quinn shrugs as luke agrees.

i notice ellen and my mom making there way over to us. a little packet holds the keycards to our rooms.

“here are the keycards for your rooms.” ellen passed us all out a keycard except for jack. jack patiently waits for his keycard to be given to him, but furrows his brows when it’s not.

“mom, where’s my keycard?” jack asks, looking around to everyone else holding a small card in hand.

ellen shares a small look with my mom, “well, we only got 3 rooms.” she starts to explain, “one for y/m/n, one for luke and quinn, and the other for you and y/n.”

my eyes widen in horror and i begin to wonder if i heard her right.

“i’m sorry, what?!” jack and i exclaim simultaneously. i drop my bag to the ground and look at jack. he looks back at me with the same expression on his face.

“we all thought it would be good for you two to spend together,” my mom chimes in, “you’ve known each other since you were babies, and you still dislike each other. you two are the same age, you should be getting along the best if anything.”

“you guys were in on this too?!” i send a glare over to quinn and luke, who seem very amused at the current situation.

“listen, it’s not the worst idea to force you guys to get along.” luke admits and quinn shakes his head. i send them a stern look of betrayal before looking over to see jack having a frustrating conversation with ellen. i can’t hear exactly what he is saying, but i’m pretty sure it’s along the lines of ‘i hate her and cannot share a room with her’.

“it’s only for one week,” my mom points out, picking my backpack off the ground and handing it back to me, “so suck it up.”

knowing nothing i can say will change what’s happening, i finally accept the outcome and stomp over to the elevator. jack mirrors what i do, huffing in frustration. the elevator ride up to our block of rooms is quiet. i could quite literally feel the tension suffocating me.

when the elevator doors open, i step out and reread the number on my keycard. i scan the row of rooms until i read one that says 207. i don’t check, but i’m pretty sure jack is trudging along behind me. i press the card to the circular lock and wait for a green light to flash. once it does, i swing open the door and throw my belongings on the ground.

walking deeper into the room, i notice one king size bed instead of two separate beds.

“are you serious?!” i sigh out in frustration, running my hands through my hair aggressively.

“what’s wrong?” jack’s voice drips in annoyance and anger. he still stands behind me, my body blocking the view of the singular bed.

“there’s only one bed.”

jack basically pushes me out of the way to see if i’m telling the truth. as he takes a look for himself and quickly turns around sends me an angry glare. this makes my blood boil.

“why are you fucking mad at me?!” i ask. my words are stern and cold.

“because if you didn’t come on this stupid vacation, this wouldn’t of happened!” he yells back in the same tone. he doesn’t even let me respond before he’s swinging open the door to the room, leaving me speechless and alone.

tears begin to swell in my eyes as i sit down on the bed. things don’t usually upset me like this, but jack yelling at me really did. trying to recollect myself, i raise to my feet and walk towards the bathroom. from there i close the door and turn on the shower. stripping down, i step inside the shower, hoping to wash away all the negativity.

it’s been at least three hours since jack and i’s little dispute and i’m currently downing my fourth martini at the hotel bar.

after my shower i walked out into an empty hotel room. i figured jack was hanging out the quinn and luke so i just decided to chill out for a bit. it only took me about an hour to get sick of doing nothing, so i slipped on a black minidress and got ready to go have fun.

being my natural petty self, i didn’t even text quinn or luke where i was going to. i needed to forget everyone for a little bit, so here i am, getting shitfaced.

“can i have a shot of straight vodka, please?” i’m urgent to get more alcohol in my body. the bartender nods, pouring vodka into a small glass and handing it to me. i waste no time before throwing my head back and downing all the vodka. the burning sensation from the drink lingers in my throat for a moment, but i’m used to it. “i’ll take another.”

“i think it’s time you stop drinking for the night.” the bartender denies my request, grabbing the empty shot glass and putting it in the dishwasher behind her.

“i’m not even drunk yet thought.” i whine, knowing damn well i’m wasted.

she barks out a sarcastic laugh and asks, “who broke your heart, love?”

“no one broke my heart.” i scoff. she raises both her eyebrows and looks at me in disbelief.

“what ever you want to believe, honey.” she walks away, assisting to another customer.

just as i begin to get up and leave the bar area, i hear a familiar voice behind me.

“y/n?” jack’s voice fills my ears making me not even want to turn around, but i do.

“what do you want?” i start slur, stumbling as a stand up. jack’s hands shoot up to my waist, supporting me so i don’t fall.

“you are plastered, aren’t you?” he asks. i don’t even bother to answer. i try to wiggle out of his hold and sneak away, but he doesn’t even budge. i throw my hands up in frustration.

“let me go.” i mutter.

“you can’t even walk to inches without falling over. there’s no way i’m letting to roam free around here.” he’s says in a stern tone. he doesn’t seem to be in the mood to argue with me which is a first.

the second time today, i just accept my fate and allow him to bring me up to the hotel room. i ended up not even being able to walk even with him supporting me, so he gave me a piggyback ride the rest of the way to the room.

as he opens the door to our room, he carefully sits me on the bed and shuts the door. he begins to take off my heels and dispose of them in the room somewhere.

he grabs a water bottle from the mini fridge and some advil from his bag. i take the medicine and water from his hands and chug it down.

i close my heavy eyes for a moment and when i open them again jack holds a clean tshirt and a pair of boxers.

“i don’t know where your stuff is in your bag, so it’s just easier if you wear my clothes for now.”

he’s being so nice.

why is he being so nice?

i walk into the bathroom and change into jack’s shirt and boxers. as i pull the oversized shirt over my head, i can’t help, but smell jack’s cologne on it. his scent gave me a sense of comfort and i was confused as to why. while in the bathroom, i also brush my teeth and hair so i’m not a total train wreck tomorrow.

“are you okay in there?” a small knock comes from the other side of the bathroom door and i open it, revealing myself in jack’s clothes. his eyes scan up and down my body. he doesn’t say anything, but his mouth stays open a little. he finally snaps back into reality and helps me to the bed.

as i pull the big covers over my body, i notice that jack isn’t getting into bed next to me, “are you going to sleep in the bed next to me?” i ask, looking at him like a lost puppy.

he stares at me for a moment before responding, “i was going to sleep on the floor, but if you want i can sleep in the bed.”

“could you sleep next to me, please?” i’m scared for his response, but i ask anyway.

“yeah, of course,” he coos, “just let me brush my teeth and stuff.”

i nod in response and lay down, waiting for jack to fill the empty space next to me. my heavy eyes are in need to be shut, but i keep them pried open, not wanting to fall asleep before he gets back.

it only takes a few minutes before i see jack emerging from the bathroom in just sweatpants. i can’t help, but stare at his exposed chest. it might just be my drunk mind, but his abs looked amazing. my eyes begin to go a little bit lower and they stop at his exposed v-line. the sweatpants hang low on his hips, showing just the right amount of his v-line. my throat begins to turn dry and jack blushes as he notices me checking him out.

“like what you see?” he teases, slipping into bed next to me.

“maybe i do.” i smirk, turning on my side to face him. he giggles at my flirty comment.

my smile begins to drop as i take a moment to exam his face. we’ve never been this close before. i notice how blue his eyes look, even in the dark lighting, and my eyes even flicker to his lips for a moment.

silence fills the room as we admire each other and i decide to speak up, “why were you at the bar?”

“well, i was-” he stutters a bit, searching for an excuse in his head. when he can’t find one he admits, “i was looking for you.”

“what?” my brows furrow at his response. it almost seems like he’s joking because why would he ever be looking for me? he couldn’t even stand in the same room as me three hours ago.

“i felt bad about yelling at you before and i wanted to apologize, but when i went into our room, you weren’t there. i basically searched the whole hotel for you before you caught my eye at the bar.” he closes his eyes and turns on his back. i don’t say anything and he begins to spiral, “listen, i- well, i didn’t mean to-”

“jack,” i cut him off.

“yeah..?” he asks, hesitantly.

“kiss me.”

he doesn’t waste anytime, turning to look at me and then smashing his lips against mine. we both sit up and jack moves me to straddle his lap. all the years of pretending i hated him, when i really was in love with him are thrown into the kiss. he slips his tongue in my mouth, catching me by surprise.

after at least a minute of nonstop kissing, i pull away breathlessly. i stare at jack’s face. he wears a proud smirk as his hands rest on my hips. i send him a cheeky smile in return.

“i’m in love with you.” i blurt out.

“i’m in love with you too.”

#hearts4hughes #jack hughes #jack hughes imagines #jack hughes x reader #hockey blurb #nhl imagine #nora's writings 💐

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