#i just don’t like being around a lot of people | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

itsnesss · 2 days ago

Text

𝐞𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐥 | hwang in-jo (the frontman) × fem!reader

summary | you stand in silence, completely under his control. every movement, every touch is his command, and you obey without question, craving his approval. your submission is absolute, each action bringing you closer to the edge of your devotion

warnings | smut, explicit content, dom!frontman, sub!reader, eroticism, objectification, fingering, size kink, p in v, unprotected sex

word count | 3.7 k

author's note | it would help me a lot if you liked, commented and reposted so that more people read what I write and don't forget to follow me, thanks ᡣ𐭩

The echo of your footsteps resonates against the walls of the dark room, the only sound daring to break the sepulchral silence of the place. Your short dress barely brushes your thighs as you walk, and the black mask snug over your eyes doesn’t manage to hide the shine in your gaze. You know he’s watching you, seated on that enormous black leather sofa with the giant screen in front of him. He always watches you, even though he never says it.

He’s wearing his mask too, as always. Black, with elegant and terrifying lines, a symbol of absolute authority. You’ve never seen his face, and deep down, you know you never will. But you don’t need to see it; the strength of his presence is enough to remind you who’s in charge here.

"Come closer." His voice, deep and commanding, cuts through the air like a blade. He doesn’t need to repeat himself; your legs automatically move toward him.

In front of the sofa, you stop and lower your head slightly, a gesture you’ve learned he likes. You don’t need words; he knows you’re waiting for his orders.

"Get me a glass of whiskey."

His tone leaves no room for argument. You turn around, your movements delicate and precise, like a porcelain doll designed solely to please him. You walk to the bar in the corner of the room, feeling his eyes—hidden behind the mask—on you the entire time. You know he doesn’t miss a single detail: the way the dress clings to your body, how your small hands move gracefully as you take the bottle and the glass.

You uncork the bottle and pour the golden liquid, ensuring the amount is exact. Not too much, not too little. You bring it back to him, walking with calculated steps, your heels resonating like a metronome marking the rhythm of your devotion.

When you arrive, you lean slightly to offer him the glass. He takes it, but his eyes never leave you—or at least, that’s what you imagine. Through the mask, it’s impossible to know what he’s thinking, but you can feel his intensity, the weight of his attention.

"Sit down."

The order is simple, but your heart skips a beat. You know what it means. You know where he wants you to sit.

With slow, careful movements, you place yourself on his lap. His hands, large and firm, rest on your hips, ensuring you don’t move too much.

"Are you comfortable?" His tone is softer, almost mocking, but you know it’s a test.

"Yes, sir," you murmur, nodding slightly.

He brings the glass to his lips, taking a sip as his eyes, hidden behind the mask, return to the screen. The sound of screams and gunfire from the games fills the room, but for you, everything fades away. The only thing that matters is being here, close to him, doing as he asks.

One of his hands slowly moves up your back, stopping just at the base of your neck. His touch isn’t affectionate, but it isn’t cruel either. It’s possessive, a silent reminder that you belong to him.

"You’ve been good today," he says after a long silence. His gaze seems to harden even through the mask as a player on the screen makes a fatal mistake. "You always do as I say, don’t you?"

"Always, sir," you respond firmly, without hesitation. Because it’s the truth. Because your only reason for existing is to follow his orders, to please him, to be his perfect doll.

He smiles, or at least you imagine he does. The slight tilt of his head and the change in his posture tell you he’s pleased.

"Good girl." The hand on your neck moves forward, until it covers your throat. Your breath stops for a moment, but you don't dare make a move. His fingers press gently and then release, like a caress.

His fingers trace their way back to your nape, where they begin to caress you gently. It is not a loving or affectionate touch; it is possessive, as if you were on display for an invisible audience, and he was just waiting for someone to claim you.

"I want you to take off the dress," he says suddenly, his voice low and grave.

You nod, trying to keep your breathing as calm as possible, as if this were a normal game. It is; it's just that he always plays with an advantage.

You slowly rise from his legs, giving him space to see you better. His eyes follow you, like the camera in a movie you can't control.

The dress falls to your feet, revealing your naked body. You have your hair up in a high bun, as always, because he prefers you that way. All so that you are more interesting, so that you feel more intimidated, so that he always has control.

"Well" he says, his voice low and soothing. He places the glass on the table. The game continues on the screen behind him, but he no longer seems to care. "Come here". The order is brief and unequivocal.

You obey, walking towards him until you stand between his open legs. His arms stretch over the sofa's armrests; the dark sleeves of his shirt, fitted to his muscular forearms, cannot hide the tension in his muscles.

"What do you want me to do, sir?" you ask obediently, because you know that's how it should be.

His fingers stretch out and stop just before touching your thighs. He stares at them for a moment before moving his hand up to cover your hip.

His grip is strong, but his touch is gentle, as if he were trying to calm a frightened animal.

"Don't ask me questions," he says softly. "Do what you're told". His eyes shift to the left, towards the table where he left the glass. "Pour me another whiskey" .

"Yes, Sir," you respond immediately.

Six steps are all you need to reach the table, but your legs feel like melted wax as you walk. You are afraid of doing anything wrong, of not pleasing him enough. You know that if that happens, he will punish you, and you don't want that. You never want that.

You uncork the bottle with precise movements and fill the glass exactly as you did before. After placing the bottle on the table, you turn towards him with the glass in your hand. The movement makes your hips sway slightly; his eyes must be fixed on them, but you don't allow yourself to look.

You stand between his legs again and lean forward to offer him the glass, without losing your composure, without trembling. You let him take it, his fingers brushing against yours fleetingly. You can't help but feel a spark of tension when his skin touches yours.

"You're trembling" he says coldly, after placing the glass on the table. "Why?" His fingers cover your hips again, and his thumbs move in small circles. "Have I scared you?"

"No, sir," you say quickly, as if that were the last thing you wanted. "It never scares me" . It's the truth, but there's a hint of fear in your words. The fear of not pleasing, of not doing enough.

He tilts his head, the mask covering his face like a shadow. His smile resembles a grimace, but you can't take your eyes off it.

"I understand," he says. His fingers caress you gently, as if they were comforting you.

You feel as if you have passed a test; as if, at least for now, you have pleased him enough.

"But there's something else you can do," he says, softly but with the authority that makes you tremble. Something I would love.

You nod. His fingers move downwards, brushing your thighs firmly and caressing them as if they were a carpet. The sensation makes you bite your cheeks, but you don't make a move. Not until he gives you permission.

His eyes linger on your breasts.

"That I like" he says. The hand that covers your thigh moves up to touch the tip of your nipple. You pull back slightly at the feel of his touch, but you don't dare move too much. "You like everything, don't you?"

"Everything, sir".

"I'm glad," he says. His fingers play with your nipples, caressing and stretching them in a way that makes you scream silently. "I'm very happy". His eyes remain fixed on your breasts, as if he were drawing them.

"Now come here" he says suddenly, his eyes shifting towards you. "I want to see better". He extends a hand and grabs your arm, pulling you forward without hesitation.

"Get on my lap" he orders. "And do it slowly".

The words are like an order that makes you tremble, but you obey, climbing up his legs slowly. The erection in his pants is palpable against the back of your thighs.

He whispers an approving sound when you sit on his lap. His fingers cover your breasts again, squeezing them and caressing your nipples with a soft but firm touch. His fingers continue their journey downwards until they touch your crotch, and when you feel more dazed than ever, he caresses your sex with a light touch, like a feather brushing your skin.

"Mmm, I like seeing you like this" he says softly. His fingers don't move away. The way he touches you is as if he were examining a precious jewel and didn't know what to do with it. "You are so wet, so beautiful. Do you like me doing this to you?"

"Yes," you say, because you know it's what he wants to hear. His fingers caress your inner lips, brushing against the clitoris with a light touch.

He smiles again, a dark and mocking grimace through the mask. His eyes seem to shine with satisfaction.

"And I'm glad you're enjoying it" he says. His fingers give your clitoris a little touch and then stop. "But there's something else you want, isn't there?"

"Yes..." The words slip from your lips without you realizing. "I love him". You feel a shiver in your legs as you say it, but you can't help it. You can't lie to him when he knows who you really are.

His fingers glide along the inside of your thighs, like a playful hand on a soft carpet. You don't dare to move, to breathe, to do anything that might ruin the moment.

"I understand," he says softly. "And it makes me happy" . His fingers slowly rise to touch your sex again.

"I'm going to give you what you desire". His fingers stop over your crotch. "If you behave" .

"I will do it," you promise, with a serious and sincere tone. Anything but not doing it.

"Good" he says. His voice sounds approving and pleased, like a king who has found a loyal servant.

"Good". His fingers change direction, taking the zipper of his pants between them. "Let me help you" he says. His fingers unzip the zipper with an audible sound and release his erection.

You nod and lean towards him, raising your knees to position yourself over his thighs and leaving space for his erection. You can't look at it without feeling embarrassed, but you have to. You have to look at her, because he orders it, because he wants it that way.

It is thick and long, the tip red and shiny. Her fingers encircle the base, covering the foreskin, before pushing it up, inside you.

"It's big" he says when you sit on top of him, wrapping around him with a muffled scream. "But you know what you have to do, don't you?" The question isn't real; it doesn't expect an answer. "You have to do it" .

You have to. There's no turning back, there's no escape. You just have to do it, because he ordered you to.

You start to move, the sofa sheets scraping against your thighs as you slowly rise and fall on his erection. He doesn't help you, doesn't grab or hold you; he just sits there, looking at you with an expression you can't see behind his mask.

The movements become a steady rhythm, the moans escape your lips as you make room for his erection with each rise and fall. You know he has control; he always has. He could make you stop with just one order, but he doesn't.

His hand glides over your back and hips before finding its way to your sex. His fingers caress it lightly before finding your clitoris; the contact makes you scream loudly.

"You're so wet" he says softly, his fingers playing with your inner lips. "So wet. You like it a lot, don't you?"

You can't answer. The question is like a test, something you know you can answer, but you fear you might get it wrong.

"Fine," he says softly after a moment of silence.

"Good" . His fingers change the rhythm on your clitoris, making them slower and softer. "I understand" . His fingers trace small circles over your sex.

"So you like me" he says softly, with a measured rhythm. "I like you a lot. His fingers touch your labia minora before sliding over the surface of the clitoris again.

"Say it" he orders with authority. His fingers stop moving when they await a response.

"Say that you like me". Her tone is like a knife, but the order is unequivocal.

"I like it a lot" you say, with a whisper that feels like a scream in your ears. "A lot" The sound of the word "mucho" makes his fingers move a little faster over your clitoris.

"So you like it" he says, with a dark smile behind the mask. "I understand". His fingers start to speed up again, making everything faster and stronger.

You can barely breathe when he touches you, your body covered in sweat and your sex dripping with moisture. You feel like you're going to die; not from pain, not from fear, but because pleasure has ruined you.

"That's how" he says "That's how I like it". His hand on your waist tightens as you make yourself smaller on him.

"This is how you should do it". His hand on your clitoris stops and he begins to caress your labia minora with a light but firm touch "I like that you are mine" he says, after a moment of pause.

"I like it a lot". Her words are not a question; they are an order. "And I know you like me too". His fingers begin to tug at your labia over and over again. "Don't be afraid" he says as your screams begin to grow in intensity.

"Don't do it" . His fingers brush against the clitoris suddenly, just before something explodes in your sex. The feeling is as if something were breaking your soul, as if your breath were slipping through your fingers while I hold you.

Your back arches as he holds you, your pussy turning each of his movements into an orgasm that makes the pleasure escape from you in a scream.

His fingers continue to caress your labia and clitoris as the orgasm consumes you, as if it would never stop.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, the orgasm begins to fade. Your body crumbles in his arms, your breath becomes a gasping torrent.

He holds you for a moment longer before letting you rest on his thighs. The erection remains inside you, hard and thick.

"You were good," he says softly as he starts moving under you again. "Very good." His eyes shine behind the mask, with a glimmer you can't decipher.

"I'm very happy". His fingers will cradle your hips and move you over him with a gentle rhythm.

"Do you know why?" You don't expect an answer; he never does when he asks a question.

"I stay away a lot because you know I'm the one in control". His fingers tighten around your hips for a moment, like a silent threat. "I will always have him" . His fingers loosen their grip on your hips again, but the rhythm of your movements doesn't change.

"And that's what I like the most". His fingers descend to touch your buttocks, caressing them gently before touching your thighs.

"Yes" he says as if he were talking to himself "That's what I like the most".

His fingers encircle your clitoris, playing with it. Each movement makes you scream a little more, as if someone were fiddling with a fire button in your crotch.

"So this is what you want" he says softly as your screams become sharper.

"You want me to fuck you like this, don't you?" His fingers quicken their pace on your clitoris. "You want it like this". He grabs your waist with his free hand, stopping your movements so you can't move. "You want to let him touch you, don't you?"

You nod, with your eyes closed. Your breath escapes between your lips and a torrent of sweat covers your back.

#squid game #squid game smut #squid game x reader smut #squid game x fem!reader #squid game x reader #squid game x you #front man x fem reader #front man x you #front man #front man x reader #hwang in ho

166 notes · View notes

maidenvault · 1 day ago

Text

Wow this is getting a lot of notes. And thinking about a lot of the comments/tags, I would add that I think this is one way it gets messy that fandom is a space for both media analysis and transformative works even though those two things don’t always co-exist comfortably or necessarily serve each other.

The overwhelming trend of fanfic as an art form is taking stories from any genre and basically flattening them into familiar conventions of romance with a pairing you like at the center, because you usually don’t get the explicit sex or total focus on romance in canon and it’s fun and interesting. Obviously that doesn’t describe all fanfic, or even all fics centered on ships, but it’s been a big part of fanfic culture for the many decades it’s been around. And obviously approaching the source material that way, or even just half-consciously always wearing your slash goggles, is not necessarily congruent with doing sound analysis of its themes and characterization.

At some point fandom got a higher opinion of itself as being important because fanfic serves an under-served audience, because you can find basically any kind of representation you want in fanfiction by just filtering by a tag. But then when people’s problematic biases show and fandom so often isn’t this super progressive space it pretends to be, fans have the excuse that this isn’t serious, it’s just porn, I write what is hot to me and I’m not gonna write a ship I don’t feel drawn to that way, what do you want?

And generally, in theory, that’s totally fair. If you’re truly just here to have fun with your kinky readerfic and don’t care whether your way of writing a character is supported by any evidence in canon, whatever. But it’s also often a conversation stopper, and fandom (at least on places like tumblr) is also a space for discussing the meaning of things in the source material. I don’t know if I have a main point here or an answer. But it’s a dissonance I wish fan communities were more aware of.

With David Lynch having just passed, this feels like a good time to share this classic piece on Mulholland Drive for anyone who hasn’t read this analysis. Lynch was famously reluctant to explain the meaning of his more surreal films, which obviously lend themselves to wildly different interpretations, which makes this movie a great example for Film Crit Hulk to explain in this what is actually needed to build a strong argument for your take on a subjective work of art.

Not “Only my reading of canon is correct” or “Interpretations are subjective and all valid” but a secret third thing, “More than one interpretation can be valid but there’s a reason your English teacher had you cite quotes and examples in your papers, you have to have a strong argument that your interpretation is actually supported by the text or it is just wrong and I’m fine with telling you it’s wrong, actually.”

#film crit hulk is kinda mean about Jeff Jensen in that though. idk what his writing about lost was like but his reviews of #twin peaks the return were phenomenal #fandom

19K notes · View notes

cllightning81 · 2 days ago

Text

Old Married Couple [CL16]

Summary : Working in your old job for some extra cash brings up a familiar face that you didn't expect to see.

Pairing/s: Charles Leclerc x Schumacher!Reader

Word Count : 5.7k (this was going to be short but I got carried away)

Masterlist

Driver Masterlist

Want to be included in my tag list? Click HERE

When you were asked to cover a shift at the little cafe where you used to work, who would you say no to? The owner and her daughter had become a third family to you, followed behind your actual family and childhood best friend family.

Turning around as the door opened, you didn’t expect to be confronted with said childhood best friend. You two still spoke all the time; it was like nothing had ever changed except it had. A lot had changed. He was chasing his dreams worldwide; your older brother had started pursuing his dreams, and your dad's. He’d gotten poorly injured.

“Y/N?” He asked, drawing you from your thoughts as you rounded the corner, almost running into his arms with a smile on your face

“You weren’t meant to be in Monaco” He frowned, and you shrugged a little

“It got a little suffocating back home, so I decided to come back here”, you replied, wrapping your arms around him

“And got a job here again, ice cream girl?” He teased as you pushed him away

“They asked if I wanted extra cash as some people are ill. There’s a sickness bug going around. I would have popped in to say hello when I returned, but I thought you were in Italy!” You exclaimed, walking back behind the counter

“I was in Italy. I just got back and decided I wanted a coffee, so here I am” He shrugged, and you turned around, taking a coffee port from the machine and knocking out the previously used grounds from the last coffee you’d made. The young girl you were working with was on her break and poked her head out to ensure it wasn’t too busy. Charles, being the only customer in the shop, you smiled at her, filling the port with ground coffee beans.

“How’s Mick and your family?” Charles asked, and you shrugged

“Mick’s living his dream. Gina’s having a baby girl. Dad’s dad and mum. She’s doing okay,” You replied, turning around to fill the milk jug with some milk

“How’s your family?” You asked, motioning for him to take a seat

“The same as the last time you asked. Which was two days ago?” He chuckled, and you shrugged, steaming the milk to make his latte.

“Something major could have happened”, you replied with a shrug of your shoulders before pouring his now-steamed milk into the cup and taking it over to him.

“Do you want any ice cream? Cake?” You asked, and he shook his head

“Diet says no”, he replied with a slight pout, and you laughed

“So, what are you doing with work now?” He asked, and you sighed

“I don’t know, Cha. I’ve got this brilliant engineering degree, yet no one wants a Schumacher to work for them,” you sighed. It had always been your dream to work in the same racing team as Mick. Yet every time he got hired. You didn’t. It hurt; of course, it did, but you wouldn’t tell Mick that.

“Maybe you’re just looking in the wrong places”, Charles offered, and you shrugged.

“I’ve tried non-racing teams as well” You sighed, looking around before taking the seat opposite him.

“Mon ami. Have you tried Ferrari?” He asked. You looked at him, shaking your head. You didn’t want to be compared.

“With Carlos leaving, some team members are leaving to join him. Lewis isn’t bringing many mechanics or engineers. Just a couple” He shrugged as the young girl walked out.

“Y/N? I’m done with my break. You can take yours.” She smiled while walking behind the counter as she fixed her apron.

“Thank you, Julie.” You smiled, getting up and squeezing Charles’s hand on the table. Walking into the small back of the shop, you removed your apron and grabbed your phone before walking to the front of the shop.

“Want to take a walk with me?” You asked Charles, who was happy enough to get up to pay for his coffee

“Yeah. You know I like walks” You smiled.

“Julie, don't charge him. I’m just going to get my lunch” You smiled as she nodded.

“Enjoy”, you hummed, walking out of the shop next to Charles

“How long until your shift ends?” He asked, and you looked at the clock

“I’m having lunch late, so it's only an hour. They managed to find someone to come in early but couldn’t get someone in the morning,” You responded as you fell into pace next to him, walking to the bakery just along the street

“I know maman would love to see you if you wanted to catch up in person together” " he offered, and you smiled, turning your head to look at that

“I’d love that” You smiled as you entered the bakery. The scent of fresh bread fills the air, and the freshly baked cakes and pastries fill the glass cabinets in front of you, their glass shining, obviously just newly cleaned.

You placed your order with the lovely woman behind the counter as you pulled some cash out of your pocket; however, Charles’ F1 reflexes bet you to pay

“Cha. I can pay for my lunch” You turned to him, and he shrugged

“You wouldn’t let me pay for my coffee” He replied

“I don’t like coffee, so you got my free on-shift coffee”, you replied with a hum, thanking the woman for your order before walking out of the shop

“Well, maybe I’m just trying to convince you to reconsider joining Ferrari. Imagine it. Me, you, travelling the world together just like you had planned. You, Max, travelling the world just like both your fathers had planned” You couldn’t help but laugh a little

“Yeah, Red Bull didn’t want a Schumacher. Horner’s word, not mine” You huffed, and he frowned, stopping in his tracks

“Oh, wait until I tell Max”, he muttered, and you shook your head

“Max knows. He wasn’t happy, but he got me the interview,” You replied

“You still speak to Max?” He asked. Something flashed across his face that you couldn’t quite understand or see for long enough

“Yeah, occasionally. He texted to check in on me and my dad, and when I mentioned I was still looking for a job, he offered to get me an interview,” you replied. Ever since your previous company went bankrupt, you have found it impossible to find a permanent job.

“He never mentioned it”, Charles frowned, holding open the cafe door for you. Smiling at Julie, you walk over to the table and sit beside Charles again.

“So, tell me about your life,” You replied, wanting to take the topic off yourself.

“The season went pretty well. I’m excited about a change of scenery with teammates; however, I will miss having Carlos as my teammate. Something just tells me I won’t have that kind of relationship with Hamilton,” He replied, and you nodded along, eating your food.

“Mercedes kind of didn’t make him do media for social media, so I have a feeling I’ll be doing those alone. Which isn’t the worst, but I enjoyed being competitive with Carlos,” He added as you tilted your head a little

“Yeah, those C-squared videos were quite good” " you replied with a smile, and he nodded.

“Who would you put in his seat if you had the choice?” You asked him, and he tilted his head a little, thinking about it as he sipped the coffee that Julie had brought

“Arthur, probably. All drivers work hard to get to Formula One, but I’ve watched Arthur struggle to live in my shadows his whole life. Hell, even Lorenzo lives in my shadows, and he’s older. So, probably Arthur or maybe Ollie. I quite like that kid” He nodded, and you couldn’t help but laugh a little

“You’ve adopted another driver” " you replied, and he frowned, looking up at you.

“What? Non!” He exclaimed, and you nodded

“I know that I avoid your invites to the paddock, but I’m not blind or deaf. The way you talk about Ollie and the way you’re always there for him. He’s your grid kid!” You exclaimed with a broad smile as Charles shook his head, attempting to deny it

“I’ve already got Oscar!” He exclaimed, and you shrugged

“You can have multiple kids”, you laughed, getting up to put your rubbish into the bin. Charles shook his head, saying it as you fixed something on the shelf that caught your eyes. You pulled your apron on before helping Julie with the coffee order that had just come in.

Over the next hour, the shop was pretty quiet, which gave you time to catch up with Charles on the stuff you hadn’t said over text because it either just didn’t feel right or you didn’t want to say it on text.

You said bye to the two staff members you’d met today before walking out with Charles. The silence was nice and comfortable as you walked through the streets of Monte Carlo to his maman’s hair salon.

Pascale had always welcomed you into the Leclerc family, even going as far as joking that you’d probably marry one of her sons in the future. You couldn’t help but notice how well the Leclerc genes hit Arthur and Charles in just the right places.

Eventually, Charles was the first one to speak up.

“If I could get you an interview at Ferrari, would you at least attend the interview?” He asked. You couldn’t help but sigh a little, quickly glancing at him. He was never going to give it up. Charles never gave up.

“I’ll do the interview, but only because I know you won’t stop until I do it”, you replied, and Charles smiled, wrapping you in a hug.

“Thank you!” He cheered before you continued walking with a laugh. You were soon on the same street as his maman’s hair salon, and he opened the door, allowing you to walk in first. Pascale looked up from her diary, standing up as quickly as Charles’ reflexes as she rounded the table.

“Oh, Y/N, look at you!” Her arms wrapped around you, pulling you into her arms before pulling back her hands resting on your face

“Après-midi Pascale” (Afternoon) You smiled, hugging her back. When you finally pulled away, Pascale moved past you to hug her son.

“Après-midi maman” (Afternoon) Charles smiled, kissing her cheek before ushering you to sit down.

“J'ai trouvé celui-ci dans son ancien café” (I found this one in her old cafe). Charles turned to Pascale, who raised an eyebrow before starting her conversation in French with Charles. While you could understand basic French while it was slow, it wasn’t a primary language, and they were talking too fast.

“Oh, I can’t believe you’re back here. You should have texted you could have stayed over. You’re getting too skinny,” Pascale fussed, and you smiled. You weren’t home in Germany often, so saying you didn’t enjoy her fussing would be a lie.

“I’m okay, Pascale” You smiled, holding her hand.

“Oh, you should join us for dinner tonight. The boys are coming over” She smiled, and you smiled up at her.

“I wouldn’t want to intrude, Pascale. It’s your weekly dinner” You frowned

“Nonsense. Charles talked her into it.” She walked away to speak to the client who had just walked in, and Charles laughed, sitting beside her.

“She’s as persistent as I am” He shrugged with a smile, pulling you into a hug. You couldn’t help but rest your head on his chest just like you used to when you were a teenager.

“Fine. I missed your maman’s cooking anyway. Takeaways aren’t hitting the spot anymore, and I’m losing money buying them,” You replied with a huff, and Charles laughed. His chest vibrated as he did.

“You know, if you were to dive into your savings accounts, you wouldn’t be losing money”, he replied with a shrug as you pulled away offended. Your hand on your chest

“Charles Leclerc! How dare you suggest I touch my savings? Those are for emergencies!” You exclaimed, and he laughed

“Get an interview with Ferrari, and you would never need to touch those savings”, he replied with a smirk as you rolled your eyes.

“I’ve already told you I’ll do the interview. What more do you want?” You asked, tilting your head as you glanced over at Pasclae, who was talking with a customer

“For you to join us at dinner. I know Arthur and Enzo would love to see you. Arthurs bringing his new girlfriend and Enzo bringing Charlotte,” He replied

“I’ve already said I’d do that as well. However, your maman is going to have me at every dinner now,” You replied, and he chuckled, pulling you back into his arms.

“Wouldn’t be the worst decision she’d ever made.” He smiled, and you rested your head against his chest.

Later that night, you were walking up to the Leclerc family home. It had been a while since you were last inside; however, you’d run past it almost every day on your run because it was the neighbourhood that you knew, like the back of your hand.

You were just about to knock on the door when the door was abruptly pulled open by none other than Arthur Leclerc, who, as usual, wasn’t watching what he was doing. Before you realised the door had opened, your hand hit his face. You both gasped at the same time.

“Scheiße! Arthur! Entschuldigung! Warum versteckst du dich hinter der Tür?” You panicked as Arthur's hand flew to his eye where you had just accidentally punched him. (Shit! Arthur! Sorry! Why are you hiding behind the door?) Charles came running out at the sound of your panicked German and almost doubled over in laughter

“Putain!” Arthur exclaimed

“Maman, Enzo. Arthur a encore récidivé!” (Mum, Enzo. Arthur did it again!) Charles called into the house as Pascale rushed out of the kitchen, ready to fuss over her boy and give a telling-off to whoever punched him; however, when she saw you, she turned to Arthur with a disapproving look. Lorenzo slowly followed behind, clearly unfazed.

“Quel garçon idiot. Je vous ai dit d'arrêter d'ouvrir la porte car les invités sont sur le point de frapper. Va mettre de la glace sur tes yeux.” She complained to Arthur. As Arthur retreated back into the house like a dog with its tail between his legs.

“Garçon idiot et idiot" " she muttered to no one in particular as Charles looked at Enzo before they both started laughing again (What a silly boy. I told you to stop pulling the door open as guests are about to knock. Go put some ice on your eye. Silly silly boy)

“Désolé Pascale”, You whispered, looking at the older woman who turned to look at you with a soft look (Sorry)

“That was Arthur’s fault. He thinks it’s funny. He’s learned his lesson this time. Now, why you were going to knock in the first place is beyond me” She shook her head disapprovingly, and you quickly came up with an excuse.

“I was just going to use it to announce my presence. In case you were talking about me,” You joked, and Pascale laughed, ushering you into the house. Charles pulled you into his arms, kissing your cheeks before Lorenzo did the same thing.

“It’s good to see you, Y/N” He smiled before walking back into the house to his fiance as you looked at Charles, who started laughing again.

“Oh, your face” He laughed as you shook your head, pushing him out of the way.

“Enfant préféré” (Favourite Child), Arthur muttered as he walked past you and Charles. You both looked at each other before laughing again. Pascale had a soft spot for you, and if that weren’t shown in her reaction to that incident, you wouldn’t know what would show it.

Arthur’s new girlfriend walked out of the living room to see what was happening and possibly what her boyfriend was complaining about. You smiled over as Charles took his time to speak up.

“Ah, Jade. This is Y/N. She’s one of my best friends. Well, I think maman adopted her when we were about nine” He shrugged, and you waved in her direction.

“Nice to meet you” You smiled.

“You too. What’s ‘Thur shouting about?” She asked as Charles started laughing all over again. For something so simple, he was easily amused.

“Oh, I went to knock on the door, and he pulled it open with his head right where I was about to knock”, Jade giggled to herself as she nodded.

“I’ll go find him” " she giggled, walking into the depths of the house as you followed Charles into the living room. Pascale still had all her favourite photos decorating the house, with a few extra ones added. The one that took pride in the middle of the mantle piece? One of you and Charles smiling at each other on the couch as Arthur slept over both of your legs. You stopped and looked at for a moment before Charles turned to look at you.

“He hates that picture. Maman loves it. She says it shows our siblingly bond.” He chuckled, resting his arm around your shoulder and talking you through the newer pictures that had been added.

Within the hour of being at the Leclerc household, it was like you had never left it in the first place. Like you’d been at every family dinner since you went to University and left Monaco to join your family back in Germany.

Despite the incident with her boyfriend, you and Jade seemed to be getting along well, even if Arthur was still annoyed at the whole incident. Mama Leclerc wasn’t about to let you take the blame for that.

Your head rested on your hand as you spoke to Charles after almost begging Pascale to let you help her with desserts; however, she refused each time.

“You should come out with me tomorrow night”, Charles declared as you tilted your head, waiting for more information about this night out. However, he didn’t continue, causing you to roll your eyes slightly.

“More information, Leclerc” " you prodded, and he hummed before nodding

“Right, yeah. Some of the grid is going out tomorrow night just to the restaurant, but we wanted to get to know the rookies because some of them have just been thrown in at the deep end, like Ollie,” He finally continued as you nodded along with his words before sitting up straight

“Does that mean I get to meet your sons?” You asked with a large smile, and he nodded slightly

“Yeah, I guess so” You smiled, clapping your hands a little

“I’ll be there then” You hummed.

Later that night, you were still in the Leclerc household, cuddled into Charles’ side as you watched a movie.

That next night, you weren’t expecting Charles to pick you up in his Ferrari; however, you walked outside the hotel room you were renting for the moment, meeting him at the front. He’d said the dress code was casual, but as always, you felt underdressed next to the Ferrari driver.

“You ready?” The Ferrari driver smiled, and you nodded, checking everything in your bag: phone, keycard, purse, random bits and bobs.

“I think so” You hummed and nodded while walking out to the car with you. He couldn’t have been the more perfect gentleman, and you were beginning to think he’d tricked you into a date. He opened the car door for you, helped you with your seatbelt, and even helped you out of the car when you arrived.

Walking into the restaurant beside him, you were happy to see the other drivers sitting around the table, including some of the rookies, which there was a lot of this year compared to previous years just past. Charles pulled out a seat for you, allowing you to sit down, and you smiled politely at him.

One seat remained, and you looked around the table, attempting to figure out who would still arrive. Charles leaned over his arm on the back of your chair to steady himself.

“This is a whole plan. George is the last one to arrive, hence how there's a seat left next to Max,” He whispered with a smirk, and you turned to him with a slight laugh.

“So you invited me along for World War Three?” You whispered back, turning your head to him, to which he nodded happily

“I knew you’d want to watch the drama” He chuckled, and you laughed before Charles leaned back a little

“Ollie?” He asked, and the boy, two seats down, turned around to look at you both. The boy you believed couldn’t be old enough to drive in Formula One also turned around. Two for one, you chuckled to yourself.

“Y/N, this is Ollie. Ollie, this is my childhood best friend, Y/N” He introduced you both, and you smiled at the young boy.

“Nice to meet you, Ollie. Charles talks about you a lot” You smiled, pleased you finally got to meet one of his grid kids.

“Oh my god”, Ollie whispered as the other boy sitting next to you just saw with his mouth slightly agape. You couldn’t help but have a little laugh to yourself.

“Oh, and Y/N, this is Kimi. He’s driving for Mercedes this year” He motioned to the other boy, and you smiled.

“Nice to meet you as well, Kimi” Kimi looked like he was gonna faint, and you could hear Charles sniggering behind you.

“You’re like-” Kimi was cut off by a nudge in the ribs from Ollie, who had previously received one from Liam Lawson, who sat beside him.

“Hey, Y/N” He waved down the table, and you waved back, turning to Charles.

“You broke them”, you whispered harshly to him, to which he just shrugged in return, watching as everyone's heads slowly turned as George walked in. You bit your lip, waiting for his reaction to the only seat. To everyone’s surprise, after Max said the seat was available, he picked it up and moved it. Hiding your mouth behind your hand, you quietly laughed, noticing the Haas and Mercedes drivers beside you doing the same thing.

Charles nudged your leg with his foot, and you turned to look at him with a smile, to which he nudged his head in the other direction of the table, which had you turning around to see what he was on about just to see the Red Bull driver attempting to start a conversation with the Mercedes driver.

The disagreement was one-sided as Max attempted to clear the air between them. Still, you could also clearly see that George wasn’t interested in listening to what Max had to say, and on the following media day, George would be starting rumours.

Throughout the night, you got to know the two rookies sitting beside you, and you couldn’t lie. You had taken a liking to them. You now understand why Charles was so supportive and why he was always worried about Oliver. You had a feeling that maybe if you got the job at Ferrari, it wouldn’t be so bad.

Two months later, you’d gone to the job interview with Ferrari mainly for Charles’ sake because you could see that he was getting annoyed with you sleeping in a hotel and not accepting his invitation to stay in his spare bedroom.

Now, here you were, walking into the Bahrain paddock with Charles at your side, laughing about something he’d just done that shouldn’t have been as funny as it was. You’d accepted the job because the thought of sitting at home any longer stressed you out because, to start with, it wasn’t home, and you were getting bored.

You’d grown closer to Charles over the past three months, even joining him and some of your shared friends on a skiing trip meant to help him “train”. You just believed it was a pilot thing because whenever you opened Instagram, there was another F1 pilot skiing or snowboarding somewhere.

“Are you feeling ready?” Charles asked, and you just smiled thinking about it

“Yeah. I think this is where my dad wants me to be. Even if Mickey isn’t in the paddock anymore, it was our dream” Charles pulled you into his side as you walked.

“Michael would want you to be here, and you already know that Mick wants you here” He smiled, and you nodded.

“Yeah, you’re right” You stood up a little taller.

“That’s it, ice cream girl”, He joked, and you pushed him away with a laugh.

“You know I always thought you’d end up with Arthur”, He hummed, and you looked at him with a raised eyebrow.

“What?” You asked with a laugh

“It just always looked like you two had a thing for each other. I got slightly jealous at one point,” He confessed, leading you into the hospitality with a hand on the small of your back.

“You’re joking, right?” You asked, and he shook his head. You were about to respond when you were interrupted by Fred. You couldn’t tell your new boss to fuck off for a moment so you could continue this conversation, so you left them alone and went to make acquaintance with some of the other mechanics.

An hour later, you were standing outside the Ferrari garage when Oliver walked by, looking stressed. You frown, pushing yourself off the wall and walking over.

“Ollie”, You called out slightly.

“Oh, Y/N. Hi” He smiled slightly; however, you could see that the smile didn’t reach his eyes.

“Is everything okay?” You questioned gently

“My dad was meant to come out for testing, but Thomas has this major competition where he needs a parent to go with him, and you know I’m nineteen. I don’t need a parent,” He informed, and you frowned, opening your arms to take him into your embrace.

“Everyone needs their parents. What about your mum?” You asked, and he shook his head, and you instantly regretted asking

“Oh, I’m so sorry. I didn’t realise,” You rambled, and he shook his head again with a laugh, moving his head from the crook of your neck.

“No, it’s not like that” He giggled a little as you breathed.

“Every time she’s come to a race, it’s like she’s bad luck, so she doesn’t come any more,” He explained, and you nodded in understanding.

“Well, Ferrari might not be exactly happy if I join you in the Haas garage; however, I will be in the Ferrari garage if you need some support. If you need some support regarding the car or driving, Charles will be more than happy to help you if he can,” You assure him, and he nods, pulling out of your arms.

“Thank you. That helped a little,” He mumbles, and you nod

“I might not be your mum or dad, but if you or Kimi need anything, I’ll always be willing to help if I can” You smiled, and he nodded

“Thank you. I’ll tell him because he’s scared of you,” He confessed, and you chuckled

“I’m not scary. I get my surname makes people scared, though” He nodded

“He doesn’t want to say anything wrong even though he’s worked with Mick for years.” He laughed, and you could see that it was a genuine laugh. He wasn’t as stressed as he was when you started this conversation.

“I’m better looking than Mick and Gina, though” You joked, and he laughed. You turned your head as your name was called.

“You know where to find me if you need me.” You smiled while walking over to the group of mechanics who were discussing.

About an hour later, Charles was walking along to hospitality with you, and he bumped your shoulder with his own

“And you talk about me having grid kids. It’s your first day here, and you’ve already got two” He chuckled, and you looked at him.

“What, no, I don’t.” You frowned, and he nudged his head towards Andrea and Oliver, sitting outside the Ferrari hospitality.

“It’s not my fault my motherly instincts kicked in! They’re just kids!” You exclaimed, and he nodded

“I know they are. It’s a brutal world here as well” You sighed with a nod. You’d seen it from your side when Mick was going through it. You never really got to see your dad's race in person, and it’s something you wish you could change, but you can’t change your age.

“I think we need to talk tonight” You started looking up at him as you walked, to which he nodded.

“I think so, too” He nodded with a smile. You separated from him, walking over to the young drivers.

“You two are quite far from your garages and hospitalities”, you joked, and Ollie looked up with a smile.

“Y/N!” He smiled, almost jumping out of his seat from seeing you

“Kimi and I were wondering if you’d be free tomorrow after testing.” You raised an eyebrow while looking between the two rookies.

“It’s not for anything bad!” Kimi adds, looking up at you

“We were joining some of the grid for drinks after testing and were kind of scared”, He whispered, and you nodded.

“Yeah, I’ll be there, but you know there's nothing to fear. Most drivers are lovely, but I can give you insight on who to avoid when there’s alcohol on the go.” You winked while sitting down next to them to give them the gossip.

Later that night, you cuddled Charles in his hotel bed with your head on his shoulder.

“I think we should talk about earlier before Fred interrupted”, you whispered, and he nodded slightly. Shifting so that he could see your face

“Yeah, I think I confessed something I shouldn’t have?” He whispered, and you giggled a little

“Want to repeat that confession?” You asked, and he frowned

“Not really, non” He shook his head, and you couldn’t help but pout slightly

“Okay, fine. I said I got jealous when I thought you and Arthur liked each other” He sighed as you rested your chin on his chest.

“And why would that be?” You asked with a slight smirk, and he pushed you away jokingly and with an eye roll.

“Maybe because I also liked you?” He confessed in a whisper, and your eyes widened, not expecting him to admit that.

“What?” You asked quietly, and he looked out the window

“Don’t worry about it. I won’t let it change anything between us. It never has, and it never will” He shrugged, and you pushed yourself so you were sitting up next to him. Your hand reaches out to hold his jaw and turn his head to face you. Charles’ eyes avoided your own as you leaned down and pressed a kiss against his lips.

It took him a moment before he finally kissed you back; your hand dropped from his jaw to his chest as his arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer to him. After a few moments, you had to pull away, your forehead resting against the Ferrari driver.

“I don’t have the same lung capacity as you”, you joked, allowing your breathing to calm down as he laughed a little.

“Now, if I knew that all I had to do was confess that I was jealous, I would have done it a long time ago” He smiled, and you hummed, laying your head on his chest again.

“We had kids before we even got together”, you joked, and he rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, that is only a few years off our actual age” You shrugged in response, looking up at him as you kissed his jaw. Charles pulled you closer to his side.

When you and Charles finally returned to Monaco, you both decided to tell Pascale. Needless to say, the older woman was more than ecstatic about the situation, her dreams finally coming true for her son and now her daughter-in-law (well, almost. She didn’t care, though)

Pascale had decided it was a reason to celebrate, so now you, Mick and the Leclerc family were out at a fancy restaurant she had picked. Charles’ warm hand was settled on your knee as he spoke to his brothers, and you talked to your own with your hand rested over his.

“I wish Gina could have flown out for this. She would have loved to see you two” Mick smiled, a teasing tone hidden in his voice.

“I wish she were here as well, but she’s giving us a niece, so can’t complain”, you replied with a slight shrug.

“Your turn next,” Mick teased, and you rolled your eyes and shook your head.

“You and Laila have been together a lot longer than we have”, you replied

“Yeah, but you two have been friends since we started karting. You lived with him for some time. You’re basically a married couple.” He argued, and you shook your head

“You and Laila are a married couple!” You exclaimed

“Den Mund halten! Wir sind noch nicht verheiratet! Versuchen Sie, niemandem zu erzählen, dass der Verlobungsring in meiner Schublade liegt, oder?” He exclaimed (Shut up! We're not married yet! Try not to tell anyone the engagement ring is in my drawer. Will you?) as Charles turned his head to look at you both

“Everything okay?” Charles asked

“Mick’s just getting a little excited.” You smiled, pressing a kiss on his lips, to which he nodded, content with the answer.

Later that night, you and Charles were cuddled in his bed. His hands threaded through your hair as one of your hands rested on his chest.

“Can’t believe I get to call you mine, mon amour” He smiled, pressing a kiss into your hair as you looked up at him with a smile.

“Well, you better believe it because you’re stuck with me twenty-four seven Schatz.” You hummed, kissing his jaw as your hand moved from his chest to his face, cupping his face.

“To think that we started off racing together, and look at us now” He rested his head back on his pillow as you watched his face turn into his thinking face. After a moment, you spoke up.

“What are you thinking about?” You asked softly

“Just our journey getting to this point in life” He smiled

“We did follow the best friends to lover troupe”, you joked, and he looked at you with a frown

“The what?” He asked

“Don’t worry about it, Schatz” You smiled

Tag List

@thewannabewriter , @lozzamez3 , @barcelonaloverf1life , @hiireadstuff , @mxdi0 , @f1kenzzz , @evie-119 , @ahgase99 , @velocesainz , @talksoprettyjjx , @scarletwidow3000 , @thegrapejuiceblues1982 , @jasons-little-princess , @tellybearryyyy

@zabwlky1999 , @callsignwidow , @chocolatepoetryfun , @lwstuff ,

@destinyg237 , @glitzyditsy , @sltwins , @myloverjk , @rqlstefanny , @alex-wotton , @tpwkstiles , @maymustdie , @formula1-motogpfan , @genuisalpaca (i love this username btw :) ) , @sophiacalabrese , @alice-went-away , @luvr4miya , @norstappenvibes , @somerandomf1fan (beautiful profile picture) , @teti-menchon0604 , @themazerunnerobsession

#charles leclerc x female reader #charles leclerc x reader #charles lecrelc #charles leclerc x you #cl16 x y/n #cl16 x you #cl16 imagine #cl16 x reader #f1 #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 fic #f1 imagine #formula one #formula one x reader #formula 1 x reader

348 notes · View notes

themultifanshipper · 3 days ago

Note

I don’t know if your down but I need more mark webber smut or jenson or even both I just can’t find anything for older divers except seb (don’t get me wrong I love them but fuck I need mark and jenson ones so bad ) also love your fics but the foursome one was next level

After Danica got fired, Jenson hoped there would be no replacement. That he’d be paired up with one of his other SkySports colleagues.

Instead, you showed up. All pretty eyes and bashful glances, and he didn’t know quite what to do with himself.

(Yes that is an old pic of Jenson to which I added a beard, you're welcome)

Warnings: smut, age gap, masturbation, making a sex tape, multiple orgasms, Ted Kravitz being cringe at the end (but that’s why I love him don’t @ me), not proofread

Jenson knew you were always nervous around him. Understandable, given how much disdain he’d shown his previous colleague.

You were incredibly sweet to him, and he would be lying if he said he wasn’t immediately smitten with you. Very early on he decided to not get too close to you, for a number of reasons. You were young, definitely too young for him, and he didn’t want to come off as the creepy older colleague infatuated with the woman under his wing, so he kept a reasonable distance.

It didn’t take you long to get used to the job. You were young, but you were incredibly mature. Never distracted, always asked pertinent questions in interviews, and in no time you felt right at home in front of the cameras. A true professional.

Which was more than could be said for what went on inside Jenson’s mind every time he looked at you. He didn’t know how to act around you. He didn’t want to come on too strong or you might get the wrong idea, and he didn't want to scare you off.

Unfortunately, that didn’t translate very well on camera, and just made him look like he didn’t like you at all.

He admired you, in a way, being one of the youngest in the biz. He knew he stared at you way too much, but you didn’t seem to notice.

He was sure everyone else probably noticed, so he decided to stop staring, and instead tried to look as neutral as possible whenever he was around you.

“She’s so much nicer than Danica, I don’t get why Jenson doesn’t seem to like her”

People on twitter didn’t know how to react.

“Why is Jenson looking at her like he wants to run her over with his car 😭”

You would spend quite a lot of time reading tweets about you. Sue you, you wanted to see if you were well received by the fans, knowing full well how critical people could be.

“If Jenson wants to quit his job I’ll gladly take his place if I can be next to her”

And they were half reassuring, half mortifying. Because yes, they seemed to like you, and appreciate you replacing Danica, but you indeed started noticing how Jenson looked at you during interviews.

You had no idea why he didn’t like you. You couldn’t remember doing anything to annoy him, and he sure as hell hadn’t said anything to you whenever you talked to him alone, so why did he look at you like he wanted to run you over?

The actual problem, was that Jenson’s mind wandered. And it wandered into very dangerous territories.

He knew it was wrong, and he knew he should stop it immediately, but something about having forbidden fantasies about his colleague was too exciting to stop.

So when he was feeling particularly riled up, or bored, or whenever he was at home, really, he’d think about you.

About your soft lips that he couldn’t help staring at. About your hands, your delicate fingers wrapped around the microphone while you held it up to whoever you were interviewing.

He thought about those infuriating shirts you wore. They weren’t low cut, but they were tight.

He thought about the time he’d been working out in the hotel gym at night, when you sauntered in, in nothing but a sports bra and tight shorts. He didn’t know whether to be thankful or spiteful of the hot Singaporean weather.

“Oh hi, Jense!” you’d called out cheerfully.

Jenson’s hips stuttered and he came all over his hand at the memory. Damn you and your tendency to give people affectionate nicknames.

Sometimes, when he needed... material, he’d pull up your instagram. You had a few photos on there of you in tight dresses at events, and... some of you at the beach, wearing bathing suits with varying degrees of coverage.

He never lasted long when he pulled those out.

It never took long for the guilt to set in either, gnawing at him while he did his best to go about his business. He knew he had a problem, but he didn’t know what to do about it.

He was in half a mind to quit his job, but even that idea failed him when he saw your sweet sweet face look sad when he’d mentioned his retirement.

So months went by, and you got closer. One could even say you were friends. You got on well, and when you were alone the banter flowed naturally, despite the generational divide. You had the same sense of humour, often jokingly flirting at each other. He called you ‘young lady’, and you called him ‘old man’... and in a way it helped him stay on track, not get too absorbed into the chemistry he had with you.

But the guilt still gnawed, and when the cameras rolled, he put the stick back up his ass and pretended you were nothing more than Danica’s replacement.

Who the fuck decided it was a good idea to race in Vegas, in november?

He felt like he was stuck in a loop. An endless cycle of guilt and pretty eyes and twitter comments.

...

Whoever it was deserves to get their head bashed in, Jenson thought as he huddled against some tyre warmers.

Evening sessions were a nightmare, and they just got colder as the days went on. The tyres may have been cold, but you and Jenson were freezing your proverbial nuts off while you waited for the drivers to get out of their cars after qualifying.

The interviews were fine, but it was clear everyone was just desperate to get back to their hotels to warm themselves up.

Everyone except Jenson, it seemed.

...

You ran into him in the lobby of your hotel when you went down to ask for blankets.

Apparently, the biting cold was fucking with the electricity, so the heating wasn’t great in some of the rooms. And the phones were dead, so you had to go to the lobby if you needed anything.

It was around 2 AM, and Jenson was at the bar having what appeared to be a whiskey on the rocks.

“Jense? What are you doing down here?”

His eyes snapped to you immediately and he sighed.

“Could ask you the same question, young lady.” he chided, and you rolled your eyes.

“The heating’s not working properly so I’m going to ask for blankets” you took a seat on the bar stool next to him “What about you, old man?”

He huffed out a laugh, taking in your polka dot pyjamas peeking out from the fluffy dressing-gown you had on.

“The heating’s completely off in my room. And they’re out of fucking blankets.”

Your face fell, the blankets had been your last hope.

“Shit...” you eyed him as he took another sip. “That’s rough...”

“Yup” he popped the ‘p’ dramatically, fingers wiping at the condensation on the side of his glass.

“And your plan is... to stay here and drink until tomorrow?”

He chuckled. “No, my plan is to drink as many of these bad boys as it takes to not feel the cold anymore, and by that point, I should be slightly happier about being here”

He winked at you and downed the rest of his glass. You knew he wasn’t a fan of Vegas, and neither were you, so it had become a sort of inside joke.

“That’s a terrible plan. It’s better to have company in the cold than drink it away on your own.”

“So... what? Are you going to drink with me?” he chuckled “You going to give an old man some company?” he cringed at his choice of words, the whiskey must have already affected his judgement.

You leaned in closer with a cheeky smile. “No... I’m inviting the old man up to my hotel room.”

Jenson’s brain stalled as he stared at his empty glass.

“I uhh...” he gulped “I’m not sure that’s a good idea”

“Why not? I’m sure we can find some way to keep warm...” you muttered, sliding off your chair.

This couldn’t be happening. Jenson tried to keep his cool while his mind went a million miles an hour. He was just imagining things. You were not flirting with him, it was the whiskey making him interpret your words as something else. You weren’t suggesting-

“If we work together, I bet we’ll be sweating by the end of the night” you purred.

‘Don’t do it Jenson’, his brain supplied, she’s only joking. She doesn’t want you in that way, you’re much too old for her! Don’t throw your career away over-

“Besides, what’s the point of touching yourself to my instagram photos, when the real thing is waiting in the next room.”

Your hand on his thigh made him jump slightly. He turned his head to look at you questionningly.

“You’re not as slick as you think you are” you smiled, fingers brushing against his rapidly growing bulge. “Did you know that when you accidentally like a pic, then unlike it, it still sends me a notification?”

Jenson gritted his teeth, but made no effort to move your hand. “Obviously not, no”

“And did you know” you grinned, movements growing bolder as you rubbed him through his pants “that you’ve liked the same 4 posts about 50 times, and always at night?”

Your body was pressed against his side, and he was basically throbbing under your touch as he tried to keep his composure. “And you seem to really like the ones of me in Bali...”

He tried to choke out an excuse, but you cut him off. “I know you want me...” your faces were inches apart, he was panting against your lips as you teased him. “So come and get me”

You retreated completely, turning on your heel to walk across the lobby. Your heart was beating through your chest at what you’d just done.

You pressed the button for the elevator and waited with bated breath, not daring to turn around.

It felt like an age before the doors finally opened, just as you suddenly felt his presence behind you.

He undid your robe silently and slid a hand into your pyjama pants, and his breath hitched when his fingers came in contact with your wetness.

He quickly pushed you inside, clicking the button to your floor before pressing you against the mirror.

“Fucking hell... you’re soaked”

“Jenson, please” you begged, and he didn’t hesitate to slip a finger inside you, curling it perfectly as you mewled under him.

“Desperate little thing, aren't you?” he cooed, adding another finger.

Your eyes rolled back, breath fogging up the mirror as the obscene sound of his slick fingers filled the small space.

By the time the elevator got to your floor, you were trembling and gasping for air.

You couldn’t keep your hands off each other all the way down the corridor, slamming each other against various walls and probably making a racket while you were at it, but neither of you gave a damn when it felt so good to be touched.

...

Clothes were thrown haphazardly all over the place, and he wasted no time spreading your legs to get a taste of you.

Well, he got more than a taste. He buried his face between your thighs, not once coming up for air as his tongue dragged you to edge of a mind numbing orgasm.

It wasn’t too long before you started to feel the burn of his beard insistently rubbing against your inner thighs as he ate you out with gusto, but his mouth felt so good sucking on your clit, you didn’t care, if anything, it made the sensations more intense.

But he didn’t stop there, he kept going, sliding his fingers into you, that he curled expertly against your g-spot.

His extra years of experience hadn't been wasted, you thought. After all, everyone knew what he was like back in the day... and he certainly knew his way around.

That’s how he got you to your second orgasm of the night, thighs clamping down around his head as your hips bucked against his skilled tongue and fingers.

He crawled over you, capturing your lips in a searing kiss, in which your could taste yourself, and feel your wetness cling to his face. The kiss quickly turned sloppy when your hand went down to stroke his cock, thumbing at the tip to spread his precum around.

“This is definitely better than your holiday in Bali” he groaned and you giggled at the statement.

He lined himself up with your dripping cunt, ready to slide in and make all his fantasies come true, when you suddenly had an idea.

“Wait!” you gasped, pushing him away and looking around wildly. “Where’s your phone?”

“What?” he panted.

“Or mine, either will do” you spotted one of the two on the floor just next to you so you reached down and took it, turning the camera on. It was Jenson's.

“What on earth are you doing?” he asked, hands wandering across your thighs impatiently.

“Giving you some new material” you propped it up on the nightstand and started recording. “Lie down”

You shuffled around until he was laying on his back and you were straddling his hips, his tip poking at your entrance.

“Ready, old man?” you smirked.

He scoffed, swatting your hips. “Have some respect for your elders”

You rolled your eyes playfully and sank down on him.

Despite your earlier orgasms, it was quite a stretch. His girth was enough to get a punched-out groan from you as you took him all the way to the base.

You steadied yourself on his chest and rode him slowly at first, getting used to the feeling of his thick cock splitting you open, then set a faster pace, angling your hips to take him deeper.

“That’s it... bounce on my cock, good girl” he moaned, rolling his hips in time with your thrusts.

You looked like a goddess, towering over him, brows knit together in pleasure and he couldn’t believe this was real. He half assumed this was a whiskey induced wet dream.

One of his hands came up to pinch your nipples, and you squealed at the rough treatment, but it only made you wetter as you picked up the pace of your hips.

His thumb went to circle your clit lazily and you whined, biting your lip at the added intensity of his stimulation on your puffy oversensitive bundle of nerves.

“Jenson” you gasped. You could feel yourself nearing another orgasm, and he felt you tightening around him, so he wrapped a hand around your neck to pull you down for another kiss, and took the opportunity to thrust up into you.

You swore loudly, seeing stars as you came around him while he jackhammered his cock into you, chasing his own high.

You pushed yourself back up, leaning over him to turn his phone off before looking down at his satisfied, dopey smile.

He came inside you with a low growl, bouncing you on his cock a couple more times before releasing his grip on your hip and neck in favour of cupping your face and deepening the kiss.

Your body slumped over his, and you reveled in the absolutely filthy kiss he was giving you while one of his hands travelled to your ass and gave it a harsh squeeze.

“You cold?” you asked, trailing a finger through the sweat on his heaving chest.

“Nope” he panted, grinning at you.

“Up for round two?” you smirked devilishly.

“Definitely” he smiled “Give me a minute though, I’m not in my twenties anymore”

You giggled, finger trailing lower, along the bumps of his toned abs.

“I don’t know... I think you’re pretty fit for an old man” you teased.

“Please don’t call me old man when my cock is inside you”

...

“Helloooo”

The cheery voice of Ted Kravitz interrupted your thoughts while you were having breakfast the next day.

“Hey Ted!” you greeted “What’s up?”

“In my life... not much. How about you? How’s it going with Jenson? Found any common ground yet?”

In the beginning, back when Jenson didn’t speak to you much, you’d struck up a friendship with Ted, and told him about your worries.

“Not much... I still don’t think he likes me very much, to be honest” you sighed.

“Not really. We don’t see each other much outside of the paddock.”

“Really? Nothing more than that?”

He looked at you with a knowing smile. You decided to play stupid.

He snorted.

“Riiiight.... so it wasn’t you two that I saw stumbling through the hallway last night with your hands down each other’s pants... guess it must’ve been somebody else, it was pretty dark, I suppose.”

He smirked, getting up and plucking a donut off your plate.

You were forced to watch him strut off, and almost run into Jenson in the doorway.

Jenson said hello, but Ted just cackled and walked away.

"What was that about?" Jenson asked you, noting your terrified expression as your eyes stayed glued to the door.

"I think we have a problem"

#my thots #jenson thots #jenson button x reader #jenson button smut #jenson button #f1 #formula 1 #request

235 notes · View notes

just1cefor4ll · 2 days ago

Text

A rare kind of love

Kang Dae-ho x fem!reader

warning. I don’t really know the reason of Dae-ho’s debt so I made something up other then that no warnings

genre. hurt comfort

Shadows stretched across the floor, where the sleeping figures of players shifted in their deep slumber, the tension in the room never ceasing, not even in their sleep. But being next to Dae-ho, keeping watch for the night as everyone else slept was something that brought you a bit of comfort even in these tough circumstances. Dae-ho sat a few feet away, his elbows on his knees, eyes quietly sweeping over the restless forms. You watched him for a moment, his calm and steady presence oddly warm in a place like this. It was strange how much trust you’d built with someone you barely knew—someone you’d met under conditions that could kill you both.

“You know,” you said finally, breaking the silence, “I used to stay up late like this back at home. Not for anything important—mostly just lying in bed, stressing over things I couldn’t fix.” You laughed softly, shaking your head. “Guess that habit didn’t really help me in the long run.”

“I could say the same thing about myself. The marines made me develop insomnia so I never really slept after i got back— but I guess I’ve gotten a bit better with the help of my sisters” He replied, giving you a soft smile which you returned with a hint of curiosity in your eyes. “You have sisters? How many?” “Four. All of them are older and I’m thankful to them for being who I am now.. though I can’t say everyone in my family is proud of how I turned out.” It was like his mask had faltered for a split second, his shoulders slumping and eyes looking like a disappointed child.

You didn’t push further, staying in comfortable silence, only the soft snores os players and shuffling of those who were having nightmares in their beds.

“Sorry uh—“ “[Name] [Last Name]” You cut him off with a smile but make a shh gesture with your pointer finger. “Don’t let the others know my name, only you and Jun-hee are the ones I trust to the fullest with this information.” You wink playfully before letting him go on— his face starstruck as you looked at him with a face no one has ever looked at him with. “Right, [Name]. How’d you end up in here? I mean you seem pretty smart to me so proper education is something you have no doubt.. so?”

You hesitated, wondering if you should even say it. But what was the point of holding back now? It wasn’t like secrets mattered in a place like this. “Debt.. a lot of it. Just like everyone here I made bad choices, bad timing… one thing snowballed into another. And then—” You paused, gesturing vaguely to the room around you. “Well, here I am.” You smile sheepishly, but your once beaming energy did die down a bit. “I was a psychologist.. It payed very well but with my poor choices and actions I lost my job and I fell into the arms of gambling where I lost it all.”

He didn’t interrupt, letting you keep talking.

You let out a short, humorless laugh. “I figured I’d win back just enough to cover everything. I thought, ‘What’s the harm in trying?’” You shook your head. “Turns out, the harm is a mountain of debt and a bunch of very angry people coming after you. Then my mom got sick, and the hospital bills started piling up. Insurance only covered so much, you know? So, I started taking out loans to keep up.” You leaned back against the rail, staring at the ceiling as the memories came rushing back

He didn’t say anything right away, just nodded slowly, his expression was sympathetic and no hint of judgment was evident either which you appreciated.

“I was out of options,” you continued, your voice softer now. “So when this… game showed up, I thought, ‘Why not? I’ve got nothing left to lose.’”

For a moment, the two of you sat in silence. Then, Dae-ho spoke, his voice calm but edged with something you couldn’t quite place. “It’s easy to fall into, isn’t it? Debt. Mistakes. Feels like one bad move and your whole life spirals out of control.” “Yeah,” you said, glancing over at him. “Something like that. What about you? How’d you end up in the marines is my first question.. I mean why’d your sisters let their precious brother get into the hands of such a traumatic thing? Respect to you though! I wouldn’t be able to handle it any better than you so I’m very proud of you for serving the country, soldier.” You teased, looking at him with a big smile.

He hesitated, his eyes dropping to the railing, though a slight chuckle did manage to escape his lips from your silly nickname. For a moment, you thought he might brush off the question, but then he let out a soft sigh. “My dad,” he started, his voice quiet. “He wanted a ‘real man’ for a son. Someone strong, someone tough. But I wasn’t what he wanted.” You frowned. “What do you mean?” “Like I’ve mentioned before, I grew up with four older sisters,” he said, a faint, almost wistful smile tugging at his lips. “They were the ones who raised me, really. Taught me how to cook, how to listen, how to be patient. I guess I turned out too… soft for my dad’s taste. He’d look at me and see failure. Said I’d never make it in the real world unless I ‘toughened up.’”

You could hear the bitterness in his voice, even though he tried to hide it.

“So he sent me to the Marines,” Dae-ho continued, his gaze distant. “Said they’d make a man out of me. And I guess they did. But they also…” He trailed off, shaking his head. “They took the parts of me that my sisters had built. Replaced them with someone who could fight. Someone who could kill. And when I got out, I didn’t even know who I was anymore. The marines take your spark.. or at least dim it with all they got.”

“What happened after that?” you asked gently.

He hesitated again, his fingers curling loosely around the railing. “When I got back my sisters were more than happy to see me but they knew I was different. It was a bit awkward at first but they got through to me and got me to go to therapy for a while but bills started piling up. I tried working—construction, private security—but the flashbacks made it impossible to hold a job."

He looked down at his hands, as if trying to remember a time they weren’t shaking. "I kept borrowing money to keep my head above water, but no matter how much I tried, it was never enough. My dad called me weak for struggling. Sisters tried to help, but I couldn’t let them. Too much pride, too much of him in me, I guess."

“I came here,” he said finally, “because it felt like the only thing left. At least here, I could do something. I could try and make my father proud.” For a long moment, neither of you spoke. Then you reached out, placing a hand on his arm. “You didn’t deserve any of that,” you said quietly. He looked at you, surprised, and for a moment, the guarded expression fell away. “Maybe not,” he said softly. “But it’s done now. All I can do is try to keep moving forward, survive this place and get my life together.”

You nodded, your grip on his arm tightening slightly. “We’ll figure it out. Together.” You said and squeezed his hand, laying your head on his shoulder. “We’ll get out and open up a small shop.. we can sell whatever we can think of and buy a small house on Hyepjae beach. I’ve always wanted to visit Jeju, haven’t you?” You rambled, completely forgetting the fact how you were just mere strangers a few days ago. He nodded, putting a over your shoulders, holding you close. “I’d love that.. more then anything.”

You looked up at him, and his heart nearly stopped in the process. “For the record, I don’t think you’re weak at all. You’re one of the strongest people here, and considering what you’ve been through in your past, the fact that you’re still such a kind-hearted soul is rare in a place like this. You’re one of a kind, Kang Dae-ho.” You spoke softly, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead before standing up to switch places with Jung-bae and Gi-hun, who were just waking up so you could get some rest.

He could only stare, his cheeks flushed as a quiet chuckle escaped him. Heading toward his own bed, which was a bit farther from yours, he suddenly paused. Kneeling down beside you, he gently brushed your hair behind your ear. “You’re one of a kind too, [Name] [Last Name],” he murmured, his voice soft but full of meaning, your name rolling naturally off his tongue. Leaning in, he pressed a soft kiss to your cheek. “Sleep well.”

As your eyes fluttered closed, a faint smile curved your lips. “Good night, Dae-ho.”

He lingered for just a moment longer, his gaze lingering on your peaceful expression, before whispering to himself, “How could someone like you exist?” Then, with one last glance, he quietly made his way to bed, his heart still racing.

#⚖️just1cefor4ll #kang dae ho x reader #kang dae ho fluff #kang dae ho #dae ho fluff #dae ho squid game #dae ho x reader #dae ho #player 388 #player 388 x reader #squid game #squid game x reader #squid game fluff #squid game season 2

154 notes · View notes

revelboo · 2 days ago

Note

REVEL!!! I'm a huge fan of your blog since like a month ago and I can't stop reading over and over again all my fave stories 😭💙 I come to show you my new figure of bae, our grumpy bot, Prowl (the figure's actually pretty cool!), may I ask for some of him, please? Perhaps another part of Stand Too Close, or may be a story where the reader is cheerful and his brain goes like ???

Look at him! I’m glad you like my silly stories!

Stand Too Close Pt 14

Prowl x Reader

• It’s pathetic how excited you get about the prospect of a car ride. Cooped up in his quarters long enough that when he asks if you’d like to go for a drive, you temporarily forget that you’re angry with him still. And he’s doesn’t complain when you play with his window controls, rolling it down and leaning an arm out so you can lay your cheek on it. Letting the wind whip your hair even though it’s stinging your face and neck and not caring at all.

• You look happy. Actually smiling as the wind tousles your hair and he tries to remember if you’ve ever smiled like that for him. Even when the two of you aren’t squabbling, your expression is never so relaxed and open. And you sit up when the city comes into view. “I thought you might need human things,” he lies as he idles down a street and parks, popping open the door for you. “You’re always complaining about the things you miss.” Shifting on his shocks, he feels you slide out of his seat, losing your warmth as you stand there, one hand still on him. Waiting for you to bolt like you’ve claimed you want to so many times.

• What’s his game now? Because this must be some kind of test. That or he’s just sick of dealing with you. “And you’re deciding to trust me for once?” You don’t buy it. He doesn’t trust anyone. Certainly not you. Hand lifting from Prowl, you back up a step. He’d parked just off the busier streets, the lot is mostly deserted and quiet. If you run, he’ll just transform and catch you. Probably scoff at you for being so gullible. Is this a new form of torture? Dangling freedom right in front of you and then snatching it away?

• “I trust you.” To run and disappear among the other humans without a backwards glance. Optimus is going to be angry with him, but he can’t even bring himself to care anymore. When had your happiness started mattering to him? “I’ll be right here.” Lying has always been so easy for him, learned early on that it was necessary sometimes to convince people to do the right thing. The best thing.

• Wrapping your arms around yourself, you turn and start walking. You listen for the sound of him transforming, for his engine to rev. Waiting for him to stop you as you step onto the busy corner and people look at you, then quickly away. Know you must look like you’re homeless at this point, unkempt and messy. Heart racing, you look back to make sure he’s still there and somehow a part of you isn’t surprised to find him gone. It’s not like he’d actually cared about you, but it still hurts a lot more than you would have imagined. He’d brought you back to where he’d stolen you from and left without even a goodbye. And you just stand there, staring at where he’d been. This is what you’d wanted, so why do you feel so hollow inside?

• It’s for the best for you. To be among your own. Happy. Even if he hates it, wants to destroy something, go pick a fight. Because you’re the only good thing he’d had and even you’d hated him, hadn’t you? Constantly fighting each other, like neither of you could stand to be happy. Or maybe it was really only him. Lashing out at him because he’d made you so miserable. Maybe you’re laughing now, head thrown back and free. Desperately wants that. For you to smile, because one of you should be happy.

#transformers x reader #prowl x reader #tf prowl

161 notes · View notes

ceaselesswatchersspecialboy · 3 days ago

Text

“Hannibal gave you three years to build a family, confident that he would find a way to take them from you.” Is such a deeply disturbing line to me, because it bleeds heavily into what we already know about Hannibal and one of the things he wants for Will:

Will bonds with his family, Hannibal takes it away. It’s a simple fact of life.

It makes me wish they did give us more scenes of Will and his family before Hannibal intervened, and before Will was taken back to the FBI, because I think what’s important to note when analysing how Will feels about Molly and Walter, is that most of what we see is Will being put in a deeply conflicted place, and the main interaction we get of him and Walter is after a deeply traumatic event, shattering the stability there once may have been. Will I don’t think is a bad father or husband, he’s just unsure how to navigate the blending of these worlds.

We know how Will’s mind works, and so does Hannibal. He knew that if he sent the Red Dragon after Molly and Walter, Will would be put in a place where he envisions them dying over and over again at his own hands — he knew that Will would never be able to return home, whether they were killed or not.

It’s a very common abuse tactic to separate a person from their safest environment, with people who genuinely love and support them and would likely intervene with the abuse and its effects. A lot of what Will feels towards Hannibal stems from that. Molly is like a warm fire, and Hannibal is like the cold sea, but the reason Will chooses to jump into the sea rather than sit by the fire, is because the sea put out the fire, and there was no warmth left.

Will cannot stand to be loved gently when Hannibal is around, because Hannibal’s violent love is like a drug to him now, and violence is simply what Will understands. Hannibal’s taught him that too.

#Hannibal #nbc hannibal #will graham #hannibal lecter #molly graham #hannigram #mollygram #Hannibal Meta #sorry that I keep yapping abou this era of Hannibal in particular #I just got to it on my rewatch and Will is being painfully relatable as a victim of abuse #Now THIS is radioactive yaoi

148 notes · View notes

prettieinpink · 3 days ago

Text

CONFRONT, PROCESS, HEAL ♡ྀི

For everyone who has goals for 2025 to heal <3 This post is very general, so even if you think it won’t apply to you, I would still recommend skimming through it to see if anything stands out! This is a vv long post :) like 2.5k words so beware, and feel free to ask or debate anything

CONFRONTING

TAKE A MOMENT. In the heat of the moment, it can be difficult to regulate our emotions, in which it's harder for us to process what is the right thing to do. Confronting problems with overwhelming feelings, will most likely lead to us doing the less than ideal action.

So whenever you are in a position in which your emotions are getting the best of you, fully distract yourself. Do whatever you want, as long as it just shuts your brain off.

Then when you have cooled down, you don’t have to tackle it right away. I find that will just bring them back up to the surface again. Go at your own pace and when you are comfortable starting to process everything.

IDENTIFY EVERYTHING. When a lot of people say this, they mean naming your emotion and what's happened to you. I think that's a very close-minded perspective, and in order to comfortably heal, we need to be aware of all factors that may have contributed to what has happened.

For example, consider the environment, your upbringing, their upbringing, your actions, their (possible) thoughts, your attributes, their attributes etc. I know I'm a big person for not obsessing over people as it just takes away energy from what you could be putting back into yourself, but this isn't an obsession. This is you stepping away from everything and looking at the situation with a third person perspective.

ACKNOWLEDGE IT. Another thing is that you have to acknowledge that this is your reality. I know a lot of us struggle with this, as when we’re faced with reality, we escape. Through various methods like maladaptive day-dream or just subconsciously blocking out the memories from our mind. It's okay for you to have a big reaction to it, but I definitely discourage downplaying it or ignoring it.

Part of acknowledging is understanding that in some way or form, you will have to look back on whatever happened in order to truly get past it.

I also struggled with this, when I sit myself down, and I'm like, ‘this is the life that I’m living’, at that point you kind of realise that constantly escaping instead of acknowledging will do more harm than good. I'm saying this because the self improvement community sometimes encourages ‘ignoring’ everyone and everything which doesn’t go your way, which I don’t believe is good for your emotional health at all. Those emotions from those experiences will eventually catch up to you if you’re constantly running away from them.

GAIN CLOSURE. If you happen to be in a situation in which it's appropriate to reach out to people who you just don’t understand their actions or what happened, then do it. Getting that closure makes it easier to let go of the situation.

If your circumstances are more complicated than that, I would roleplay. It sounds so weird, but it is just as effective. There are two ways you could go around this, the first method would be asking a friend to be xyz. It helps if they are someone who knows a lot about this situation.

If you don’t feel comfortable telling someone all this, or maybe you don’t have someone to roleplay with, you could use chat GPT. Tell it your situation, the kind of people involved, their personalities and any other relevant information. I am anti-chat gpt, but I feel like the usage of it in this situation is for good.

ACCOUNTABILITY. Even if you feel like you are the most perfect human being ever, its quite possible that you may have unknowingly or unwillingly played a hand in whatever happened to you. Of course, this will not apply to all situations.

It doesn’t even have to be accountable for others’ people's actions. It can be accountability to yourself e.g ‘I saw the signs that xyz would do this, but I ignored it’ or ‘I’m sorry to myself because I allowed them to disrespect me’ or ‘My actions may have compelled them to act that way towards me’. Accountability is a two way street.

PROCESSING

EVALUATE. Now that we’ve identified everything and hopefully gained some closure, evaluate the whole situation. You can do a video diary, journal or talk to a friend about it. Since everyone’s situation is going to be so different from each other, I can’t really give much advice about it.

However, I would say, go really deep. Like, it has to be questions which make you uncomfortable to answer. If they’re too easy to answer (especially without deep thought), then you’re not digging as deep as you could go. Here’s some questions to get you started! Please do tweak where needed, as I did make these to be very general.

Was this situation a reflection of my upbringing? If so, how are the two connected?

Were the perpetrator(s) doing this out of pure immorality, or could there be other factors that may have contributed to them doing it?

Was I in a position in which I could’ve avoided or de-escalated the situation? Were there signs that this would happen?

Have I not healed completely from any situations in the past, and my pain from that made me carry on the same behaviours?

Is this an emotion or situation which I’ve been avoiding? If so, why?

What would forgiveness for people who have wronged me look like?

Did I or my community handle the situation ideally? What differences could have been made? Would those differences really would’ve affected the outcome of the situation?

Has this situation affected your thinking process, specifically when being in new environments or around new people?

These questions are not a one-size fits all, so once again, tweak to your liking. If you would like more personalised questions, I would go to chat GPT.

MOURN. This is your time to wail, scream, go absolutely crazy because whatever happened, still affected you. Everyone’s mourning will look different, and their reasons why will be a lot more diverse.

I would recommend doing an activity that is high energy. I don’t mean physical activity, so if writing poems angrily is what lets you get that steam out of your system, I fully support it. And, there is no time limit whatsoever. Of course, I encourage you at one point to pick yourself up, but if months is what you need, months is what you shall get.

Quick little disclaimer, please don’t do anything crazy that will harm you. Like overworking yourself physically, binging, not eating enough meals, lashing out at everyone etc. While it is a period to mourn, do it in a way that is actually beneficial to you.

SOLUTION. Just because a situation or problem is ‘over’ doesn’t mean it's been solved. While this may not apply to many problems, I think some people need to hear this: You need to make the best of what you have. I know it seems so unfair that xyz has happened to you, and there is no worse feeling when you see people who’ve wronged you thrive in life or you imagine who/what you could’ve been if xyz didn’t happen to you.

However, you have your options. You absolutely have to make the best of what you’ve got instead of dwelling on could’ve or what ifs. A solution to whatever will not be a one size fits all. For some people, it may be applying to a new skill class, having that one difficult conversation, finally going to therapy or maybe saving up money for anything that will help. I would define a solution in this instance as anything that creates or supports long-term and permanent growth to most areas of life.

I used the word growth specifically because a lot of solutions to your problem(s)are not easy. It may feel uncomfortable, but that's why we call it growth. This journey will absolutely not be linear, and the easy way out may not be the best way out.

For example, I really want to move schools. I’ve been in the same school since year 2, and I feel like this environment may have stunted the growth of who I could’ve been. The easy solution would’ve been to move schools, but my parents are kind of blocking that. Instead, I decided to look for new areas to grow. For example, my blog! I also put in a lot of effort into my academics at this school, because I know that I would love to study abroad and that's another solution. Another solution for me could also be joining a new club. You see where I'm going with this?

OUTCOME. Something which I wished that someone had told me way earlier, is to ask yourself, what is the ideal outcome after you get past this? You may be like, isn’t that like what everyone says? But what nobody actually says is that your outcome will may be far from ideal.

A part of this journey is understanding that this situation will always be a part of you, regardless of how much or little it has shaped you today. A toxic belief that I had, is when I would get past it, I would be unstoppable. I would know exactly what to do, in whatever situation, and whenever I revisit it, I never feel anything. This is so detached from reality, and a huge part of processing everything, is to understand what you want to achieve.

I feel like the reason why I believed I would be unstoppable, is because youtubers etc really love to promote that as soon as you turn around your mindset, you’re good to go. You will never have to suffer again in life, because your mindset is so ‘good’. Your mindset could be so polished and it could actually not bother you at all, but your body will keep the score.

You are not going for perfection, you are aiming for progress. Here are some ideas for goals/outcomes you want to achieve, feel free to tweak, choose multiple, or add more.

Reclaim what trauma has taken back from you.

Recover your self esteem, hope, or ability to connect with other people.

Process whatever that has happened so that It doesn’t haunt you.

Releasing yourself out of survival mode.

Develop healthy coping mechanisms.

HEALING

CREATE A SUPPORT SYSTEM. Your support system will consist of people who you can trust to be vulnerable around. They will help you get through it, and will almost be like your second brain which you can use from time to time. Since they didn’t experience themselves (or maybe they did), they could offer new perspectives or advice that you wouldn’t consider due to the impact on you.

If you are someone who doesn’t have the resources to create a support system, have a support place. Have somewhere where it's all rainbows and sparkles, and whenever you go there, you release everything. I know there’s not a lot of third spaces around, but I would recommend parks, libraries, someone else’s house, churches, youth centres or community centres. I would recommend taking something in which you can communicate to yourself in some way.

CREATE AN EMOTIONAL FIRST AID KIT. Adding on to my last point, grab a little pouch or box and put things that will calm you down. For example, written affirmations, a prayer, reminders, lollies/candy, list of activities that you can do to calm down,a colouring book with markers, a comfort book or perhaps some money so you can get yourself a nice little comfort meal or a sweet treat.

I'm suggesting this because in the healing process, you will break down completely at least once. I find that its more likely to happen if you’re not going at a pace that is comfortable to you, and it kind of just catches up to you all again. This first aid kit will be essential to not doing anything that we will regret or falling back into unhealthy coping mechanisms.

EDUCATE YOURSELF. Not a lot of people have easy access to therapy, and I'm aware of that. However, education of whatever happened to us (regardless of how big or small) helps you to understand your experiences and it actually becomes empowering at some point that we have the knowledge of this and how it impacts us, as that knowledge makes it easier to work through it compared to doing it blindfolded.

While therapy is my first suggestion as its a lot more personalised, however like I said, not a lot of people have easy access to therapy. This is when I would encourage watching documentaries, youtube videos (i would be careful with this one–, i would avoid any ‘gurus’), and read articles or books.

Whichever way you choose to educate yourself, actually take notes. I’m quite serious, it could be digital or physical notes, but at least write down anything that resonates with you. Then after you’re finished writing those notes, you’re going to treat it like its your homework. Review what you wrote down, break it down into a way that fits your situation, explain why it resonates with you, and the steps you can implement from today to make a change.

It doesn’t stop there. Weekly, I want you to actually look back on these notes and see if perhaps your opinion has changed and if you’re actually implementing the changes into your life. It seems a bit ‘extra’ but, simply just consuming media for the sake of it, will do nothing!

EXTRACT ALL SOURCES FROM STRESS FROM YOUR LIFE. I mean all. It doesn’t even have to be cutting off people sometimes like telling your mum that you love her but she’s too overbearing, creating a career master plan if not knowing what you’re going to do in the future stresses you out, tidying out that drawer that you’ve been neglecting etc.

You want to make this journey as easy as possible for you. The best way to start is to make a list of everything that burdens you. Put the list on one side of the page. Then on the other side, you can list the ways you could change any of these things.

If you’re in a situation that something stresses you out, but you can’t easily let it go, my best recommendation is to create a solution to it instead of extracting it completely. For example, my job stresses me out, but I need the money, then I would talk to whoever is in charge to help support you better. It seems scary, but asking will put you in a much better position than simply shutting up while screaming internally.

NOURISH YOURSELF. You’ve probably heard it, but I'm going to say it again, and an unhealthy lifestyle will support an unhealthy state of mind. Go out into nature, drink water, do brisk walks everyday in the sunlight, get your daily fibre and have a healthy sleep cycle.

Doing this in itself will help you become happier over time, but that is only if it becomes second nature. You will not magically renew after drinking 1L of water once, but you will feel the difference after doing it everyday for a month.

SPIRITUALITY. People who have and practice strong core beliefs, are a lot happier. You get to define what spirituality means to you, because it doesn’t necessarily mean joining a religion. It could mean being really in tune with nature or it could be mindfulness everyday to get in tune with that side of you.

This one is a bit more controversial, because I don’t believe that you should join a religion out of traumatic events, but because you actually want to. So, while I do encourage you exploring that side of you, make sure you’re doing it.

147 notes · View notes

thollandneedy · 2 days ago

Text

Co-pilot- Peter Parker

A/n: I had this idea for SO LONG! I swear...

Warnings: Swearing and make-out

Summary: Peter and Y/n return from a concert, and end up getting lost because she falls asleep while giving Peter directions, which makes the night longer than it should be (classic enemies to lovers)

Don’t forget to share, like, comment and leave your ideas here

Bellah’s Masterlist 🪻

“I can't believe I saw Ariana Grande up front.” Y/n exclaimed to herself, looking at her cell phone where all the videos she had recorded after the concert had ended.

“And I can't believe I made it through two hours with you screaming in my ear,” Peter said, following in the girl's footsteps that led them both to the stadium parking lot.

Peter was responsible for Y/n, but it wasn't as if he was enjoying her company. Y/n and Peter had what we call a 'cat and dog relationship', since ever since they met, they didn't quite know how to build a professional relationship without their opposing feelings getting in the way of their training and living together. Through Y/n's father, Tony Stark, Peter was determined to do whatever it took to win his approval, even if it meant taking the girl to his favorite singer's concert and supervising her. Y/n wasn't happy with his company either, knowing that Peter was only after her because Tony had asked him to.

Unlike Peter, who thought the girl was just another spoiled teenager, Y/n could see a touch of humility and love for others when he helped people. Spider-Man was more of an Alter-ego than a hero. He was Peter Parker, but improved and cooler, at least that's what the girl thought.

“You say that as if I've disrupted the show” The girl grumbles, putting her cell phone away in her pocket and trying to open the driver's door of the car.

“Hey, hey, hey” Peter steps in front of the girl, causing her to look at him with a confused face. ”Mr. Stark said i was going to drive.”

“My father doesn't need to know.” The girl, wearing black jeans and a blouse emblazoned with the album 'Dangerous Woman', says trying to gently push Peter away from her.

“But I will, and if anything happens to you, I'll kill you and then your father will kill me.” The boy says, taking the key to the Audi R8 from his pocket and opening the doors of the blue car.

“'Stop being boring, Peter. I'm not even tired! I can drive without any problems.” Y/n asks again, only to be answered by silence from the brunette, who just gets into the car and closes the door in the girl's face, who scoffs to herself and turns the car around, opening the passenger door.

“Put it on the map for me, please, where we should go. I'm not sure which streets to take to get back to the tower.” The young man in the dark gray shirt comments, slipping the safety belt over his body.

Y/n touches the dashboard of the car, and even with it on, nothing appears on the small screen. Peter frowns, taking Y/n's index finger off the screen, trying to do it himself and getting no response from the device.

“This car is from 2015, and my father hasn't gotten rid of it yet. It must have some emotional value.” Y/n replies, settling back in his seat as he picks up his cell phone again to look at the videos he's recorded.

“Shit.” Peter curses.

“Don't let Cap hear that.” Y/n laughs as she looks at Peter, then puts the digital map on her cell phone so she can guide the brunette to the tower. “I'll be the copilot.”

“I prefer death.” Peter replied, starting the car.

“What was your favorite part of the show?” Y/n asks, looking at Peter concentrating on the congestion in the parking lot due to people leaving at the same time.

“When you lost your voice.” Peter replied, smiling to himself and then to Y/n who stared at him expressionlessly. “Just kidding. When she sang NASA.”

“God is a Woman was better.” Y/n says.

“Only because she walked in front of you and took your hand.” Peter recalls.

“Who can blame me.” Y/n shrugs, glancing at Peter, who replies with a sideways smile.

The parking lot was lost a few meters away when Peter entered the city streets. After a long time singing, waiting in queues and a sleepless night due to concert anxiety, Y/n felt his eyes getting heavier and heavier, while Peter fought with himself not to fall asleep driving. The sky was at its blackest as the clock struck midnight, and they were both tired. Y/n's cell phone was resting on her thigh, and even though she was sleepy, the girl was trying to tell her which way to turn so that they wouldn't get lost. Almost fifteen minutes later, Y/n was resting her body in her dreams, while Peter waited for another command.

“Y/n” Peter called, stopping at a traffic light.

“Um” the girl mumbles.

“Turn where?” The brunette asked without taking his eyes off the street.

“Uh… right and go straight for 20 kilometers” The girl quickly looks at her cell phone and nods off again.

Peter, following the sleeping girl's instructions, does as he's told. With a lost expression, Peter leans forward trying to read what was written on the sign, then slams the steering wheel and curses loudly.

“FUCK”

Y/n wakes up startled, looking around lost. Her heart raced, causing her hand to rest on her chest.

“What the fuck, Peter! What's wrong?” The girl curses, adjusting her posture on the bench.

“I have no idea where we are, and we're running out of gas.” The brunette closes his eyes, looking down at his lap. “Are you sure we're on the right track?” Peter picks up the cellphone resting on the girl's thigh, reviewing the route.

Y/n stares at him silently, almost closing her eyes again, when she hears an angry exhale.

“Y/n” Peter called out, trying to keep his cool in a place he didn't know and almost out of gas. “You gave me the wrong directions. Three times. We were supposed to be at your house in no more than 20 minutes, and we've been there for 50 MINUTES!” Peter stares at her with his eyebrows drawn together.

“I told you I was sleepy.” The girl retorts, denying blame for the accident.

“And I asked you to keep an eye on your cell phone, dammit!” Peter exclaims, causing her to revolt.

“Why didn't you look at it yourself?” She asks.

“BECAUSE I'M DRIVING!”

“But you can answer messages while you're swinging your webs from building to building.” Y/n points out, making the older man roll his eyes and deny it with his head.

“Y/n, that's completely different.” Peter explains angrily, picking up the girl's cell phone again and redirecting the address so that he can take the quickest route.

The brunette nods, backing out of the empty street he was on so that he could go back a few blocks, but before he could complete his redefined route, the car stops. Y/n stares at the dashboard, seeing that the gas has run out. Peter turns off the car, raises his arms in redemption of the situation, looks up at the roof of the car, but then closes his eyes.

“You're a terrible co-pilot. The worst I've ever had.” Peter finally says something, unable to express any reaction on his face.

“You're not the perfect companion for a show either, if you ask me.” Y/n crosses her arms.

Typical Stark response

Peter laughs to himself, not believing that even though he was wrong, Y/n wouldn't accept his mistake but would try to fix it as quickly as possible before there was another flaw to point out. Y/n picks up her cell phone from Peter's lap, going to her contact list to call Happy, and without success returning the call, she puts the phone in his lap.

“Congratulations.” Peter looks at her seriously.

“Shut up, I'm trying to sort it out, but Happy's not answering.” Y/n retorts.

“You're always like that. Always.” Peter takes off his seatbelt and turns his body towards Y/n, who is glaring at him. “You hate being wrong, and you'd rather say you've made a mistake. You love drama, but you'd rather say you're growing up. Always a fucking excuse.”

“And you love bad-mouthing me, don't you? Wow, look at me, I'm Spider-Man and I lick the balls of all the Avengers for approval because if I'm not an Avenger, I'm just a nerd with no friends.” Y/n takes off his seatbelt, rebutting rigorously.

“You want to talk about me? At least the friends I have aren't with me for money. Unlike yours, who only put up with you because you're rich and can go out to expensive places. Putting up with you sucks, and that's why you don't have a boyfriend.” Peter spits out the words, feeling the car get hot.

“And you have a girlfriend? Because as far as I know, MJ dumped you.” Y/n remembers overhearing Peter talking on his cell phone, telling his best friend about it.

“You're…” Peter returns to his starting position, crossing his arms and running his fingers through his curly hair.

“What am I?” Y/n asks.

Before he could answer, the girl's cell phone vibrated. Turning the bright screen, she answered Happy's call, telling him what had happened and that she needed him to come and pick them up. Peter listened to the call, staring at the windows, analyzing whether there was any possible danger to Y/n in that little-trafficked street. As much as he hated it, he needed to keep her safe. A few seconds into the call, the girl said:

“He said he'd try to come as soon as possible.”

“Good.” Peter lay back on the car seat, relaxing his back and closing his eyes in the hope that he could doze off.

“Are you going to sleep? What if someone wants to rob us?” Y/n puts his bag between his feet.

“The Avengers' ball-licker will let Daddy's little girl sort it out. She's old enough to sort out her own shit, don't you think?” Peter puts his hands behind his head, flexing the muscles in his arm.

Y/n scoffs at the boy, doing the same as him and lying down on her stool. They both enjoyed the sound of the city, also listening to some trees with their leaves flapping in the empty night. It was a corner with a few abandoned houses and a one-way street where few cars were parked. Y/n curled up on the bench, turning to Peter. The boy had his sculpted body lying on the bench, where his shirt was slightly raised, showing his V-line above his dark-wash jeans. A feeling of regret began to well up in her heart, making her feel bad about the comments she had made to Peter. Still trying to put her pride aside, she says:

“I'm sorry for what I said. You're in the Avengers because you deserve to be.” Y/n comments, causing the boy to quickly open his eyes.

For the first time in the many times he had been with Y/n, he felt that what she was saying wasn't arrogance. In fact, it was very real and sensitive. He turned his body to the side of the bench, allowing his ribs to now meet the hard bench. Her eyes shone with innocence and regret, making it almost impossible not to answer her.

“I'm sorry too for shouting. I know you were tired.” He says. “And… for saying you were spoiled. I know you're not. I say that because sometimes you don't know how to handle certain situations very well, but you learn little by little.”

Y/n smiles without showing her teeth.

“Thanks, and I'm sorry about you and MJ.” She adds. “I know you liked her, like, a lot.”

“Thanks.” He replies with a straight smile. “Do you want to sleep? I can watch, no problem.”

“I lost sleep.” Y/n assumes, using his hand as a pillow to support the side of his face.

“Me too.”

“You're nice. I like you, no matter how much we get into chasing each other.” The girl assumes, without making eye contact with the hero.

“I don't even know why we do it, really. I don't hate you, and I know you don't hate me either.” The boy says. “Actually, if we worked together, we could be a cool duo, but without one of us bossing the other around, or I'd go crazy and glue your mouth shut with my webs."

“I do that on purpose.” She laughs at the older man's comment. “My fun is fighting with you.”

“More fun than being the daughter of a billionaire?”

“Absolutely. I have my father's temper, and you're calm. So testing your temper is my fun of the day. Especially when we're training together, and I win by cheating. You totally lose your sense of self.” Y/n laughs to herself, watching Peter join her in laughter.

“You're terrible. Really.” Peter comments. “But I like that.” He points at himself and Y/n.

“Are you hitting on me, Parker?” The girl asks smugly.

“If I was hitting on you, I'd be closer to you, I'd make you feel seen, you know?” He replies, flexing his jaw as he answers.

“The invisible guy making someone be seen?” Y/n laughs at the irony.

“I mean, paying attention.” Peter explains

“ And then what?”

“And why do you want to know?” Peter instigates.

“I'm just curious how you win girls over with your shy way.”

“I have my charm.” He snorts, pulling a grimace from Y/n.

“Really?” She asks, already knowing the answer.

“No.” He laughs. ”But I try, and it works sometimes.”

“And when it does, what happens?”

He stares at her, as if he's telling her the answer through his eyes. Maybe it was the mood, the confessions or the euphoria of the show that still remained in both their bodies, but something seemed to be different. The silence was no longer awkward, but a warm feeling enveloped the couple. Their minds were no longer focused on arguing, and not even arguing about useless things that could ruin what was being built. Y/n swallows dryly, as Peter's chocolate eyes drift briefly to her wet lips. Peter tried to get closer to Y/n without her realizing he was doing the same. Their breaths seemed to merge, and without there being any room for shame, Peter slipped one of his free hands around Y/n's mouth, pulling her into a shy kiss.

The girl felt his lips pull away after a quick kiss, but hers begged for more. Y/n put both her hands on Peter's cheeks, bringing him closer to her. The hero opened his mouth little by little, sliding his tongue in carefully so as not to exceed any mental limit set by Y/n. The girl loses all her pride, pulling away from the kiss while still feeling his warm lips.

“Can i…" She tries to say.

“Yes, please.” He replied as if reading her mind, straightening his legs and giving her room to climb onto his lap.

Their breasts met in the heat of the moment, while Y/n's pelvic region tried not to meet Peter's, for fear of making him uncomfortable. But the brunette's hands firmly touched Y/n's waist, bringing her warm core between his legs, in a response of irregular breathing. Parker would be lying if he said that he had never fantasized about Y/n Stark, since her beauty was undeniable and sexy, but not even in his best dreams could he have imagined that she would be on his lap kissing him. Once again their lips met in a carnal hunger where there was no longer any shame. Peter held her as if he didn't want her to go anywhere, and Y/n's mind never wandered, as if he were now part of her.

Y/n found the seat lever, pulled it so that the seat had room to return to its upright shape. Peter made room for her back, without taking his lips off the girl.

“We should have done this before.” Y/n commented between kisses.

“I agree.” He replied, kissing her again fervently.

Suddenly, a loud horn draws their attention and they quickly separate their lips. Looking up at the window, there was Happy watching them with the window down. Y/n pressed the button that lowered the window, staring at his father's helper with his cheeks burning as Peter's were.

“Hi, Happy.” Peter says, trying to ease the hot atmosphere with his messy hair.

“Don't tell my dad.” Y/n asks, still on Peter's lap.

“If you promised me that you didn't leave any residue in this car, I won't tell him nothing."

#tom holland #tom holland x fem #peter parker x fem!reader #peter parker smut #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker #peter parker x y/n #peter parker x reader #peter parker x stark!reader #mcu!peter x reader #mcu!peter parker x reader #mcu!peter parker #peter parker fluff #peter parker oneshot

73 notes · View notes

hivemuthur · 2 days ago

Text

Nothing's New - Ch.2.

viktorxfemale!reader explicit!

AU modern era, lovers to enemies to lovers, getting back together, a lot of angst, smut to come somewhere mid-way through

Ch.1. | Ch.3. | Ch.4. | Ch.5. | Ch.6.

word count: 7,2K

tag: #nothings new

summary: More meetings, welcomed and unwelcomed + some foreshadowing. Nothing exactly smutty in this chapter, but I'm leaving it on explicit rating, for reasons of angst and generally adult emotions. Also, I should go to writer's jail for starting so many fics with dialogue.

Cross-posted on AO3

—

“Why the fuck are you only telling me this now?” You fume over the phone. A sloppy text message from Mel has made you stop in the middle of the street. Now. Now, when you are heading to act out your pretend chance meeting with Viktor. Now, when you are ten minutes away from the drop point and haven’t finished replaying all possible conversation starters in your head yet. Now, when your knuckles are white from clutching your coffee cup. Now, when you are bathed in the cold sweat of fear and the hot sweat of the temperature. Why now. Why now.

I feel you should know this. Viktor is seeing someone. Please don’t eat me.

You are going to fucking eat her and clean your teeth with her bones.

“Jayce spilled just recently. He was afraid I would tell you.” Oh, the irony. Mel is whispering on the phone, which indicates that Jayce is around, and her clock is ticking. “Apparently it’s been going on for about six weeks. It’s someone from work.”

“What?! Six weeks? What was that scene at your party then?!” To counter Mel’s whispering, you are screaming. White-hot anger surges through your veins, blinding fury. The audacity. The audacity to make you feel bad for doing something adjacent to moving on when he himself has moved on weeks ago. People scoff as they walk past you, and you glare daggers at them. Fuck off.

“I understand this is… hard, but… I thought you were happy with Paul? Maybe this is the way to fix this?” your friend offers carefully. Very carefully.

“I am happy. I am so fucking happy it makes me sick,” you spit into the speaker against Mel’s sigh. The thought of Paul makes you feel guilty. Your entire relationship has been built on guilt poisoning your reason. But the thought of Viktor. With someone else. That’s different.

“This is all I know. Jayce is leaving, I have to run!” Mel ignores your protests, puts the speaker an inch away from her mouth, and sends you three in-air kisses. You almost throw your phone into the trash bin. You almost slap a person walking past you who gives you a sodden look. You almost kick a beer can under your feet with the force of a rugby player.

This is so, so different. The thought of you and Paul suddenly makes you sad. The way he is a picture of kind insecurity, even though most of him is mouthwatering. There are ugly parts of him, yet invisible to the naked eye. He makes the thought of being touched by someone other than Viktor bearable.

Viktor touched you like he was keeping you. His claiming hands, a constant reminder of his yearning. Which is why, when he stopped, you forgot. You became unkept. A stray in a shelter, getting food, water, and blankets, but no carer. And you could’ve lived without all of those, but not without the belonging. For you, it decayed much sooner than for Viktor.

And then Paul found you. He stumbled upon the pieces of you, left to be picked up and put back together. And Paul touched you like he was asking for permission to be kept. So the two of you strays agreed to keep each other. With time, his touch became familiar; it had overridden the default touch of Viktor. It became comforting, consoling. You never long for it, but you always welcome it. And you no longer need a keeper.

And Paul is a man that everyone envies you for. He’s a man that steals glances and twists the necks of women who congratulate themselves for having a decadent taste in men. In fact, Paul just looks like he fucks well and would make a good dad in the future. He’s hot, but not intimidating, smart, but not a buffoon. Clingy and needy at times. He gets angry in traffic and then patronises you when you freak out about weak Wi-Fi. He has a sadness and kindness to him that makes him a whole human. And sometimes, a whole human is more than you can bear.

You wonder, who is this woman who found pieces of Viktor, and how has she put them back together? If she did. If he let her. If he is in pieces at all.

You feel yourself in fragments, appearing and disappearing, as you approach the shop. And oh God, he is there, and Jayce is running late. Viktor is... picking a bed.

Your shirt clings to you awfully, and you catch a glimpse of yourself in the shop window—face red, remnants of foaming anger visible at the corners of your mouth twisted downwards, hair all messy from digging your hand into it, and two fucking sweat stains under your armpits. Great. Just great.

Why is he picking a bed? Is his bed soaked with you, and he wants a fresh one for the new woman? Is he ready for someone else’s scent so soon? You aren’t ready for him being ready.

You snort up three breaths in a row, no exhales. You hold them until one of your feet steps through the door, announced by a bell. Before your mind can throw you something—anything—you’ve prepared, you feel yourself walking up to him, and you hear yourself blurting out, “Why are you buying a bed?”

Viktor, who is standing by a frame much bigger than the one you two used to sleep in, looks up at you slowly, his lips disappearing into a thin line. “Because I need a bed. And hello.”

“What’s wrong with the old bed?” Unbelievably, you’ve lost all of your common sense. All that matters is why Viktor needs a new bed. His eyebrows raise, and he… smiles. With a horrible, smarmy curve of his lips.

“I don’t have a bed anymore,” he answers sweetly, acid dripping off his tongue.

He didn’t have the bed anymore. For months, he had slept on his tiny couch, which had significantly buggered his spine. But he couldn’t bear it—the bed had smelled of you, and whenever he came near it, it was as if you were still there, lying there, waiting for him. At first, he had wanted to burn it. He asked Jayce for help, and Jayce was frightened. He fidgeted around Viktor and asked him wary questions like, “Are you sure this is what you want?” or, “Isn’t it illegal?”

Viktor scoffed at the last one. He was convinced that if he had told the police why he was burning a bed, they would have helped him do it. But since he was in no shape to chop it with an axe while picturing your face or drive it out of town to build a pillar of hate to pay his respects to you in an eternal flame, he settled on a Craigslist deal. Some poor fucker wanted a bed in exchange for a book. It happened to be the first edition of Naked Lunch. The poor fucker had no idea.

You would have loved it. So he burned it instead.

He burned it on the balcony in the middle of the night, hoping it would make him feel better. Hoping you would feel the tickle of the flames around your soul as he purged it from his being. Hoping that this symbolic act of destroying a piece of literary history would also destroy his feeling of this—this thing he dared not name.

And now, he has just collected a shiny new set of keys to his apartment that he is going to give to Julia the next day. Not to live together, too early for that. But to come and go as she pleases. He will do things differently now. He will do them better this time.

And it is easier, because Jules isn’t so co-dependent. She is collected and pretty. She is alright with anything Viktor proposes. She never challenges him and manages to be funny on rare occasions. They have a lot in common, and it feels comfortable. Yes, Jules is an easy ride—one that he needs after his road through hell.

“What happened to the old bed?” you insist. You loved that bed. It was small and cozy and soft, and Viktor would always jokingly complain about it. And then he would really complain about it, because when he wanted to be far away from you, the softness of the mattress would suck you both into the middle by morning, like a black hole.

His vile smirk turns into a full, shit-eating grin. “It’s gone,” he says coldly. “I hated it. It was bad for my back. Why are you here?” He shoots you a look, and you feel a new wave of sweat pushing itself through your skin.

“I saw you in the window,” you blurt out idiotically, as if that would explain anything. You bite the inside of your cheek, your face contorting into a new expression every second. How utterly mortifying.

“And? You thought you could say hello?” He shifts his weight onto the cane, pinning you like a butterfly on one of those museum boards. Splayed flat, stretched and dried out, dust under anyone’s prying fingers. “Or… you thought it was proper to just come in and be disturbingly weird?”

“I— What? I am not being weird! I’m asking you a question, and you lie to my face,” you hiss, your tone defensive. Oh, he has caught you. His eyes glint, clearly pleased with your mind struggling to formulate a proper comeback.

“Disturbingly weird it is, then,” he deadpans, that fucking smirk still on his face.

Weird. He remembers it so well. He didn’t want to, yet the sensation burned itself into his brain. Even more now, as the act of burning history had the opposite effect of what he desired. After the last remnants of Naked Lunch lifted into the hot summer air and disappeared into glimmering dust, he felt himself stepping into the weird club. The way your weirdness was fascinating and hot. The way his was full of fear and remained unaccepted.

You were neurotic but refused to acknowledge it fully, even though you wore it as a verbal badge. The constant fidgeting, moving objects around, slow pacing across the room as you read your books, always with a soundtrack because your mind needed distractions to remain focused. You could sing a song and read a book simultaneously, and Viktor loved it. He lived to observe all those people encapsulated within you, every single one incomplete, as if you were made of a bunch of different personas.

The fidgeting became overwhelming when he asked you to move in with him. It had been fast, and he owned it—the recklessness of the decision. He left you a way out: keep your old place, just in case. The “just in case” came in handy three years later, when you returned to a dark cage shrouded in dust.

But back then, you had no idea what to do with yourself once your stuff travelled with you to Viktor’s. When you were a guest, the pressure was less. You could move things around, and he would put them back where they belonged after you left. Now, you debated heavily before touching anything. Your books splayed on the floor, your records in a box, while you moved from place to place trying to figure out the value of a random bundle of tomes that some poor soul had sold to your boss for a stupidly small sum.

Viktor was sitting at his desk, trying to work, but your groans made him wince, and your skittish movements lingered in the corner of his eye. He turned in his chair and sighed.

“Come here,” he beckoned, his arm opening in a welcoming gesture, inviting you to sit in his lap. You paused, a puzzled look on your face. Then, you dropped your computer onto the bed, walked up to him too fast to save yourself any dignity, and straddled his hips, hiding your face in his neck.

“Why are you being so jumpy?” Viktor asked, wrapping his arms around you, shielding you from whatever answer you would have to come up with, signalling that whatever the reason was, it was alright.

“I am always jumpy,” you mumbled into his collar. No way to say this. Happy and sad at the same time. Excited and frightened. Bold and shy. Full of his love and hungry for more.

“Hmm, but this time more than usual,” he mused, placing a hot hand on the nape of your neck. A thought struck him.

“Miláčku, are you nervous about a new space?” His question was met with silence, only your nose pressing deeper into his neck. He chuckled, pleased to stumble upon the answer so quickly.

“Do you not feel like this is your home?” he asked, his tone warm and gentle as he propped your face against his palm and lifted it so you would look at him, the response painted on your face.

“Would you like to change something? Would you like to, say, paint a wall?” His peace offering made you wince at your own immaturity. Yes, you wanted to change something. Yes, you wanted to feel less like an invader. The comfort of being a guest was long forgotten, morphing into the feeling of being a stranger probing Viktor’s space, trying to squeeze yourself into it.

Seeing your eyes fixed on him expectantly, your mouth forming a pout, he continued. “Would you like a bookshelf?” A timid nod. He smiled. There we are.

“And maybe a record shelf?” An unhinged display of affection at this. You rubbed your face against his in thanks, nodding a few more times and purring. He chuckled, rolling your hips on his, warmth pooling low under his belly button.

“Hmm, and would you like to get all those things now?” Or would you rather seal the deal with a nice, afternoon fuck? He licked the lobe of your ear, breathing you in through his nose. Your hips pressed down on him, a sweet weight of your ass splayed on his lap making him warm. He ran his flat palms down your back to ground you further, his touch addictive.

“No. Now I want to do something else,” you said, picking up the ball, nipping at his lower lip. You kissed his beauty marks, and Viktor’s eyes fluttered shut in bliss. So much fun to crack you open.

“Ah, distracted already?” he mumbled before kissing you deeply. His hands travelled to cup your ass cheeks, his palms filled with your flesh, just as things should be.

“You always distract me.” Spoken with embarrassment at the admission. Sweet civility, your decorum still intact at those tiny confessions. He swallowed all of them, kept them to himself, and grew stronger and better each time he was granted one.

“And… I’m sorry for being weird,” you said, pulling away an inch to rest your forehead against his.

“I like weird,” Viktor said with a smile, his tone closer to a love confession than a blunt statement. “I am weird,” he added, tracing the lines of your face with his fingers.

“No, you are not,” you chuckled, disarmed. “You are… peculiar,” you announced, poking his lips gently, affectionately.

“That’s just a fancy weird,” Viktor snorted. Peculiar. What a word. What a beautiful word to be given to him. He would wear it like a crown from that point forward. You had anointed him with your gift, and he would cherish it with pride.

“No,” you defended, your brows furrowed at this clear misunderstanding. “No. Weird has bad connotations.” Your finger rested on the tip of his nose, accentuating your point. “Peculiar is fascinating and curious,” you mused as your finger began tracing upward, all the way to the spot between his eyebrows, and then higher, to the line of his hair, brushing it away so you could cup his face. “Odd, in a good way.”

“Alright, word wizard. Did you just come up with this?” he relented with an embarrassed chuckle.

“No, I thought that on the first sight,” you announced proudly. You had. Peculiar was entirely Viktor’s. Wonderful, fascinating. Never fully uncovered, always something there lurking to surprise you. A wild landscape of his brilliant mind, of his raw body—so flawed, so beautiful, like an unfinished sculpture. Every time you remembered his angles, they would shift into something even more mesmerising. The complete lack of effort within him, the way he dressed like a man from a novel. The way he was always incomplete, always searching.

“Peculiar at first sight. Do you have a word for everyone?” he murmured. Seeing your timid nod, his eyebrows shot up. “Jayce?”

You laughed; this one was easy. “Big. Just big. Big everything—big hands, big teeth, big smile, big personality. There is enough of Jayce to literally hug the world,” you said, your tone warm and friendly, as all of this was true about Jayce.

Viktor chuckled, thought for a second. “Mel?”

“Rich.” The word came slightly too fast, and you grinned. Viktor laughed knowingly. “But it goes to everything about her, as I love her,” you clarified, your expression soft. Mel was rich through sharing it with other people. Her fortune came back to her, the more she gave it away. The fortune of her money, her personality, her beauty, spread across all the people she knew.

“Oh, I know. For yourself?” He cocked his eyebrows, his look probing. He had so many words for you. Beautiful. Unhinged. Skittish. Tender. Focused. Distracted. Vulgar. Weird. Hot. His.

“Uh… chaos,” you chuckled awkwardly. Yes, the chaos of your mind never tamed. Which was why your life landed in books. They had provided you with all the personalities you mended yourself from, making your chaotic being work. And Viktor seemed to like all of them.

Until he stopped, and there you were. The weird gained its disturbing friend, and it was no longer cute or fascinating. Now, it was gnawing at him, because he could see those parts of you that he once loved so dearly through a distorting layer of ice, burning his eyes.

“It is none of your concern how I furnish my apartment,” he says calmly. “I am seeing someone and would like your remaining stuff to be removed. Here.” His words stab at you as he pulls out a keychain from his back pocket.

“Next weekend, I’m out of town. Feel free to come and collect your things. Leave the keys in the post box,” he recites, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. “If you don’t, I will dispose of them on my own.”

A rush of blood to your head—cold and vile—leaves icy spikes in your veins as it travels upward through your body. Your face drains of colour, your mouth agape. Thousands of “what”s push themselves to your tongue, and you let one slip through.

“W-what?”

“What is so surprising? The pragmatism, or the fact that I had the civility to tell you I’m moving forward on my own accord?” he asks, his tone so utterly cruel it makes your insides twist. “Take this as the last ounce of respect I have left for you.”

“Are you implying that I do not respect you?” you spit, the fury you felt while talking to Mel surging back with full force. What a wanker. “You blocked me. Everywhere. I had no way to let you know.”

“Just take the keys.”

“I… still have my set,” you offer weakly, instantly regretting it as Viktor’s lips curl into a smirk.

“These are new,” he says with feigned innocence. Of course. But you already know this, so why does it shoot straight through your chest? Why does it leave a steaming hole in it? Why do you want to take the keys and stab his eyes with them? Why do you want to scream at him—and yet you can’t.

You take them wordlessly, staring into the void. They burn your hand. “Okay. Alright,” you sigh, defeated, sliding the keychain into your pocket.

An automated smile glues itself to Viktor’s face. So why does he feel so rotten? Surely, this is a victory. Here you are, crumbled into a sad twat of a person, resigned from any further attempts to talk to him. Here you are, exactly where he wants you—hunched and shrunk under the weight of his boot stomping over your cruel heart. You lost, and he won.

So why does he feel so shitty?

He clears his throat and looks away.

“I will have you know that Jayce is desperate to piece the gang together. You and your new… partner will receive an invitation to dinner on Sunday. Jayce has informed me that we are expected to play nice.” The word “partner” is laced with so much venom, the radius could make all the kittens in the vicinity drop dead.

“W-what?” you ask dumbly again. What the fuck? Jayce has lost his mind.

Before you can ask again, the said madman appears by your side.

“Hey, what are you doing here?” he asks wearily, but his embrace is warm.

“Can… can I talk to you for a second?” Your voice cracks, and you hate it. And the worst part is, there’s nobody to carry you home on the top of your shield.

Jayce glances over to Viktor nervously, but Viktor’s eyes are fixed on the mattress in front of him. Jayce sighs, nods, and pulls you a few steps away, pretending the reality isn’t as fucked up as it is.

“What’s up?” He keeps his tone light.

“Jayce, a dinner?”

“Uh, he told you already? I meant to… Yeh, I had an idea that maybe if we all meet and clear the air, things could move forward, at least a bit?”

When he sees your mouth opening and closing a couple of times, and your eyes not blinking even once, he adds, “Please. This is killing me. I feel exactly the same as I did when my parents were divorcing.”

You sigh, finally. Finally, a breath. Your heart is thundering in your chest, and you can feel Viktor’s secretive glances.

“Can I leave at any point?”

Jayce’s face lights up with relief. “Yes. Yes, of course. Thank you, thank you for giving this a chance,” he blurts, so happy, wrapping you up in a hug.

You want to wince away at first, afraid that he might feel how restless your heart is or that he might smell how sweaty you are. But in the end, Jayce’s hug does what it had always done—it calms you, making your head give up. It is what it is.

“I’m gonna go,” you say weakly, pulling yourself away. Jayce shoots you a knowing look and nods, placing his hand on your shoulder before you disappear completely.

You don’t spare Viktor so much as a glance, his keys still burning a hole in your pocket.

***

You despair. The number of times Paul calmly tells you that you could still turn back makes you sick. This poor, kind bastard. He has agreed to this ridiculous idea in an instant, before even checking how you felt about it. Seeing that what you felt is utter peril, he does his best to calm you down and present you with around a thousand options for how this could go.

“We can just not go. We can pretend you’re sick. We can pretend I’m sick, and you can go alone. I can go alone and test the waters for you. We can stay for a drink. We can leave if you feel uncomfortable. Just remember this awesome thing called ‘free will,’ okay?” he says, sitting cross-legged, naked, on the bed.

You are pacing, also naked. Panic surges through your vascular system. It carries said panic to every tissue of your body, making it slowly decompose into a puddle of cries and sobs.

“Hey,” he says, getting up and rushing to hug you. “It’s alright. He’s just a guy.”

This very complacent lie makes you shoot him a look. He tries to be respectful of your old life, of your friendships. Unbidden, his love is too sweet on your tongue as you feel yourself becoming complacent as well.

And then you remember Jayce. His face when he was sad, and he was so, so fucking sad it ripped your heart out. And you feel this vast emptiness that is left after Viktor. With the absence of him, the absence of Jayce and Mel is unbearable. So you sigh.

“Alright. Okay. Let me just… try to do something to not look like a rat.”

Paul chuckles, assuring you that you never look like a rat. When you walk down to the restaurant, your feet stomp heavily on the pavement, and your hand squeezes Paul’s palm in an unrelenting grip. At the door, he says it again, “We can turn back.”

You shake your head and step inside, bravely hiding behind the mass of your boyfriend. Jayce spots you instantly. He gets up so fast, his cutlery clattering to the floor.

“I was afraid you were going to bail,” he whispers loudly into your ear when you finally make it across the room.

“I… thought about it,” you admit under his glare. “You have to thank this guru,” you add with a sigh, gesturing to Paul, who just shrugs, as if it were obvious that you would have bailed without him.

They exchange embraces. You smooch Mel’s face obscenely, actually quite happy to see her, before slumping into your chair, the question staring you in the face. Where is Viktor?

Noticing the question mark distorting your forehead, Mel quickly adds, “They’re on the way. Traffic.”

Bullshit. Viktor lives nearby, and there is no traffic on a Sunday evening. A small relief creeps into you—maybe the outer gods heard you, and it is Viktor who was going to bail. Maybe you have been pulling your hair out over nothing, and this will turn into just a nice evening with your two friends and your lovely boyfriend. Maybe—

“Apologies. Traffic,” comes a sharp tone, accompanied by a shrug and the familiar sight of a cane being hung over the chair’s armrest.

Something sinks in your chest. Peril has just taken relief’s head, ripped it off, and taken a huge shit into its neck. But this isn’t the worst. Introductions come next.

A girl comes running in after him. Pretty. Nerdy. Just… pretty. Nothing remarkable. Pliant and nice, with slightly shy body language. Potentially intelligent. Potentially nothing.

And suddenly, you feel odd having Paul at your side. It feels like you are trying to prove something. It eats at you—that Viktor has shown up with someone so unremarkable, while he himself oozes confidence about his champion. Your champion seems to be completely overblown—his massive frame, his charm that could sweep anyone off their feet.

Overachiever. Poser. Liar.

You feel a nasty fucking thing hatching in your chest. It envelopes your heart, fills your veins with ice, and you could swear the whites of your eyes have gone black. Your hand hesitates when she repeats your name with an oblivious voice, pulling her palm out for a handshake. Your own palm hovers as you muster every ounce of willpower not to slap that mediocre face.

“Hi, Julia. Nice to meet you,” you manage, swallowing the beast, which rakes its claws at your insides as it slides down to your stomach. Your throat burns as you down an entire whisky glass.

You realise it would feel less painful were she obscenely beautiful. Her absolutely average physique has meant that there was something within her soul that beckoned Viktor forth, and the thought makes your own soul wail.

You watch them all from your seat, exchanging names and glances. Jayce knows Julia from work. Paul knows both Jayce and Mel. Which leaves… oh.

“Right, sorry. I’m slow in this weather,” you chuckle a bit too loudly. “Paul. Julia. Viktor.” You gesture clumsily, presenting them to each other before scrambling back into your seat, craning your neck to eye the waiter back to your table.

You watch Paul charming Viktor’s new girlfriend with his smile. You watch Viktor’s slender hand disappear into Paul’s firm grip. You watch their eyes meet, cold and challenging.

You feel a sudden urge to slide under the table. To bury your head in your knees. To bite through the wooden floor to the basement. To dig your own grave and fall asleep in it forever.

“Thanks for the invite, Mel,” Julia beams at your friend, and you spot Mel’s unctuous smile gluing itself to her face. This one is one of her best—so oily and sleek that even Jayce notices. He presses a kiss on her cheek so deep that she has to relax her face.

“So… how did you guys all meet?” It falls on the table and it takes you a few seconds to pick it up.

Holy fucking shit in heaven. Of course. He hasn’t told her. He hasn’t told her that this innocent dinner with friends is actually a farce with the high potential of turning into a carnage. She is oblivious to you. She has no idea. Ignorance is bliss.

“Uh… well, me and Viktor know each other from university, but that you know. Mel I met at a business convention, and, well…” Jayce stammers, stumbling over his words as his forehead begins to glisten with sweat.

Poor soul. You feel so sorry for him, you throw him a lifeline.

“And I am Mel’s friend. Best bitches since business school,” you say, giving the best fake smile you have. Not as good as Mel’s, but it does the job. “And Paul and I met at my work. You can connect the dots,” you throw out nonchalantly. And Viktor was fucking me into heaven for three years. For two.

“Oh, so you’re in business too?” Julia really tries, but the tension is just too palpable. You blink, dumbfounded.

“Uh, no.” A forced chuckle, as if business were a vile way to live. “I sell books.”

“Alright, that’s just unfair,” Jayce intercepts, taken aback by your modesty. You are not trying to be modest; you are trying to give as little information about yourself as possible. You almost smack him, but he continues.

“She finds books like you wouldn’t imagine. Medieval texts, first editions, magic books—all the crazy shit people would write down and publish. Precious objects,” Jayce muses as you try to smooth a crease of panic from your forehead.

“And they trick people who have no idea of their value into selling them rare tomes for chunks of copper,” Viktor murmurs, twirling the wine in his glass.

“Knowledge comes at a price. Of all people, you should be the one to understand that,” you shoot back, your nails slicing through the skin of your palms. You feel Paul’s hand on yours. He doesn’t look at you; he just entwines your fingers together on your knee. The saviour.

“Anyway, it’s actually all incredibly bureaucratic and boring,” you offer weakly, finishing your second drink. “And what about you?”

And then Julia talks. How she is an assistant at the lab where Viktor and Jayce work. How she was always fascinated by their projects. How she thought Viktor distant and mysterious at the beginning, only to discover he was a sweet man. How she just couldn’t say no when he asked her out. Each sentence is a stab into your chest, each of your hard gulps making Viktor smile triumphantly. Until—

The first thing you see is his smirk dropping from his face. The second is Paul’s face as he pulls you in to whisper into your ear, disguising the act as a gesture of affection.

“Smile. And nod. Do you want me to punch him?” he murmurs, the question inaudible to anyone but you.

You smile lovingly, place your hand on his cheek, and shake your head. In fact, you smile so much that your face hurts, and you find yourself needing to physically relax your cheeks with your fingers.

The conversation carries on, all faces a tad sour save for Julia’s. She does most of the talking and asking questions. She focuses on Mel and Jayce, leaving you and Paul to exchange inside jokes. And he does such an exceptional job distracting you that some of your smiles are actually genuine.

You are on your third drink, and your body relaxes despite itself. The food arrives, finally bringing some silence, occasionally broken by hums of appreciation and Jayce’s voice, since he talks with his mouth full. For a moment, you forget Viktor is there—until Julia leaves for the bathroom and leans over to give Viktor a kiss.

His neck cranes to meet her mouth. His hand travels to her throat; the other squeezes her waist. Very briefly, his eyes meet yours. Before you can combust from the look, her hair falls, shielding them both, and all you can make out is the sound of lips smacking apart when she finally pulls away. You wonder what would happen if you stabbed your hand with a fork.

Viktor clears his throat and returns his attention to his plate. You watch him separating meat from the bone, chewing, and swallowing, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he does. And he feels your eyes on him, the smug curve of his lips betraying him.

Paul picks up the glove. He clumsily rolls a chunk of pasta onto his fork and asks innocently if you want to try his food. Absently, you nod, taking a sip of water first to flush your mouth. The bite is too big, and he smears sauce on your cheek and nose. You don’t worry about decorum; you chew as you always chew—jaw working heavily as you gulp down. You can swear Viktor’s eyes are burning a hole in your throat. Paul chuckles at how gross you are and leans in to kiss the sauce off your cheek, nose, and the corner of your mouth. He lingers and comments on how it tastes even better now. It’s all very sickening, and you feel dirty doing it. You can see Viktor eyeing his fork.

Julia returns and plops down next to Viktor with a happy sigh, as if she’s just had the most satisfying number two of her life. You cackle at the thought, but it dies in your throat when Viktor chirps, “I missed you,” to her and presses his lips to her temple.

You feel yourself simmering beneath the skin. It’s all too much.

“Excuse me for a second.” You offer another sweet smile, stand up, place a hand on Paul’s shoulder, and make your way toward the entrance. A gush of sticky air isn’t exactly a relief, but at least it’s not acidic.

“Sorry, can I bum one?” you ask a woman smoking outside. She gives you an understanding look and pulls the cigarette pack toward you.

“Sure, honey. Did you spot your ex in the crowd?”

“Uh, you have no idea. Thanks,” you exhale, letting her light your cigarette. You don’t smoke, but now it seems suitable.

You are expecting Paul to come out after you, ordering a regroup.

“I didn’t know you smoked,” Viktor deadpans, giving you a scolding look.

“I don’t,” is all you manage to say without choking on the smoke. “Please, leave me alone,” you plead, seeing him move closer. You could rake that face with your nails. You could slap him and walk away. You could throw his keys back at him and tell him to eat shit. But no. Jayce needs you to play nice.

“Are you not having a nice time?” he asks innocently, just aiming to hurt. “I thought you wanted things back to normal.”

You sigh, looking at the cigarette lying oddly between your fingers. “I…” Your voice falters. And then, despite your efforts to hold the words back, they refuse to stay. They slice your throat open from the inside, bleeding straight into his ears. “I miss you.”

A slap. A slap straight through his heart, hooking his lungs out of his chest. Your beast gets him, instead of sweet Julia. It coils in, purring and eating him from the inside. It’s all he wanted to hear. He won, again. And he feels like shit about it, again.

Viktor’s cane wobbles under his weight, a sharp, uncomfortable cough forcing its way out of him. His face twists. He stands there, still as stone, except for the erratic rise and fall of his chest. His lips part, his tongue flicks to wet them, but no words come. He looks like he is suffocating under the weight of what you’ve just said.

“Fuck off.” The words come out jagged, like broken glass, his voice harsh and cracking. “You have no right.”

You deserve it. You have no right, indeed. Your chest tightens, your lungs pulling for air that isn’t there. He has gone for the kill, but his voice… His voice doesn’t match his words. It’s soft and trembling.

“I know.” Your voice cracks too, balancing on the edge of fury and despair. You step toward him, the cigarette still burning between your fingers, ash crumbling onto the pavement. “But I do.” It feels like scraping off a scab too fresh to be poked at.

Viktor’s eyes widen, just for a moment. It’s quick—too quick—but you catch it. A flash of something buried deep, a flicker of something that makes your knees want to buckle, to throw yourself at his feet. His jaw clenches hard, his lips twitching as if biting back every single thing he wants to say.

“This was supposed to be over,” he hisses finally, but his gaze betrays him, darting down to your mouth, lingering on the curve of your jaw.

“It… is, I just—” You step even closer, the words clawing their way out of you, half a plea, half a challenge. “This is different.” There is no logical explanation for how this is different, except for the absolute certainty, the gnawing truth in your heart of hearts. You are utterly convinced that Julia existed only to spite you, whereas Paul existed to save you, and in principle, the connection between him and Viktor was non-existent. You wonder, for a second, if you should tell him. And then you picture how he would react, and you decide not to.

His hand grips the handle of his cane tighter, his knuckles turning white. “Do not—” His voice wavers. “Do not do this to me.”

You laugh bitterly, the sound hollow and cruel even to your own ears. “What am I doing to you?” You gesture wildly, the cigarette burning low, its ember a heartbeat away from searing your skin. “I try to do right by you. All you do is block me and slap me around.”

“You left!” he snaps, his voice rising, sharp enough to cut through your already battered flesh. “You are the one who left, and now you stand here, saying—saying things you should have said before.” He looks completely crestfallen.

The silence that follows is deafening. Your shoulders slump as you stare at him, and for a moment, you don’t recognise the man in front of you. The Viktor you know wasn’t this—this wreckage, this storm barely holding itself together.

“I left because you made me,” you whisper, the tears you’ve been holding back threatening to spill. “Because you pushed and pushed until I broke. And now I don’t even know if there’s enough of me left to stay mad at you.”

His head dips, his shoulders collapsing in defeat. His free hand runs through his hair, tugging at the roots like he wants to rip something out—anything, just to make the ache stop.

“You think it was easy for me?” he asks quietly, almost a whisper. “To let you go? To—” His voice cracks again, and he stops himself.

That is a first. You knew how hard it was—you had to crawl through your own shitty tunnel. You knew it was hard for him, but you’ve never heard him admit it before.

You both stand there, breathing hard, the air thick like tar. The cigarette finally burns out, the last ember dropping to the ground as you let it slip from your fingers.

“Then why didn’t you fight for me?” you ask, and your voice breaks. “Why didn’t you—”

“I did.” His words come fast, cutting you off, raw and painful. “I did, but you didn’t see it. You wouldn’t.” Viktor fights his hands to not reach out for you and wipe your tears away with his thumbs. He fights his body to not pull you flush against him, to kiss you deeply and whisper a secret into your mouth. He takes a step back, and it costs him everything. Then you both stare at the thing in front of you.

The truth. Ugly and jagged, sitting between you like a gaping wound neither of you knows how to heal. You had both fucked up, royally. And then you went ahead and jumped into something new, hoping that a tiny bit of duct tape would seal a hole in a massive, overflowing tank of feelings.

“Go back inside.” His voice is soft now, a whisper lost in the sticky night air. “I’ll be right there.”

“Everything alright here?” Paul’s voice reaches you before you see him, and you wince. Viktor takes notice. Paul’s arms are crossed on his chest, lips pressed into a thin line.

You nod and drag yourself in obediently. A quick stop in the bathroom to fix your sorry face. A slump into the chair next to Paul, as he places a loving arm around your shoulders. Viktor comes back to the table with an unreadable smile on his face, his eyes wet, but only you can see it. A civil, nice evening, ending with exclamations of how you all should do this again. How it was fun.

“All good?” Paul asks you when you walk home. When you walk to his apartment, the one you silently refuse to move into.

“Yes, just… why did you come out after me?” you counter, puzzled. You pin him with your gaze until he relents into an embarrassed chuckle.

“I thought you needed saving, is all.”

“I don’t need to be saved from anyone, Paul. Don’t intervene again. I’m an adult,” you scoff, opening the door to his apartment.

For the first time, you flinch away from his touch when you are in bed. Tears choke up in your throat all night. But you hold them tight, not letting any slip out. And you realise it takes so long to get over losing someone. That no band-aid, no pretty and nice boyfriend, no amount of friends or sad music could make the process faster. And you realise it isn’t possible to get over Viktor so quickly. And then, you realise that your grief hasn’t moved an inch. It’s still in denial.

#viktor arcane #viktor x reader #viktor fanfic #viktor x reader smut #viktor x f!reader #arcane #viktor smut #arcane fanfic #my writing #ao3 #ao3 fanfic #viktor x oc #viktor nation #nothings new

120 notes · View notes

studiogrimm810 · 2 days ago

Text

Wash It Away

pairings/characters: (established) sam winchester x gn!you

summary: after a rough hunt, you and sam take a shower to wash away the stress

warnings: shower scene, depictions of injuries/cleaning those injuries, not smut just a lot of love and care

word count: 1,379

A/N: this is a quick one that i just had to get out into words, enjoy!!

———————

The dingy motel shower was a comforting space at the moment, the small window in the bathroom provides just enough sunlight to warm the space without it being too revealing.

Sam rests you against the sink as he goes to warm up the shower for you and him.

You look up instinctively at the mirror in front of you and the sight before you makes you cringe. A small groan of disgust involuntarily leaves your lips.

Your hair is a mess, frizzy and stained with blood that’s fallen from your nose. Your lip is busted and your entire face throbs. Your shirt was torn and the side of your neck was bruised badly- a dark handprint topped with crescent cuts where the fingertips would be.

The hunt had gone poorly, to say the least. It was just you and Sam and you were up against four demons.

Sam’s face wasn’t as screwed up as yours because he took more body hits. From being thrown, his clothes are dusty and torn and as he sheds off his last shirt layer, you see a blossoming bruise on his back. It’s a nasty patch of purple and blue that engulfs his entire upper back and down his left shoulder. He groans as the fabric is lifted off of his head and tossed to the side.

As he turns to look at you, his eyes soften, taking over your appearance again. He steps closer and reaches for your shirt.

“C’mon, baby, let’s get you cleaned up,” Sam waits for a nod of approval before lifting off your shirt. You raise your arms above your head with a wince, remembering the own hit you took to the side of a dresser. Once your shirt is removed, Sam traces the bruise around your neck gently, examining the broken skin. “Does it hurt to breathe? Talk?”

“Only a little,” you whisper back, not able to use the full extent of your vocal chords at the moment. His face cringes softly but he only nods, keeping his eyes on the skin.

“Water will be warm,” he gestures lightly to the shower with disappointing water pressure.

Next are your jeans, shimmying them down so you don’t have to bend too much. The fog in your mind from hitting your head was not really cleared yet and you didn’t want to push your luck.

Once both of you are fully undressed you take in his body, the quickly darkening bruise on his back, a slice from a knife on his arm that might need stitches, and a busted brow with less impactful bruises scattered about. He holds back the shower curtain for you and you step under the water, letting the little bullets pellet your back. Sam follows behind and closes the curtain.

“Temp okay?” He asks, pushing back some of your hair so he can place a gentle kiss on your neck.

“Mhmm,” you hum, leaning your head back into his chest and letting him hold you for a minute.

There’s a lot about The Life that sucks and hunting is never easy, but what makes it worth it are not only the people you save, but moments like these. Warm and tender love shared between two tortured souls, bonded by acts of violence and the stain that they left.

Being under the care of a man like Sam Winchester is devouring and all encompassing. He’s a force to be reckoned with at times of danger, but the consistent care and support that just emanates from him makes him home for you.

He’s your strong walls when you feel like the world is caving in on you.

He’s the steady spirit in a world of uncertainty and challenges.

He’s the careful partner who watches out for you in such times of danger that is your day-to-day.

It’s exhausting, it has to be, but he’s always there and he’s always what you need.

He’s grabbing a clean towel and gently turning you to wipe away dried blood that paints your face and he’s precise to keep stray water from ricocheting to your face from the faucet.

His strong hands, that could probably be classified as lethal weapons, cradle your chin and hold you in place for him to clean your face.

You watch his eyes that flicker to yours every few beats with a small smile, taking in the beautiful color brewed beneath the glass. Wet leaves, washed away with sticks and mud swirling down a mossy drain, mix and blend to make up just half of the richness in his eyes. Eyes that watch you with such precise detail, like he’s taking in every move you make and filing it for later as if he doesn’t have enough to worry about already.

Your own hand reaches up and around his arms to wipe away some of his own blood that has seeped from his temple. You don’t get too close to the wound though, not wanting to touch it directly and cause him pain.

“Let me take care of you first, honey, please,” he gently pushes his elbow out to knock your hand away and you’re too tired so you just let him. Besides, how are you supposed to argue with that look he gives you? The one that reflects the guilt he truly feels because he believes he’s responsible for your pain. And despite how many times you tell him that’s not true, that damn look never seems to give. “How’re you feeling?” He asks, setting the cloth on an unoccupied soap dish.

“Sore,” you whisper which he can barely hear over the spray of water but he doesn’t ask you to repeat yourself.

“Dizzy at all still?” Sam asks, moving his hand from your jaw so you can better move your lips for him to read.

“Only when I move too fast,” the amount of words you speak makes the tickle that aches your throat act up and you cough. Sam’s brows crunch in another wince at your discomfort. He rubs your back in a soothing glide under the water during your fit, waiting for the coughs to die down before he starts to wash your body.

“The shower will help, wake ya’ up some,” he reaches for the body wash and decides to put some on his hands first, using it almost like lotion as he massages your tense shoulders. “You shouldn’t sleep until the dizziness goes away, we’ll get you some food after you’re all cleaned up.”

Your forehead rests on his bare chest as he works his hands along your shoulders and down your back, minding the bruising. His touch is firm as it works out certain knots that ache your muscles.

His hands run down your body, along the sore skin, working like a balm and honestly, despite his best efforts, making you a little sleepy.

His gentle hands push your shoulders so that you're standing straight up again, “Now’s time for your hair,” he cards through your locks, separating the matted strands to prepare for the shampoo.

The way his hands work in your scalp is almost intoxicating, and it soothes the dull ache throbbing in your skull.

He’s careful with you, always.

Loving and patient, and he puts you first. You would argue more often if you thought he’d listen. But you also know that he couldn’t have it any other way, he had to take care of you first, he just had to.

And honestly, it wasn’t all too bad, because once you were okay that meant all your focus could be on him.

Your turn to wash his hair and soothe his muscles.

You only hope you can be half as catering as him, to make him feel as safe and loved as he does you.

He’s relaxed enough now as you rinse out his sudsy hair, but you can see the awful guilt that shimmers in his eyes every time he looks down at the bruise around your neck. It wasn’t even his fault, but he’ll blame himself with ‘should have’s until the mark is gone. And maybe even a little after.

But right now you just have each other. And as you dry off and settle into fresh clothes, you’re reminded that you survived another day.

———————

thank you so much for reading!! <3

>pictures are not my own, i have the originals linked here (pinterest) >>check out my other works here

#supernatural #sam winchester #fanfiction #supernatural fanfiction #fandom #sam winchester fanfiction #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester x you #sam winchester oneshot #sam winchester hurt/comfort #supernatural hurt/comfort #spn fanfic #spnfandom

70 notes · View notes