#going from being sad that we might only get one to two years with him to hoping we'd get to bring him home at all | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

motorsportbarbie13 · 3 months ago

Text

The Yapping Hour Is Upon Us - Part 3

In which you and Max spend the next six months just being obsessed with each other.

Warnings: A little angst, but not 'break up with you' angst, just 'i really fucking miss you' angst so it's okay. And fluff. Tooth achingly sweet fluff. Pairing: Max Verstappen x Podcaster!Reader Word Count: 4.4k plus a shit ton of social media posts. - The Yapping Hour is Upon Us - The Yapping Hour is Upon Us - Part 2 - Master List

(a/n before we begin: Probably one more part to this. Thinking of doing an 'after Max gets you back to the hotel post-race' part to wrap things up nicely if anyone wants to see that.)

Monaco May 2024

F1GossipOfficial posted

34,028 likes F1GossipOfficial Seems as if our favorite Red Bull driver and sunny little podcaster are getting closer! The pair was spotted around Monaco this week ahead of the Monaco Grand Prix. The pair have been seen publicly a handful of times since Max made an appearance on her podcast The Yapping Hour in late April, most notably at the Miami Grand Prix at the beginning of the month and then the week later in New York City where she is based. Everyone who sent in photos said the pair were super cozy and seemed lost in their own world. user0299 she's only with him for the clout and money. Her little podcast was dying out and she latched onto Max like a leech. >>>user5572 go touch some grass my man. Her podcast is consistently the number 1 listened to show on all platforms all the fucking time. user9938 they are so cute, i can't handle it user4530 I saw them at dinner the other night and oh my GOD. They sat on the same side of the table even though it was just the two of them. He held her hand underneath the table all through dinner and I don't think either of them stopped smiling or looked anywhere else but at each other the entire night. >>>user39948 they are so fucking perfect oml

Canada June 2024 yourpersonalinsta posted

493,928 likes liked by maxverstappen1, landonorris, totowolff, and others yourpersonalinsta Over the moon to have been able to be with you for this win in Canada, Maxie. user299 MAXIE?! I have no one to talk to about this redbullracing our good luck charm strikes again! >>>user456 Red Bull calling her theirs??? Love this for her. maxverstsppen1 thank you for always being in my corner liefje ❤️ >>>user394 how am i supposed to be normal after reading this??? user8827 Not Toto in the likes trying to get on her good side so Max signs with Merc in 2026 >>>user778 HAHA can you imagine??

Amalfi Coast August 2024

maxverstappen1 posted

987,409 likes liked by yourpersonalinsta, redbullracing, yourdad and others maxverstappen1 summer break with this gorgeous girl user458 they are my royal couple yourpersonalinsta wishing we were back on that boat rn instead of on different continents :( >>>maxverstappen1 just a few more weeks until Singapore, schatje. >>>user4938 this is my roman empire >>>user024 mom and dad are sad so i am sad too

October 2024 Austin, Texas

You hadn't seen Max in over three weeks. Three very, very, very long weeks. And not to be dramatic or anything but you felt like you might actually pass away if the Uber that was currently picking it's way through very heavy Austin traffic drove any slower.

While the sleek Mercedes SUV waited at a red light, your gaze drifted away from the navigation system showing the the heavy traffic all around you towards the busy city streets around you. Whoever had decided to schedule an Eminem concert, a huge college rivalry football game, and a Formula 1 race all in the same city on the same weekend should have their head examined.

Fixated on the crowd on the sidewalk outside, you mull over the last six months of your life. It has certainly been a whirlwind, that was for sure. If someone had told you back in the beginning of May that you'd be on your way to your sixth Grand Prix of the year to watch your boyfriend race in Formula 1, you would have laughed in their faces. Because really, when you sat back and considered it, the fact that you had gone from being a fan of the sport and interviewing Max on a professional level to dating him in under six months was absolutely wild.

While you attended races whenever you could, you found yourself more often than not called to the other side of the world to attend to your flourishing career. In the last six months you had ping ponged around the globe, bouncing between weekends with Max and over scheduled weeks filled with work, interviews, and meetings. Some days you just wished that things were simpler and you could just dedicate yourself to following Max around from city to city but you knew that Susan B Anthony would roll over in her grave if you gave up everything for a man so quickly, even a man as amazing as Max Verstappen.

You brush aside the thought of leaving your work because in the end, all that is is a simple fantasy brought on by you missing the man that has become the center of your universe lately.

After attending the Singapore GP with Max, you had spent a few extra days with him in Asia before needing to fly home. While Max did have nearly an entire month break from racing, he couldn't follow you to New York like he had intended. After coming back from the summer break, Max's luck had started to slip and the car had deteriorated. He hadn't won a race in months, the car was an absolute tractor, and Lando was gaining on him in the Championship. He had needed to spend every extra moment he had in the sims and with the engineering team trying to salvage the season.

While Max had been in Europe, you had been in the US recording episodes with Heidi Klum, Wayne Gretzky, and finally Kylie Kelce. Heidi had been in LA, Wayne in Florida, and Kylie in Philly so you had spent most of the last three weeks on the road. As the SUV inched closer to the COTA track, you realized you couldn't remember the last time you'd set foot in your apartment.

Exhaustion seeps into your bones as the realization washes over you. You loved the life you lived, wouldn't trade it for the world but sometimes, in these quiet moments you wished for a break, a chance to go home, wherever that even was now, and just rest.

Your phone buzzing beside you pulls you back to the present. Ysou struggle to shake off the mind numbing melancholy that's settled over you like a thick woolen blanket before answering the call. "Hi baby." You sigh, knowing who it is without even looking at the caller ID.

"What's wrong?" Max's voice is sharp on the other end, effortlessly reading your tone.

You shake your head, chest tightening with anxiety. "Just..." You search for the right words. "tired is all. I just realized I can't even remember the last time I spent a night in my own bed."

"Oh, schatje." Max sighs, knowing how grueling this schedule is as he lives it as well. "Do you want me to have the jet take you home? It's at the airfield still."

Tears collect in your eyes as your chest squeezes painfully. "No, I just want to see you." You whisper, afraid if you raise your voice you'll start to cry.

"How far are you from the track?"

You pop your head around the SUV's headrest to check the nav system. "Not long. Five minutes. I can see the giant observation tower from here."

"Have the Uber bring you right to the paddock gates. I have a car here and a few hours before any media duties. I'll take you back to the hotel myself and we can take a nap together, okay?"

Your entire body sags with relief at his words. If there was one thing that Max was good at, it was taking care of you. He didn't hem and haw or waver on a plan of action. He saw what you needed and made sure that you were taken care of. The way the burden of everything that you had silently carried for years shifted towards Max the moment you landed in Miami all those months ago was something that would shock you for years to come.

"Okay." You whisper, swiping at a single tear that managed to escape.

You have a few moments to collect yourself before the Uber stops at the entrance to the paddock. From your seat in the back, you spot a familiar blonde head that belonged to your Dutch boyfriend waiting for you. You're suddenly simultaneously bursting with excitement and beside yourself with grief as the anxiety that has gnawed at you over the last 24 hours fully consumes you at the mere sight of Max.

Max has you out of the car and into his arms before you can barely catch your breath. The moment you inhale that uniquely Max scent something inside you shifts and becomes crystal clear. You didn't need Max to have his jet take you home because you already were home. It sounded cliche in your head and it probably was, but you knew there was some truth to it: somewhere over the last six months your home had shifted away from your apartment in New York to wherever Max was.

Max tightens his grip around your waist, settling his chin on your head while you stay buried deep in his neck, you realize that home isn't a place any longer. Home is a person now and Max is that person. You don't have to go home to New York to rest, you just have to be in Max's presence. With him, you are utterly and completely safe and secure. For someone who spends 99% of her time 'on' and performing, being able to come home to Max and just switch it all off, allowing him to lead and take over, is the most powerful form of rest you could have ever dreamt of.

Max nods at the driver as he unloads your luggage, arms still locked tight around you. He can feel you melt into him, like you've been waiting for this moment since the last time you saw him. He knows that for him at least, this is true. Everything else in his life is completley falling apart. The car sucks, they had to ditch the special livery for this weekend becuase the fucking paint had the potential to make the car too heavy and slow. Lando has been on a tear lately, that McLaren a complete rocket ship and the only reason Lando hasn't overtaken him in the championship is thanks to some spectacularly shitty calls from the McLaren pit wall.

The only bright spot in Max's day is you. Your voice, your touch, your face. Any bit of you he gets on a daily basis is what keeps him going right now. As he had stood on the curb just moments before, desperately and not so patiently waiting while watching the black Mercedes SUV creep down the street towards him, it had felt like cruel and unusual punishment after being apart from you for so long.

And now? Now you were back in his arms and he drew in the longest breath he could, taking in the scent of your perfume and laundry soap that he had missed so keenly while he'd been working, and he simply couldn't get enough.

Max pulls away slightly, so he can see your pretty face but what he sees in your eyes nearly breaks him. Pain and longing hang heavy in your eyes and there is nothing Max wouldn't do to make all of that go away for you. Fingers tip your chin up towards him so he can finally get his lips on yours, a soft sigh escaping your mouth when he makes that first contact.

You swear it's like a cool drink of water in the middle of a humid heatwave in July, the way Max kisses you with such relief and passion and affection. Like he's trying to tell you through his kiss how much he adores you, how much he's missed you, how much he craves you.

"I love you." Are the first words he says to you and your breath catches in your throat. It isn't the first time he's said those words, Max had said them first all those months back when he brought you home to Monaco. It had been quick, probably too quick by the world's standards, but it just clicked between the two of you and the words had tumbled out of Max like it was the most natural thing in the world. The reason the words had your breath catching in your chest was because of the ferocity behind them, like he could tell how bone tired you were from all the travel over the last few months and he was desperate to remind you why you were doing all of this. Why the two of you were doing all of this together and apart. It was for moments like this, moments where you were attached to each other in the middle of the busy paddock parking lot like no one else existed.

"I love you too, Max." You whisper, dusting your lips over the stubble that was scattered over his jaw. "Can we go take a nap now? I'm so tired."

yourpersonalinsta posted

348,209 likes liked by kyliekelce, maxverstappen1, assistantshannon, and others yourpersonalinsta home is wherever you are (tagged: maxverstappen1) user098 mad max is no more, there is only soft cuddly boyfie max user0399 this is the cutest thing i've ever seen user000 god i am so single maxverstappen1 love you baby >>>danielricciardo SIMP >>>maxverstappen1 absolutely >>>user9938 it kills me that he is loves her so boldly and loudly. girl hit the mfing jackpot. (liked by author)

It's not your alarm that fully wakes you up on Friday morning. It isn't Max's either. But as you try to untangle your limbs from Max's and search for the source of the ringing, you can't help but curse whoever is interrupting the slow sleepy cuddles that had been progressing into something more heated for the past 20 minutes.

You nearly spit you're so mad when you see the caller ID.

"John." You growl, sitting up in bed as Max settles himself back against the mountain of pillows beside you. "It is 8 in the morning on a Friday the day after I saw my boyfriend for the first time in over three weeks. I swear on all things good and holy, this had better be good."

John, to his credit, didn't even scoff at the threat. He'd been your business manager for going on four years now and was used to your early morning attitudes.

"She said yes."

You sit up, back going ramrod straight as the three words clang through you. "What?" You hiss.

Beside you, Max struggles to sit up too, alarm coursing through him at the panic in your voice.

"Tree just called me five minutes ago. Said that Kylie had sent her the episode and wouldn't stop gushing about how amazing you were and how you were the perfect person to do this interview on the end of the tour and everything. Tree said Taylor watched your episode with Michelle and Queen Maxima too, said they were the best interviews she's ever seen. Everything is a go."

Your entire world tilts as what John is telling you fully sinks in. "Taylor Swift's agreed to come on the show?" You voice is weak, heavy under the weight of the news John is telling you. Your hands tremble at the thought of what this means for you. For your career.

Beside you, Max sucks in a breath at your sentence, fully aware of how big of a moment this is for you. Pride soars through him as he watches literal sunshine dance across your face, your smile as bright as the Texas morning light. "Schatje." He whispers, pulling your free hand towards his lips. Your eyes dart over to him and you grin at him, kicking your feet a little, completely unable to hide your excitement.

"She also said yes to your suggestion of a behind the scenes vlog on your channel ahead of the release of the episode. Thought the idea was marketing gold. You've got full access to everything for the entire week."

Before you had landed Kylie Kelce on the show, you and John had made a silly, pie in the sky request to Tree Paine not even thinking that it would go anywhere. When Kylie had agreed to do an episode, a request that had actually been made to her people months before John had contacted Tree, the idea of maybe, just maybe you might be able to land Taylor after had grown a bit. You hadn't told anyone of the request, not even Max, because you didn't want to be embarrassed if it didn't work out.

"There's only one problem." Your heart stops and you grip at Max's hand for support. You knew there had to be a catch. "They want you in Toronto by Sunday."

"Wh-what?" Your stomach plummets through the floor. You had just gotten to Austin last night and now you were going to have to leave again? You were supposed to spend the entire triple header with Max. Three weeks of solid time with him had been the only thing getting you through the previous three week separation. You two had even planned to go visit your parents in Michigan between Austin and Mexico later next week.

"The first concert is Monday and Tree wants you to get as much content as you can and has asked you be there at 9am Monday morning."

You head spins. "Oh-okay." There's a giant Max shaped hole in your heart at what you have to agree to, simply exhausted by the fact that you're going to have to pick up and leave again so soon. "Okay. We'll figure it out."

"Do you want me to have Shannon make flight arrangements?"

You glance over at Max, who senses your apprehension. "Let me talk through it with Max and see what we can figure out. I'll call you in a few hours, okay?"

"Sounds good. Congratulations, kiddo. This is huge."

You smile despite yourself, excitement and anxiety winding their way through your chest making it a little hard to breathe. "Bye John."

You gently place your phone back on the bedside table before turning to Max, bracing yourself for the good and bad news you have to deliver.

"The beginning of that call looked phenomenal but now you look like you're going to be sick." Max observes, pulling you into his lap.

You shudder against when his lips graze your neck, dropping a kiss to his forehead. "Taylor Swift agreed to come on the show and to let me do a weeks worth of behind the scenes of her Toronto shows."

"Baby, that is amazing. This is going to be huge for you and the show!"

You nod, a bit dazed by all of this information you have to process. "But they want me there by Sunday night so I can start first thing Monday." Sadness edges into your voice, the dread of having to leave Max again begins to sink in fully.

"When should Greg have the jet ready to take off then? You'll probably want to leave before the end of the race to beat traffic, yeah? Although I suppose we could find you a helicopter to take you from the track to the airport."

You stare at Max like he's grown three heads. His voice is so nonchalant despite him suggesting he rent you a helicopter that all you can do is blink at him for a few moments. "Just...just like that? You're on board with it? You're not upset?"

Max scoffs, pulling you closer so he can rest his head on your shoulder. His arms go tighter around your waist as he gives you a kiss on the cheek. "Why would I be upset? I'll do anything I can to help you live out this dream, schatje. You know that. This is the biggest thing to happen to your career since you had F1 racing legend Max Verstappen as a guest."

The giggle that tumbles out of you has the tension in the room popping like a soap bubble. "You're ridiculous."

"And yet, you're still here." Max finds your lips then, the kiss full of reassurance and confidence. Of course he was disappointed you were going to be leaving in 2 days and he wasn't sure when you'd be back with him but this opportunity was too good to miss. "I'd never forgive myself if you missed spending a week doing what you love with one of your favorite artists because of me. Of course I'll miss you but you need to do this. So tell me, when should I have the jet ready to get you to Toronto?"

yourpersonalinsta story post

story replies: user8882 ARE YOU THERE FOR ERAS TOUR??? user029 what are you up to ma'am??? user837 wait. first kylie's on the show and now you're in Toronto the same week as Taylor. ARE WE GETTING A TAYLOR EPISODE OH MY GOD.

TheYappingHour posted

876,029 likes liked by maxverstappen1, taylorswift, alexandrasaintmleux, and others theyappinghour Toronto, you were stunning! Can anyone guess who our next guest on the show is going to be??? Behind the scenes vlog dropping next week ahead of a very very special two part episode set to drop later this month. user928 oh my god, everyone stay calm, it's happening. user020 IS THIS FOR REAL??? I will never recover maxverstappen1 so proud of you my love >>>yourpersonalinsta couldn't do it without you, maxie >>>user928 if there's one thing Max is going to be, it's the first one in the likes and comments on anything his girl does. (liked by yourpersonalinsta) >>>user0298 may this kind of love find me one day

Excerpt from Episode 59 of The Yapping Hour featuring Taylor Swift:

You: Speaking of what you do in your down time, can we talk about how supportive you are of your boyfriend and show up for him despite the Brad's and Chad's hating every second of it?

Taylor: It's so silly to me, how much everyone hates it. When I show up at the game, I'm just like every other significant other. I'm not there to take the spotlight away from anyone, I just want to watch my man play!

You: Oh my God, I totally get it. It's so strange to me the way some fans can't handle someone like you who has a whole other identity outside of who you're dating, showing up to support the person you love.

Taylor: It's like, relax! I'm just here to watch my boyfriend catch a ball!

You: Right? Just let me enjoy watching 20 cars drive around in circles in peace please!

Taylor: You two are so cute though. Trav was watching the race in Monaco a few months back, right after he invested in Alpine, and there was that one shot of you and Max after the end of the race in his garage and you were giving him a hug. I love how loudly you love him and how public he is about you. It's refreshing.

You: Oh gosh, thank you. Yes, he is so supportive of everything I do, just like Travis is. It's such a comfort, isn't it? *Taylor nods* He actually stayed in Austin an extra day so I could use his jet to come up here.

Taylor: Trav was supposed to go to that race but got caught up in training stuff. It looked like so much fun.

You: Have you ever been to a race? Either of you?

Taylor: I haven't but Travis went to the Las Vegas race last year. Said it was the one of the biggest parties he'd ever been to.

You: You'll have to come this year then! It's in a few weeks!

Taylor: I'll talk to Trav and see if we can make it happen.

TheYappingHour posted

1,039,928 likes liked by maxverstappen1, taylorswift, kikagomes, and others theyappinghour What an absolute whirlwind of a week and a half. Spending time with your favorite artist, seeing her in her element, and then spending a few hours talking about everything from what it's like to live such a public life to how important it is to have a supportive significant other. I simply can't wait to share the behind the scenes vlog dropping at the end of this week and then the episode later this month. Taylor, you are a dream of a human being and we are so happy to have had this opportunity. Can't wait to see you and Travis at a race! taylorswift You are such a sweetheart! So glad we got to spend time together this past week! Can't wait to hear the episode my love! kikagomes how does it feel to live my dreammmm bestie??? >>>yourpersonalinsta kiks omg i will never recover from this!! maxverstappen1 Proud of you, as always lifeje. >>>yourpersonalinsta can't wait to see you so so so soon baby

"And he doesn't expect a thing?" You glance up at the ticket counter where the airline employee has begun to call first class. You stand, phone still pressed to your ear, pulling your carry on behind you.

"Nope!" On the other end, Max's PR manager Sophie giggles conspiratorially. "He was just complaining to GP ten minutes ago how he couldn't believe they didn't have more flights from Sao Paulo to Paris. He said he was considering upgrading his jet to one with longer range so he could fly private next time."

You roll your eyes but chuckle. If you were a drama queen, your boyfriend could be the drama king to match sometimes. Although you didn't blame him to be quite honest. After leaving Austin mid way through the race, you had missed the Mexico race entirely. The plan had been for you to fly down to Brazil for the Sao Paulo race but editing and press had taken much longer than you had anticipated so now it was Saturday night and you were boarding a 9 hour flight from New York to the South American country.

Only, Max didn't know that. Max thought you were getting on a flight to Nice via Paris before driving to Monaco where he'd meet you sometime late Monday night or early Tuesday morning. Joke was on him though, you had finished everything up and had called Sophie for help to get you down to Brazil just in time for Sunday's race.

"He's such a baby." You murmur as the flight attendant leads you to your seat.

"He is beside himself missing you." Sophie says and you can hear the smile in her voice. "Just make sure I'm around when he sees you for the firs time, okay? He's going to lose it."

Laughing, you hoist your suitcase into the overhead bin before settling down in the luxurious lie flat seat that will be your bed for the next nine hours. If everything goes right, you'll land in Brazil just as the postponed qualifying is finishing up and will be able to watch the entire race in person.

"Thank you for helping coordinate this, Soph. I really appreciate it."

"Anything to get Max out of this slump he's in!" She replies brightly.

A few minutes later, you hang up the phone and type out a quick text letting Max know you're boarding the flight. Luckily, the flight from New York to Paris is roughly the same time as the flight to Sao Paulo so he doesn't bat an eye when you tell him you'll be unreachable, only telling you that the doorman to his building is expecting you and to make yourself at home in his apartment in Monaco when you get there before he does.

************************************************************************

It is absolutely raining cats and dogs when the car Sophie hired pulls into the track after what feels like a lifetime of travel. Right after they served dinner on your flight, you took a sleeping pill and passed out for the duration of the flight, only waking up once the pilot turned on the overhead lights, signaling your arrival.

A quick text to Sophie alerts her to your arrival and she says she'll come and meet you outside the paddock with an extra umbrella. The driver that picked you up from the airport will take your luggage to the hotel where Max and the team are staying. When the car stops in front of the paddock gates, you spot Sophie immediately.

"Soph!!" You shout the moment you stumble out of the car, limbs a little stiff from the long car ride. Sao Paulo traffic is a beast in the best of weather but in a downpour like this? Nightmarish.

Sophie opens her arms to embrace you, "Oh I am so glad you're here. He is an absolute nightmare right now."

You grimace, knowing exactly why. He'd be starting P17 in a few hours. Between the team having got caught behind a red flag during Q2 and his 5 place grid penalty, it was a nightmare scenario for Max. All of this was compounded by Lando's win in the sprint yesterday and the fact that he was starting on pole today.

"Alright then, lets go. Maybe I can talk him down off a ledge before the race starts."

Sophie grins because she knows you'll be able to do just that. If there was anyone who could calm Mad Max down and bring him back to earth after the kind of morning the team had had today, it was you.

As you weave your way through the crowded paddock, the heavy rain simply not a deterrent to anyone at the track today, Max is in the garage considering the merits of scratching his eyeballs out so that he doesn't have to run this fucking race today. Everything is wrong. The car is terrible. Still. The FIA seemed to have a hard on for fucking up his weekend. Lando was on poll. And worst of all, he really fucking missed you. There was still several days between him and being reunited with you but if he could have just walked right out of the paddock and onto a plane to get to wherever you were in that moment, he would have. The only thing that seemed to settle him during these times lately was your steady presence in the garage. He didn't even need you to say anything, just knowing that you were around, within arms length if he needed you, did something to calm him like nothing else could.

He's talking to GP, actually, he's grumbling at GP when a familiar flash of hair and bright smile catches his eyes. Perfect, he thinks miserably, now I'm imagining her in the garage. I've gone full unhinged obsessed boyfriend, haven't I?

Imagine his shock when he actually hears your voice. "Max." You call out softly, hands clasped in front of you as you wait at the edge of the garage beside Sophie.

Max simply blinks a few times, as if he's trying to figure out if he's hallucinating or if you're really standing in front of him. His heart hammers in his chest when everything finally clicks into place. GP doesn't even bat an eye when Max walks away from him, mid sentence, before crossing the garage in a few short strides.

Max isn't usually one for intense public displays of affection, especailly in the garage and neither are you. There's a level of professionalism he likes to maintain while racing and you have always respected that but when Max sees you standing in front of him, practically drowning in one of his sweatshirts, hair wet and messy from walking through the paddock in the rain, he can't stop himself from scooping you up in his arms. Burying his head in your neck, he inhales deeply. So deeply that his lungs pinch with pain from the way he's trying to commit the way you smell to memory.

"You're here." He murmurs, voice thick and heavy with emotion. "What are you doing here? I thought you were going to meet me in Monaco?"

Max sets you down, not really wanting you out of his arms but wanting to move you to a quieter part of the garage. Behind you, Sophie, GP and the rest of the team discreetly shuffle away to give you two a bit of privacy.

"I knew how hard the last two races were for you and I just..." Pausing, you have to wait for a moment for your hands to stop shaking. You've been running on sheer adrenaline and caffeine for what feels like the last three weeks now and the emotion of the moment catches up to you. "I just wanted to be here for you."

Max lowers his lips to yours, covering them in a kiss that is all longing and white hot heat. He keeps the kiss just this side of tame enough for the garage, not wanting to draw the ire of Christian but he had needed to taste you then. His hand comes up to cup your face while the other slips around your waist, pulling you in closer to his body. He's slightly damp from how wet it's been this morning but none of that matters now that you're back in his arms.

"I missed you so much." He murmurs, blue eyes practially sparkling down at you, he's so happy. It's been weeks since he's felt like this. Settled. Like he can take on the world. For the first time in what feels like forever, Max has a sense of determination that wraps itself around him. Like the championship isn't all but lost to Lando. Like the car isn't going to be terrible today, even though he might not even finish in the points. Like everything he's gone through the past few months on the track is all about to end because you're finally here and if anyone can bring the team luck, it's you.

"I love you." You whisper into his chest. "Now, let's go show the world why you're about to become a 4 time world champion, yeah?"

And that's exactly what he does.

yourpersonalinsta posted

938,398 likes liked by redbullracing, taylorswift, yourdad and others yourpersonalinsta we are SO back, baby!!! What started out as a nightmare of a day turned into a generational drive for the history books. P17 to P1 and I cannot believe I was there to witness it. Max, I am proud of you beyond words. You and the entire team deserve this win today. I love you to the moon and back, Maxie. (tagged: maxverstappen1) taylorswift what a race! Trav and I caught most of it before the game today. Congratulations!!! >>>yourpersonalinsta hope to see you in Vegas in a couple of weeks! >>>user928 oh my god, new bestie duo unlocked!? maxverstappen1 words fail to describe how much I love you baby. Thank you for always being in my corner and never giving up on me, even when I want to give up on myself. Love you to the ends of time, schatje >>>user928 i am SOBBING. Boyfriend Max is my favorite Max.

Tags: @shelbyteller @formulaal @martygraciesversion381 @longhairkoo @samantha-chicago @stelena-klayley @dark-night-sky-99

#f1 #formula 1 #max verstappen #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen x you #max verstappen fic #max verstappen imagine #max verstappen fanfic #max verstappen fluff #f1 fluff #formula one fluff

2K notes · View notes

sheeezu · 2 months ago

Text

Things to expect when you've mastered shifting

This isn't the normal "oh you'll feel on top the world" kind of post which just hypes up everything and the sole purpose is to motivate. This is (???) the logistics, the indepth version of what you'll face psychologically.

I've shifted close to about a hundred times, whether it was from this reality, or shifting within a reality I shifted.

This is all from my personal experience, you might experience differently.

⋆ Disassociation: when you shift back to your original reality, you'll often times confuse both reality's memory, of course, we all know this, doesn't matter if you shifted or not. But what I've seen no one talk about is that sometimes events and certain objects from your DR will unintentionally manifest into your CR, just because of how deeply rooted they become in your subconscious. For example, I had maybe mentioned this somewhere else, but in my DR I had scripted expensive china cups, which broke on my second day being there. Well two weeks ago my family was gifted the same teacups (some details were off) and one of them managed to get a crack in them after we served the guests tea in it.

⋆ Weird Dreams: Not only is the concept of the dreams weird, but overall mechanics of it are unusual as well (I didn't shift unconsciously in my dreams, that's one boundary I've established)

For example, dreams with people claiming to know the future, telling me, and it coming true the next day, but it being minor details, people from my DRs channeling me, dreams which involves falling out of reality/finding the end of the multiverse.

Dreams which involves me floating, strong winds which blow away entirely of the void reality (CR), I had started getting this dream since I've wanted to permashift, the wind is so strong and I feel it, I'm usually at my college and or doing a mundane activity in my current reality, everything dissapears and I end up in the void state for the rest of the night.

Once my S/O visited me in my dream, he asked me to come back home, it was a lucid dream so I consciously agreed because I couldn't deny him; ended up in my home reality.

⋆ Feeling weirdly sad about your CR: this one might be personal to me. truth be told, I haven't studied a single day since I've successfully shifted. This year all of my classmates and age fellows are going to start looking at university applications, the ones they mention are usually universities I used to dream all day long about getting into, when I didn't know about shifting. It forms a pit in my heart, the passion I once used to have regarding hardwork by investing blood sweat tears into studying, pinterest board filled with quotes such as "some dreams are worth more than my sleep" not stirring anything within me. It's not that I think I can't get these things, i know i can just shift to a parallel reality and get it, but I just don't want to, I don't feel the same about this reality anymore, slowly letting it go, no matter how much I try to cling onto it, I know I was never meant to be here.

⋆ Personality changes: When you become an expert at shifting its no question that you'd shift very frequently. Those DR selfs would influence your personality, and people can think you're developing a split personality disorder.

Take me as an example, if you look at the posts on my blog, you'd notice a different tone in each one of them, some are in a more softer tone and the others feel clinical.

⋆ Putting your DR family first, even though they're not here: I don't know how to explain this one, so I'd just take an example out of my own experience again.

I was out shopping with my mother for sweaters, the ones we were coming across were really good quality, but I could only think of my S/O, she was pointing out the things she thought I'd like, but I kept looking at the men's sweater, subconsciously trying to pick one out for him, which weirded my mother out slightly.

...

Why am I crying.

Anyways I have planned to permashift out of this reality before new year, it was my childhood dream to blog, but I was too shy to do so and never had anything common with anyone. But I've finally completed the final thing on my list, alongside with meeting my cousin who I adored, I decided to add her to my DR.

That's it, I'll go on and answer the 50 asks in my inbox.

...

#reality shifting #shiftblr #shifting antis dni #shifting #shifting blog #shifting community #shifting motivation #shifters #shifting stories #desired reality

1K notes · View notes

niningtori · 2 months ago

Text

the way we were before | oneshot

pairing: choi beomgyu x you

summary: you've been in love with beomgyu for as long as you've known him. deep down, you've always thought that he loved you, too; so when he tells you that he's engaged to another woman, you decide to break it all off after a nasty fight in which he shows you just how little you mean to him. a life-ending accident seems to put your feelings to rest, for good. just when you think it's all over, however, you awaken to a time before everything fell apart; and you're determined not to repeat the same mistakes. it's just that beomgyu can't seem to let you go.

genre: ANGST (literally so much angst it's not even funny), romance, second chance!au, rebirth!au, she falls first but he falls harder, possessive!beomgyu

warnings: mcd (and rebirth), somewhat graphic depictions of death/a corpse, suicidal thoughts, you can interpret a scene at the end as somewhat suggestive but not really

word count: 12.7k

notes: this work contains a lot of angst... and that's coming from ME. this might be too sad to the point of being corny but luckily i was born on the cob. don't be mean to me tho i'm going thru it rn. feedback also means the world 2 me <3

some things are a matter of course. for example, when you were initially paired with beomgyu for a project in your senior year of college, it was a matter of course to fall in love with him. supporting him morally and emotionally while he struggled throughout the rest of the year and well into his adult career? well, that was a matter of course, too. being with him every day, spending every spare second you had with the intention to make him happy, and giving up any concept of self-preservation in exchange for even a morsel of his affection? the answer doesn’t even need to be said. through it all, you’ve suspected that all of the intimacy that you’ve nurtured will inevitably end up with you two being together, of course.

you haven’t done any of it for the outcome. truly, you haven't. you make him happy simply because it makes you happy just to see him shine. he’s always been such a bright, sunny boy, and it’s always been enough just to be the one who helps maintain his true personality. it absolutely kills you to see him hurting, so it isn’t unusual to drop everything, be it work or social events, just to give him advice, give him comfort, or even just give him company. while he certainly doesn't show his affection towards you as profusely as you do to him, you know he cares about you. you can see it in the way he notices the little things about you, and in the way he listens to you with full attentiveness, even when you have nothing particularly interesting to tell him. when everyone talks over you, he tells you that he wants to hear what you have to say. and that’s enough.

with all of this in mind, you jump at his invitation to hang out at his apartment. he’s been a little distracted lately, cancelling plans together for reasons unknown. it’s been odd, to be sure, but you know he’ll tell you whatever’s been bothering him soon enough. he always does. you greet him with takeout from his favorite restaurant in tow as a surprise, and he takes it with that smile you love so damn much. he looks a little nervous, but happy, mostly, and you don’t have to wait for very long before he clears his throat and announces that he has something important to tell you.

you try not to get your hopes up, but who can blame you for feeling a hint of anticipation? maybe he’ll finally confess his feelings to you. maybe that’s why he’s been a little weird. naturally, since your mind is racing so much with romantic hypotheticals, of course it comes as a shock to you that he simply says, “i’m getting married.”

beomgyu, notorious for never even having the time nor interest to date around, is not only dating, but engaged. your jaw drops when he tells you that it all happened so quickly, he doesn’t even know how it unfolded. all he knows is that once he met her, a whirlwind romance swept him up, and just a few months have been more than enough for him to know that she’s the one. in fact, as he so fondly declares, he knew it from the very first moment he saw her at the dinner between the company you two work for and her own. the one where you were his “date”. you knew that it wasn’t a real proclamation of love or affection for him to ask you to accompany him, but you can’t say that you weren’t beaming with pride and validation at you being his natural choice. when you arrived at the dinner, you remember some of your coworkers jokingly whispering to you to just make it official already. you spent the night mostly by his side, looking up at him in admiration and love. as it turns out, the time you spent fawning over him was equally spent with him falling in love at first sight with another woman. you weren’t even apart for very long, but apparently he met her when you two broke apart to mingle.

it’s a kick in the chest, to put it bluntly. you feel the wind being knocked out of your lungs, and you’re struggling to breathe. the first time you caught a glimpse of him, you knew that any attempts to stop yourself from falling in love with him were hopeless. his smile, his charm, his playfulness immediately had you enraptured. you’ve always, always known that he didn't have a similar experience with you, but you just assumed that he simply isn’t the type to be caught up in such childish romanticism. you've always loved him outwardly and persistently, and you've shown him that in every single way you possibly know how. you dared to hope that maybe he was just the type to quietly reciprocate. obviously, with how emphatically he’s professing his love for another woman, you were very, very wrong.

“what's the matter? aren't you happy for me?” you struggle to answer, but he continues as if he doesn’t notice. “you know, i was thinking you could be, like, my best man. i've seen people do it these days—you'd pretty much be my best woman. i really want you to do it. there's no one else i can think of to—well, actually, there's soobin, but you’re my—”

“beomgyu,” you sharply interrupt, wetness pooling in your waterlines. beomgyu may be a little emotionally slow, but he’s not stupid. you know he knows that you've had feelings for him since forever ago. while it hurts, the fact of them being unrequited isn't what really gets you; it’s the fact that he doesn’t have the decency to just tell the truth. he took advantage of your love for him, always calling for you when he needed you, without ever really doing the same for you. “what… what about us?”

“what about us? you’re my best friend, and i want you to be part of my wedding,” he says smoothly, but you level him with a watery stare. as if realization finally dawns on him, he replies in a way you sincerely did not anticipate.

“c’mon, you know i don’t see you like that,” he chuckles with a wave of his hand, and you really would’ve rathered him say literally anything else. you’d prefer it if he had just punched you in the stomach, actually, because that would feel considerably better than this… this humiliation. you’re silent for a moment before you feel the tears you’ve been struggling to keep in cascade down your face. to his credit, he has the decency to look uncomfortable, and his playful smile drops. before he can reply, however, you speak again.

“you knew how i felt about you this whole fucking time, you were just too much of a coward to be honest with me,“ you declare. “if… if you had just told me, i would’ve understood. i-i would've—you didn't have to do it this way.”

“listen, i’m sorry that you’re hurt, but i really didn’t mean—”

“are you really sorry that i’m hurt, or are you sorry that i showed you i’m hurt?” you cut in. “beomgyu, you don’t care about how i feel, just as long as you don’t have to be the one to deal with it.”

“i’m—you're being unfair. i didn't want to hurt your feelings, i just wanted us to stay friends. what's so bad about that? don't you want that?” he seems genuinely puzzled, as if he can't wrap his head around why you'd ever be indignant at the fact that he stayed friends with you mainly for his own comfort.

“jesus christ, beomgyu! a real friend would never do this. you kept me around so i’d keep helping you with work, with life, with what the fuck ever. why can't you just be honest, after all this time? just don’t lie,” you spit.

“i'm not lying! you've helped me a lot, and i'm grateful for that, but you can't expect me to just owe you my feelings,” he snaps.

“that's not what this is about, and you know it,” you tremblingly reply, dignity cut right to the bone.

“seriously? that's exactly what this is about. you're the altruistic angel who does nothing wrong, and i'm just a fucking scumbag who takes advantage of you, right? well, i'm sorry, but it's not my fault that you're acting so goddamn crazy over something so stupid.” your eyes burn with an intensity so great, it feels like they're being seared out of your skull. in this moment, you realize that he will never, ever respect you enough to consider you worthy of being leveled with. he doesn't think you're even worth the time. you're his silly, lovesick best friend who's absolutely delusional to the point of being laughable for suggesting that he actually take you seriously, for once. and that revelation breaks you like nothing else.

you won’t do this anymore. you couldn’t even if you wanted to, and you don’t.

“i never want to see you again,” you sob, and while it may seem juvenile to say, you truly mean it. before you can hear beomgyu reply, you dash out of the building and to your car.

everything is a blur when you peel out of the parking lot and onto the road. your eyes are pouring out thick, hot tears, and you try your best to swipe them away as soon as they come, but it’s difficult when they’re seemingly endless. you don’t even attempt to hold in your sobs—they’re far too deep and frequent for that. if someone were to glance at you through their window, they’d think you were absolutely insane. and maybe you are, you don’t know. maybe you’re insane for thinking that things could’ve ever been any different. maybe you were just imagining everything that seemed like confirmation that he loved you back. maybe it was all a delusion because you wanted it so fucking badly. and maybe that’s your fault.

but did he really have to crush you like this? he knew you were in in love with him. he knew you were waiting for him. he knew what he meant to you. why couldn’t he have just been honest instead of stringing you along? to ask for him to return your feelings would’ve been too much, you've always understood that to be the case; but even to the bitter end, he’ll call you crazy before he tells you the truth.

you try to keep yourself focused, but everything’s a blur with your eyes bleary with a film of tears. you have half a mind to just pull over and have a meltdown on the side of the road, but before you can do that, you hear your phone ringing. you pick it up in a frenzy, silently hoping that it’s beomgyu with an apology, but the number is unknown. you don’t even have time to feel disappointed before you look up and see that you’re barrelling past a red light. in a panic, you realize that you’re about to crash headfirst into another car. you swerve your steering wheel as hard as you can, seemingly avoiding danger, but the sight of a tree coming closer and closer into your vision paralyzes you with fear. you try to brake, but you’re going too quickly for it to be of any use.

the collision is bone-shattering in the literal sense. you’d think you’d feel adrenaline alone in such a situation, but you can feel pain bursting out of every cell of your body as you still after being thrown back and forth in your seat. every organ, every bone, feels like it’s just been crushed, and not for the first time today, you’re struggling to breathe.

as you slip out of consciousness, one immovable thought resounds in your head: i wish i'd never met him.

the sound of your alarm ringing pulls you out of the darkness. your eyes shoot open and you sit straight up in pure shock. while you pant—just trying to catch your breath—you grab your chest, clutching at your shirt as you feel your heart drumming erratically. did you survive? you scramble out of your bed and look in the mirror. there’s nothing on your face. no fresh wounds, bruises, no scars from what just happened. that can’t be right. you know you were torn up from the collision, and there’s no earthly way you came out of it unscathed. was it a dream? it can’t be; you can still feel the phantom of pain on every inch of you, even when there’s no indication of any material harm. you remember every second you spent before and after wrapping yourself around that tree. does that mean you’re dead? are you in the afterlife?

that doesn’t seem right, either. you don’t know much about what the afterlife is supposed to be like, if there’s even one at all, but this feels too real and familiar. you reach for your phone, with its alarm still blaring, and as you hit snooze, you notice the date. it’s just a few months before… before everything happened. did you go back in time? is that even possible? you try to reconcile yourself with that fact for a long, long time. so long, in fact, that you don't even realize you're supposed to be heading to work until it's five minutes after you're supposed to be there.

as if on cue, your phone rings with your boss’ contact displayed on the screen.

“hello,” he says as casually as anyone ever can. this just solidifies the idea that your accident must never have happened, because if it had, he certainly wouldn’t be greeting you as if it’s just another day.

“h-hey,” you attempt to reply, and your voice is so choked and thick with emotion, he can hear how badly you’re struggling to speak at all.

“is everything alright?” he asks, concern laced in his tone. that’s enough to make you break, and before you can stop it, you’re outright sobbing into the phone.

“i’m—i just—i don’t think i can come in today.” you fumble for an excuse, but it’s difficult to think straight as you feel your mind breaking down. “i, um, i—”

“hey, it’s okay. you can take the day off, alright? don’t worry about anything, just focus on feeling better.” his words, so comforting in nature, do nothing but make you cry even harder. it feels nice to be cared for like this. if you had the coherence to think so, you’d wonder how baffled he must be at your behavior. luckily, you’re far too gone to care. you think you end up stammering out something similar to a thank you, but you’re not quite sure. either way, the call ends, and you collapse onto your bed. you curl yourself up and tuck your knees to your chest as you grip yourself as tightly as you can. this is real. you’ve gone back. thank god, you’ve gone back.

you cry and cry until no more tears will come out, and while you try to keep yourself awake as the hours pass by, the relief you feel coalesces with the enticing nature of your soft bed, so you can't help but drift off. it’s different from the way you drifted off mere hours ago. it’s a lot warmer and kinder, and you're so, so fucking tired, you don’t even want to fight it anymore.

a knock on your door wakes you from your sleep. it’s a good thing, too, because you were having a nightmare. rejection, devastation, primal fear, mind-numbing pain, then total darkness repeated incessantly in your head for hours on end. you swipe away your tears, but they continue to flow as you practically drag yourself to your door. you’re so disoriented, you don’t even think to check to see who it is before opening it. what a mistake that turns out to be.

“hey! whoa—are you okay?” he asks, and who else could it be besides beomgyu? your heart pounds in your chest, and even more tears stream down your face as you let out a sob. his mouth contorts into a frown. his face, previously so endearing to you, makes you feel absolutely repulsed. you lost everything for the figure standing before you, and he has the nerve to ask you if you’re okay. a fire is ignited in your stomach, and you feel yourself on the precipice of carnal rage. while you’re trying to suppress that feeling, he speaks again.

“i heard you called in, so i thought i’d check on you. do you have a fever?” he questions, reaching out his hand to check your forehead for abnormal warmth. without even thinking about it, you smack his hand away.

“don’t touch me,” you all but growl, but beomgyu is undeterred.

“what’s the matter? i don’t care if you get me sick; i could use the time off,” he teases with a grin, but your face remains twisted up in pure anger.

“get out,” you mumble between clenched teeth.

“what?” he asks, and it's unclear if that's because he's confused, or because he simply didn't hear you. either way, you don't care.

“get out,” you repeat, louder this time, but not lacking any of the previous anger. your erratic behavior is enough to finally irritate beomgyu.

“fine, whatever. forget i even bothered,” he scoffs as he stalks out of the door. you slam it behind him before falling to the floor. this is your chance. you came back too late to avoid ever meeting him again, but it’s still good enough for you. from now on, you two will live completely separate lives spent being nothing to each other. owing nothing to each other. again, you find yourself sobbing in relief.

when you return to work the next day, the first thing you do is head to your boss’ office. he looks relieved to see you for a moment before he notices the envelope in your hand. with the way his smile drops, you know he immediately knows what it is.

“what’s that?” he asks, though the tension in the air is more than enough confirmation that he has no doubts about what the letter reads.

“my resignation,” you tell him.

“may i ask what this is about?” he probes. no, he can’t, because even if you told him, he’d never believe you.

“i just don’t think this position is right for me,” you deadpan, and the look on his face shows that he doesn’t really buy it.

“you’ve worked so hard for so long, and you want to give up now?” he has a point. your company is on the brink of a major deal with another company, which will result in a financial breakthrough like none other, if successful. as fate would have it, said company is the one in which beomgyu’s future wife works, and the dinner where the two of them met is the celebratory party for such success. you’d laugh at the circumstances if you could. “whatever the issue is, we can work it out. just don’t leave before we do this. we need you, and even if you want to leave after we close the deal, you’ll still be rewarded for everything you’ve done. don’t you want to see that happen?” you do. you really, really do. you’ve given so much of yourself for this opportunity, and you really want to see it work out. you guess, in a way, you already have seen it; but if you leave now, that’ll never happen. this particular project needs you to get off of its feet.

but can you really stand to see beomgyu for a second longer? have his mere presence fuck with your head? is it even worth it? you’re about to declare that it most certainly is not, but you stop yourself. the money will be good for you to start a new life. maybe you’ll move buildings, maybe even to a new city, maybe across the country, who knows? you’ll be more than comfortable with this potential payout, and then you can start a new life somewhere where you know nobody, and nobody knows you.

“i want a new partner, at least,” you counter, and his face morphs into a grimace. he’s undoubtedly confused at your sudden aversion towards beomgyu, but he doesn't mention it to you.

“that’ll be difficult. i need you both for this to work.” you’re about to flatout deny him, but he continues. “if you can just make it through this, i promise that you can go wherever you want to go, and i’ll even give you a bonus for your trouble. deal?” you purse your lips as you mull it over. if you can suffer through being partners with beomgyu, your move will be considerably easier. still, you’re undecided before you have an epiphany: in just a few months, beomgyu will meet his future wife and fall head over heels in love with her. all you have to do is ignore him until then, and he’ll inevitably leave you alone once he meets her. so what if beomgyu’s here? you don’t want to care about him anymore. and once everything’s settled, you’ll pack your life away and start somewhere without the bad memories.

“okay,” you reply, and his face breaks out into a grin.

beomgyu is very visibly ruffled today, which you would immediately notice if you just spared him a glance, but you do no such thing. your lack of attention towards him serves to only rile him up even further. he wants to be stubborn—act out until you apologize to him, but once he realizes you have no intention of doing so, he finally relents and approaches you.

“hey,” he says coolly, still a little annoyed, but prepared to forgive you. you look up at him blankly, and he’s unsettled by just how empty your eyes look, so he nervously asks you, “are you… are you feeling better?” you look at him as if he just spouted the most asinine question of all time, and for the first time ever, he feels small under your gaze. he shifts awkwardly on his feet before you break the silence.

“i’m fine,” you tell him. he waits for you to ask him how he is, but the words never come. in fact, you turn away and bury your nose in your work as if he’s not standing there, waiting dumbly for you to respond as you usually would. well, whatever. you’ll have to talk to him, eventually. especially since you two are working on such a big project.

you don’t really talk to him, though, aside from what’s absolutely necessary. for most of the day, you silently slide papers over to him without even deigning to look at him while you do it. when you do have to speak to him, your words are cold and detached, as if even speaking to him is a chore. it’s like you’re looking past him, almost. like you don’t even really see him, and he’s never felt as unsettled by a gaze in his life.

at lunch, you quietly remain at your desk instead of joining beomgyu like you usually would, and you can't quite bring yourself to eat. you just feel sick by this entire situation, and while you know you need food to survive, you’re sure you’ll vomit if you try to eat anything.

beomgyu, on his part, leaves you alone, though he desperately wants to try to get you to eat with him. he won’t admit it, but he’s actually afraid that you’ll reject him again. he doesn't know why, but the thought of you doing so slashes at his heart. this is a mystery to him. he shouldn’t really care if you reject him or not, since he’s been quietly rejecting you for years, but he can’t help it. still, as he watches you space out at your desk, he tries to will himself to bear the brunt of a possible denial before a coworker he recognizes approaches you.

you don’t even notice mingi walking up to you, so you jump in surprise when he greets you. you’re pretty familiar with him, but you’re not particularly close, so you’re a bit surprised by his arrival.

“can i sit with you?” he asks, grinning as he asks it. you nod in response, and he grins even wider before he pulls up a chair and seats himself in front of you.

“are you going to eat?” he questions, and you shake your head.

“not hungry,” you reply. he frowns.

“you still need to eat. you need energy, especially since you’re working so hard.” you’re actually a little sheepish because of his words. so he’s noticed how hard you’ve been working? it feels nice to be appreciated. is he worried about you?

“i’ll eat later,” you lie. he seems a bit reluctant, but he eventually nods.

“make sure you eat, okay? i’ll—i’ll text you and make sure you have. is that alright?” you’re stunned for a few seconds before agreeing, and he ends up sliding you his phone so you can put your number in it.

beomgyu watches it all from his desk, and he feels a sense of loss. is it because you’re directing your attention elsewhere? that has to be it, right? it can't be any deeper than that, but somewhere nearly unreachable inside of him, he feels an unfamiliar sensation scratching at his heart, begging him to acknowledge it. but he shakes away the thought. you’re acting really weird, but that’s okay. you love him, and you’ll get back to normal really soon.

that’s what he tells himself, but you remain as cold as ever throughout the rest of the week. you don’t look at him with those adoring eyes, and you don’t even crack a smile at his attempted jokes. he feels like he's going insane, as if he's on the brink of understanding something really important, but he can't quite make it there.

it all comes to a head when beomgyu shows up late back from grabbing lunch. he's done this a million times before, and he's always been greeted by your insistence that his tardiness isn't a big deal. in spite of the tension between you two, he still assumes that you'll be as forgiving as ever.

“hey, sorry i'm late. i got caught up with eating and didn't realize how late it was getting,” he says casually. he searches your face for any traces of leniency, for the indulgence you used to give him, but there is none. only anger, and maybe even something like regret, though he can't quite understand the latter.

“don't be late again. we don't have time for this,” you say coldly before sticking your nose back into your computer, effectively ignoring anything else beomgyu could say to placate you.

you two work late into the night. beomgyu gets so caught up in his work, too afraid to draw your ire again, but when he realizes he hasn't heard any noise coming from you in a while, he peers over to see you staring blankly at the wall. your face seems expressionless, but your eyes are what horrifies him. dead, empty, hopeless. “a-are you okay?”

the sound of his voice does nothing to break you out of your trance, however. in fact, it seems to have triggered something in you, decimated a dam that was already leaking. your eyes still look blank as tears begin to leak out of your eyes. they fall slowly at first, then incessantly. it's hard to reconcile the steady stream with the way your face remains completely devoid of emotion.

tentatively, he places a hand on your shoulder. suddenly, you're jolted awake, eyes now looking as composed and indifferent as ever.

“are you okay? w-what's wrong?” he asks anxiously,

you hurriedly wipe away your tears before you say, “nothing. just thinking about something.” you redirect your attention to your work, just trying to fully shake the way you were just locked into the memory of you dying alone.

“what could you possibly be thinking about to make you look like that?” he asks concernedly, his voice unintentionally rising in frustration. your eyes harden before you turn to him.

“none of your business,” you say firmly. before he can say anything, you're packing up your things. “i'm going to call it a night and go home.”

“wait! talk to me! what's been bothering you so much lately? you've been weird for a while now, so just tell me what's going on with you. i'm here. i'm listening,” he says as gently as he can.

“you're here? you're listening?” you sneer. “i'm so honored that you finally give a fuck about how i'm feeling,” you say sarcastically. he frowns at your words.

“what are you talking about? i'm always here for you,” he says, and he looks so genuine, it makes you even angrier. he sincerely thinks he's telling the truth. so fucking clueless and selfish.

“are you? do you think offering up your ear once in a blue moon makes you an altruistic angel or something?” you know he can't understand that you're throwing his own words back in his face, because he can't even remember saying them, but you don't care. it just feels too damn vindicating to stop yourself. “beomgyu, you're only as available to me as is convenient to you. you'd never put yourself out of your way to comfort me. meanwhile, i've always been ‘here’ and ‘listening’ at your will. i don't need your pity, and i certainly don't want it.” he's stunned into silence. you're absolutely correct, he realizes with a sinking feeling. before he can formulate the words to defend himself, you pack up your things and leave the office.

in the following weeks, you realize that mingi is… nice. really, really nice. you’re not used to prospective romantic partners actually seeming to like you, so the feeling is foreign, but not unwelcome. do you have feelings for him outside of appreciation? well, not really. in the back of your mind, you honestly doubt that you’re even capable of having feelings for other people anymore, but you try not to think about it too much. if you seriously search for an answer, you fear you won’t like what you find.

mingi is diligent, though, and you like that about him. now that you’ve made it clear that you’re not involved with beomgyu (and never want to be), he’s pulling out all the stops to charm you. lunches you would previously spend with beomgyu are now spent laughing with mingi. in the same way, downtime at work, which would normally entail catching up with beomgyu and maybe helping with a few of his assignments, are now reserved for chats with mingi. as beomgyu watches you two giggle with your heads together, he wonders what you two could possibly be talking about to ever be that funny. his jaw ticks in irritation at the scene. most notably, though, is the fact that instead of spending your off days with him, you flatout reject him with no explanation. not even with a perfunctory “sorry”. he doesn't have to wonder what you’ve been doing when he hears your coworkers gossiping about how you're always hanging out with mingi.

beomgyu feels you slipping away, and it brings a sense of panic he’s never known before. but why? he shouldn't care about your romantic endeavors. granted, you haven’t had one during the entire time that you've known him, but it’s only natural that he supports you as your best friend. best friend. does that term even apply to him anymore? he wants to insist that it does, but as the weeks turn into months, your disgust for him becomes clearer and clearer. as he sits across from you and mingi at an after-work dinner with your department, he watches as mingi flirtatiously whispers into your ear. when some of your coworkers tease the two of you about it, he realizes with sickening certainty that he doesn't just want to be your best friend, he wants to be the one who sits next to you. he wants to be the one your coworkers joke about being your boyfriend, and he wants them to be right about it. the time you two have spent apart has shown him that he can't imagine anyone else occupying the space beside you. with an overwhelming sense of clarity, beomgyu realizes that this feeling, so deep and all-consuming, is love.

how could he not love you? regardless of everything you've done for him, you're still so perfect to him, for him. he finds himself appreciating things he previously took for granted. you're beautiful, caring, funny, and smart. he loves your smile, your laugh, your company. he loves the way you look when you're focused, the way you look so innocent when you sleep. you're the first person he wants to tell any time something happens, good or bad. you're the face he wants to wake up to in the morning. you're the only person he trusts to be his partner for the rest of his life. and now, it's clear that he can't just let you go without a fight.

as everyone begins to leave the restaurant one by one, he follows you out into the parking lot, determined to make his feelings known. even if you don't reciprocate them anymore, he's willing to put in the effort to make you love him again. and even if you don't… even if you can't… the desire to simply be next to you supersedes the need to be loved back.

you don't realize that beomgyu is trailing after you until you get to your car. he calls out your name as you're about to pull the door handle. with a sigh, you turn around.

“what is it?” you ask flatly.

“are you serious about mingi?” he asks firmly, but he already knows that you are not. the way you look at mingi is laughable compared to the way you looked at beomgyu before your sudden change in behavior.

“yep,” you say.

“no, you're not. i can tell,” he argues with conviction.

“oh, and you know me so fucking well, huh?” you snark.

“i do,” he tells you, stepping closer. “i know you, and i know you don't really like him. not really.” damn. he caught you.

“just because i don’t like him now, doesn't mean i can’t like him later,” you insist.

“so what? you’re just going to string him along while hoping you’ll like him someday? are you just going to spend the rest of your life never really caring about anyone? you can't live like that.” his words leave no room for argument, but you’ll be damned before you don't at least try.

“you’re right, i shouldn’t lead him on, but what’s it matter to you? even if it doesn't work out with him, maybe i’ll meet somebody who i can tolerate, and who can tolerate me. i don’t think i need anything more than that.” beomgyu flinches at your bizarre words, but he's already reconciled with the idea that even if you don't want him anymore, he'll still take whatever you want to give him with a smile on his face.

“then what about me? i… i can be that person.” he's so nervous, you can tell that it took all of his courage to say that. but who cares?

“you can’t,” you argue.

“why not?”

“that would mean i’d have to be able to tolerate you, and i don’t want to do that.” not anymore.

“why are you acting like this? you’re acting like i’m so fucking horrible, but you used to lo—” he stops himself, but you both know he was going to bring up the love you had for him. “i just want to know what changed.”

“i did. i changed.”

“but why? i mean, i didn’t realize it before, and i know i wasn’t always the best, but i’ve always had feelings for y—”

“don’t even bother finishing that sentence. you don't like me at all,” you sneer, “you just don’t like seeing me move on.” this makes him pause, and even you don’t have the heart to pretend like you can’t see the hurt in his eyes.

“why can’t you ever just believe me?” he asks quietly. “i’m telling you i love you, but you don’t even care. i’m saying that it’s okay if you don’t feel the same way, but you’re acting like… like i'm disgusting to you.” he looks like he's about to cry, and it makes you all the more frustrated.

“you don’t understand,” you reply in between clenched teeth.

“then help me understand. i just want to know why. i just want to know how to fix it. how can i bring you back?”

“you can't. look, i’m—” and you’re about to apologize, but you just can’t make yourself do it. “you’ll get it really, really soon. you won’t even remember feeling this way, i can promise you that, and you’ll forget all about me.”

“what are you talking about?” he says exasperatedly. beomgyu may not have always been the best of friends towards you, but he can recognize when you’re holding yourself back. “what aren't you telling me?” you purse your lips in response.

“nothing. there's no point in saying anything, because you wouldn't understand even if you tried. you wouldn't remember—fuck, never mind. just let it go, beomgyu. i have.” but he can't just let it go. this whole fucking thing as an enigma to him. but your words are… odd. what do you mean he wouldn't remember? there's nothing to remember, no matter how much he tries. before he can respond, you get into your car and drive away.

“c’mon, you know i don’t see you like that,” beomgyu tells you, forcing an awkward laugh. your expression immediately crumbles, and he begins to shift uncomfortably when he realizes that he must’ve said the wrong thing. your silence is deafening, ringing in his ears, but he still tries to maintain a smile. maybe you’ll lighten up. maybe you’ll go back to the way you were before. maybe you’ll even crack at smile at this ridiculous situation when you realize that he’s right in his assumption that you’re just being emotional. your feelings for him can only go so deep, right? you can go back to being friends after this, just the way he likes it.

his smile is wiped clean off of his face when your eyes redden and well up in pure, unadulterated hurt. hurt he’s never seen before. he fumbles for the right words, but before he can find them, you break the suffocating silence.

“you knew how i felt about you this whole fucking time, you were just too much of a coward to be honest with me. if… if you had just told me, i would’ve understood. i-i would've—you didn't have to do it this way.” any delusions beomgyu has that you’ll just let this go are promptly flushed away at your biting tone. jesus christ. you’re right, and he knows it. he flounders for a response, but nothing he can possibly say could really be enough.

he spends the duration of the argument mainly trying to defend himself. honestly? he doesn't want to remember everything you two say, but he knows he's being nasty in an effort to keep himself from reconciling with the fact that he is, indeed, a coward. he knows he’s never been the greatest friend to you, though he’s always justified it by recalling the times where he did do thoughtful things for you. when you tell him that your resentment isn’t about the fact that he doesn't feel the same way, but because of the fact that he won’t own up to his actions, he feels a stab to his pride. before he can stop himself, he lashes out.

“i never want to see you again,” you choke out between sobs, and he feels a piercing pain shoot through his body, all the way down to his bones. you don’t mean that. there’s no way you mean that. you care about him. you love him, and even if he doesn't feel quite the same way, he loves you, too. but one look at your resolute face is enough to tell him that you mean it. he wills himself to say something—anything—but you rush out of the door before he can quite muster up the courage to speak.

he stands in a stunned silence for longer than he could ever rightfully justify, but a call from an unfamiliar number eventually pulls him out of his daze. usually, he’d reject it and chalk it up to spam, but something tells him that he should—needs to—answer it. with shaky hands, he accepts the call.

“h-hello?”

the response mostly sounds rather clinical in nature, really. there’s a perfunctory greeting before the monotone voice detachedly states that there’s been an accident, and he will need to come to the coroner’s office to accurately identify the corpse, which had been declared deceased at the scene. as it turns out, he was your first emergency contact.

“we are deeply, deeply sorry.” the final words are the only ones that seem to hold any hint of an emotion in them, but beomgyu is too preoccupied to hear it. in a daze, he gets in his car and makes his way to the coroner’s office. hoping, praying, needing for this to be a bad dream. as he comes to find out, it is not.

beomgyu’s head whips up in horror, and he’s panting like mad in between whimpers. tears incessantly pour out of his eyes, wetting his flushed cheeks. was it all a dream? there’s no way; it was too real to be a dream. he was there—he lived it. no, no, no…

“beomgyu?” a voice says, somewhat breaking him out of his panic. his bleary eyes snap up to the doorway to see you standing there, your eyebrows knit with concern and confusion. you two have been working late again, awkwardly alone together once more after his confession. you saw that he had fallen asleep, but he looked so tired, you couldn't bring yourself to wake him up. “are… are you okay?” he's absolutely frozen as you tentatively approach him, pausing a bit uncertainly before approaching him to get a closer look. he grabs you and tugs you towards him, wrapping his arms around you in an almost bruising grip. he nuzzles his wet face into the crook of your neck, inhaling your familiar scent in between shudders.

“beomgyu, are you sick? did you have a bad dream?” you ask. his heart would flutter at your concern, concern you haven’t shown him for so long, in any other context; but as it is, he’s far too distraught to appreciate it.

“i… i remember,” he croaks, trying to get even closer to you, as if doing so is the only way to keep you safe. you’d like to break out of his embrace, but he’s so distraught while you’re so off-guard, you don’t do it just yet.

“remember what? something about the project? we can—”

“no. i’m—i remember… i remember losing you.” he can’t quite bring himself to be any clearer, but you seem to understand him, anyway. you stiffen in his arms before prying him off of you. he fumbles for you, just to touch you again, but you push him away. you exert very little force, but it’s firm and unrelenting.

“oh,” you reply, looking a little lost, but mostly just cold. he's basically wailing now, but he tries his best to answer.

“i’m so, so fucking sorry. i didn’t—”

“what, you didn’t mean to? you’re sorry? maybe so, but does it matter?” you cut in, almost snarling. now that he remembers, all of the feelings, all of the resentment you’ve kept bottled up come tumbling out of your mouth. “what's the point in telling me this now, after everything? you’re not sorry, beomgyu. you only care because i’m—because i was gone. i don’t want to hear about your regrets; they’re worthless to me.” he recoils as if you just punched him. his eyes turn even redder than they were before, too, and he’s silent at your words.

he wants to tell you that you’re wrong, because he really is sorry, but can he truthfully say that he’d realize his feelings if you didn’t… go? he can’t. for all he knows, he’d have rejected you forever. he's so ashamed, he'd rather die than feel this way. even so, he wants to attempt to explain himself; you deserve that much. before he can reply, however, you rise and stalk towards the doorway. it’s reminiscent of the way you left when everything happened, and he desperately tries to follow you, grabbing your arm before you can make it out the door.

“don’t touch me. don’t you ever touch me,” you seethe, ripping yourself out of his grip as if the mere feeling of his hands on you burns through your skin, and he staggers backwards. he keeps his arm somewhat outstretched, though. just in case you change your mind.

“don’t leave like this. i-i don’t want you to get hurt.” not again.

“what’s it matter to you?” you sneer. “you didn’t care before, so i won’t waste my life on you ever again.” his eyes widen in terror, and tears fall even more profusely than they already were. you begin to leave, but to your regret—and to his anguish, the angriest part of you forces you to turn around and face him again.

“do you want to know what my last thought was?” you ask, face mostly blank besides the slight traces of disdain in your eyes, and he’s too terrified to move or even speak at all. he knows whatever you say will be something that breaks him, so he tries to shrink himself to be as small as possible; subconsciously praying that doing so will make him disappear in the face of your anger. still, your eyes remain locked on his face—narrowing in on him regardless of his efforts. “it was of you, actually. i was wishing i’d never met you.” he visibly flinches as he gasps sharply, feeling like you just knocked the air out of his lungs. he feels like he can’t breathe. it would have felt better if you had just ripped his heart out of his chest, because as it is, it’s aching so badly, he wishes you had.

his lips tremble, and he looks like he’s just heard the worst news of his life. and he has. you hate him that much? you regret all of the time you had together to the point of wishing it had never happened? he’s never, ever regretted a moment he’s spent with you, but he guesses your company has always been better than his. how could it not be? you’ve always given him more than he could ever reasonably ask for, and even if you hadn’t, you’re still a much better person than he is. better to the extent of making him realize just how unworthy he is.

he lets you leave, but his anxiety makes him frantically pace about the room. he tugs at his hair, willing himself to calm down, but he just can’t. after a few minutes, he texts you and asks if you made it home. to his relief, it says that you’ve read the message, so he knows you must be okay. still, you don’t respond.

the deal is tied up exceptionally smoothly; you’ve done it before, after all, so that comes as no surprise. on the night of the celebratory dinner, you take mingi as your date. you’ve already told him that you don’t see things panning out, but he actually takes it really well. maybe telling him that you’re planning on moving helped smooth things over. still, he insists that you accompany him to the dinner, just as friends. you oblige.

it’s mostly the same as you remember. you spend the night mixing with your coworkers for the last time, and it’s bittersweet. they don’t know that this will be the last time you see them, as your two weeks before resignation have already passed in secret, and you’ll spend the next few weeks just packing and finding a new place to stay far, far away from here. it’s freeing, in a way.

at some point, your manager announces that he’ll be making a toast, and the room quiets as everyone’s attention is placed on him.

“firstly, i’d like to celebrate the success of this collaboration. everyone has worked hard to make everything come to fruition. secondly, i’d like to recognize two of the people who made this possible.” he specially thanks you and beomgyu, which is normal, but the unexpected happens when he voices his regret that you’ll be resigning.

your coworkers look at you in shock, but one person in particular is especially stunned. beomgyu. your manager probably thanks employees of the other company, too, but he doesn’t hear it. other voices, other people, are drowned out by the buzzing in his ears. you’re leaving, and it's all because of him.

he tries to drown his feelings in alcohol, stomach burning with every round, but the regret never seems to numb. the room seems to be spinning, and he looks visibly ill. eventually, a familiar figure takes a seat next to him. ah. his previous fiancée.

“hey,” she says, somewhat coyly. he doesn't respond. “wow, are you okay? you look a little green. how are you getting home?” again, he doesn't respond. she actually appears to be embarrassed, but she tries one more time.

“i actually—i came over here because you're really… cute. if you don't have a way home, i can take you. i won't try anything on you, but i can't just let you go home alone. and maybe, you know, when you're sober, we can—”

“beat it,” he snaps. he knows it’s not her fault, and that she hasn’t done anything, but he still can’t help his resentment, even when it should all be directed towards himself. but his recognition of his unfairness isn’t enough for him to care. she blinks in surprise and embarrassment, rising from her seat in defeat.

beomgyu continues to drink until he’s on the verge of passing out, putting his face in his hands. he draws attention from everyone, but he doesn’t have the mind to care. people try to approach him, but he flatly rejects everyone who attempts to offer their help in order to ensure that he gets home safely.

“should you… should you take him home?” mingi asks. it’s obvious who he’s referring to.

“it’s not my problem,” you reply, a bit more curtly than you intended.

“you’re right, it’s not. but you’re the only one he’ll listen to, and i think you know that.” mingi argues. you sigh. he’s right. as much as you want to blame beomgyu for everything, you’ve come to realize that after the conversation—more like confrontation—you two had, you’re not angry anymore. it was hard to see in the moment, but you’ve begun to question your merciless stance towards him. isn’t it partially your fault that things turned out the way they did? he didn't make you check your phone that day, so isn’t it unfair to completely blame him for everything?

with this in mind, you approach him. he initially bats you away, assuming you’re just another one of his coworkers, but your voice pulls him out of his drunken stupor.

“c’mon. i’ll take you home.” his head whips up in surprise, and he almost thinks you’re joking, but your face is completely serious.

“o-okay,” he replies, sounding extremely docile. you don’t respond, but you begin to walk ahead of him as you head to the exit. he’s having a hard time even following you as he clumsily staggers through the crowd, following you like a lost puppy. hesitantly, he reaches out for your hand, though the fear of you telling him not to touch you remains. you turn back to see his fingers hesitantly outstretched to your hand, and with a look of resignation, you let him grab it as you lead him out.

the ride to his home is a silent one. beomgyu rests his head upon the cold window as he stares at the scenery outside. he doesn’t really take anything in, far too dazed to appreciate the view, but he looks, anyway.

when you enter his apartment, begrudgingly letting him lean on you for support, you take him to his bedroom. he plops down onto his bed in an unnaturally clumsy manner.

“th-thanks for taking me home,” he says meekly.

“mm,” you reply, no inflection of emotion in your tone, getting ready to leave and head to your apartment.

“w-wait! can you… can you stay here tonight?” you look at him doubtfully, but before you can resolutely deny him, he begins to retch. with widened eyes, you pull him up and drag him to his bathroom. he hunches over the toilet and lets everything go. he’s trembling after he’s finished, and you clean him up as best as you can. he melts into your touch as you gently wipe his face. you’re not soothing him with your words like you would’ve a few months ago, but your care, no matter how unwilling you seem to give it, is something he revels in. he brushes his teeth, but he keeps his eyes on your pensive reflection in the mirror. after he's finished, you speak.

“i’ll stay,” you tell him.

“w-what?” he questions, eyes watery.

“i’ll stay for tonight. i’ll take the couch. i just don’t want to leave you when you’re feeling like this. it’s dangerous.”

“n-no! you can stay in the guest room.”

“i need to be able to hear you if something happens,” you argue.

“th-then i’ll sleep on the couch. i don’t want you to—”

“beomgyu, you need to properly rest. if you don’t sleep in your room, i’ll leave.” his face crumbles before he acquiesces with a strained nod.

“good,” you say with a ghost of a smile at his blind obedience, but he's too drunk to notice it. if he had, he would’ve clung to it like a man drowning.

“thank you,” he solemnly whispers.

“goodnight, beomgyu.”

“goodnight,” he says, and you rifle through his drawer for some clothes before heading to his living room and changing. you pull out spare blankets from his linen closet before sliding onto his couch.

you sleep rather peacefully, but beomgyu has no such luck. instead, he's pulled into a dream—one he comes to realize is a memory.

when beomgyu arrives at the coroner’s office, there is a moment, albeit brief, that he sickly hopes that it’s literally anyone else in the world, but when he sees you—body mangled nearly beyond recognition—he realizes that there is no such mercy. apparently, you didn't even die on impact, but by the time somebody reached you, you were already gone. he doesn't want to imagine how you must've felt, being alone in your last moments, but he feels like he should. against the warnings of the coroner and surrounding police officers, he demands for your face to be uncovered. he can surely identify you based on frame and clothing alone, but for reasons he doesn’t dare to dwell on, he feels like he just has to see. he just has to be sure. he just has to know what he did to you.

and he does come to know it. to his eternal regret, he begins to know it at that moment, and consequently, every moment after. as it turns out, they suspect that you were looking at your phone before you swerved off of the road. he doesn’t know how, but he’s instinctively sure that it’s because you were waiting on his call. one resounding thought thrums incessantly in his head: it’s all his fault, all his fault, all his fault.

your face is bloody, barely even showing any of the underlying skin, and marred from shattered glass. he swallows thickly as he reaches out to touch you, running his hands over the gashes on your face as softly as he can as to avoid hurting you, and he can’t help but wonder if it’s at all possible for him to tend to your wounds. he would go over single one, softly patching you up back to normal; but you're already cold to the touch, and though you definitely can’t feel anything, his mind imagines how much it must hurt to have him caress the gaping wounds on your face. he snatches back his hand, as if his touch is poison to you.

“s-sorry, i’m really sorry!” he panickedly exclaims. “i-i won’t—i didn’t mean to hurt you.” he’s unsure if he means that in the current physical or the previous emotional sense, but does that really matter? he already has. besides, you can’t feel anything anymore. all of your muscles are relaxed, leaving you devoid of any expression as your eyes hollowly stare up at the ceiling. for a moment, he wishes the hurt he saw in them a mere hour ago was still there. anything would be better than the current blankness of your features.

the blankness remains, however, even after all of the makeup and superficial repairs done to make you look like you’re only peacefully asleep. to him, you just look dead, no matter how badly he wishes the former were the case. as much as he wants to speak at your funeral, he does not. he doesn't deserve the dignity to speak, much less to properly mourn you. not after what he said to you. not when everything that's happened is all his fault.

the breakup with his girlfriend—or fiancée—is more bothersome than he can handle. in between her pleas and attempts to reason, all he can do is coolly recite the constant refrain: “i’m sorry, i just don’t want to be with you.” she tells him he’s just grieving, that he’ll get over it with time, and she wants to support him while he does it; but he montonously repeats his words as if they're the only ones he knows. in her anger and desperation, she tells him he’s making a mistake, and that he’s just feeling guilty because of your unrequited love, which ultimately proves itself to be the categorically worst thing to say. he finally explodes, telling her that she was the mistake, that he doesn't know what he ever saw in her that even closely compares to you, and he'd take every moment with her back if he could. she's the biggest regret of his life, which previously felt like it had only just begun, but now feels like it stretches far beyond what he can tolerate.

in the days, weeks, months that follow, he struggles to understand how something so unjust could occur. it doesn't make sense. really, it just doesn't make sense. eventually, even his initially patient friends grow weary of his neurotic harping upon how unfair it is, how sudden and wrong it all is. he should be punished. you shouldn’t have had to be the one to suffer, but you were. what kind of justice is that? what kind of universe allows something so cruel to happen right under its nose?

when everyone finally tells him that it’s time to move on and let go, he resorts to speaking to the only person who can’t argue back. you. he visits you every day, bringing you gifts on christmas and your birthday, and even just when he sees something he think you'd like. in a way, they’re almost like sacrifices to you to atone for what he did. his contrition. he spends many of his visits by raving like a man gone mad at a stone slab. he likes to think that you’re agreeing with him, that you see the unfairness for what it is. he’s realized that he loves you, has always loved you, but he was too self-absorbed to notice. as hypocritical as it is, he’s only noticed after you… left, and he’s more disgusted by himself than he ever thought possible. still, he thinks you deserve to know. you deserve for him to be brave and tell the truth, but who cares? what’s the use of only recognizing it after everything he’s done?

he apologizes to you while crying about how much he misses you. he tries to tell you about other things, too. about the things he thinks you would’ve liked to hear. about current events he decides you’d find funny or interesting, about life updates on your friends that you’d want to know, about how a new album has been released by an artist you really liked, and that he can't quite bring himself to listen to it yet. he’ll definitely listen, though, someday. he’ll give you his opinions after describing each track in great detail, once he’s able to bear it, that is. you always look(ed) forward to their releases, so it’s the least he can do to repay his debt to you.

but if you owe someone a debt as deep as their life, how can you repay that debt when they’re no longer here to collect it? if he really thinks about it, there are a lot of things he owes you. he owes you the years you spent caring about him when he couldn’t be bothered to reciprocate a fraction of the same courtesy. he owes you every thoughtful action, every encouraging word you wasted on him. he owes you the time you dedicated to make sure he always felt seen, felt understood, felt loved. yes, he owes you a lot of things—too many to properly account for, actually. and now, he even owes you your life. his debt is so heavy, he crumbles under it every day, squirming pathetically beneath the crushing weight of it all like an insect. the worst part is: he owes you more than you ever asked him for. all you wanted in return was honesty, but it appears that even that was too much to ask from him.

he wishes you were here to punish him, to scorn him for being such a fucking bastard. yell at him, hit him, kill him. anything would be fine—he’d tolerate it all—just as long as you were still here. he’d be perfectly content with your hatred, he’d revel in it, even; but he supposes that he doesn’t even deserve that much. as it is, your silence is the most punishment he can receive, but that doesn't feel like it's even close to enough. he finds himself praying for mercy, for some bizarre, cosmic event to put him out of his misery once and for all. he indulges in the idea that if he plays his cards right, if he begs and pleads enough, he’ll find you again. such a notion is initially enough to placate him, but it is to his horror when he realizes that he’s more afraid of that than anything else. what if he finds you, and you tell him, “i never want to see you again,” just like before? such a terrifying outcome is enough to keep him from snuffing out his own light with his own two hands for good. he’d rather live as if he were dead than hear those words again.

so he does. he lives like that for years, decades, until death mercifully takes him. he lives quietly and utterly alone. no wife, no children, and hardly any friends. if your life was robbed from you by his actions, then it’s only right that he lives as if his own were robbed from him, too. it’s the least he can do to atone for what he’s done. what keeps him up at night, though, is the possibility that it’s just not enough. if you do meet him again, what will you say? will you still tell him that you don't want to see him? that the lifetime he spent regretting everything he's ever done pales in comparison to the price you paid for caring about him? as the darkness overcomes him, however, he realizes that you deigning to say anything at all to him is better than your unbearable silence. his final thought before he's swallowed whole is: please, just let me see you one more time.

beomgyu awakens in a cold sweat, panting heavily as he struggles to understand where he is. is he still alive? that can’t be right—he clearly felt himself slipping away. but what if he can’t die? what if that’s his punishment? the thought alone is enough to elicit a guttural, “no, no, no!” out of him as he realizes that his nightmare is not yet over, and may very well never be. tears pour down his face as he wails like a child.

“beomgyu?” you say as you walk through the doorway, looking somewhat sleepy and disheveled in clothes he subconsciously registers as his own. when he looks at you, he's relieved, but the regret he feels is what overwhelms him.

“oh, god. i'm—it's all my fault.”

“what?” you ask, still a bit disoriented from just waking up, seeing as how it's still the middle of the night.

“it's all my fault. it's all my fucking fault. i did that to you.” suddenly, you realize what he’s saying, and your heart clenches at his words.

“beomgyu, no. i was distracted. i didn’t see—”

“you were distracted because of me. you thought i was calling you, i just know it. you were there because of me. because i’m a fucking coward who couldn't just tell you the truth.” you don’t know what to say. did he really blame himself for everything? even after all of this time? before you can answer, he speaks again.

“i saw—you just looked so small. i've never—i didn't even think anyone could bleed that much. you were so cold, a-and your face was—”

“hey, hey, hey, stop it,” you say firmly, but gently, “you're not—”

“they said you died at the scene, all… all alone. and i know i was the one who did that. if i had just listened to you, if i had just been honest with you, you would've been alright. but i called you crazy. i said you were being stupid. w-why did i say that? what did i do it for?”

“look at me,” you say firmly, which makes his unfocused eyes zero in on you. “listen, listen to me. it's not your fault, okay? i used to feel like it was, but now i understand that you were scared. i know you couldn't control how you felt about her, and you were right about you not owing me your feelings. you could've been honest, but that doesn't mean you killed me.”

“no, i did it. i did it. i did that to you. if i had just—”

“gyu,” you sigh, and his heart can’t help but stutter at the nickname you haven’t called him in months. “i’m telling you it’s not your fault. i used to blame it all on you, and i was wrong for doing that. but you get it now, right? you're supposed to be with her. you love her.”

“no, no, no! i don't. i really don't,” he desperately exclaims, trying to convince you in the only way he knows how.

“maybe not yet,” you concede, “but you will. once you get to know her, you'll want to spend the rest of your life with her. that's how it's supposed to be, just like before.”

“there is no before,” he cuts in pleadingly. “i lived and died alone, just like i deserved. i just—i love you so much, i couldn't stand to let you go.” you frown at his words—they make you actually feel guilty. even so, you guess that it's time to let the purgatory you find yourselves in go. besides, maybe he needs an apology to finally put it all to rest.

“i'm sorry that—” his heart drops to his stomach. please don’t say it. he’s begging you not to say it. not to someone as unworthy and filthy as him.

“don't. please, please, don't apologize to m—”

“—i made you feel that way. even when i hated you, i never wanted you to live like that; but you can't mistake guilt for… something else. maybe this is another chance to get it right. you can be with her guilt-free, and i can live without regrets.”

“no, i-i didn’t break up with her because of guilt! i did it because i realized that if it’s not you, i don’t want it to be anyone else. it can’t be anyone else.”

“you don’t know that,” you sigh. “you think you feel that way, but you’re just sad that things ended how they did.”

“you’re wrong!” he exclaims. “i didn’t realize it—i was too stupid to realize it. and i know it’s disgusting of me, but i only… i only understood it after i lost you. i-i’m sorry i didn’t realize it before, but please don’t tell me how i feel. i spent every day wishing i would just fucking die so i could see you again. i just couldn’t stand living without you. that’s not normal—that’s not how friends feel, no matter how guilty they are. i just wanted to die.” you purse your lips at his words as you feel dread pooling in your stomach. at least when you died, you didn’t suffer for long, but he suffered for the rest of his life. in the same way, you didn’t want him to hurt himself, no matter how angry you were.

beomgyu has begun to hyperventilate, but he doesn’t take his eyes off of you—too afraid that you’ll disappear if he does. he’s probably having a panic attack as tears stream down his face, and he ruthlessly tugs at his hair in pure distress. all he can do is repeat that it's all his fault and how sorry he is, and any lingering resentment you may feel dissipates like smoke at his absolutely shattered state. it seems like he really can't live without you, so are you sure you can abandon him like this? you don't think so. although it may not be right, you still think that it's worth a shot. you don't think he has the capacity to hurt you ever again, and you realize that even after everything, you don't think you can love somebody the way that you love him. so, you're willing to let him try again.

“hey, hey. stop it,” you coax, seating yourself on his bed. but he can’t stop it, he physically can’t. he’s whimpering now, like a wild beast with a mortal wound. you don’t hesitate to take him into your arms, holding him tightly as you shush him. “shh, it’s okay, i’m here. don’t cry. i’m here, and i won’t leave again. i promise. just breathe, in… then out. that’s it, just like that. good job.”

eventually, his breath begins to even out, though his body is still racked with shudders. you’re here. you’re okay. you promised that you won’t leave him, and you always keep your word when it comes to him. he finally feels like he can breathe, and even though he’s in so much pain, he still wishes this moment will never end. he wishes he could stay in your arms forever, never letting you leave his side. always staying where he can reach you.

“better?” you ask, pulling away to get a good look at him, but he shakily grips your sleeve in sheer desperation. he just has to be touching you, somehow. he forces himself to nod.

“good,” you say, eyes soft and lips slightly upturned in relief. he almost loses it again at the sight of your smile, no matter how small. he never thought he’d see it directed towards him again in this life or the next. “do you want to start over?”

“s-start over?” he asks. he doesn't dare to let himself hope that you mean what he thinks you mean.

“start over,” you nod. “we can try again, okay?”

“oh, p-please,” he begs. he’s so pathetic. he doesn’t deserve your mercy, but he supposes he’s too selfish to reject it. you look at him for a long, long time with soft eyes. you’re not angry anymore—he’s suffered more than enough, and you finally believe that he loves you just as much as you love him, and maybe even a little more than that.

“you promise you won't hurt me again?”

“i promise. i swear to god—”

without a second thought, you gently cup his face in your hands, which makes his words catch in his throat. his eyes widen as you lean in while pulling him towards you. when your lips meet, he’s electrified to his bones. he melts into the kiss, whimpering slightly at the feeling of your lips against his. when you break apart, you rest his forehead on his own, closing your eyes as he stares at you before he does the same. he clutches the hand you have on his face and grazes his thumb over it as he lets out a contented sigh. nobody has ever made him feel this way before, and if he could go back to the first day he met you, he’d tie you to him immediately.

“thank you, thank you so much,” he whispers. with a smile, you press your lips against his again. he falls into the feeling just as easily as the first time, and you push him down before continuing to go even deeper. before completely giving in.

you spend the night loving and being loved in a way that you never thought you could. you feel cherished to a degree you previously considered impossible. beomgyu reveres you as if you’re his god, and he shows you as much with how loving and gentle he is. when you’re finished, panting heavily against each other, he holds his hand against your cheek as he stares at you in awe.

“i missed you so much. i love you so much. i promise that nobody will ever love you as much as i do. i promise that nobody will ever treat you as well as i will. just don’t leave me, okay?” and when the time comes, even if you do leave first, he’ll be sure to follow you. he won't let you be alone ever again. but he definitely can’t tell you that, or else you’d yell at him for not caring about his life enough.

“okay,” you tell him with a sleepy smile, and he beams before kissing your forehead and letting you drift off. he stares at your peaceful face, resolving to always give you what you want, no matter what it costs him. even if it kills him, he'll gladly do whatever it takes to ensure that you're happier with him than you could ever be with anyone else. he'll prove to you how much he loves you, and he'll pay back the debt he owes you a million times over. you'll see. he’ll marry you, start a new life with you, and chain himself to you forever; which may sound selfish, but he’ll make up for his willfulness by being everything you could ever want and need. and finally, before he joins you to sleep, he thanks the universe for having mercy on him—for letting him see you again.

notes pt. 2: ... so? LMAOOOOO i hope this was worth the wait bc this work was so hard for me to get through it was making me so sad to write it. anyway, love yew. please don't be mean to me tho like if u don't like it just close your eyes n scroll 🙏

permanent taglists: (sfw only) @defnotleee @yaoizee @tubatukimoa ([n]sfw/sfw) @lonelybutterflytae @cherrycolaberry @everythingvirgoes @midwinterblizzard @sooberryworld @20-cms @hyueika @boba-beom @vicurious28 @blossommi @lickingan0rchid @katsukis1wife @binniebakery @notevenheretbh1 @shymexican @that1sadgrl @archoive @paegesoobin @buttercreamerie @ifwtxt @softesyoongi @serenityism00 @fairfootedflekk @kyanmeai @definitelynotherr @hyunj00 @taehyunluvrs @m00gyu @denleave1088 @hwanghyunjinismybae @bmo-bri @todorokiskitten @choikanghuening @naoristerling

join one of my taglists here!

#niningtori #the way we were before #txt angst #beomgyu angst #txt ff #beomgyu ff #beomgyu #beomgyu x reader #beomgyu fic #txt fic #txt x reader #txt x you #beomgyu x you #txt x y/n #beomgyu x y/n

636 notes · View notes

f1amour · 6 months ago

Text

✧˚ · . 𝐃𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐘 𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐋𝐄 𝐒𝐄𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐓

pairing: daniel ricciardo x reader

word count: 1.4k

summary: having a crush on a guy ten years older than you was already unconventional but him being your brothers best friend was the cherry on top

authors note: based of this request! please be gentle this is my first official written work on here so not everything may be accurate or perfect. feedback is appreciated and requests are open!

warnings: age gap (reader is 25, daniel is 35) brothers best friend, smut, unprotected sex, public sex, oral (f receiving), fingering, some dirty talk, oh and angst <3 — 18+ only minors please do not interact!

─────────────────────────

You were twenty years old when you first started working for Mclaren as their social media manager. It was something you thought would never happen; neither was crushing on one of the drivers.

It was funny how you had met him first but he was now your brothers best friend and completely off limits.

That still didn't stop you from constantly flirting with him (which he would just laugh at) and after five years your crush has not gone away despite the relationships you have seen Daniel been in hoping one day that would be you at least to feel his lips on yours one time.

That would be a miracle to ever happen.

Now you were currently leaning against a balcony with Daniel pressed up against you kissing all over your neck while your fingers run through his hair, "Someone might walk out here, Danny." You manage to say as he spreads your legs placing you on his thigh.

"You want me to stop?" He asks genuinely pulling away, you guys may have ended up in this position after a few too many drinks but he was still aware of what was going on and didn't want to make you uncomfortable in any way.

I've been dreaming of this moment for years. Of course I don't want you to stop.

"No…don't want to stop." You whisper to him and his eyes look down at your lips, a look in his eyes that makes you think the feelings could be mutual. The next words to come out of his mouth were unexpected.

You thought it would always be you saying them first seeing as you dreamt of this moment a few times.

His forehead leans against yours. You could feel his breath on your skin, "I want to kiss you." He whispers close against your lips, his hands squeeze your hips.

You can't take your eyes off his lips when he asks that question so with a shaky breath you nod expecting the kiss to be fast but his hand caresses your cheek, his eyes falling on every little detail on your face: as if he wanted to memorize this exact moment.

His lips finally meet yours and you almost let out an embarrassing whimper after five years of finally feeling his lips on yours. Your arms snake around his neck while he presses your hips down onto his thigh causing you to let out a moan in which he groans wanting to hear more of you. And he would.

For a while the balcony is filled with sounds of your kisses and moans while you grind against his thigh and when you pull away you could swear there's a moment of sadness in his eyes, "Take me…right here. I need you Daniel." Your hands grab his jacket and drop it to the floor, "Do you want me?" You say softly pulling on his belt buckle.

I've wanted you for so long. Since the day we met.

"Yes…fuck yeah I do." He groans when your lips find his neck and trail kisses down to his chest that had the first few buttons undone. He had to take control. He was putty in your hands but he wanted to taste you already.

Every single part of you.

He switches you back around so you are now leaning against the balcony again and he gets on his knees the sight alone has you wet and squeezing your legs only for him to separate them and lift your dress up, "Fucking hell, baby." He groans seeing that you have no underwear on.

Your hands grasped his hair, not caring if you were messing up the locks, “Daniel.” You moaned as he ran two fingers down your core, collecting your arousal.

He placed a light kiss on your thigh before slowly running his tongue through your folds giving you what you've been wanting. His tongue laps at your juices, circling around your clit as he sucks on it gently.

You were done for. You would never get tired of his lips and tongue exploring you and you hoped this would not just be a one time thing.

Your hands push on his head forcing him closer to you if that was even possible “Fuck.” You groan as he inserts two fingers, pumping them slowly as he curls them inside you. Daniel would be the death of you the way his mouth and fingers were working on you. You need him inside you.

His mouth and fingers were working in sync, already bringing you to your orgasm; and you knew that you weren’t going to last long. “Shit, that feel so good.” You praised as his fingers sped up.

“Oh God, Daniel” You whimper, feeling the coil in your stomach tighten as your pussy clenches around his fingers. “Shit, Danny…I'm gonna cum.” You moan loudly as he increases his pace, sucking on your clit as if his life depended on it. He can't get enough of how you taste or how sexy you sound moaning his name coming out of your mouth.

It doesn’t take long until you are a whimpering mess underneath his touch coming on his face. Your chest heaving as Daniel gently removed his fingers, sucking on them making sure to taste every last bit of you before coming up to kiss you, tasting yourself on him.

"Fucking christ." Daniel lets out a throaty chuckle as your hand rubs against his clothed cock that was clearly in need of some attention, “Danny please,” you whimper as you tug on his belt.

“Please? What do you need, baby?” He teases as you undo his belt successfully. “Please fuck me.” You moan into his ear and all his senses fly off the balcony finally hearing those words come from you.

He lifts your dress back up as you pull his dress pants down enough for him and he quickly lifts you up taking you against the wall beside the door that was at the entrance of the balcony. His hips slam against yours, giving you no time to adjust to his size but the pain quickly turns into pleasure quickly.

His large hand covers your mouth, muffling your moans as he grunts. “This is what you've been wanting for five years?” He said in between breaths as your eyes rolled back into your head, head falling against the wall in pleasure.

“Been dreaming of having my tongue all over your sweet pussy? Dreaming of me fucking you? Kissing you? Making that dream come true for you now, sweetheart" His words go straight to your pussy that clenches around his thick cock.

He pulls you in for a sloppy kiss muffling both of your moans as you hear footsteps inside the hall but they quickly disappear and Daniel pulls away, "I wanna hear you when you cum, baby. So fuckin’ perfect for me." He says pushing you harder against the wall with your legs holding him close against you.

“Cum all over my cock, honey I know you want to.”

“Daniel—fuck, I’m gonna cum." His one hand supporting you and the other rubbing circles against your clit.

Your walls flutter against him as you come with a shudder, clenching around him tightly which has him groaning at the feeling, you bite down on his shoulder as his hips stutter against you before he comes inside of you.

Both of you stay that way in silence as you both try to catch your breaths before he slips out of you, he zips up his pants before helping you out with your dress adjusting it back to how it was.

Your heart was racing still trying to process what just happened but your mind had a million thoughts at the moment waiting in anticipation for what Daniel was gonna say or if you should speak up first.

This was your chance to tell him your feelings.

"Daniel, I–."

"This was good…letting out all that tension. Took us five years but it was worth it and now we can move on, right? No one's gotta know about this. It'll be our dirty little secret. Yeah?" The words just spit out of his mouth so casually as if they werent a complete stab to your chest.

You wanted to cry. You swore the smile he had on his face was fake. His eyes looked distant. You want to see past this and just confess your feelings.

But before you can the door opens to the balcony and you both straighten up, "There you guys are!" Your brother Luka walks out and looks between the both of you.

"Everything alright here?"

You can't say anything so Daniel speaks up, "Oh yeah! Me and sunshine over here were just taking in the view from this place. What'd we miss?" He asks and your brother pulls him back into the party giving you one last look, guilt ridden all over his face but you couldn't see that as tears filled your eyes. He left you there feeling like what he had said earlier.

A dirty little secret.

#f1 amour works #daniel ricciardo #daniel ricciardo x reader #daniel ricciardo smut #daniel riccardo imagine #daniel ricciardo fanfic #daniel ricciardo one shot #daniel ricciardo blurb #f1 one shot #f1 x reader

1K notes · View notes

missmatchablossom · 11 months ago

Text

summary: being megumi's babysitter has two benefits: you get to hang out with an adorable kid, and you get to work for gojo satoru. when gojo finally asks you on a date, the two of you drop off megumi to uncle nanami's for the day while gojo spoils you. but your megumi's separation anxiety might get in the way :')

a/n: megumi is 4-5 years old and is super attached to you. very fluffy and sweet, smutty at the end with soft top gojo. cursing, female reader.

tags: @gojonegs @brevnaaa @sad-darksoul

You busied yourself in the kitchen, preparing a bunch of snacks for Megumi to take for his day with Uncle Nanami and Yuji. The preschooler stuck to your side like glue - always wanting to be next to you or within your line of sight - so you settled him on the sofa where he could still see you.

“Anything else you want me to pack you, my love?” you asked, waiting for Megumi's usual request for extra strawberries. When he didn’t respond, you walked over to his spot on the couch where he was sitting with his chin tucked to his chest.

“Megumi? What’s wrong,” you asked gently, noticing the tremble in his bottom lip.

“I wanna go too,” he said quietly, rubbing at his eyes. You knelt down to his level, holding his hands in yours.

“Ah, you don’t want to go play with Uncle Nanami and Yuji?” you said softly.

“I stay with you,” he said, his voice wavering with tears. It shattered your heart to pieces, and you struggled to keep your own eyes from watering.

You sat next to him on the couch, lifting him into your lap. He hugged you tight, burying his face into your chest like he usually did when he was sad or sleepy.

“I promise you will have so much fun. Uncle Nanami told me Yuji has been bugging him for a playdate with you too! I hear you’re going to the zoo today,” you said, rubbing his back in soothing circles as his sniffles quieted.

You pulled back so you could look into his eyes.

“Gojo and I are going to have our own playdate today, but the places we’re going won’t be fun for you,” you reasoned, smoothing his wild raven hair back.

“I’ll let you in on a secret though,” you said cheekily, leaning forward to touch your forehead to his.

“I really like Gojo. But I love you the most,” you said, your voice tapering off to a whisper at the end.

Finally, Megumi smiled - so adorable and happy that you were second guessing your choice to drop him off at Nanami’s today.

“Wow! Megumi smiled! You know what that means right,” you said, mirroring Megumi’s growing smile with one of your own.

“Kiss attack!” you yelled, assaulting his cheeks and forehead with kisses, causing him to laugh loudly- the kind of free, unsupressed laughter that only little kids could make.

The sound of footsteps approaching in the hallway caught your attention.

“That must be Gojo! Why don’t we try scaring him?” you said, giggling as Megumi nodded eagerly. The two of you crept over to the side of the door, crouching right out of sight.

As soon as Gojo opened the door, you both jumped up in front of him, yelling nonsensically. Gojo being gojo, didn’t flinch at all, and instead greeted you both with one of those annoyingly beautiful, nonchalant smiles of his.

“Next time you wanna scare me, try to keep the giggling down. I could hear you both from the end of the hallway,” Gojo said, ruffling Megumi’s hair.

“Lame,” Megumi muttered, and you looked away to smother your laugh. You’d never heard him say that word before, but you’d definitely heard Gojo say it a few times.

“Oh yeah? I’ll show you what’s lame,” Gojo said, scooping up Megumi into his arms. Megumi squealed with laughter as Gojo tilted Megumi down, chanting “uh oh, uh oh, uh oh” until the preschooler was completely upside down.

“Okay okay! Let him breathe,” you said, smiling as Gojo righted a very rosy Megumi in his arms. He finally paused to look at you - and I mean he really looked at you, his eyes traveling up and down your body appreciatively.

It was the reaction you’d hoped for - you were all dressed up for your date after all. But it still made you blush insanely.

Gojo smirked to himself, leaning his head down to whisper something in Megumi’s ear. Megumi tilted his head in confusion, turning to face you as he told you “He said you’re pwetty.”

Your cast your eyes up to Gojo, who was already smiling warmly at you. You couldn’t help the smile tugging at your lips either.

“What’s pwetty?” Megumi asked, looking adorably confused in Gojo’s arms.

“If you say someone is pretty, it means looking at them makes you happy,” Gojo explained, though he was looking at you while he talked, making your stomach do those familiar summersaults it did whenever you had his attention.

Megumi’s eyes widened in understanding, immediately turning his attention back to you.

“Megumi thinks you’re pwetty too,” Megumi said, making your heart swell again. You thanked him, leaning up to kiss his cheek, then swiftly planting one on Gojo’s.

Gojo looked stunned for a second before he broke out into an even bigger, brilliant smile, the kind that made him look young and carefree.

The three of you arrived to Nanami’s place quickly, Gojo carrying the bag you packed while you and Megumi held hands.

As soon as the door open, Yuji came barreling towards Megumi, practically knocking him over with the force of his hug.

“Megumi!!! We gonna see tigers today!!!” Yuji yelled.

You and Gojo shared a look, the two of you holding back laughter at Megumi’s annoyed face.

“Yuji, how many times have I told you to greet people properly,” Nanami chided. Yuji apologized, quickly greeting you and Gojo before he dragged Megumi inside.

Megumi followed him, but stopped in his tracks to turn back and look at you.

“You come back?” Megumi asked, in such a small and uncertain tone that you had to take a deep breath to fend off the impending tears.

“Yes my love, I promise I’ll be back. Now go have lot’s of fun okay?” you said, watching as he nodded, wiped at his eyes, then turned join Yuji.

“Hey, why aren’t you worried if I’ll come back?” Gojo added, calling Megumi’s name a few times. Nanami chucked as Megumi completely ignored him.

“He’s quite fond of you. Don’t worry, I’ll take good care of him,” Nanami said, smiling warmly at you. You didn’t have a single doubt it your mind that he wouldn’t, but it didn’t stop the wave of sadness washing over you when it finally hit you that you’d be apart. Even though you had only been his babysitter for a couple months, you loved that kid like he was your own.

“Oy, why are you addressing her at not me?” Gojo said, but was again ignored.

“Thank you Nanami. Let me know if when you’d like me to watch Yuji for you, free of charge,” you said smiling as you peered inside, seeing Megumi and Yuji absorbed by Nanami’s fishtank.

Nanami thanked you, and Gojo ushered you out the door before you could cling to Megumi again.

The short walk back to the car was quiet - until you began sniffling. Gojo stopped in his tracks, turning to look at you as he chuckled in disbelief.

“Are you crying?” he asked, gently cupping your cheek in his hand.

“Maybe,” you sniffed, traitorous tears gathering in your eyes. He laughed to himself as he swiped the tears off your cheeks.

“Ah, and here I thought Megumi was the one with the separation anxiety,” he teased.

“I can’t help it! I just love that kid, okay?” you said, joining him in his laughter as your tears slowed.

“I know you do. And I am very grateful for it,” he said, adopting a low, affectionate tone as he swiped off the last tear off your face.

“But I’m gonna ask you to just think of me today, because I have been waiting ages to have you to myself,” he drawled, planting a soft kiss against the back of your hand.

Gojo Satoru did not hold back when it came to dates. Not that you’d expect anything less, but you certainly didn’t anticipate what he had planned; wine tasting, dinner, and the arcade. Except he booked the most extravagant wine tasting, reserving an entire floor of the winery for the two of you two of you. And he chose a rooftop dinner at sunset at the most exclusive restaurant in the city, where the chef prepared a special tasting menu just for the two of you. And he completed the date with a trip to the local arcade, which he completely booked for just the two of you to enjoy. You couldn’t recall ever having that much fun, let alone on a first date.

The two of walked leisurely, fingers interlaced, happiness from the evening practically emanating off of you.

“So, how’d I do?” Gojo asked, breaking the comfortable silence.

“That was the most amazing date I’ve ever been on. I can’t believe you did all of that for me, as a first date,” you said, the disbelief and wonder evident in your voice. Gojo’s rich laughter filled your ears.

“Oh, I’m just getting started,” he said confidently, giving you a boyish grin before he winked.

You gaped at him, because how could this be him getting started? Before you could question him more, he stilled.

“We’re here,” he said, guiding you inside an incredibly well decorated building.

“Here? I thought our date was over,” you said in confusion, following him as he pulled you further inside. The two of you were immediately greeted by workers dressed in immaculate uniforms. You recognized this place as one of the fanciest - and most expensive - hotels in the area.

“You didn’t forget the promise I made you last time, did you?” Gojo whispered in your ear, eliciting a shiver out of you. Oh, you remembered.

“Free your schedule next week. Megumi’s gonna spend a day with Uncle Nanami, and I’m taking you out on a date. And we’re gonna end the night in my bedroom, where you can be as loud as you want.”

Except this wasn’t his bedroom.

You looked at him in shock as he led you to the penthouse suite. It was a gorgeous space - a breathtaking view of the city, a lavishly made bed covered in rose petals, a stupidly enormous hot tub. But none of it drew your attention more than Gojo himself, gazing at you like he was going to devour you.

“Gojo, this must have cost a fortune,” you said, gulping as he took slow, deliberate steps towards you.

“Baby, I am filthy rich - this is nothing. I hope you have expensive taste, because I plan on spoiling the hell out of you,” he purred, and you knew he absolutely meant it.

You were suddenly aware of just how close he was to you. You could see the silver specks sparkling in his gorgeous eyes. Smell his intoxicating cologne. Hear the minute shift in his breathing. Part of you wanted to runaway from his attentive, heady stare. But another part of you wanted to bask in his attention, to revel in in.

“Are you gonna keep standing there staring, or are you finally gonna fuck me?” you said breathlessly, watching the way his eyes darkened and his lips parted.

He closed the distance between you, tilting your chin up as devoured you with desparate, open-mouthed kisses.

He bent down, lifting you up so his hands gripped your ass, your legs wrapped around his hips. You ran your hands across him greedily, shamelessly exploring his body from the soft skin of his collar to the silky strands of his hair.

He sat down on the edge of the bed, steadying you on his lap. You broke the kiss, gasping as he tugged you flush over his erection. Your dress had ridden up - leaving only the thin fabric of your underwear and his slacks separating the two of you.

“See what you do to me?” he murmured against your skin, trailing kisses down your jaw. He slid his lips lower, niping and sucking against a sensitive spot at the base of your neck while he ground his hips against you. You threw your head back, moaning as he lightly bit down at the same spot, grazing you with his teeth.

“You are so beautiful. I love hearing you moan,” he praised, laying you on the bed so you were flat on your back.

He didn’t give you time to catch your breath before he slid the straps of your dress down, kissing each inch of exposed skin until he reached your breasts. He stared at them appreciatively, humming to himself in satisfaction before he took your nipple into his mouth. You whined and writhed as he swirled his tongue against your sensnitive peak, sucking on you as he drew circles against the sensitive skin on your hip.

You lifted your hips up to grind against his ever-growing erection, desparate for friction. He moaned with you in his mouth, drawing back to tease you with a devastating smile.

“Someone’s impatient, hm?” he said lowly, rolling his hips against you. You could only moan in reply.

Suddenly, he moved himself off of you. You jerked your head up to complain, until he roughly pulled you to the edge of the bed, sliding to his knees before you. You soft gasps turned to pants as Gojo lifted your thighs over his shoulders, positioning himself perfectly between your legs.

“Can I go down on you?” he asked, placing slow, open mouthed kisses on the insides of your thigh.

“Please,” you begged, unable to keep your hips from lifting off the bed. Gojo gripped his hands on either side of your hips, pressing you down into the bed.

“Then stay still for me like a good girl,” he said, pressing a kiss against your clit through your already soaked underwear.

He flickered his eyes up to you before he yanked your panties to the side, licking a slow stripe up your core. You cursed as you threw your head back, tangling your hands through his silver locks. Gojo closed his eyes as he fucked you with his tongue, alternating between dipping his tongue between your folds and sucking on your clit. He moaned as he palmed himself through his pants, like he was the one drawing pleasure from eating you out.

“I could cum from the sound of your little whimpers and moans,” he said, eyes glazed over, lips swollen and dripping. The way he looked nearly send you over the edge.

You jolted up as you felt him drag his finger lightly across your core.

“May I?” he asked, eyes nearly black from the pleasure. You nodded your head, barely holding back a scream as Gojo slid his finger inside you, curling up as he sucked on your clit at the same time.

You came harder than you’d ever before, the wave of pleasure so unbearably sweet it had you gasping for air. Gojo brought his fingers to his mouth, closing his eyes as he sucked them clean.

“You taste as sweet as I dreamed,” he praised, moving forward to kiss you. You lazily kissed him back, reaching down between you to stroke him through his pants. He broke the kiss to moan in your ear, low and desparate.

“Can I fuck you now?” he asked, trailing kisses across your breasts. You nodded, the post-orgasm daze making you feel light and warm.

Gojo reached for a condom, but you stopped him with a hand on his.

“I’m on birth control. You can fuck me raw,” you said, enjoying the way his eyes hooded.

“If you keep talking to me like that, I’ll come in 2 seconds,” he warned, making you giggle. Your laughter turned to gasps when the head of his cock pressed against your entrance, slowly sliding to the hilt, reaching the spot that made you whimper.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” he cursed, pressing his forehead against yours as he slid his cock in and out of you. You scraped your nails down the smooth skin of his back as he quickened his pace, his hips wetly slapping against the back of your thighs as he drove into you.

“You hear that? You’re fucking soaked for me baby,” he panted, not bothering to cease his thrusts.

It was too much - his filthy praise in your ear, how deep he was hitting, the way he swiped his thumb over your clit as he fucked you. Your second orgasm seared into you, and you bit into his shoulder as you came down from your high.

“You are so pretty when you cum on my cock,” he said, kissing across your jaw.

You lightly pushed on his shoulder, a silent plea for him to give you a break. He complied right away, pulling his still very much erect cock out of you.

“Now, will you please sit on the bed so I can ride your cock?” you said, batting your lashes at him as you smiled.

He closed his eyes as the words came out, rolling his jaw as if he could barely contain himself.

“Fuck yes,” he murmured, moving to sit with his back against the headboard.

You crawled over to him, positioning his cock over your entrance as he steadied you with his hands on your hips. You indulged yourself in the way he threw his head back, murmuring a slow curse as you sank completely onto him. He moaned each time you sank back down onto him, his eyes rolling to the back of his head as you quickened your pace.

“You’re gonna make me cum,” he moaned, the grip he had on your hips becoming deliciously painful.

“Fill me up,” you said, smiling sultrily as he let out a string of curses and filthy praises. Barely a second later his hips bucked up as he came, spilling his warm seed inside you where it belonged.

If you thought the normal Gojo was attractive, sex-dazed Gojo was sinfully sexy - a feint flush over his porcelain skin, lips pinked and swollen, silvery hair in disarray, and a satisfied smile on his face.

You collapsed onto him, laying your head on his chest as pulled you closer. You both stayed in each other’s arms until you both caught your breath, relaxing as you cuddled.

“Oh my gosh wait what time is it? Don’t we need to pick up Megumi soon?” you said, sitting up suddenly.

“Relax baby. We have some time left,” he soothed, pulling you back into his arms.

“Still thinking about my kid, even as we’re laying naked together with my cum still inside of you?” he said, suddenly popping your tit into his mouth. You yelped, smothering a moan before he pulled back, laughing.

“He just popped into my mind, I promise. You’ve had my attention this whole day. I can’t even begin of thinking how I could repay you,” you reassured, pressing light kisses against his lips.

“You can repay me by going on another date with me. I already have it planned and booked so you have to say yes,” he said, trailing soft kisses against your shoulder as you giggled. You stood no chance against this man.

Definitely not when he princess-carried you to the bathtub. Not when he sat behind you, gently brushing his hands over your body as he cleaned you up, not letting you lift a finger. Not when he blow-dried your hair for you. Not when he laid out a comfortable set of clothes to change into - consisting of one of his crewnecks and yoga pants. Nope, no chance against this man.

When Nanami answered the door, his eyes immediately took in the obviously over-sized sweater you were wearing. He gave you a knowing smile, sending a blush to your cheeks as you avoided his eyes.

As you and Gojo walked inside, you noticed how abnormally quiet it was. The reason why became abundantly clear as you spotted Megumi and Yuji cuddled up on the couch, completely knocked out.

“They were very hyper at the zoo today. I’m surprised they didn’t fall asleep sooner,” Nanami said in a hushed voice, smiling warmly at the two boys. He showed you the pictures he took of the two throughout the zoo: Yuji and Megumi in matching tiger headbands, Yuji and Megumi walking while holding hands, Yuji sitting at the top of an enormous elephant statue, Megumi starting wide-eyed at the giant panda exhibit. You had Nanami send them to you immediately, already planning to get the pictures printed out.

You turned to show Gojo the pictures, but he was knelt down besides the two boys. He wore an affectionate smile on his face looking between the two of them before he smoothed Megumi’s hair back, gently patting his side until he stirred.

“Time to go home Megumi,” he said softly. Megumi reached his arms towards Gojo, not bothering to open his eyes as Gojo lifted him into his arms. The two of you thanked Nanami as you walked out, promising to host the next playdate between Megumi and Yuji.

Once you reached the car, Gojo made quick work fastening Megumi into his carseat without waking him, draping his jacket over Megumi before opening the passenger door for you. You thanked him with a kiss, promising to come inside his place to tuck Megumi in before you went back to your apartment.

The preschooler slept quietly as you carried him to the apartment, barely moving as you laid him in his bed and pulled the blankets over him. Only when you pressed a kiss to his forehead did he wake up, blinking up at you sleepily. Suddenly, his navy eyes were welling up with tears as he wiggled out of bed, nearly launching himself into your arms. You hugged him close, patting his back as he sniffled.

“You were so brave today going to the zoo with Nanami and Yuji. Did you have fun?” you said, rocking him gently as his cries settled. He nodded, gripping your sweater in his little hands.

“We go together next time?” he asked quietly. You squeezed him even tighter against you.

“Yes, lets go together next time. We can play your favorite games tomorrow, okay? I’ll be here when you wake up,” you cooed, kissing the top of his head.

“Don’t go,” Megumi said, beginning to cry once more. You tried rocking him to sleep, murmuring promises of all the fun you’ll have together tomorrow, to no avail. Gojo walked into the room, sitting on the bed beside you.

‘What’s all the fuss, Megumi?” he asked, swiping some of the tears off Megumi’s cheeks.

“No go,” he managed to say through his tears, sending sharp pains through your heart as his cries shook his little body.

“It’s been a while since he spent the day apart from both of us. It must have really shocked him,” you said, guilt stabbing into your chest.

“When I first brought him home, he never cried at all. He’s really lucky to have someone he can miss so much now,” Gojo said lightheartedly, bringing a smile back to your face.

“Why don’t you just sleep over?” he asked. You snapped your eyes to his, searching for the usual amusement in his eyes that let you know he was teasing. But there wasn’t any.

“Are you sure?” you asked tentatively. Cuddling Megumi while you slept and waking up to Gojo sounded like a dream come true.

“I’m sure. Only if you’re comfortable with it, I know it would make Megumi happy,” he said, patting Megumi’s back. “And it would make me happy to wake up to you,” he added at the end, the sincerity in his tone making you smile like an idiot.

“Okay, I’ll stay. You hear that Megumi? I’m gonna stay with you the whole night!” you said. The preschooler finally lifted his face from your chest, looking up at you with watery eyes.

“Stay?” he mumbled, wiping at his eyes.

“Yup, I’ll sleep next to you in your bed okay?” you said, cupping his face in your hands. Megumi finally stopped crying, nodding his head as he calmed.

“I’ll get some extra pillows for you,” Gojo said, moving to get up. Megumi stopped him with a small hand on his shoulder.

“No, stay too,” he said, reaching his arms out towards Gojo. Gojo chucked in disbelief, taking Megumi into his arms.

“I’m touched Megumi. I thought you only missed her,” he teased, but the warm smile on his face gave away how truly pleased he was about it.

Megumi shook his head, clinging onto Gojo’s chest so cutely you wanted to take a photo.

“Let’s all just sleep in my bed together then,” Gojo offered, lifting his brows at you as he smiled.

“Together?” Megumi said, looking between the two of you. Ah, now you for sure couldn’t say no. Not that you were going to.

“Yes baby, we’’ll be sleeping next to you the whole night, so you don’t have to worry okay?” you said, scooting close so you were flush against Gojo’s side.

Megumi finally smiled, hugging the two of you as much as he could. Gojo turned his body, enveloping both you and Megumi in his arms. You felt tears prick against your eyes as you were overcome with a wave of happiness. This is where you belonged, where you always wanted to be.

You fell asleep peacefully, cuddled up with your back against Gojo’s front and Megumi asleep against your chest.

check out the part 1 to this fic if you enjoyed this! :)

2K notes · View notes

wholoveseggs · 1 month ago

Note

Can I request a one shot with the one and only Elijah? He and reader know each other for years but since she is human he never made a move. She overhears Klaus nagging Elijah about being smitten with her and she confronts him and he is obviously in denial, reader tells him to man up for once and he shows her how much men he is? With Consent of course. Would love reading something like this, you are my go to fix for my Elijah obsession

Snow Day

18+ ---- {Masterlist} {Tag-List}

{Elijah Mikaelson x f!Reader} A rare snowstorm blankets New Orleans, and the Mikaelsons revel in the icy chaos. But as Klaus pushes Elijah to confront his feelings for you, the heat between you two threatens to outshine the storm.

♡♡ Thanks for the request beautiful anon!! This was partly inspired by Louisiana getting snow for the first time in over 20 years!!! (yikes the planet is on fire)~ ♡♡

6.2k words - Warnings: smutttt, rough sex (He just scoops you up and has his way with you), oral sex (f!receiving), praise kink, shamelessly using this fic to explore Elijah talking you through it (hot), tiny bit of angst, child Hope being adorable, snowball fights, Klaus being Klaus, magical snow forts and a hint of hot chocolate...

The world outside was unrecognizable. Snow blanketed the streets of New Orleans in a thick, pristine layer, muffling the usual lively sounds of the city. It was almost surreal, like waking up in a dream.

You rubbed your hands together for warmth as you stood at the window of the Mikaelson compound, marveling at the sight. The night before, a snowstorm had hit with an intensity no one had expected. It hadn't snowed in Louisiana since 2004. Now, with nearly ten inches of snow on the ground, you were effectively snowed in.

Not that you minded. The compound was warm and cozy, a fire crackling in pretty much every single room. Still, being cooped up had a way of making you restless, your thoughts wandering far too easily to things you shouldn’t dwell on—like your relationship with Elijah.

You had been friends with him for years, but something about the way he carried himself, the quiet strength he exuded, had always drawn you in, leaving you wanting more.

Lately, though, there had been a shift. His gaze lingered a little longer, his touches felt a little more intentional. You weren’t blind to it, but Elijah was a master of control. Whatever feelings he might have, he kept them locked away, hidden beneath his stoic demeanor.

It made you sad, the way he denied himself any sort of affection. He always pushed away those he loved the most, it was a bad habit he had yet to break.

With a sigh, you turned from the window and made your way upstairs. You had barely reached the top of the stairs when the sound of raised voices reached your ears.

You headed to the balcony, looking down into the courtyard where Hayley and Rebekah were wrangling Hope into a snow suit. A task that the two immortal creatures seemed to be struggling with, much to the little girl’s amusement.

"Can we go now?" Hope demanded, wiggling out of Rebekah's hold. "I want to make a snowman!"

"Soon," Hayley promised, pulling a large warm hat over her daughter's ears. "We have to finish bundling you up first."

"Let me," Elijah said, stepping in with his usual calm demeanor, crouching down in front of Hope.

The little girl huffed, but she stilled as Elijah gently adjusted her coat and scarf. "You must not rush, little one. Proper preparation will ensure you can enjoy the snow without discomfort," he said, his hands moving with care as he buttoned her coat and smoothed the scarf into place.

"Uncle ‘lijah, I can do it!" Hope protested, though there was no real frustration in her tone.

"I have no doubt," Elijah replied with a small smile, "but would it not be faster if I helped? The snow is waiting, after all."

Hope considered his words for a moment before nodding solemnly. "Okay, but only because I want to go faster."

"Of course," Elijah said, his voice soft with amusement. He worked quickly but carefully, ensuring everything was just right. Finally, he held up her mittens. "Now for the finishing touch."

"My hands are going to sweat," Hope muttered, wrinkling her nose as she reluctantly let him slip the mittens over her small hands.

"They’ll thank you once you’re outside," Elijah said, rising to his full height and brushing a stray curl from her face. "There. You’re ready."

Hope beamed up at him. "Thank you, Uncle ‘lijah!" she said, throwing her arms around his waist and hugging him tightly.

"You're welcome, little one," Elijah replied, returning the embrace, the tenderness on his face making your heart ache.

Kol burst into the courtyard then, an excited grin on his face. He was wrapped up in a giant scarf, his coat buttoned all the way up, and his cheeks were rosy.

"Come on, Hope, hurry!" He urged. "I just finished building the best snow fort. It's big enough for the both of us. I know you like to hide in snow forts and scare people, right?"

Hope's eyes lit up, and she released Elijah, running toward Kol and latching onto his hand. "I love snow forts! Let's go, Uncle Kol!"

"That's my girl!" Kol said, leading her toward the doors. "We're going to have a ball, aren't we, Hope?"

"Yes!" Hope said, bouncing along beside him.

The rest of the family trailed behind, Hayley and Rebekah already discussing plans for getting some hot chocolate later.

"Well, look at you, being the best uncle," Klaus said, clapping Elijah on the back with a smile on his face. Although there was a tiny hint of jealousy in his tone.

You couldn't help but roll your eyes at his antics, heading down the stairs to join them.

"She makes it easy," Elijah said, a fond smile playing at his lips as he watched his family depart.

His gaze drifted to you, his smile growing a little as his eyes met yours. You felt your cheeks flush and averted your eyes, trying not to be so obvious.

"Are you joining us?" He asked, his voice smooth and rich like the expensive whiskey he often favored.

Klaus was pulling on his large coat and scarf, his expression smug as he watched the two of you. A familiar mischievous glint entered his eye, and you braced yourself for whatever he was about to say.

Instead, he didn't say a word, his expression shifting to something close to a smirk as he looked at his older brother. His silence was worse, and the air felt thick with anticipation.

"I don't know, I'm not a big fan of the cold," you said, glancing toward the door where the others had left.

"Oh, c'mon, just for a little while," Klaus cajoled, wrapping a scarf around his neck. "Elijah will miss you if you aren't there."

The heat rose in your cheeks and you cleared your throat, unable to come up with a response.

Elijah shot him a look, grabbing his own outerwear, a long, black, impeccably tailored wool coat and matching scarf. He looked like he belonged on a fashion runway, not traipsing through the snow.

"If the lady does not wish to join, she doesn't have to," he said, his voice level.

"It would be a shame to miss this rare beauty, wouldn't it?" Klaus asked, gesturing to the world outside.

"It's a blizzard," you deadpanned.

"In Louisiana." Klaus grinned. "It's the sort of thing you'll look back on and remember for centuries. And, besides, Hope would love to see you. Don't you want to make a snow angel with her?"

"Fine. But if I get hypothermia, I'm coming for you." You glared at him.

Klaus grinned, clearly pleased with himself, and sauntered out the door.

You pulled on your jacket and scarf, not quite as fashionable as Elijah's, and popped a beanie over your hair. You glanced at him, taking in his refined, handsome appearance.

"Thanks for waiting for me," you said softly, slipping your feet into your boots and tugging on your gloves.

"I don't mind," Elijah said. He gestured toward the door. "Shall we?"

You nodded and led the way out of the compound. As soon as the cold air hit you, you shivered, a gust of wind biting through your layers.

"Are you alright?" Elijah asked, his brows furrowing.

"I'm fine," you insisted, even as another shiver coursed through your body. "Let's just get this over with."

"As you wish." He smiled.

You walked beside him, following the path the others had taken. It was quiet, the world blanketed in white. Tiny snowflakes fluttered down from the sky, dancing lazily around you. The street was empty, the storm keeping most people indoors.

You could hear the faint sounds of laughter and joyful conversation, and the image of Hope's excited smile came to mind. She was a delight, a true ray of sunshine in an often bleak world.

You glanced up at Elijah, admiring his profile. There was a softness in his features that was so rare. He looked peaceful. Little snowflakes sticking to his eyelashes, his cheeks pink from the cold.

You turned your gaze forward, feeling a familiar flutter in your chest. You had always found him attractive, but lately, it was becoming impossible to ignore.

Kol had indeed built an impressive fort, so impressive in fact, that there must have been a bit of magic involved. The snow sparkled unnaturally, as if dusted with tiny crystals, and the walls were impossibly smooth, their edges glowing faintly in the sunlight.

Hope was hiding inside, giggling madly as Rebekah crouched near the entrance, watching her with a wide smile on her face. Hayley and Klaus were sitting on the bench, chatting idly, while Kol was working on sculpting a large snowball.

Hope jumped out from behind the wall, throwing a snowball at Kol's back.

"Hope!" Kol cried, turning around as he grasped at his back dramatically.

The little girl laughed gleefully and disappeared behind the wall once again.

You smiled, watching the exchange. The sight was so normal, almost mundane. It was strange, seeing the Mikaelsons acting so human.

Hayley joined in on the snowball fight, scooping up a handful of snow and hurling it at Kol. Her aim was true, and it hit him square in the chest.

"Oof," Kol groaned, clutching his chest. "I've been shot."

He toppled over into the snow, laying perfectly still.

Hope squealed, jumping up and running over to him. "Uncle Kol!"

Rebekah snorted, crossing her arms. "You've died. Again. Typical."

Kol cracked open one eye and smirked, grabbing Hope's legs and dragging her down with him.

"Nooo!" She shrieked, giggling wildly as she struggled to get away.

Elijah watched them, a fond smile playing at his lips. It was such a small thing, but it sent warmth rushing through you.

"It's good to see them having fun," he said, his voice quiet.

"Yeah," you agreed, your eyes still on him. "Are you having fun?"

He paused, considering the question. Then he knelt down, scooping up a handful of snow and shaping it. "I suppose so," he said, smiling up at you.

Your heart stuttered at the sight. His gaze was soft, affectionate, and you felt like you could get lost in those dark, soulful eyes.

Then he threw the snowball at you, the icy projectile hitting you square in the face.

The contact was so surprising, so unexpected, that it took a moment to process what had happened. When it finally sank in, you could only stare at him.

Elijah's eyes widened, his face the picture of innocence. "I'm sorry, did I hit you?"

You couldn't stop the laugh that bubbled up, the sound light and carefree. "Oh, you're going to pay for that, Mikaelson," you warned, crouching down and gathering snow into your hands.

Elijah's smile grew wider, a playful challenge in his eyes. "I'm afraid I have no idea what you're talking about, my dear," he said, scooping up more snow.

You tossed your own snowball at him, aiming for his face.

He ducked, faster than humanly possible and the snowball sailed harmlessly past him.

"Hey! That's cheating!" You cried, gathering more snow.

"There are no rules in snowball fights, darling," he said, a hint of mischief in his voice.

Klaus had joined the fray now, launching a barrage of snowballs at Elijah, while Hayley, Hope and Rebekah were targeting Kol.

You ducked and dodged, trying to avoid the flying snow, while attempting to take out Elijah.

His movements were quick, calculated, and it seemed like no matter how fast you moved, he was always one step ahead.

He was standing a few feet away, a playful grin on his face. It was the first time you'd ever seen him act so carefree, and it was infectious.

"C'mon, darling," he teased, "you'll have to do better than that."

You let out a huff, gathering more snow and shaping it into a tight ball. This time, you managed to hit him, the snow exploding against his shoulder.

"Impressive," he said, his tone light and teasing.

You couldn't stop the smile from forming on your lips, the thrill of the moment, the pure, unbridled joy in his eyes, filling you with an indescribable warmth.

Suddenly, a snowball hit you on the side of the head, sending ice crystals cascading down the front of your coat.

You yelped, swiping at the icy shards, and turned to see Kol grinning impishly. You grabbed a fistful of snow and hurled it at him, the missile landing with a satisfying thwack.

You joined in the fray, the sound of laughter and playful banter filling the air. You lost track of time, the snowy battle raging on.

Klaus wandered over to where Elijah was standing, a few feet from the others, watching the fight with a small smile on his face.

"This is nice," Klaus said, his eyes following Hope as she darted around.

"Yes, it is," Elijah agreed, his gaze fixed on you.

"She's quite a fighter, isn't she?" Klaus remarked, a knowing glint in his eyes.

"Indeed," Elijah murmured, his gaze never wavering.

Klaus watched him for a moment, then nudged him lightly. "I was talking about Hope. Who are you talking about?"

"Hm?" Elijah asked, finally tearing his gaze away.

Klaus smirked, leaning closer and dropping his voice to a low murmur. "Don't play coy with me, brother. We both know you're smitten."

Elijah's brow furrowed, his jaw clenching. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Oh, please. The way you look at her, it's like she hung the stars," Klaus said, a teasing note in his voice.

"It's nothing," Elijah said, his expression closing off. "She's a friend. Nothing more."

"That's a lie and you know it," Klaus scoffed.

"Even if it were true," Elijah continued, his tone measured and controlled. "She deserves more than I can give her," he said, a touch of sadness creeping into his voice.

"Ohhh, so you are going with the martyr excuse this time? I should have guessed," Klaus said, a hint of exasperation in his voice.

Elijah looked like he wanted to say more, but you chose that moment to join them.

"Hey," you greeted, a flush on your cheeks. Your breath puffed out in little clouds, and a few strands of hair had escaped from your beanie, curling around your face. All Elijah wanted to do was brush them away, run his fingers along your jaw, feel the warmth of your skin.

Instead, he smiled politely, keeping his hands in his pockets. "Are you enjoying yourself?"

"Yeah," you said, a little breathless. "This is so much fun. I can't remember the last time I played in the snow."

"Nor can I," Elijah admitted. He paused, seeming to think for a moment. "It is rather invigorating."

"It's freezing," you corrected, laughing softly.

"I'm sure Elijah will be more than happy to warm you up," Klaus teased, shooting his older brother a knowing look.

You felt your cheeks heat up at the suggestion, and you turned away, pretending to admire the scenery.

"Niklaus," Elijah hissed, glaring at him. "It's impolite to suggest such things."

Klaus shrugged, not the least bit apologetic. "But it's true right? Or have I read the situation incorrectly?"

You opened your mouth, then closed it, unable to come up with a response. You were afraid of what Elijah might say, or worse, not say.

"We are just friends," Elijah said, his jaw set.

You tried not to let his words sting, but you couldn't help the pang of disappointment that twisted in your gut.

"Ah, yes, friends," Klaus drawled, rolling his eyes. "I think the rest of us are going to the cafe down the street to get some hot chocolate, are you two joining?"

"I'm going to head back to the compound," you said quickly, before Elijah could speak.

Klaus raised a brow, looking at Elijah with a smirk.

"I'll accompany you," Elijah said, his voice smooth.

"No," you insisted, a little too sharply. You winced and cleared your throat, forcing a smile. "I mean, no, that's okay. I don't want to keep you from having fun with the others. Besides, it's just a short walk. I'll be fine."

"Very well," Elijah conceded, his expression neutral.

Klaus shook his head, muttering something under his breath as he walked away.

The silence that settled between you was heavy, the air thick with unspoken words.

You wanted to ask him what he meant, if there was a chance, or if he was just playing nice. But the fear of rejection kept the words trapped in your throat. You quickly turned away, afraid he would see the emotion written plainly on your face.

"I'm going to head out," you said, taking a step toward the street. "Have fun, okay?"

Elijah watched you leave, a hint of sadness in his eyes. He should have said something, should have explained. Instead, he had let you go, his silence a cowardly choice.

When you reached the compound, you shed your outer layers and flopped onto the sofa in front of the fireplace in the library. A wave of longing crashed over you, a deep ache that couldn't be filled. The feeling was transforming into frustration and anger, a familiar bitterness creeping in.

The sound of the front door opening pulled you from your thoughts, and you sat up, seeing Elijah enter the room.

"I thought you were going to get hot chocolate," you said, forcing a small smile.

"I changed my mind," he replied, his voice soft.

You nodded, fidgeting with the hem of your sweater. The silence was almost deafening, the tension palpable.

"So, uh, I was thinking about heading home soon," you said, needing to fill the void. "Once the snow lets up."

"Of course," Elijah agreed, though he sounded a bit hesitant.

You swallowed thickly, glancing at him. "Thanks for having me," you added, your voice a bit hoarse.

"Anytime," he said, and there was a sincerity in his voice that made your heart flutter.

You gave him a small smile, the sadness creeping back in. This feeling of limbo was killing you, the not knowing.

"So, is there, uh, is there someone else?" You asked, unable to hold back any longer. Your voice wavered, but you forced yourself to meet his eyes across the room. “Someone you're seeing?"

"No," Elijah replied, shaking his head.

"Oh, okay," you said, shifting uncomfortably.

"Why do you ask?" He questioned, his tone carefully neutral.

You could have played it off, made a joke, deflected. But the weight of his gaze, the way he was looking at you, it was as if he could see into your very soul.

"You know why," you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

"Do I?" He asked, his brow furrowed.

"Don't," you snapped, frustrated with his cryptic behavior. “Just be honest with me, stop with the bullshit.”

Elijah’s features shifted, his carefully composed mask slipping for just a moment. A shadow passed over his face as he stepped closer, his movements slow and deliberate, as though fighting an invisible force.

"It's not that simple," he said, his voice quiet as he approached you.

"Yes, it is," you countered.

"No," he said firmly. "You deserve someone who can give you what you want, someone who isn't... damaged. Someone who won't break your heart."

"I think that's for me to decide," you said, meeting his gaze.

"And what do you think I can give you?" He asked, his expression unreadable.

"I'm not asking you for anything, this isn't a transaction," you said, the frustration creeping back in. "All I want is to know if you feel the same,"

His dark eyes searched yours, and for a moment, you thought you saw a glimpse of hope. Then, the shutters fell, and his expression hardened.

"It doesn't matter," he said, turning away.

"No. Elijah. It does matter," you insisted, standing up and following him.

He didn't say a word, just kept walking towards the door.

"Why are you doing this?" You asked, reaching out and touching his arm.

He flinched, but didn't pull away, and he slowly turned back to face you.

"Why are you trying to push me away?" You pressed, searching his face.

Elijah stared at you, his expression unreadable, but there was a flicker of something in his dark eyes. Anger, frustration, or perhaps longing. You couldn’t tell, but his inability to make a decision had your blood boiling.

"Just… stop," you said, letting go of his arm, the words sharper now as the emotions clawed their way up your throat.

"Stop what?" he asked, his voice clipped, as if daring you to elaborate.

"Stop being so self-sacrificing. Stop treating me like I’m made of glass. Just... man up and take what you want," you snapped, your voice trembling with anger and desperation.

Elijah’s jaw tightened, his hands curling into fists at his sides. He took a step closer, and you could feel the tension radiating off him like a storm about to break.

"You think this is easy for me?" he said, his voice low and sharp, cutting through the silence like a blade. "You think I enjoy pretending I don’t feel something for you?"

"Then why do it?" you shot back, standing your ground.

"Because I have to!" he barked, his composure cracking as he raised his voice. The sudden intensity made you flinch, you had never heard him yell before, but you refused to back down.

"Why?" you demanded, your voice just as loud now. "Why are you so determined to ruin this before it even starts?"

"You don’t understand," he said, his tone quieter but no less fierce. He turned his back to you, his hands gripping the edge of the mantel above the fireplace. "You deserve someone better than me. Someone who can give you a family, children, a happy life. Someone who doesn’t bring danger and destruction to everything they touch."

"Stop deciding what I deserve!" you shouted, your voice echoing in the room.

He turned on you then, his dark eyes blazing with anger. "And what happens when you wake up one day and realize you’ve wasted your life on a monster? What happens when you resent me for stealing the life you could have had?"

You took a step closer, your own anger boiling over. "You don’t get to make that choice for me! I know what I want, Elijah, and it’s you. If I didn’t want this, I wouldn’t be standing here, begging you to let me in!"

Elijah’s breath hitched, and for a moment, he looked almost stunned. But then his expression hardened again, his frustration returning.

"I am trying to protect you!" he shouted back, his voice shaking the room.

"From what?" you screamed, stepping right into his space.

"From me," he hissed, his voice raw and broken.

The confession hung in the air, thick and heavy. For a moment, neither of you said anything, your breaths coming fast and shallow as you stared at each other.

"You’re such a coward," you said finally, your voice trembling with both anger and sadness.

His eyes narrowed, his anger sparking again. "You think I’m a coward? You think I don’t want you?" he growled, stepping so close his shadow seemed to swallow you.

You stared up at him, defiant, despite the fear and excitement rushing through you.

"Do you have any idea what it’s like to want something so badly and know you can never have it?" he asked, his voice strained, as though the words were torn from him against his will.

"Yes. I'm looking at him," you retorted, your heart pounding.

Whatever control he'd been clinging to shattered, his walls crumbling as he took hold of your arm, pulling you flush against him.

You gasped at the contact, feeling his body pressing into yours, the heat of his breath as it ghosted over your skin, the smell of leather and cologne mingled with something wild, primal.

Without saying a word he lifted you up, pinning you to the nearest wall, his lips capturing yours in a bruising kiss that stole your breath away.

You gripped the fabric of his suit, kissing him back just as fiercely, letting your hands explore along his chest, his shoulders. You were practically vibrating with want, your body humming with pent-up desire as you felt his arousal pressing against your thigh.

"You drive me insane," he murmured, breaking the kiss just long enough to nip at the tender spot just below your ear, causing you to moan in anticipation.

You were like a moth to a flame, and he was the hottest fire you'd ever known, searing into your soul, consuming you from the inside out. And the way he touched you, it was as though he were afraid he'd never be able to hold you like this again.

He carried you upstairs to his bedroom in a blur of wind and sound, moving so fast you could barely comprehend it. In that moment, you were reminded that he was more than just a man. He was an ancient creature of immense power, and he was about to unleash every bit of that power on your body.

The moment your back hit the mattress he was on you, his hands tearing away your clothes and tossing them carelessly aside. You tugged at his clothes in return, desperate to feel his skin on yours, your breath hitching as he pressed open-mouthed kisses to your neck, his fangs grazing the sensitive skin.

It wasn't gentle or sweet, it was wild, passionate, full of all the words that went unspoken for far too long. You couldn't get enough, you wanted to lose yourself in this moment, in him. You didn't care about anything else.

The weight of him as he covered you with his body, the way his muscles rippled under your fingertips, the sounds he made when he lost control. You didn't expect this side of him, the almost feral desire he was unleashing.

His hands gripped your thighs, pushing them up until your knees were pressed against your chest, exposing you to him completely. His cock pressed against your slick entrance, teasing you, the sensation drawing out a breathy moan.

"Is this what you want?” he groaned, the head of his cock pressing just a fraction inside.

You groaned in frustration, writhing against him, trying to get him to sink deeper.

He chuckled darkly, holding your hips still. "You need to learn to be patient, sweetheart," he drawled, his tone dark and seductive.

You whined, but you knew better than to push him, and you could see the gleam in his eyes. You felt a sharp smack to your thigh, causing you to yelp in surprise, the stinging pain giving way to a dull warmth that only intensified your need.

"Now be a good girl and let me fuck you the way I've always wanted to," he murmured, his voice husky with desire.

The way his accent wrapped around each syllable had a shudder rolling through your body. He gripped your thighs tighter, the blunt head of his cock pressing into you slowly. Your hands gripped his shoulders, and you cried out as he sank to the hilt.

"So pretty when you sing for me," he teased, nipping at your throat.

You couldn't even form a response, your brain short-circuiting as he pulled almost all the way out, the thick head of his cock catching on your entrance. Then, in one swift stroke, he eased back inside you.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him into a messy, desperate kiss as he began to move inside you, each thrust hitting you in all the right places. His strokes were firm and deep, sending waves of pleasure washing over you, each thrust making you gasp for air.

It was everything you had hoped for, everything you'd been craving, and so much more. Your nails dug into the firm muscles of his chest, leaving half-moon marks on his pale skin.

"Do you know all the things I want to do to you?" he whispered against the shell of your ear.

Your breath caught in your throat as his words sent a rush of heat through your core. You whimpered in response, unable to form words.

He let out a soft laugh, his hips moving at a maddening pace, as he teased, "All the places I've thought about having you," he whispered.

You could feel your release coiling deep within you, but he wouldn't let you come, keeping you on the edge. Your mind was clouded with need, and his words only added fuel to the fire.

"Like right here in my bed," he continued, "Or taking you against the window for anyone who might be watching. Or bent over the balcony railing, with my fingers buried inside your wet little pussy while your scream fills the night sky."

The thought alone had you clenching around him, the fantasy sending your body into a spiral of need and pleasure.

"Would you like that? Being my plaything?" he purred.

You let out a needy whine, your nails clawing down his back, drawing blood. You needed him to make good on his promises.

"I think you would," he teased, nipping at your neck, drawing more moans from you.

You bucked your hips, your legs wrapped around him as you tried to take control.

"So eager," he groaned as he released his hold on your thighs, gripping the headboard for leverage, and the new position allowed him to hit even deeper, sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body.

"You want it?" He taunted, his voice ragged as his strokes became more forceful.

You moaned incoherently, feeling yourself start to lose control, and Elijah laughed, his voice deep and husky as he said, "Then take it," as if challenging you to finally fall off the edge.

Your breath hitched, a strangled gasp escaping you as your release finally crested over, and you came harder than you'd ever imagined. Your mind went completely blank, your vision blurred as the wave of euphoria crashed over you.

You were only vaguely aware of the sensation of his cock pulsing inside you, your name falling from his lips as he reached his own peak, spilling himself deep within you.

Your breathing was labored and shallow, your body humming with aftershocks as he began to kiss his way along your neck and down your collarbone, the feel of his lips ghosting over your skin drawing out soft whimpers.

His kisses grew more tender, the touch almost reverent as he murmured against your skin, "So perfect for me," his voice barely above a whisper, the words almost lost to the room.

He kept moving down your body, his lips brushing over every inch of bare skin as if memorizing it. Your eyes fluttered shut, your hands tangling in his hair as you allowed yourself to just enjoy the sensation of him exploring you, worshipping you, like you were his religion, his salvation.

"'lijah," you said breathlessly, feeling him spread your thighs.

He didn't say a word as he lowered his head, his tongue finding your clit and lapping at you, drawing a loud cry from you as he cleaned up the mess he had made. You didn't have it in you to beg him to stop, his ministrations driving you to near-insanity, his tongue dragging through your slit.

He hummed softly, enjoying the sounds you were making. The way you squirmed, softly protesting as you felt yourself falling deeper under his spell.

"More," you whined, tugging at his hair.

He let out a deep laugh, and the vibration had your back arching as your climax rolled through you again, and your release flooded his tongue.

You felt the bed dip beside you as Elijah shifted, and you cracked an eye open, your body feeling boneless as you tried to get your bearings.

"Holy fuck," you said, your voice barely audible.

He laughed softly, pressing a kiss to your temple, and you sighed contentedly. The air was heavy with lingering tension, the weight of unspoken words pressing down on you both. Yet, as you lay tangled together, the heat of his body grounding you, the world outside seemed to melt away. For now, there was only this. The sense of finally being together.

"I didn't think you would be such a talker in bed," you said, breaking the silence.

You felt his body shake as he laughed again, a low, throaty sound that made you weak. You shifted, cuddling closer, your head on his chest as you traced circles on his bare skin.

"What?" You asked, playfully nipping at his collarbone. "You can't just say all that to me and expect me not to comment on it,"

"I was just stating facts, nothing more," he said, the smirk audible in his tone.

"Mhm," you teased. "Well, I hope you know I expect you to follow through,"

Elijah laughed softly, his arms tightening around you. "Is that so?" He asked, his voice deep and seductive. "In that case, you should get some rest. I have a very long list of things I want to do to you."

Your face flushed, and you laughed, trying to play it off. But deep down, you were hoping that list was never-ending.

"Don't think for a second I'll be satisfied with one round, I can keep you up for days if you let me," he teased, nipping your neck playfully.

The thought of him keeping you locked up in his bedroom for days, indulging your every fantasy and need, made you squirm in anticipation.

You sat up slightly, pushing on his chest so he was lying on his back, his arms still wrapped around you, pulling you along for the ride. You straddled him, kissing him slowly, savoring the feel of his lips on yours.

"We'll see who keeps who up," you teased, rolling your hips over his already growing cock.

He hummed in approval, his hands gripping your ass as you continued to move, slowly grinding against him. His breath hitched, his eyes fluttering closed as you picked up the pace.

The sound of the front door opening downstairs pulled your attention away, and you heard the voices of the rest of the family downstairs.

You felt your cheeks heat up and Elijah smirked, gripping your thighs as he sat up, pulling you closer and wrapping your legs around him. He kissed along your neck, whispering softly.

"We should probably join them before they get suspicious," he murmured.

You hummed in agreement, not really wanting to move but knowing he was right. You let him lift you up and set you down on the edge of the bed.

"We have a lot to talk about," you said, grabbing your clothes from the floor and beginning to get dressed.

"We do," Elijah agreed, watching you. "I can't promise this will be easy," he warned, "but I want to try, if you're willing."

You turned to face him, taking a step closer and helping him button up his shirt. You leaned in, kissing him softly.

"I want that more than anything," you said, resting your forehead against his, feeling like you could finally breathe again.

He smiled, the look of pure happiness on his face warming your heart. He kissed you once more, slow and tender, and you knew in that moment that nothing would ever feel as good as being loved by him.

By the time you both made it downstairs, the rest of the family had settled in the parlor, hot chocolate in hand. Hope was curled up beside Klaus, who was dramatically recounting his snowball victory to an unimpressed Hayley. "I was vastly outnumbered, of course," Klaus was saying, his tone full of mock gravitas. "But my superior tactics won the day."

"You were hit in the face three times," Hayley retorted, rolling her eyes as she sipped her drink. "By a seven-year-old."

"Details," Klaus muttered, waving a hand as if dismissing the thought. Beside him, Hope giggled, her cheeks still rosy from the cold.

Kol leaned lazily against the doorframe, cradling his mug and watching the exchange with a smirk. "Don’t worry, Nik. We’ll still tell our enemies that you have never been defeated," he quipped, earning a laugh from Rebekah, who was perched elegantly on the couch.

As you and Elijah entered the room, Rebekah's gaze immediately shifted to the two of you, her brow arching with curiosity. "Well, look who decided to join us," she said, a knowing edge in her voice. "Took you long enough. Don’t worry, we saved you some hot chocolate."

Elijah’s hand rested lightly on your lower back as he guided you toward the table, a move that did not go unnoticed by his siblings, who were all eyeing you with a mix of amusement and suspicion.

You glanced at Elijah, feeling your cheeks heat up. "We got… sidetracked," he said simply, the corners of his lips curling into a small smile.

Klaus snorted, but a deadly look from Elijah silenced the impending snarky remark. You helped yourself to a cup of hot chocolate, which tasted sinfully good, the heat and sweetness seeping through you as you settled on the couch next to Rebekah. Elijah sat beside you, his hand resting casually on your knee.

You snuggled close to him and felt him wrap his arms around you, pulling you in even closer as the family laughed and teased one another, enjoying this rare moment of peace and contentment. You smiled to yourself, letting yourself sink into the warmth and love of the moment, knowing that it wouldn't always be this easy but that you would fight for every minute of it.

390 notes · View notes

angelplummie · 8 months ago

Text

TAKING WHAT’S NOT YOURS! 3

ART X TASHI X PATRICK X F!READER

part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4

no smut in this one, but homoeroticism and swearing. enjoy yall!

“why are we here?”

“i told you why,” tashi took off her many bracelets into a hotel-issued jewellery box. the room was a dusky cream all over, and smelt of sandal wood. the various lamps cast sloping shells of yellowlight.

art watched, naked and tangled within the duvet.

“you told me we were seeing a physiotherapist. now we’ve come all the way here and he just cancels?”

“i can’t control these things art. he’s very popular, something just came up. think of this as a holiday. we’ll do something relaxing, fun, tomorrow. you crushed in atlanta, you deserve a rest.”

“i didn’t crush. i came second.”

tashi duncan just breathed deeply, not a sigh but something like it. an acknowledgement.

“i know. you work too hard.”

art sniffed and rested his head on the heel of his palm.

“can you just tell me why we’re here? please?”

wrists lighter, she sighed. wrapped in a silk negligé, she began removing her necklace, away from him so that they would not make eye contact but he could still watch her face. she had a defeated look. caught. but still scolding like a mothers, like she was slightly irritated he even asked.

“she’s competing in the open this year. she might win.”

“who is she?”

he asked, but he knew. you were the she. you were her, hissed in arguments, brushed under rugs. their point of contention. they didn’t speak of you, couldn’t. not after the way they got together, not after that final match and the injury.

a certain wildness came across her face whenever you came up, even peripherally, in conversation. like he had reopened a wound, pressed on a bruise that was ripening. she wore that look now, the injured bear look.

“her. if she wins this she’ll have won every major tennis competition in the us. in under 5 years. then what? fucking wimbledon? no. not on my fucking watch.”

she took off her necklace, which clattered against the vanity. she then began on her rings.

“how do you know she’ll win it?”

“i don’t know she’ll win it. but it’s really looking like she will. and she can’t.”

“why can’t she win it?” art soothed, “what would be so bad about that?”

“she can’t win it art.”

he sighed, and watched his wife as she took off their wedding band to sleep. he kept his on, but each to their own. her mouth quivered, and he knew that that was enough of questions for now. she would only get herself worked up if she thought about it more.

“we’ll talk about it in the morning, ok? come here.”

she pressed her long fingers to her temples for a moment, sighed again, and began walking to the bed.

for a moment she perched on the edge, but his pawing hand beckoned her closer. soon enough they were entangled at the legs, and he held her soft head to his chest.

she drew in a nasal breath.

“we have to stop her. make her lose.”

we. so he was a part of this now. did he think that was appropriate? no. he had left you for her, had harboured secret feelings for her your whole relationship. what he felt for you was real, but tashi was his wife. was always going to be his wife. but now, how could he, in good conscience, try and detract a modicum of happiness from you when he had taken so much in years prior? he couldn’t. he couldn’t even think about you. the thought of you being happy away from him made him so soul crushingly, unreasonably sad that he locked it away in a place no one would ever see or graze by mistake. the thought of you sad made him feel even worse. in truth, he avoided you like the plague. he followed your matches religiously to know where not to be. consumed trashy tabloids so he knew where you brunched, where you bought your sports bras, all so he could know never to be there. because he had that life he always wanted. that life he tossed two of the most important people to him away for. he had to be contented with what he had, or else he would die. and he was more than contented. he was everything he wanted. he had a wife he loved, a sky rocketing career, a future. a purpose. but there were aches of the heart, sympathies a man couldn’t shake, even if he had to.

“we have to?”

her grip around his torso tightened, and she raised her head to look at him.

“we have to.”

“what could we even do?”

“fuck with her head. get in there and throw her off. and if worse comes to worse break her knee like she broke mine.”

“don’t joke.”

“i’m not kidding art. she’s not winning. and you’re helping me.”

“tashi-“

“you’re helping me aren’t you?”

and she fixed him with the look. the look she gave when she wanted you to remember that her acl tore and that she will be able to do the thing she loved most in the world, and somehow it’s all your fault. only you can fix it. only you can take the defiance from her eyes and the downturn of her lips, and you can only do that if you go as she says. art had no choice, no choice at all.

“what do you need?”

•••

in, coincidently, the same hotel a few floors up, you shaved your pubic hair. your coach advised you against shaving close to the tournament. he recommended it for your legs, it meant you were more aerodynamic, but pubic hair made no difference. between razor burn and chaffing, it was an unnecessary distraction. but, he also didn’t sanction sweaty, time consuming, exhausting sex with a trifling man slut of an ex boyfriend that dumped you once and was ready to dump you again, so today was the day for rule breaking.

he chewed you out pretty nice when you got back to your hotel room. you insisted on showering even though your physio stayed late specifically for you, and now instead of hurrying out and apologising and being stretched into a peppy, sexy, marketable, rubber-band-legged tennis cunt, you were shaving yourself. because winning didn’t matter unless you were ready for her.

why did being shaven mean being ready? you didn’t know. but patrick’s joy at your bush had sickened you in grim retrospect, and you wanted to spite him. you would always be ready from now on. if tashi duncan was going to try and fuck you over, the least you could do was prepare to be fucked.

you were dry as can be. you hosed yourself down pretty ruthlessly to clear yourself out. evict any traces of that man from your body, scrub until you reached a layer of skin he hadn’t touched. you had one tired foot on the edge of the sink, and angled yourself so you could see everything. you would be so smooth that you could see a reflection when you were finished.

patrick had caught you off guard, had used you, but you didn’t doubt that he told you the truth about one thing. tashi was coming. she was probably already here. that would be an evil thing to makeup, and despite your outburst you didn’t truly believe he was evil. you thought he was weak, slimy and pathetic, but he wasn’t great enough to be evil. didn’t have the forethought.

what would you do when you saw her? it was early days in the tournament, you could afford to be a little distracted while you picked off the weaker ones. but you couldn’t still be this distracted in 2 days time. maybe time would take care of it. maybe you would have to take it into your own hands.

regardless of what happened, the hair had to go. you had shown patrick a soft underbelly, a vulnerability. one that neither tashi duncan or art donaldson would ever experience again. you could never give her the satisfaction.

if she brought art with her, that would give you something to think about. he, like patrick, was a stolen thing. he was the physical manifestation of all she took from you, in it’s fullest form. he was tennis. he was something you had never beaten. tashi duncan pilfered and pillaged, but worse of all she never lost to you. you never looked her in her eyes and beat her, at anything. love, sex, the game, she had never lost. worse, she had lost her ability to lose. a fate worse than death, but a fate that saved her from the shame she so rightfully deserved. while you lived on, you could defile yourself further, could fall out of grace and could become as common as dirt. she however was immortalised as a god, an angel too good, too talented for this world. she was given implicit dignity. you can’t beat her if she can’t play. the conniving bitch.

semenless, hairless and distantly heartbroken, you set the razor down on the side of the bathtub. you left to dress and be scolded by your coach, who would forgive you tommorow when you won, just like you always did. you won by default.

•••

your manager had forgiven you as soon as you picked up the racket. apparently emotional turbulence served only to help your game, as you achieved your second win of the tournament in record time. not distracted by a certain ex boyfriend at the end of this particular match, when you won you felt fully able to celebrate. sweat drenched and vagina raw you shook your fist at your chest and breathed deep, victorious sighs. your opponent smiled graciously, and disappeared to cry and fade into obscurity, as all would in the face of your brilliance.

the air smelt new. it smelt fresh and new and made for your design. the felt of the tennis balls glowed neon in your periphery and bounced gleefully with your triumph. you guzzled gatorade, answered interviewers questions with emphatically friendly responses, and certainly spawned some rumours that the performance enhancing drugs you were so clearly on had unprecedented side effects, like mood swings.

yesterday your soul was crushed. today you got a new one. let’s see tashi duncan try to fuck that up. let’s see her bring you down.

boys didn’t fucking matter, tennis mattered. and you were great at tennis.

these were all things you believed in earnest, with no trace of sarcasm or cynicism. you believed, right until the second, while walking back to your hotel with your team in front of you, lazily enjoying the world, when a deep, slender, ring laden hand touched your shoulder. you jolted up out of your skin. your head whipped round and there she was. there was satan, smiling like your number was up. stopped in your tracks, you turned your body slowly to face her. as you did more and more of her appeared, and you realised she was really there.

she was so beautiful. such a perfectly set face, everything seemed to match. the attractive broad nose, the full pillowy lips, the eyes, which smouldered on their own, naturally. hair that fell in long stretched curls just as it had all those years ago. she hadn’t changed, at least not visually.

you gave her a once over. that fucking body. god, you wouldn’t know she had stopped playing, you wouldn’t know she could be unable to do anything at all. she was so slender, but so strong, muscle caking her bones in delicate, powerful form. she looked invincible, perfect and impermeable. her loose linen shirt hugged and hung from her frame like a fashion doll, like a mannequin of steel. she was taller than you, by a few inches, and made you feel small, in a way so much more infuriating than patrick. she wasn’t suppose to be bigger than you. she wasn’t a lumbering brute, she was your equal. she was your equal.

from the corner of your eye, you noticed something sparkle on her finger, but you had already looked back to her face.

“tashi,” you said, in a tinny voice that didn’t sound like yours. your throat dried within moments.

“hello stranger,” she said, still grinning.

stranger. funny, that’s exactly what you were. she said it like an inside joke, like you two were the closest of friends. you were strangers.

“hello.”

“congrats on your win.”

“thanks.”

you sniffed, and wet your lips. you weren’t going to break eye contact, she certainly wasn’t going to, so you were locked in silent warfare. what the fuck do you want? you urged every second. wait and see, she replied.

“so,” you say, forming the intentions of a smile on your lips,”what brings you to new york? i hear only a few days ago art was in atlanta.”

“we came up to see a physio guy, he’s supposed to be great. great enough that he cancels last minute.”

“hm. ain’t that just the way!”

you smile, with your eyes too, like you mean it. she smiles too, but she’s awful at being fake. she grimaced more than she smiled, she was always devoid of delicacy, of subtly. everything she was she was overtly. overtly beautiful, overtly talented, and confident. overtly ruthless. why she felt the need to smile if that’s not how she felt was beyond you, but you could play along.

“what hotel are you staying at?”

“the boro. you?”

“us too! why don’t you have a drink with me and art at the bar? it would be good to catch up.”

me and art. you narrow your eyes, deepening your smile to disguise it. she was being so normal, it was strange. what game was she playing? was it something you could win? either way you were in.

“sure! i need to check in with my coach and what not first but ill meet you there at 7, is that ok?”

“7 is great. can’t wait,” her voice was mechanical, it couldn’t be more blatant this was a ploy, and you would fall for it hook line and sinker. she came here to fuck you up? you would destroy her, the second she gave an inch. you already had a massive secret. she fucked patrick. five seconds around art and her life crumbles around her.

you smirked, nodding, and a dark look befell her eyes.

“oh, and just to let you know,” she said, voice lowering. she stepped closer, leaned down to whisper in your ear. the smell of vanilla over powered you, and suddenly you felt very gross, putrid in comparison. but you didn’t have to compare yourself to her anymore.

“i saw patrick zweig in the crowd today. i know you guys had a thing back in college. thought i’d give you a heads up,” her soft whisper tickled your ear. you shivered.

“oh, god,” you said,”thanks for telling me. what the fuck is he doing here?”

“I have no idea.”

“what a freak.”

there were several options of why she told you that, and how she might know.

maybe she really did see him in the crowd. you hadn’t seen him, but you hadn’t seen her either. maybe she didn’t see him, but knew he was coming into town, maybe he told her. maybe she got him to come here and warn you. why? to cut you out of the competition early maybe, start the psychological warfare before her feet even touched new york concrete. it hadn’t worked, and that’s why she had been forced to make a face to face appearance. maybe that was it. maybe it was a grand conspiracy in which all parties were mechanised to get you. you would not be got. no way no how.

your paranoia brought the conversation to a screeching halt as your smile became more and more vacant.

“you look good,” she said after a stretch of silence.

“thank you. so do you. you haven’t changed at all.”

“neither have you.”

“well, i think i’ve changed a bit.”

“nah, you’re the same.”

no. you’re different. but how would she know anyway? you wave goodbye as she saunters off, away to a blonde man that she kisses lightly on the cheek. you don’t take in anything more than that because you turn around immediately, and stalk to where your coach is smoking a cigarette by a coffee truck. fuck that bitch. you were going to gut her alive and use her intestines as a skipping rope. art would not extend his neck to receive a kiss when you were through with them. fucking drink at a fucking bar. who did she think she was?

fuck that bitch, tashi thought. you were right, you had changed. your backhand was perfect. impeccable serve. you were deadly. you were harder now too. you didn’t scowl but there was a coldness about the eyes, a disconnect from face and mind. you were fake as plastic, and just as shiny. you had beefed up, gotten more tight and muscular. maybe tight was the word. tight about the eyes. what were you? you were another creature all together. a beast, an amalgamation of all tashi’s hopes and dreams and all her worst nightmares.

she swayed over to art, knowing you would watch at least for a moment as they smiled at each other and took each other’s forearms tenderly, and she kissed the side of his mouth. his hair had been cut only a few days ago, and she told him to wear that white cotton t-shirt out and about. he said it was too casual for such a high level tennis match, she said she knew that. he looked very fucking good. she looked very fucking good, as she always did. she had set the trap, now it was time to get you in it, trapped, and to bash your head in with a rock.

she and art watched from the corner of their eyes as they kissed and you sauntered away, refusing to look back. your skirt swished with the aggravated sway of your hips. you swung a metal water bottle with the rhythm of your steps, like you were trying to hurt the air. you were pissed off. art could tell, and his stomach churned. this was wrong. it was mean, and they were adults now. married adults, who should be satisfied enough in their lives that they don’t need to plan or scheme. but. here they were. and there he was, embroiled and accomplice to a mean spirited scheme. anything to dry tashis eyes. anything to make up for the fact you were tennis cunt extraordinaire and she was arts coach. a fantastic coach, but a coach all the same. he could hurt you if that’s what tashi needed. he didn’t want to, but he could.

she didn’t know if she could, if it was possible rather, but she wanted to. no, she knew she could. she would. you could flick the skirt adidas paid you to wear and walk with a sexy sway and you could guzzle complementary gatorade but she knew what you were and that you were bellow her. you were her subordinate and if she couldn’t make the world see it she would make it clear to you.

your feet hit tarmac harder than they needed to as you found your coach, who clapped a hand to your back and sung your well deserved praises. breaking news, tennis cunt is good at tennis. alert the media, alert the national guard, alert nasa. this is earth shattering stuff. fuck everyone, but fuck tashi in particular. fuck that bitch. and fuck art. fuck him. fuck him.

and yet, only a few hours later you were pulling your hair out trying to put together a cohesive outfit that said i’m not trying to impress you but i’m very impressive. i’m very accomplished and polished and if i was you and i had thrown me away i would kill myself for the shame and regret. tashi duncan is nothing.

but it was hard to find an outfit so articulate. not too dressy, but not overly casual as to downplay yourself, to suggest you think dressing nicely is above what you deserve. a dress. a black dress said sex but it was also classic, simple. a black dress meant nothing, and therefore meant everything. your body itself provided the glamour, your form a kind of jewellery. yeah. that was it. eat your heart out, donaldson.

you sit at the bar, perched with your smooth legs crossed over each other. you sipped a coke, that might’ve been a rum and coke on a different night, but you needed to keep your wits about you. you remember getting drunk one night with art, swaying around his house. his parents were away and he invited you back over spring break. his house was so big. you remember kissing him, so wasted. he wasn’t as drunk as you. he held your waist, and smiled and said,”let’s get you into bed.”

“but art. you’re so pretty.”

“and you’re so drunk. i’ll still be pretty tomorrow.”

art didn’t do drunk. i don’t know. something to keep in mind.

they walked in, looked around and smiled when they saw you. neither of them had changed despite having hours. fucking cunts.

“i see you didn’t wait for us,” tashi smiles.

“oh, sorry.”

they sit, tashi next to you, art in tow. what was arts role in all this? you knew why you wanted him here, to destroy his marriage of course. but why did tashi want him here? what purpose did he serve for her? he just sort of looked around. you watch him as they settle. art. oh art. you felt something in your chest, and hated it. art. he was just that guy, you know. the guy that you can say you hate, but you just can’t. you want to so badly, but being in his presence for even a few seconds has you crumbling. the shape of his nose, the bob of his adam’s apple, the golden dusting of hair on his arm that glints in the boozy light of the bar. he was so… guy. so man. so beautiful. he beats his blonde eyelashes and turns to look at you, smiling with only one corner of his mouth. you smile back, unconsciously genuine. fuck him. what a prick.

you look back to tashi, who watches you bemusedly. half smirking half frowning. her deep eyes glow like ambers. she tossed a strand of hair from her face, orders her and art two sparkling waters as she eyed your coke.

“so,” you say, to divert your train of thoughts more than anything,”how’s life been?”

“let’s drop the pleasantries shall we?”

the smile that had spooked you all day dropped, lips instead set in a line

“we aren’t actually here to catch up.”

“oh. ok.”

that was brief. you understood why she was so quick to give up the falsehoods though, tashi duncan didn’t deal in lies. she dealt in hard cold truth.

“i’m here for one thing. i want you to play art.”

you frown with one eyebrow, and your upper lip curls into a look of disgust.

“what?”

you glance at art, who doesn’t look surprised in the slightest. he looks mournful almost. what a freak. tashi’s face is sullen, serious as the plague.

“you heard me. i want you and art to play each other. art wants to too.”

art didn’t look at you. nodded though.

“and i wanna do it tonight.”

you spluttered a laugh, hands gripping the bar.

“tonight?”

this bitch had lost her mind. you have a tournament, an important one at that, and for her to assert that you should jeopardise that, overexert yourself for the sake of what? assuaging a personal grudge? making her feel better because a significantly larger man beat a woman at a game that tashi hadn’t played in five entire years? what crack was she smoking that made that an acceptable ask? did her arrogance know no bounds?

“i have a match tomorrow.”

“yeah, no fucking shit. that’s why there’s stakes.”

stakes. what the fuck. you almost wanted to laugh. but this bitch was giving you a proposal, a fucking pitch. for what? what could she possibly have to offer you other than sucking on a shot gun and pissing off forever?

“do you have any fucking idea how ridiculous this is? after everything you did to me, you think you have any right to saunter up to me and ask me to waste my time and my energy, the night before a fucking match? you and your fucking husband can fuck off.”

“after everything i did to you? what the hell did i do to you? you broke my fucking knee.”

your confused look fell into seething blankness.

“you didn’t break your knee you tore your ACL. and you broke it yourself.”

“that’s fine, that’s fine. you tell yourself that, but know the only reason you have this fucking career is because i wasn’t there to beat you down and put you in your place.”

“jesus fucking christ, i would’ve beaten you that match and you know it.”

“i don’t know a goddamn thing-“

“and where do you get off pretending like you never did shit to me? you took everything from me tashi. you took everything and now you travel across the country and stumble up to me to make yourself feel better because i can play and you can’t. you want me to try and beat a fucking man? fine. i’m game. i’m in, let’s do it. i would hate to waste your precious time. let’s hear the fucking stakes.”

the gloves were off. both of your backs had straightened like hackles on a cat and your nostrils flared and your chests rose and fell and neither of you broke eye contact for even one second. you hadn’t realised but you had gotten closer, so close that your minty fresh breath fanned tashi’s upper lip, and pieces of tashi’s hair tickled your cheekbone. this was fucking intoxicating. being this close to the woman you had hated for so long, getting the confirmation that she hates you just as passionately, knowing you matter enough to her that she needs to destroy you, it all fills you with the most exhilarating feeling. you want more. her deep eyes glowed with fury. fuck.

art sits hunched over the bar, removed. he drank his drink, slowly facing away. he almost looks bored, or he would if his eyes didn’t flit about all the time. no, art was anxious. he disapproved of whatever tashi planned, but he loved her too much to tell her no. the thought stings you, spitting in the face of your satisfaction. art. he would always make you hurt no matter what.

“here’s the stakes. you lose, i leave knowing that i was always better than you, and you give me $4000, for my troubles. you win, you get to fuck art in front of me.”

he didn’t flinch. he knew. you’re pulled back by an otherworldly force, stone cold sober. your neck twists back and forth, scanning the bar for anyone to help you, save you, give you a moment to chew on whatever that was. no one was gonna help you. even art, who sat and drank his sparkling water, wouldn’t meet your eye.

“what?”

she didn’t reply, just leant back, arms crossed, satisfied. was she honestly, seriously, really, actually whoring out her husband so that you, a girl she barely knew from college, would play him at tennis so she could prove a point? was she that confident he would beat you? or was she a pervert as well as a cunt?

“are you that confident you’ll win? or do you think i’m that desperate? believe it or not, i’ve actually moved on from a man i saw briefly 5 entire years ago.”

a tiny white lie never hurt anyone.

tashi widened her eyes. a silent challenge.

“are you sure? are you sure it wouldn’t feel good to fuck my husband right in front of me? take something from me? hurt me? give me a taste of my own fucking medicine? if i’m such a bitch, if i took everything from you, take something back. beat me at tennis and fuck my husband.”

this bitch was fucking crazy. and yes, it would feel fucking incredible. but you would also have to touch art again. which would dredge up emotions you didn’t know if you could stomach. eugh. no. couldn’t. wouldn’t. won’t.

“i’ll play you. no stakes.”

“no,” art looked at you in the eyes for the first time since that day, that match that ended you two forever. his voice was cold and hoarse. your eyebrow raises involuntarily. look everyone, the puppet can speak on its own!

“agree to the stakes or don’t bother.”

you laugh airily, you search arts face for reprehension. there’s just nothing. you were wrong about him, he didn’t disapprove that strongly. where did he get off in this? did he like being used as a bargaining chip in his evil wife’s evil schemes? was he completely eroded from who he used to be? did you ever even know him? he tongued the inside of his cheek. his mouth curved at the edge. he smiled slightly like he knew you, like this was a game you were all in on. like any of this is funny.

“no. i’ll play you, and i’ll even cough up the money if i lost. but i’m not fucking anyone. end of story.”

tashi leans forward. her eyes twinkle yellow in the soft glow of the bar. her mouth opens with unspoken hunger.

“then lose.”

#challengers #art donaldson #art donaldson smut #challengers smut #challengers x reader #art donaldson x reader #art donaldson x reader smut #tashi donaldson #tashi duncan #art x tashi #tashi duncan smut #tashi x reader #tashi challengers #art donaldson x tashi duncan #tashi duncan x reader

533 notes · View notes

mads-hemmo · 2 months ago

Text

It’s Nice to Have A Friend - Jschlatt

Part 1

Reader has been lonely their whole life. They have never been in a relationship. They don’t understand why no one will love them but their best friend, Schlatt has always been in love with them.

Masterlist

From a young age, you have always been a hopeless romantic. Your favorite content always revolves around romance of some sort. You even have had your wedding planned since you went to your first wedding at merely six years old. Your plans are forever cemented on a Pinterest board that you continue to add to about monthly. I mean your taste has changed since 2015, but some things still remain true.

The only problem is that you haven’t got to experience romance yourself. At the ripe old age of 25, you have never been in a relationship. You have had your first kiss, but it wasn’t magical. You only did it because you hated being the college kid who had never kissed anyone. You slightly regret it, but at least it was out of the way.

The only good thing is that at least you have a best friend who you made a marriage pact with. You and your best friend Schlatt, met in middle school. When you were both sad and single in high school, you made a pact that if neither of you were married by 40, you would get married. It was just a silly thing that you both constantly laugh about.

When you met Schlatt in middle school, the two of you immediately hit it off. You saw Schlatt sitting by himself one day and decided to sit by him. You had a few classes with him and thought he seemed like a cool dude. At first he acted like he wanted to be alone, but you learned soon after that he really didn't have many friends. The two of you learned you had a lot in common. You both loved Nintendo, especially Mario Kart as well as computer games.

The one difference is you loved all things romance whereas Schlatt only cared about gaming and baseball. The really fucked up thing about the universe is that Schlatt has had multiple relationships while you remain single. His relationships usually never lasted, but it was still strange. The universe also made you bisexual and you still somehow manage to be lonely. But at least you had your best friend, Schlatt and that stupid marriage pact.

The hardest moment for you was when Schlatt decided to move to Austin, Texas. It was the longest and farthest apart you have ever been from each other. You knew it was good for career and would help him grow his channel, but it sucked being apart for so long. Thankfully, Schlatt made the decision to come back home to New York. When he came back, it was like nothing changed. You had your best friend back and nothing could make you happier.

Most of your nights lately have been spent hanging out at Schlatt’s apartment playing Mario Kart like you did as kids. Tonight was no different. Schlatt was playing as a Villager and you were playing as Cat Peach. “I tried downloading Tinder again,” you say, randomly.

“Why?” Schlatt asked, his eyes located on the screen.

“Maybe there’s someone new. We live in New York. Who knows who might have moved here? Maybe my soulmates!”

“Toots, how many times do I have to tell you? One, your soulmate is not going to be on tinder and two, you’re better off with a true New Yorker than some new kid that wants to make it on broadway or some shit.”

You sigh. “Oh my god, but imagine they are on broadway! You know my love for musical theatre! Maybe we need to go watch a show. The lead being so into their part locks eyes with me and we realize we are truly in love like the characters on the stage.”

Schlatt lets out a small laugh while rolling his eyes. “You are ridiculous, (Y/N),” he says, looking at you.

“You’re just mad that I’m kicking your ass right now.”

“You wish, Fucker,” he says, his competitive spirit coming back.

The two of you continue playing until you both decide you're hungry, so Schlatt orders pizza from your favorite place. “You staying the night?” Schlatt asks, grabbing the Bénédictine bottle and a few solo cups.

“Might as well. It’s the weekend after all,” you say, pouring the liquor into your cup.

“The guest room is always open for you. However, the cats have made it their own, so they might sleep with you.”

“It would be nice to have someone or something laying beside me even if it is just cats. I did always say I was going to be the crazy cat person, but the tables have seemed to turn,” you joke.

“I’m a very proud cat dad. They make great content and the ladies love them,” Schlatt says, moving his eyebrows.

You laugh at him. You miss the way his smiles grow with each laugh that leaves your mouth. “Did I tell you I started a new hobby?” You ask him.

“No? How do you have the time to have another hobby? What happened to crocheting or reading or shipping random men together?”

“I’m still doing all those things and I ship people of all genders. Anyways, I started coloring.”

“Coloring? Like with crayons?” He asks, not in a malicious way, but with genuine curiosity.

“No, with alcohol markers and white gel pens to add highlights. I saw it on TikTok of course and it’s been really fun. It’s also very stress relieving.”

“Can I see some of your finished work?” He asks, his eyes not breaking contact with yours.

“Oh yeah, sure,” you say, pulling your phone out. Sometimes you find it strange how Schlatt actually cares about your hobbies and various interests. He never makes you feel bad about it. He just lightly teases you, but you know that’s just how he is.

Schlatt looks at the pictures you took of the pages you have colored. “Awe I love the little kitty. They are cute! This is really impressive, Toots. It looks like you printed these out. Maybe next time you come over, you should bring your markers and we can color together. Mine won’t be near as good as yours, but I bet it would be fun,” Schlatt says.

You hold your pinky out and Schlatt wraps his around yours. “I’m holding you to that, Big Guy.”

“You know I’d never break a pinky promise. You bring the markers and I’ll bring the Bénédictine.” The marriage pact was formed on a pinky promise and that makes your heart feel warm.

You hear the doorbell ring and realize that your pinkies are still connected. You quickly get up to go answer the door. You see a very handsome man holding the pizza boxes. “Here’s your pizza,” he says. “It’s not everyday that I deliver to someone so pretty.” He winks at you.

“You’re too nice. Hold on, let me grab your tip,” you smile, turning around. You see Schlatt and he hands you a ten dollar bill. “Thank you.”

“Sorry I didn’t realize you had a boyfriend. I couldn’t have flirted with you if I knew,” the guy apologizes.

“He’s not-“ you start.

“Don’t worry about it, dude,” Schlatt says, grabbing the pizza and handing him the money. “Have a good night.” Schlatt closes the door. He goes to the kitchen to grab plates before coming back to the living room.

“What was that?” You ask him.

“What? I just finished what you were going to say. That guy also was probably a high schooler.”

You just decide to not push it any further, knowing that Schlatt is probably right. “What movie do you want to watch?” You ask.

“As long as it’s not a musical, I don’t care what we watch. I recommend Tokyo Drift, but you’re the guest,” Schlatt says, with a piece of pizza in his mouth.

“We can watch Tokyo Drift. It’s been awhile since you picked the movie.”

Schlatt smiles at you. “Thanks Bub.” He puts the movie on.

It doesn’t take long for you to pass out. Schlatt knew it was inevitable. You usually fall asleep during a film and with liquor and pizza on your belly, it’s no surprise when he hears your soft snores. Your head makes its way on Schlatt’s shoulders. He smiles at you and he feels his heart start to race. He wishes you weren’t so hard on yourself and saw how amazing you were.

After about twenty minutes, he realized that you were pretty much out. Instead of having you sleep on the couch, he gently picks you up, bridal style and carries you to the guest bedroom. He carefully lays you down and places the blanket over you. He watches in awe as jambo cuddles beside you. When he knows you’re definitely asleep, he kisses your forehead. “I love you. Sleep tight, Toots,” he says, cleaning up the living room before going to his bed. Schlatt wishes you were laying beside him. He would hold you tight and never let you ever think you were incapable of being loved. He falls asleep, happy with the fact that you are asleep in his house and not with someone who doesn’t deserve you.

A/N: yay!! New fic!! Thank you to 🍓 anon, and everyone else who suggested this req!! Hope you enjoy the first part. Sorry I’m posting this in the middle of the night! Let me know what you know!!

#chuckle sandwich #jschlatt #jschlatt fanfic #jschlatt x reader #grumpy sunshine #lunch club #youtube #friends to lovers #unrequited love #🍓 anon

172 notes · View notes

nthspecialll · 10 months ago

Text

I think we sometimes as a fandom tend to hyper-focus on certian characters' backgrounds simply because we like the character when in reality other characters who might not be as interesting has way better backstories, because no, Javier, Arthur and John are not the only ones with sad backstories

Like why does no one talk about what happened to Leopold's sister? Why does no one talk about young Lenny tracking down and killing folk? Why does no one talk about Javier actually in a way working for the government for a while and the reason why he killed that powerful military man? Why does no one talk about why Dutch is called Dutch and not by his actual first name? Why does no one talk about Bill's worst childhood fear coming true? Why does no one talk about both Swanson and Micah saving Dutch's life or that Tilly is also a murderer?

Anyways here is a full explanation of all the Van Der Linde gang members backstories.

Sean MacQuire

Sean Macquire and his father lived in Ireland possibly with more family but had to flee because the English (who were at the time in charge of ireland) were chasing them. They fled for their lives and they were in Boston for a month before his dad was shot in his sleep, showing the remaining Sean that there was truly no honor or shame in the world.

He was then sent to a reform school, which we all know was abusive and a living hell, so he ran, living as a low-life thief, he was a teenager, when he in a bar somewhere in North Elizabeth saw Dutch and Hosea and liked Dutch's watch. He followed the two into an alleyway and threatened them at gunpoint, however they laughed at him and told him to shoot, so he did, except the two others had noticed him first and taken the bullets from his gun. Sean started crying, thinking they were going to kill him but instead of doing that they gave him a home, a place to belong.

Lenny Summers

Lenny's grandparents as well as parents were slaves and his mother was born on a cotton field and taken away from his grandmother, who hadn't even known she was pregnant, immediately. His grandmother was then told to simply get back to work.

After the civil war, the old overseer kept making advandages towards Lenny's grandmother, to a point that in the end she needed to kill him and just barely escaped being lynched. Lenny's mother never saw the grandmother again.

Lenny's mother later met Mr Summers who was an educated man and taught Lenny to both read and write, however when Lenny was 15, his dad was beaten to death by several drunk men. Lenny stole a gun, tracked and hunted down the men, shooting them and showing no remorse even years later.

Kieran Duffy

Kieran Duffy's father was an Irishman who came to America with a dream of farming. It was there that he met Kieran's mother and not long after having Kieran, they both passed due to Cholera and not shortly after that the stables that he worked at to support himself threw him out. He decided to join the army to support himself but it didn't last long before he quit due to it "not working out well."

After returning from the army, he fell into work with a bunch of unnamed outlaws, though they all passed away, leaving him alone once again.

At some point he ran into the O'Driscolls who gave him a choice, to ride with them or to get killed, esencially forcing him to join them and work as a stable hand for them, though he was at the bottom of the latter simply working with the horses before being kidnapped by Arthur Morgan and joining the Van Der Linde gang.

Leopold Strauss

Leopold Strauss was born into severe poverty in Austria and his family struggled heavily with food. By the time that Strauss was only twelve, his older brother was beating up nightwatch men for whatever cash and food scraps they had on them. By that time Strauss's father had already sold his younger sister Anna, by the age of nine, into bonded labour to be able to provide for the rest of the family.

When Stauss was seventeen he was sent with his uncle to the US due to health problems, however the hellish sight of Brooklyn gave Strauss's uncle a heart attack on the spot, leaving Strauss alone in a forgein country. To survive he began doing illegal money scams and after doing so for years Dutch picked him up.

Tilly Jackson

Tilly Jackson was the daughter of a slave and became an outlaw by the mere age of twelve, running with a gang called the Foreman brothers who kidnapped her but after murdering the leaders cousin after he made advandages on her, she had to flee. She returned to her mothers workplace but found that she had already passed.

Later Tilly ran into Dutch Van Der Linde and as he was already taking care of John Marston and Arthur Morgan, he took her in, becoming just as much as a father figure to her as to the boys.

Micah Bell

Micah Bell was born directly into a life of crime as his father Micah Bell jr was a petty but ruthless and violent outlaw. Already when Micah was 17 him and his father were on run from the law as they had slid Jean and Roscoe Briggs throats and later hung them as well. His father was also his primary partner in crime, however he also seemed to have teamed up with his brother Amos a few times as well, however Amos regretted his past life and started a proper one with wife and children and threatened to kill Micah if he came close.

Micah had several partners in crime later in life, including Joe and Cleet who appears later in the game, as well as a fellow named Norman.

Micah runs into Dutch Van Der Linde in 1898 in a bar as Dutch is trying to sell some stolen goods, however the deal doesn’t work out and Micah steps in to help Dutch and save his life, earning a place in the gang.

Bill Williamson

Bill Williamson, also known as Marion Williamson, was born into an abusive family with a father who lost his mind to alchohol, even going to the point of mixing moonshine with whiskey. Watching this Bill always feared falling in love with liquor and suffering the same fate.

Bill always showed signs of being more of a troubled kid and being sent to a reform school did not stop him from building s solid criminal record as a kid.

Bill would later apply to the military and serve in the 15th infantry, fighting against the native americans before being dishonorably discharged for deviancy and attempted murder in 1892. For a year after he lived rough, truly falling in love with liqour and stealing from people om the side of the roads, one time being robbed himself by a "woman" (likely a cross dresser or genderqueer person).

In 1893 Bill tried to rob Dutch and got angry as the man simply laughed at him, however he calmed down as he was allowed a spot in the Van Der Linde gang.

Daniel(?) "Dutch" Van Der Linde

Dutch's mother was an english woman named Greta and his father a dutch man who lived somewhere near Philadelphia who fought in the civil war and died, which is why Dutch hated southeners.

Dutch's nickname rumors to come from his father's desperate attempt at keeping touch with his ancerstory.

When he was 15, he left home due to troubles with his mother whom he never got along with and simply saw him as a disobedient and troubled kid. He wished for freedom above all so to gain this he started a life of crime and in mid 1870 met Hosea Matthews.

(Second edit: I am not 100% sure Daniel is his true name, thus the ?, however I found it on his wiki page and added it)

Hosea Matthews

Hosea was born in around 1844 and lived the majority of his earlier life in the mountians, growing to love fishing and hunting. His father was mostly absent, living a life of "sin and debauchery that would make an emperor blush." Hosea saw his dad only about three times in his life but loved him none the less.

He tried to make his way with comedy as a stage actor, however he turned to petty thieft, stealing from his audience and later others in town. He was caught by the sheif stealing a chicken and sentenced to be hanged. Luckiy for Hosea the town folk saw it as a punishment too cruel and a riot broke out which ended with someone shooting the noose around Hosea's neck, allowing him to flee.

Mid 1870 Hosea found Dutch sitting by a campfire and decided to rob him, however found that Dutch had already robbed him. Hosea feared for a moment for his life but it ended with the two of them laughing it off and teaming up.

Molly O'Shea

Molly O'Shea was born into a wealthy Irish family, set up to live a proper and educated life, however she quickly got bored and showed little interest in the life set up for her, so she ran off to America in search of adventure and excitment. At some point she ran into Dutch Van Der Linde and found an interest in him and his life style, only to later genuiently fall in love with him.

Arthur Morgan

Arthur Morgan was born to Beatrice and Lyle Morgan in northen US. His mother died in his early life and he never really got along with his father whom there are rumors was abusive. Lyle lived a life of petty crime and was arrested and executed. Arthur saw his father die and although not having the best relationship, Arthur kept his father's hat and picture.

In 1877 Arthur was 14 and a wild delinquent. He ran into Dutch and Hosea, being picked up and taken under their wing, taught not only the ways of crime but also skills like reading, writing, hunting and so on.

Uncle

Uncle was born in Ohio (insert Penelope Braithwaithe shutter) with the only family present being his parents who died when he was nine and an "uncle" named Jeb whom Uncle hints at being a pedofile.

After his parents death he was on his own and was forced to a new city where he had to care for himself, and from that time to the game start in 1899, we know he has been married at least twice.

Uncle tells many stories of his past such as going to Africa and being worthshipped like a god by the locals, however the truth of these stories are highly doubted due to his tendency to lie. He does tell stories of being a "one shot kid" in his younger days, the truth of these also being doubted, however it may have been his tricket into the Van Der Linde gang.

Susan Grimsaw

Along with Hosea, Dutch and Arthur Susan was one of the founding memebers of the Van Der Linde gang, having run into Dutch during a poker game where both he and she found interest in one another, causing the curious couple and their unruly son to stay in the area a bit longer, paying poker long into the night while Susan sat on Dutch's lap.

Having gotten into a romantic relationship with Dutch, Susan was allowed to join the small group and even stayed when Dutch moved on to Annabelle, now serving as a form of housemother, making sure that people did their work, took properly care of themselves and made camp feel like home.

You can also hear Susan talking to Mary-Beth one time in camp, admitting that she had a fiance once however he went to heaven.

John Marston

John Marston was born in 1873 to an illiterate scottish father born on the boat to New York and a prositute mother who died during his birth. At first John lived with his father who constantly spoke of Scotland and his love for the country, however he was blinded in a bar fight south of Chicargo and later died when John was eight. The true cause of his father's death is unknown however John was told it was a barfight.

John spent a few years in an orphanage before running off and living on his own, at the mere age of eleven commiting his first murder by shooting a man, though he claims it was not his fault.

At the age of twelve John had been caught stealing from homesteaders who planned to have him hanged, however Dutch stepped in and took him under his wing.

Orville Swanson

Swanson used to wrok as a Clergyman but after indulging in the "earthly pleasures", being seduced by alchohol and sex, he lost his family, job and in the end faith, though he desperately tried to regain it.

At some point or another he fell in love with a woman named Margaret, though she was already married, so he simply added bigamy to the list of sins he had already commited. When the two of them were in San Fransisco, the law finally caught up wth them and while she fled onto a ship headed for Shanghai he was stuck and never saw her again.

Under unknown circomstances Swanson came to save Dutch's life and due to Dutch's debt to Swanson he was allowed to join the gang.

Mary-Beth Gaskill

Being a woman of good nature, Mary-Beth did not struggle getting close to her victims after having found herself needing to find a living in the streets. Due to her looks and personality she could with ease fool the richer men into thinking they were saving a poor maiden in need while her fingers slipped into their pockets.

It was through this that Mary-Beth got in trouble with not just the law but her victims as well. One night she had gotten a few foul men on her tail that she ran into the Van Der Linde gang who saved her and asked her to join them.

Charles Smith

Charles Smith was born to a Native Mother and a free African American father, all three of them living fairly happily with his mothets tripe together with a few other free men before the US army chased them away.

They continued to live together but a few years later Charles' mother was captured by the army, leading Charles' father to fall into alcoholism and a deep depression.

At the mere age of 13 Charles left his father and began to live on his own, becoming a supreme survivalist from an early age.

Some point during the late 1898 ran into the Van Der Linde gang in the Grizzlies and joined them.

Simon Pearson

Simon Pearson's family were whale hunters and although Pearson wished to follow in their footsteps it did not go that way due to the whale industry having lessened by the time that he got out of school. Having been forced to look for new employment options, Pearson joins the Navy where he even managed to get stranded for fifty days on a ship filled with plauge, watching his friends and coworkers slowly drop one by one.

After having returned from the Navy Pearson begins to struggle financially and takes a loan, however unable to pay it off loansharks comes after him and it is during one of these attempts at getting to Pearson that the Van Der Linde gang saves him and brings him to camp as a cook.

Abigail Marston

Abigail Marston, originally born Abigail Roberts, was orphaned at a young age and started roaming around bars, scraping whatever few coins she could take from folk before starting a work of prostitution, making an earning by selling her body and at some point running into Uncle at a bar who introduced her to the gang.

Now living with the gang, Abigail still worked as a prositute up until falling pregnant with Jack Marston by John Marston.

Josiah Trelawny

Josiah Trelawny was born in England though he has no memories of his life there, he later imigated to America where he starts working as a conman and trickster. It was during this line of work that he met yhe Van Der Linde gang and joined them bur with a special advandage as he, unlike the others, was allowed to appear and disappear as he pleased, always knowing when Dutch planned to cut him off and return with a big hit.

Josiah has a family living in Saint Denis concisting of a wife and two sons named Tarquin and Cornelius. Just as with the gang, he would disappear on them for months.

Karen Jones

Karen Jones lived as a scam artist in her early years and absolutely loved the outlaw lifestyle and hoped for a bit more which partly drove her to accept the Van Der Linde gang's invitation, hoping to achieve more.

Javier Escuella

Javier Escuella was born in Mexico to a drunkard father who worked for Allende' (a main antagonist in rdr1, a military man) uncle. When he was young he saw his own uncle as well as four other separate men get casterated and fed to pigs for simply suggesting fair wages for their work.

Javier moved on to become a violent and known bounty hunter and revolutionary, fighting against what he saw as a corupt system.

Javier ended up killing a powerful former military man for a woman that he loved, fearing for his loved ones life he fled to America where he knew no english and had no work or food, leaving him starving.

It was in America that he ran into Dutch as they both were trying to steal the same chickens. Dutch took Javier in, fed him, gave him a family and a life, leading Javuer to idiolize Dutch also for his revolutionary ideals.

At some unknown point someone attempted to kill Javier, leading to him having a prominent scar on his throat.

Sadie Alder

Sadie Alder grew up in a harsh envioment and from a very early age learned how to hunt and ride to care for herself, things that Jack Adler fell in love with. The two of them married september 1896, moving to a ranch in Ambarino where they had three happy years of marriage before the O'Driscolls arrived at their cabin.

633 notes · View notes

nochedie · 3 months ago

Text

with you | dean winchester 💡

pairing: dean winchester x reader, pre series

genre: a bit of angst then some fluff

wordcount: 2.4k

summary: you’ve been hunting with john and dean for a long time now, and you finally snap after john berates dean one too many times

a/n: fuck john winchester! 🫶🏼

you walked through the dimly lit concrete pathway outside the motel you, dean, and john were holed up in tonight, rounding the corner and seeing the light on in the room you were all sharing. you could see the outline of the father and son arguing and you couldn’t hold back your eyeroll.

every night was the same, ever since you started hunting with them. you could see from dean’s face everytime his dad was giving him an earful, he really believed it. he believed everything. sometimes it would get so heated, that john would tell dean it was his fault sam left. that he was supposed to protect him, and anything that he was exposed to that made him feel any different was because of dean. of course that wasn’t true. but it didn’t stop dean from believing it anyway.

ever since he was small, the responsibility of raising his brother was all up to him. he was only four years old when his mother died, when their entire life changed. nothing would ever be normal again. he lost his mother, sure, but he lost his dad too. he had to make sure sam was safe, when he needed someone to make sure he was safe. he was only a child.

throughout your travels, you had grown to resent john as fervently as you loved dean. you longed never to see john’s face again, but that would mean that you wouldn’t get to see dean’s.

you knew john disliked you just as much as you disliked him, and there was a simple reason for it: he saw how dean looked at you. he saw you as a distraction, putting dean at risk. only reason he was acting like this was to protect his son but he had a funny way of showing it. you could hear him berating dean through the door, talking about how he was irresponsible and stupid for being distracted on the hunt today. reality is he wasn’t distracted. he just happened to help you up from the floor before “checking himself for wounds” as john shouted at the two of you earlier in the day. maybe if any of his arguments actually made sense you might have a sliver of respect left for him.

you opened the door quickly, causing the two men to stop talking immediately. dean was sat on the bed, and john was towering over him. he had the ability to make dean feel small and you hated that. every little thing dean did was to impress his father and none of it was good enough.

you waved the bag of treats you had gotten from the store up in the air, bypassing john entirely and taking a seat on the bed next to dean.

“i got us some beers and some snacks.” you looked up just in time to see john walking out the motel room door. you weren’t sure where he was going and frankly you didn’t care.

“that’s my girl.” dean tried his best to mask any kind of expression on his face that showed just how he was feeling about the interaction with his dad, but you could see right through it. he was hurt, angry, mainly just sad. you knew that letting him know you knew how he felt would actually make him feel worse, so you chose, as you always do, just to be there for him. try and take his mind off things.

you crossed your legs on the bed, facing him and cracking open the beers with the bottle opener dean had gifted to you. you clinked glasses, and took a couple of swigs.

“so, what’s next? any new cases lined up?”

“yeah, my dad found something weird in the paper this mornin’… looks just like spirit behaviour, so it should be an easy one.”

“hm, okay. can we reprise our characters when we’re doing research?” you smiled when you caught dean’s cheeks flush. for this last case, you two had been pretending to be a husband and wife reporter duo, writing a story for the local gazette.

“sure thing, mrs brooks.”

“i think we should create a jingle for mr and mrs brooks: amateur reporters.”

“definitely not.”

“what are you gonna do, stop me?”

“yes. mr brooks is quite comfortable locked away up here.” he points to his head, taking another swig of his beer.

“dean.” you nudge his arm right when he was taking a drink, causing it to spill.

“y/n, come on!” he couldn’t help but smile as you mouthed an apology, before getting up to go to the bathroom to clean himself up, closing the door behind him.

as soon as the bathroom door closed, the motel door opened and in came john. your smile dropped as soon as you saw him, eyes casting down to the bed.

“can we talk, john? outside.”

“and why would we do that?”

“just come outside.” john let out a heavy sigh and followed you outside, slamming the motel door behind him.

“so, what is it?” john crossed his arms across his chest, looking inconvenienced to even be there.

“i heard what you said to dean earlier. you know, you can talk to him without yelling. you can protect him without telling him everything he does is wrong.”

“and what does it have to do with you?”

“clearly something since you were mentioning my name an awful lot!”

“i don’t think you’re good for him is all. actually i think after this hunt, you should just leave us alone, okay?”

“you can let your emotions get in the way all you want but i’m a valuable asset and you know it. how many times have i had to save your ass?”

“dean cannot concentrate with you around.”

“oh, all of a sudden you care about dean? how about telling him that once in a while?” your blood was boiling, your voice raising. the entire motel could probably hear. dean had heard the commotion outside and was listening from inside the room.

“i care about dean.”

“enough to tell him everything is his fault? enough to rob him of his childhood?”

“what right do you have to tell me how to parent my goddamn children?”

“apart from the fact that they never got to be children, what the hell have you done for them as a parent? sam doesn’t want anything to do with you and dean spends every waking moment trying to please you! you are not a parent. i get that you were trying to protect them, but this wasn’t the way. you didn’t have to do what you did. you chose to do that. dean was just a kid!”

silence. he didn’t have anything else to say.

“tell dean i went to the bar or something.” you turned on your heel and walked away, up the street away from the motel and towards the nearest town.

john took a few minutes outside, half for some fresh air, half because he knew dean would ask where you were the second he got inside, and he wanted you out of sight before then. he stepped through the door, and dean was sitting on the bed, looking up expectantly for you to walk in after john. “where’s y/n?”

“nearest bar.” dean was up and out of there before the last syllable left john’s mouth.

he had tried your phone more times than he could count, and each ring caused the pit in his stomach to grow deeper.

he hated not having you in his sight for even a second. after a while his walking turned into running, calling your name into the darkness. in his hurry to leave he hadn’t even grabbed the keys to the impala and it was too late for him to turn around now.

despite not being good with directions, somehow you had found the nearest bar, but what you hadn’t realised was what time it was. it was early hours of the morning and the bar was just about closed, unfortunately leaving some.. unsavoury types lingering outside. sometimes you forgot, even if you got rid of a paranormal threat, sometimes the human beings were worse.

you pulled out your phone to call dean, but it was dead. “shit…”

you wandered through the empty streets of town, constantly looking over your shoulder. you could see a payphone up ahead, and you knew dean’s number by heart.

you quickened your pace to the payphone, punching in dean’s number as quickly as you could once you reached it. the line was busy. you hoped he wasn’t trying to call you too. you waited a while and put another quarter in, punching in dean’s number again. this time it rung.

“y/n?”

“how’d you know?”

“where the hell are you? are you safe? i’ve been losing my mind over here trying to look for you, i-“ he paused, not wanting to make you feel like he was mad at you. “just tell me where you are.”

“i’m in town… i don’t even remember how i got here but i don’t know my way back to the motel from here.”

“is there anything around you?”

“yeah, there’s a hardware store. it’s called dave’s hardware.”

“alright, just.. hang on, okay? stay there. i’ll find you.”

the phone beeped to alert the call was about to drop.

“alright. dean i-“ the call dropped. “-m sorry.” you put the phone back and stepped out of the phone box, sitting down on the curb. you thought back to the argument with john, and there’s no way dean didn’t hear you. you were just so angry, you had seen dean upset one too many times. all your frustration came out in one. you thought dean might be mad. he had a complicated relationship with his dad, but maybe he would still be mad that you yelled at him. sitting with your thoughts, you didn’t even notice the sound of dean’s footsteps.

“hey…” he touched your shoulder, causing you to jump before you realised it was him. you stood up, and he immediately wrapped you up in a tight embrace. truthfully, physical contact like this, so intimate, it was a first for the two of you. sure you made eyes at each other and there was the subconscious flirting and deep conversations but you hadn’t made it past this barrier yet. not until now. he squeezed you like he hadn’t seen you in months, and you did the same for him. “please don’t do that again. you scared the hell out of me. i thought somethin’ happened to you…”

“i’m sorry i yelled at your dad. i was just so angry, you know?” a hint of sadness was clear on his face as he realised just how many of the arguments between him and his dad you had heard. he always suspected you knew, your eyes couldn’t hide your sadness when you looked at him for hours after.

“don’t apologise for that.” you pulled away from him slightly, his arms were still around you but you wanted to see his face. he tucked a strand of stray hair behind your ear, keeping his hand on your face as he moved down to cup your chin. your eyes were glued to one anothers, and before you knew it, his lips were on yours. it was sweet, and full of an emotion you couldn’t yet place.

when you finally separated, dean kept his eyes closed another few moments. like he was having a dream he didn’t want to wake up from.

“y/n… lord knows i’m not good at all this… but i really do care about you. i wasn’t sure at first, but.. today really sealed the deal for me, y’know? got a taste of how it might feel if i lost you, and… i never want to feel that again… i don’t even know what this feeling is.”

he hadn’t been in love before, and neither had you. but what else could this be?

“my hero. rescuing me from dave’s hardware.”

“shut up.” dean poked light-heartedly, letting out a short laugh.

“i feel the same, dean.” his eyes lit up.

“you don’t have to say that just so i look less like a loser professing my love outside da-“ he stopped talking the second he realised he said it. the l word. “let’s go.” he grabbed your hand, pulling you along and hoping you would forget.

“i love you, too. and i’m not just saying that.” he squeezed your hand, pulling you in close again.

“you do?”

“yes, obviously. you couldn’t tell?” sometimes he thought he could. then he would talk himself out of it. he didn’t think he could get, let alone deserve, anybody who came even close to you. you started walking while talking, and you held his hand tight. “wait a sec, did you walk here?”

“more like ran, but yeah.”

“why wouldn’t you take the impala?”

“i forgot the keys, and then.. i don’t know, i thought if i turned back after i realised, you would be long gone, i wouldn’t see where you went, and i would never find you.”

“dramatic.”

“yeah, well i couldn’t take the risk. not with you. never with you.” you walked back to the motel in a comfortable silence, your hand not leaving his for even a second. john was still up when you got back to the motel. you acknowledged each other when you walked through the door, and dean let go of your hand only to go and take a shower.

you sat on the edge of the bed, taking off your shoes. you shifted awkwardly when john sat down in front of you on the chair in front of the motel desk.

“y/n, about today. you were right. and don’t think i don’t think about that every waking moment.” you kept your eyes glued down, not wanting or caring to make eye contact. “i know you care about dean. you can keep on hunting with us, you’re valuable, but the second i see him acting out of line for you.. i can’t ignore that.” he stood up from the chair, making his way towards the door and leaving again.

once dean was out of the shower and you had had one yourself, you crawled into dean’s bed with him. it was the middle of the night and the only thing playing was re-runs of dallas, but. you didn’t care. dean slipped his arm around you, and your head lay to rest on his chest. he gestured to the tv when jr was on the screen, wearing a white cowboy hat. “think i would look good in one of those?” dean questioned, positioning himself to look down at you.

“most definitely.”

comments, feedback etc always appreciated! thank you for reading!

#supernatural #spn #dean winchester #supernatural fic #jensen ackles #supernatural x reader #dean winchester fic #dean winchester x you #dean winchester fluff #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester angst #supernatural x you #spn x you #spn fic

289 notes · View notes

greentrickster · 11 months ago

Text

Okay, so, been reading some good scumplane (OG!Shen Qingqiu/Airplane) lately, because in this house we support Airplane being loved by terrifying/terrifyingly hot men, but also, like... I do love Moshang just so so much as a ship.

And all this has awoken a mighty need in me.

A need for a Moshangjiu fic with scumplane getting established first and then bringing our favorite popsicle in on things.

Anyway, scenario! Shen Qingqiu starts noticing Shang Qinghua when they're disciples via the classic scenario of being smart enough to realize something is fishy about SQH being the only survivor of a demon attack, begins paying attention to his most anxious shidi, accidentally shows his most anxious shidi the simplest of Human Kindness, accidentally becomes shidi's favorite shixiong, accidentally becomes friends with shidi, accidentally catches feelings. Continues being a Sneaky Bastard in order to figure out what shidi is up to (and now also to confirm shidi is single).

Ah, shidi is entangled with an Ice Demon. This shixiong will make use of his scholarly peak's library to learn all and then decide to- wait. Wait, it's super violent by human standards, but is it- is this demon attempting to... court shidi?

...

Not if SQQ dates him first he's not!!!

There follows a whirlwind romance between SQQ and SQH where no one really knows what's going on, especially the two involved, it involves a lot of shit talking about everyone else in their lives, snacks, and accidental trauma bonding.

Also Airplane being Airplane and accidentally spilling that not only is he also kinda crushing (bad) on Mobei-jun, but also Mobei-jun's entire backstory and please, shixiong, I know it all looks bad but this shidi's house is literally the only place in the world it's completely safe for his king to sleep, everyone deserves to sleep without having to worry about their relatives murdering them for things that aren't their fault from time to time, right, shixiong???

Shen Qingqiu: ...goddammit, the demon's a fellow sad little meow meow. (only not in these exact words because he doesn't know these phrases, naturally)

In a wild, bold, and - dare I say it - shockingly sexy convolution of thought processes and ideas, SQQ manages to finagle SQH into letting him meet with MBJ (SQH nearly has a heart attack three times in the process but it's fine, it's cool, this is his life, this may as well happen, it's fine-).

SQQ: It has come to my attention that my shidi is spying for you on our sect.

MBJ: (glowering at SQH, who is cowering behind shixiong wondering how he got talked into all this)

SQQ: However it also appears that this is merely a cover story and the only thing you really do is use his room to nap. And also that you are quite fond of him.

SQH: (This is it, this is how I die. Again.)

MBJ: (...if I stare straight ahead and don't change my expression, no one will be able to tell that he's right)

SQQ: So anyway I think you should join Cang Qiong Mountain Sect.

MBJ: (gears grinding)

SQH: (squawking splutters of protest and confusion)

SQQ: (who speaks panicking!SQH at this point) Stop that, it's perfectly reasonable. He has the head disciple of our logistics peak under his thumb, it would be the simplest thing in the world for him to have you throw the sect into absolute chaos without even trying, then organize an attack, swoop in, and crush us all. He could have done it years ago, but he never has, he never even seems to initiate anything. I don't think he even cares about taking the Northern Throne, I think he's just incompetent about wanting to spend time with you. So he might as well just lie low until our shizuns ascend and then I'll take him on as a disciple on Qing Jing and you two can stop sneaking around like idiots.

MBJ: >8O

SQQ: Are you actually opposed?

MBJ: (folds arms and looks away sulkily, because like... it's true but you don't have to say it like that)

SQH: 8O ...reverse uno...

SQQ: What?

SQH: You're reverse unoing my blorbo!

SQQ: Quit making up word-

SQQ cannot continue because the System just presented the option to accept this potential new plot line (even if it does have the rather confusing title of 'Shidi Has Two Hands'), and holy shit, Mobei-jun seems to be potentially down for it, holy shit, apparently Mobei-jun actually likes me, holy shit, SQQ may have just solved all my problems-?!? This is great, this is fantastic, this is the best day of my life, this- is a long time I'm being allowed to be myself about all this, why is Shen shixiong not interrupting...?

Ah.

It is because I am kissing him full on the lips.

Cool cool cool.

At least I'm gonna die on a high note.

SQQ: O///O o_o (ahem) Shidi's- shidi's a really bad kisser.

SQH: Ah-haha, I can explain-

SQQ: We should work on that. Later.

SQH: (BEST DAY OF BOTH MY LIVES!!!)

MBJ: (I... did not actually hate watching that. Hm.)

Anyway, he agrees to the plan, SQQ and SQH start dating, some more time passes, the previous generation of peak lords ascend, the new generation take their places, and a week later Mobei-jun is an outer disciple of Qing Jing Peak.

The other peak lords are not amused, Qingqiu that is a demon, no.

SQQ: So what I'm hearing is that whole 'Cang Qiong will accept anyone from anywhere' philosophy was a lie then?

He's a demon!

SQQ: Children can't help where they're born. Now if you'll excuse me, I have classes to teach.

First lesson of the day is SQH and SQQ are a package deal, take it or leave it. Second lesson is no canoodling with Shang Shibo until you've finished with lessons and chores for the day. Third lesson is if you see any Bai Zhan disciples hassling our peak's disciples you can break their swords. Just snap 'em in half. Throw them off the peak. Don't kill them, but do make them cry.

SQH, meanwhile, has now seen MBJ in an outer disciple uniform and had a whole bunch of new awakenings on top of all the other things he already knew about himself.

And, in a twist of dramatic irony... Qing Jing's first disciple to ever have demonic heritage decides the dorms are a no-go after one night because, to him, they are broiling hot, how can anyone sleep in this heat, and chooses to go sleep in the wood shed instead.

#svsss #scum villian self saving system #moshang #scumplane #moshangjiu #shang qinghua #mobei jun #shen jiu #shen qingqiu #super fast and dirty outline to banish this plot bunny from my brain and inflict it on others instead

584 notes · View notes

purplecoffee13 · 4 months ago

Text

Nemesis with Benefits - Part 6

Summary: “Three weeks have passed, and the inevitable truth leads to some harsh conversations…”

Wc: 3.3k

Tropes: enemies-to-lovers

Warnings: ANGST big time, fighting, crying (my heart hurts)

A/N: hello… I finally finished the newest chapter and I immediately wanted to get it out so you can all read it. I am incredibly sorry that it took so long, and I am also sorry for the amount of sadness in this chapter… but it had to happen🥲

General Masterlist

Series Masterlist

It's been three weeks since you last saw Harry, and you feel terrible.

About what exactly? You're not sure. Dylan's sudden appearance. Harry just— walking out. What Harry and Dylan did to you. What you have been doing with Harry...

It seems that, just as the dust had started to settle, this tornado entirely threw you for a loop again. Finally getting to terms with your feelings and accepting the idea of a friendship with Harry, it all came crashing down the moment you spotted Dylan at that pool table.

You'd spent hours furiously scribbling in your notebook to understand the depths of this tricky situation you'd managed to work yourself into, but you haven't found a logical solution or explanation for any of it.

Only that Dylan is a total dick, that is.

You had to admit that you needed some time to come down from the shock and bottled up feelings that had exploded right in front of your face. But by the end of the week, you were ready to find Harry and talk about this. What that conversation would lead to, you had no idea, but speaking to him was vital.

And apparently impossible.

He wouldn’t respond to your texts, nor your calls when you eventually decided to give calling him a try. When you'd finally mustered up the courage to sneakily ask Benjamin about Harry's whereabouts, you were smacked in the face with the news that Harry had left.

He'd gone home to England to visit his family, Benjamin said. When you'd asked whether it had to do anything with the Dylan fiasco, Benjamin had shrugged and said that Harry did visit his family every single year. But he also mentioned he went a bit earlier than planned, so he thought the other night might have had a little bit to do with it.

Planned or not planned, it left you with a lot of confusion and doubt for the next two weeks, one of which you spent in your own hometown, trying to enjoy spring break as much as you could with a broken heart and an occupied mind.

You hadn't returned to your college town yet when Harry finally did, and you were bummed about not being able to talk to him. Rebecca and Benjamin were going to a party Harry was throwing so you guessed you'd hear about his state when you got back.

It would've be a bit embarrassing to admit, but it's one of the reasons you caught an earlier train this morning. You texted Rebecca, telling her you’d back sooner than planned. but you hadn't heard from her so far. While you'd thought it was a little weird, you figured you'd see her this evening anyway.

You didn't expect her to be at your front door.

A smile creeps onto your face as you neared her, leaving your luggage to the side as you open your arms for a hug, but Rebecca just stands there, arms crossed. Quirking up a brow, you ask:

"Hey, are you okay?"

A few seconds pass before she responds.

"We need to talk."

Absolute, utter dread fills your entire body as you nod, grabbing your suitcase. "What is it about? Do you want to go upstairs?"

Rebecca doesn't answer your question, she only nods in response to your second. You are quick to unlock my door and walk towards my apartment with her. The elevator ride is silent and excruciating, and when you've finally entered your living room, you're quick to ask away.

"Okay, what's going on?" Your question sounds almost irritated, which in hindsight doesn't seem very smart because it only seems to tick Rebecca off. What is going on with her?

"Harry threw a little get together yesterday," Your friend sighs, crossing her arms. "and I couldn't help but notice the familiarity of his home address when he sent it to us."

Your face pales. Oh my god, you are going to throw up. This cannot possibly be happening right now. Rebecca notices your instant change in the demeanor, her own growing angry. You take a few steps back and sit down on the couch.

"You slept with him, after what he did to you?! How could you do that?!"

You are at a loss of words, despite having thought about how you were going to break this news to her one day. "I— I don't know, I don't know..."

"What do you mean you don't know? You slept with the guy your boyfriend cheated on you with! God, have you no self-respect?!"

Her words hit you like a slap in the face, and as the tears roll down your cheeks, you begin to shake your head.

"Rebecca— I..."

"No, listen, Y/N. For months, Benjamin and I have been walking on eggshells, trying so hard to make sure you're comfortable. Benjamin even punched Harry, for Christ's sake. Do you even know that?"

You nod slowly, the guilt that has been tightening around your throat settling in your stomach as well.

"I'm sorry..." You peep, looking down at the floor. Meeting Rebecca's eyes is too terrifying at the moment. You can't handle that right now.

"God... why him? You don't even like him." Rebecca goes on, and the tears prickling in your eyes turn into full blown sobs as soon as the words have left her mouth. With your hands buried in your face, you don't see your friend sitting next to you, but you feel her rubbing your back.

"Shit... you like him, don't you?" She concludes, and your crying only increases at hearing that confession fall from another person's lips. This is the most complicated thing you have ever experienced. It takes a minute or so to finally manage to control your tears, and have calmed down enough to respond.

"I don't know how this happened." You confess between your sobs. "I didn't— I wasn't supposed to!"

"Hey, calm down." Rebecca pulls you closer to her, and you continue crying in her lap. "Everyone has at least one person they weren't— supposed to sleep with."

You pull yourself up, wiping away your tears as you shake your head. "I meant, I wasn't supposed to care about him. Sleeping with him was a choice I made, and I don't regret it because it was a distraction, and it worked. But it only worked because I hated him. I wasn't supposed to start... caring."

"Sweets, being that intimate with someone will leave you with no other option than to care for them, at least at some point." Rebecca reminds you. Your gaze is fixated on the ground, all these truths flying through your scrambled mind. You let out a heavy sigh.

"I'm sorry." You finally say, and another tear slips down your cheek as Rebecca strokes your hair.

"No, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have made that comment about self worth, that was uncalled for, and mean. I was just angry, but that's no excuse."

You look at your friend, whose eyes also seem to be blurry, and conjure a faint smile. "You're forgiven."

Rebecca pulls you into a tight hug, and it takes her a full minute before you finally get her to agree to let go. When she does, she immediately stands up and grabs a glass of water for the both of you while you wipe your smudged mascara away with a tissue.

"So, what are you going to do about it?" She asks when she sits down, handing you the glass. You shrug before taking a large gulp of the water before setting it back on the table.

"I have no idea."

Rebecca leans back into the couch, eyeing you for a couple of seconds before speaking up. "Can I be really honest here?"

You're careful to look your friend in the eyes, her bluntness scaring you sometimes, but you nod anyway.

"I think you two are a pretty good match— you know, if you wouldn't count all the shit that happened of course. I was actually surprised when you went out with Dylan instead of Harry in the beginning. I thought Harry was a much better fit for you.” She tells you, and your brow quirks up at her words. You didn't expect her to go down this route. “You're just... compatible, you know? Plus, I was convinced he liked you."

"Rebecca, he hated me from the start." You scoff, but she shakes her head intently.

"No I know, but I swear, he asked about you before that party where you met him and Dylan. I thought he was interested in you."

By now, you have your hands buried in your hair as you listen to all this new information that you are being fed by your friend. This is way too confusing and it's making your headache even worse.

"But then you told me he was being rude, so I just brushed it off as a lapse of judgment from my side. Of course now we know he was acting like an asshole to you because of Dylan—which I still think is a dick move, by the way." Rebecca rants on. The weight on your chest that had seemed to have subsided for a minute has grown in size again.

"My point is, your relationship with Harry has been a wreck from the start, and the main cause for that is Dylan. So if you can't get over the Dylan situation, it's probably going to be impossible to ever build a lasting relationship with Harry."

Rebecca's words ring in your ears. It's a revelation that has been looming in your mind for a bit now. There was a part of you that knew this was an extremely complicated situation and therefore didn't want to tackle it, as a possible solution seemed to be non-existent. You've hit a wall in your relationship—if it even can be called that—with Harry, and if you really want to move forward, you'll have to climb over that wall and hope Harry will take your hand and come along.

You sigh, your tired eyes meeting Rebecca's. "You're right."

************************************************

It's been about an hour since Rebecca left and you've been pacing your living room ever since, devising a plan on how to talk to Harry. What to say to him, how to say it, and with what outcome in mind.

A knock on the door relieves your from your taunting thoughts for a moment, but opening your door throws you for an entirely different loop as you find Harry standing across from you.

He looks worn out. The dark circles under his eyes aren't extremely prominent but the sole fact that they're there tells you enough. He also appears to be in gym clothes, which makes you wonder whether this trip to your apartment was planned or not.

"Hey." He croaks out, his eyes flicking up and down your face and body, calculating any reaction that might come from you.

"Hi." You respond breathlessly. Neither of you say another word—you spend most of the silent minute staring at him—until Harry finally clears his throat.

"Can I— uh..." his finger points towards your living room, and before you know it, you step aside. He enters your apartment, following you as you head for your couch.

Another dreadful silence follows as the both of you sit next to each other, waiting for the other one to break first. It's excruciating and it feels like it goes on forever. You don't realize you're picking at your nail beds until Harry's voice takes you out of your dissociative trance.

"I'm sorry."

"For what?" You scan his face, squinting your eyes a bit. There is something unsettling about his demeanor. It's so passive, at least it seems.

"For just leaving like that." He meets your eyes, and you notice the guilt displayed in them. Not knowing what to say, you refrain from answering as you think of everything that has happened. When you finally do open your mouth, Harry's focus on you is so intense that it makes you a bit nervous, the weight of your words becoming much heavier now that you know Harry will be hanging onto your every single one.

"You really hated me, you know. And it wasn't just because of Dylan. You despised me, always did, and I never understood why."

You watch as his eyes turn glassy and he shakes his head, softly whispering 'no' over and over again. Your brows crease at his attempt at—what seems to you—denial. He can't oppose that he hated you. He has literally said it multiple times.

"Don't pretend that you didn't Harry, I know you did."

"No, that's not—" he protests.

"Then what is it?” The questions falls off your tongue in a hurry, the frustration that has been bottled up inside of you slowly beginning to unleash. "The other night, right before spring break, I really thought we were on our way to becoming friends. I felt like it was actually possible. And then you just— left. One glimpse of him and you were gone.”

You take a deep breath before continuing. “It's been eating at me for the past three weeks that you just walked out and began ignoring me. So please, Harry, clarify it for me because I don’t understand any of this.”

Harry hangs his head and sighs. “It's complicated. And stupid... and probably doesn't make any sense."

"Then make sense of it." You command, leaning forward so he is forced to meet your eyes. He holds your gaze for a few seconds, then nods, a small frown on his face as he figures out what he wants to say. You try not to hold your breath as you wait for him to start, but you find yourself doing it anyway as soon as he starts speaking.

"I, uh— I'd liked Dylan for quite some time, and he knew that. He led me on for a long time, and I was trying to get over him, but it just felt like it was impossible, you know?" He explains, picking at the skin on his fingers out of nervous habit. You hum, telling him you understand without actually interrupting him. He continues.

"So, one day I was walking out of class and I ran into Rebecca. She was with you and some other girls, and you were all waiting for her while she was talking to me. I remember seeing you, and I thought you were very pretty, which was special to me because I hadn't felt so intrigued by someone in a long time."

Your heartbeat becomes more prominent, and suddenly you can feel it beating loudly as he speaks. You fiddle with your sweaty hands. He was intrigued by you? The nerves swerve through your stomach, not being able to make sense of what Harry is saying just yet. It’s contradicting everything you’ve known about Harry’s feelings towards you since you met him. But Rebecca’s words hang in the back of your head, and there is a wave of anticipation that almost overwhelms you: the anticipation that Rebecca might be right. Harry clears his throat.

“So anyways, I asked Rebecca about you and she told me you'd come to the party. Later, I was kind of— stalking you on Instagram, and Dylan saw. He teased me about it. Suddenly he started to give me loads of attention again. And I thought maybe he was jealous, and he had realized that he liked me, and this was finally the moment that it would all work out.” He says with a certain bitterness, not necessarily aimed at anyone but himself. As if he is mad at himself for those past rose-tinted thoughts he had regarding Dylan. “But then he got together with you at the party a couple days late, and I was just... so angry."

Harry’s eyes become glassy, and you feel your heart crack. After your break-up with Dylan it became clear how much effect he had on Harry. Now knowing the history, the constant push and pull, you don’t find it weird. Harry had allowed him inside his heart time and time again, all the while Dylan would just figure out how to play at his heartstrings. Just enough to keep him coming back everything single time, hoping something had changed.

“It felt like he wasn't allowing me to get over him. I had finally met someone who made me realize that maybe the first stages of like— love and dating shouldn't feel like your heart is constantly being ripped from your chest. That it could be innocent and fun. And it felt as if he was mocking me for it, by going after that hope and taking it away.”

He looks at you, and you give him a weak, sympathetic smile, swallowing away the physical pain you get from hearing about Harry’s emotional pain. Caring so deeply can be the most euphoric thing, but it’ll come back to bite you in the ass when the person you care about is hurting. You realize then, in that moment, how thin the line between a blessing and a curse is.

But when your hand finds his and you intertwine your fingers, you figure it’s more of a blessing anyway.

“And I just— I don't want to spin it as if you were a piece of meat, because Dylan cared about you. I saw that, and I hated it because I used to wish it was me. It made me be a dick to you, and I’m really fucking sorry about that, because you didn’t deserve that at all. If I could take all of that back then I would.”

He sighs as soon as all the ramblings of words have left his mouth, and you feel the weight of that sigh. His body tells you it as well: he’s relieved. Initially, you find yourself at a loss of words, and the only thing that your mind can generate as a response escapes before you can stop yourself.

“Well, if you take it all back then we bever would’ve have had such mind-blowing sex, right?” You blurt out, and Harry chuckles at your stupid joke. You laugh along as you try to scramble together a real answer, stroking his hand with your thumb.

“I’m sorry Dylan used you like that, I can only imagine how frustrating that is. And while I agree you should’ve never been so grumpy to me, I can’t say that I haven’t acted rude out of jealousy before.” You say earnestly, the thought of that night at the bar popping inside your head. You weren’t exactly nice to that girl Harry was talking to either. In fact, you didn’t acknowledge her at all.

“Rebecca said we need to get over the Dylan situation if we ever want to build any sort of relationship whatsoever. We need to forgive each other and move past it, otherwise we can never be— friends.” Your cheeks heat up at your quick save. It’s quiet between the two of you, but his grip on your hand doesn’t loosen the slightest bit. Harry is staring at his lap, making it difficult for you to read what he’s thinking. He raises his head to meet your eyes, and when you are met with the sight of a tear rolling down his cheek, your own vision blurs instantly.

"How can I forgive you for something you never did?"

The hopelessness of his question smashes your heart into a thousand pieces. You are quite sure you physically hear it crack. The broken pieces pierce into every part of your body, including your throat, that feels too heavy as you gather strength to answer him. Your breath hitches the first time you try to get some words out and fail, so your voice wavers when you manage to speak.

“I don’t know...”

Taglist: @hisparentsgaleryy @love-letters-to-uranus @moonwitttch19 @notmeherelol173 @fairytale07 @valuunit

219 notes · View notes