#if i had a chance to make out with her art it would be so slobby and wonderful
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I Knew It Then
A series of random Bucky Drabbles that I can't let go but don't have the brain to make the whole complete plot of.
Summary: If it was supposed to be a casual thing, then why does it hurts so much?
Pairing: avenger!bucky x female!reader
Words: 4.8k++
Warnings: angsty, maybe a tad too angst. a bit fluffy, if you search for it, and everything in between. non-descriptive sex scene but definitely contain adult (18+) contents. so, reader discretion.
Inspiration: @buck-star asked in a community post, âThe sentence is: 'And then we were standing in front of one another againâŠ' How would you continue it?â and this is my answer.
Read my other works here: Masterlist
Bucky adjusted the sleeves of his jacket; a dark leather, matching the gloves he was wearing. Underneath was a charcoal coloured shirt; his pants was dark-wash jeans, frayed slightly at the edges. It was an effort to blend into the festive sea of people. Despite the spring air of Central Park, his style remained a mixture of shadowed past and muted present, a mix that barely fit in with the brightness of the day.Â
The launch of the Avengers statues was a grand event; a reminder of battles fought, lives saved, a place for the public to show their gratitude and admiration. Honestly, in Buckyâs opinion, all of this was a little bit over the top. In which, Steve agreed. They both think that they were undeserving to be sculptured and displayed like this.Â
Even the Avengers are human, excluding Thor, they were mortals; unfit to be worshipped as they are now. Yet, after being coaxed with quite a diplomatic, exaggerating speech about how âthe people need a hero to look up toâ, Steve ended up convinced. Not that it matters, but Stark was the one who gave that speech.
Nonetheless, Bucky couldnât really object to the decision, but he did stated that he will not participate in the event with the rest of the team. And they canât really do much about that, forcing him to will be equivalent to kidnapping and Bucky had literally filed a police report for it before. So, they wonât take their chances.Â
The cheers and thundering of applause rippled through the park, filling every space with a strange blend of solemnity and celebration. Bucky lingered on the edge, hands shoved deep into his pockets, shoulders tensed beneath the weight of too many eyes while his own focused on his team on the make-shift stage near the statues.Â
He preferred it here. No red carpets. No standing in front of flashing cameras with a smile that would never sit quite right on his lips.
With less aliens around and Hydra in hiding, this should have been a familiar scene; the Avengers posing and the people cheering. But for Bucky, the novelty had long worn off. The noise washed over him like waves lapping against a shore he couldnât care to meet.
Shifting on his feet, his fingers brushing against the worn leather of his gloves, as if the urge to retreat was creeping under his skin. The cheers, the bright flashes of cameras, all blended into a muffled hum that made him wonder how soon he could slip away unnoticed.
Until he saw her.
She stood beneath the shade of a blooming cherry tree, the soft pink petals floating down around her as if nature itself wanted to frame her as a living art.Â
Y/N.Â
Bucky's breath was caught somewhere between inhaling and exhaling. Her mere presence had left him frozen. Then, the noise of the crowd slowly fading, the applause turning duller as his heart pounded in his chest, each beat harder, louder, until it drowned out the world around him. For a few painful moments, he felt as if his heart might force its way free from his ribcage, breaking him apart in the process.
She wore that sundress again. The light fabric swayed gently with each breeze, caressing her figure, the pastel colour that reminded him of the flowers he used to get for her. It was the same dress sheâd worn that day; the day he realised falling for her wasn't a choice but a reality that had already happened. He swallowed hard, memories surging in torrents. Her laughter echoed in his ears, the way her eyes lit up when she spoke about things that mattered to her.Â
Now however, beneath the sweet sundress and that familiar grace, there was a darkness under her eyes. Shadows etched into her delicate skin, sadness lingering; still and silent, behind the gaze that once held nothing but warmth. Bucky's jaw tightened as he took it all in, every unspoken truth laid bare on her face. He knew why; heâd heard whispers through mutual acquaintances. About the heaviness she tried to mask, about the pain she tried to live through.Â
Seeing it now, in the flesh, was so much worse.
It broke him.Â
Again. His chest ached, a raw wound ripped within his chest; for every moment she suffered and every part of him that couldnât fix it. Bucky wanted to look away, but he couldnât. It was as if an invisible vine had him rooted on earth, willing him to witness the toll their separation had taken on her. How ironic, he thought bitterly. For someone once considered a ghost by the world, he was all too aware of how haunting it felt to see her pain in living colour.
The bar had been crowded that night when they met, laughter and music clashing together in a storm of contagious intoxication. Bucky found his usual spot in the corner, however unusually alone this time. His shoulders hunched beneath his leather jacket; his gloved hands nursed a drink he wasnât truly interested in. He was simply another brooding man in a bar, trying to swallow his own bitterness, trying to forget. Elenaâs words, his exâs words, echoed in his mind; taunting and cold, leaving a metallic taste on his tongue.
âMind if I sit?â
Her voice cut through the noise. Heâd looked up, barely masking his surprise. The woman standing before him was... a force of nature. She didnât wait for his permission and slid into the seat beside him, a confident smile tugging at her lips.Â
She was so bright, so unapologetically there.Â
It almost felt disorienting. Her eyes sparkled like sheâd already decided he was interesting and wasnât about to change her mind. âYou always brood like this, or is it a special occasion?â she teased, tilting her head.
âSpecial occasion,â he replied dryly, a hint of sarcasm colouring his tone. âGuess Iâm lucky, huh?â
She laughed, loud and unfiltered, drawing curious looks. âIâll drink to that,â she said, raising her glass to him as if they were old friends sharing a private joke.
Bucky fought to suppress the twitch of his lips. He wasnât sure what to make of her. âWhat brings you to this fine establishment?â he asked, his voice flat but not harsh. âLooking to rescue sad souls like me?â
âRescue?â She leaned in, eyes dancing with mischief. âPlease. Iâm here for the entertainment value.â
âBrutal,â he said, but he couldnât help it; the corner of his mouth lifted. A real smile was threatening to form.
Y/N, as she introduced herself a few moments later, was a whirlwind of honesty and charm. She spoke without hesitation, as if every thought had a right to be voiced. She teased him about the gloves he refused to take off, made a biting but hilarious comment about her friendâs taste in men as she watched her and the man grinding it on the dance floor, and then, out of nowhere, zeroed in on him.
She gestured to his drink. âLet me guess. Your ex. She, or he, I donât judgeâŠâ A tiniest smile curved on the corner of his lips. âShe.â he clarified which was replied with a glint of interest in Y/Nâs eyes. She nodded, âOkay, she left you for someone who didnât know how to brood so attractively.â
Bucky choked on his drink, laughter erupting before he could help himself. It was warm and a little bashful, completely genuine. He hadnât laughed like that in... he couldnât remember how long.
Y/N was not expecting much tonight. She was literally dragged by her friends to âgo out, meet people, get laidâ. Truthfully, she wasnât really expecting anything more than a few hours of banter and maybe some fleeting connection, just enough to make her smile. Witty remarks, a few drinks, teasing anyone interesting enough to engage; that was her aim.Â
But when she saw him, brooding in his corner, a storm trapped beneath layers of leather and cold eyes, curiosity overtook reason. She wanted to know if he would entertain her.Â
And he did.
Bucky or as he introduced himself, James, was sarcasm wrapped in shadows, his words carrying a sharpness that wasnât meant to hurt, just to deflect. She found it oddly endearing, a defence mechanism she recognized all too well. She wanted to pull more from him, so she leaned in, laughed too loudly, pressed buttons she guessed would make him react.Â
At first, it was just fun.
But then he smiled. God, when he smiled, her world tilted; much against her will too. It was like the first hint of sunlight breaking through a dense, dark cloud. His laughter was warm and unpracticed, spilling out of him as if it surprised him too. The moment stretched, just for a heartbeat, but it was enough.Â
Her heart momentarily shuddered. She could feel the heat rise to her cheeks, blooming a soft pink she couldnât hide. So, she covered it with more wit, more charm, desperate to keep that smile there a second longer.
âIâm kidding. Kind of,â she said, eyes softening as she studied him. âBut seriously, imagine missing out on you. Thatâs just sad at this point.â
But underneath the humour, there was a flutter of something much profound. It wasnât supposed to happen. Her heartbeat raced and she felt exposed. How ridiculous, she thought, to be undone by a smile; a real one, genuine and imperfect, just as raw as her own attempt to draw it out.
The concept of time blurred after that. Drinks flowed, words tumbled out like secrets they didnât know they were sharing. Banter turned into stories, laughter into pauses that spoke louder than the music blaring around them. At some point, she reached for his hand, not caring that it was gloved or why. Her fingers lingered, hesitant for half a breath, before resting there as if theyâd been doing so for years.Â
The air thickened and inches shrink.
When he kissed her, she found herself kissing him back with a need she hadnât recognized before. It wasnât about filling the void; at least, not only that. It was about the way he leaned into her touch, how he kissed like it was the last act that could hold him together. It was raw and open and imperfect and she was high on it.
Despite the fleeting, breath-stealing kisses they shared prior, Bucky had only meant to see her safely to her home. That was the plan, the line he swore he wouldnât cross. But when her lips met his again just outside her apartment, everything unravelled. Her kiss was insistent, needy in a way that mirrored the ache deep inside him. She pulled him in, the door closing behind them, shutting out the world and any remnants of restraint he had left.
They stumbled to the bed, still fully dressed, every touch and kiss growing more urgent. Her hands found the edges of his jacket, fingers seeking to peel it away. But when she tugged, he pulled back, his breaths ragged. âWait,â he murmured, eyes cast down. His hesitation was a stark contrast to the flames between them moments before.
She paused immediately, her gaze softening. âWhatâs wrong?â Her voice was gentle, careful not to push too hard but unwilling to let him slip away either.
âIâm not who you think I am,â he said, the words thick, heavy.
A crease formed between her brows. âWhat? Your name is not James?â
The question, so genuine and earnest, pulled a laugh from him; short, almost incredulous. âNo. I am James, butâŠâ He ran a gloved hand through his hair, avoiding her eyes.
âButâŠ?â she prompted, leaning in, her attention unwavering.
âMy name is James Buchanan Barnes,â he said, each syllable weighted.
For a moment, she was silent. He could see her piecing it together, searching for the meaning behind his words. Then understanding dawned, slow and certain. âYouâreâŠâ she began, just as he said, âThe Winter Soldier.â But what came from her lips was, âThe Avenger.â
They stared at each other, the tension snapping into something fragile, almost surreal. âWhat?â they both said in unison, the word a mix of disbelief and irony.Â
The absurdity of it cracked something inside him, and he laughed; a real, deep laugh that felt like a release. She joined him, their laughter intertwining in a way that felt like a mutual understanding. At the moment, Bucky realised that she didnât flinch or shrink back. She met him where he was, without hesitation. He felt a pull; unsettling but oddly comforting; and, for a split second, he let himself believe that maybe, just maybe, this could be different.
The humour melted into something more intense as she leaned closer, her hands found his again. âI want this, James,â she whispered, peeling away his glove. She cupped his cool, metal hand, pressing his palm against her cheek. The contrast of warmth against vibranium made his chest tighten. âI want you.â she spoke almost breathlessly; her eyes gazed up at him with an endearing plea.
His eyes darkened with a mix of desire and something much softer, âI want you too,â he said, his voice low, unguarded.
They moved together, shedding barriers with every kiss and touch. When their clothes finally fell away, they explored each other with as much urgency and wonder. Every touch, every movement was deliberate, almost desperate. He wanted to memorise her reactions. He wanted to give as much as he could.
It was raw and consuming, a night spent discovering each other. There was nothing mechanical, nothing detached. For hours, it was just them, bodies moving in unison and their moans and groans of pleasure mingling in a symphony that can challenge a sirenâs song.
He found himself lost in her, in the way her skin felt beneath his, in the way she moaned for him. He couldnât hold back, not when she responded to him with such hunger, her body moving against his with a need that matched his own.Â
Every touch felt like a revelation, a new discovery, and he was pulled deeper into her, into the warmth and the rawness of the moment. It was as if time itself had stopped, and all that mattered was the heat of their connection.
When morning came, the light creeping in through the blinds, they lay bashfully, tangled in the sheets. For a few moments, there was only silence, a comfortable quiet punctuated by the slow return of reality. He turned to her, the words were heavy, he knew it, but he continued, âIâm not ready for⊠anything serious,â he admitted, hating the way it sounded, but knowing he owed her the truth.
She met his gaze, her expression soft and understanding. âThatâs okay,â she said. âWe donât need to label it. It can be what it is.â
âCasual?â he asked, a hint of humour back in his voice.
She smiled, a touch of mischief in her eyes. âCasual.â
They both laughed, the sound soft and real. Whatever this was, for now, it was enough.
The next few months, their âcasualâ arrangement became something she thought about far too often and yet tried to pretend wasnât pressing too deep. The sex was undeniably great, almost maddeningly so. It wasnât just the way he touched her, though that alone was enough to steal her breath; the careful, deliberate caresses that made her feel cherished and desired all at once.Â
It was the way he explored her as if every inch of her, the weight of his attention, the way he moved with a mix of tenderness and hunger, as if he couldnât decide whether to worship her or devour her. And maybe that was why it was so intoxicating; because she was falling for him, whether she wanted to admit it or not.
It wasnât just the physical connection; it was everything in between. She fell for the way he could be painfully serious one moment and then crack the most unexpected joke, a hint of dry humour lighting up his eyes. She fell for the way he made sure her tea was always brewed just the way she liked, even though he claimed to be terrible at domestic things.Â
She fell for his unspoken kindness; the way he would slip a blanket over her when she fell asleep on the couch, or his habit of standing protectively between her and crowded places without even thinking about it. It was all so subtle, so Bucky, and it deteriorated her defences bit by bit.
And Bucky on the other hand, tried not to let himself be too vulnerable around her. But Y/N had a warmth that made it hard for him to stay closed off. She didnât push; she was just; a steady, comforting presence that felt like safety. Sometimes, without meaning to, heâd spill pieces of himself.Â
Like the night he told her about Elena; the betrayal, the gaslighting on how she cheated on him because of him; it was his trauma and depression that had driven her away. As if she was trying to make it worse, as if she had a vendetta to isolate him from everyone else.Â
And Y/N had listened without judgement, her eyes soft with compassion. âThatâs not on you,â she had whispered, her hand covering his. âShe was the problem, not you.â When the weight of his past grew too heavy, she was there.
And when she opened up about her own scars; the ex who wouldnât leave her alone, the fear that lingered in the shadows; Bucky listened, fierce protectiveness hardening his features. That night, instead of touching each otherâs body, they caressed each otherâs innermost scars. Theyâd talk late into the night; their words heavy, but never too much for the other to bear.
And ever since their dynamic was a shifting dance, effortlessly dirty and playful one minute, his lips teasing at her neck, their words to each other were dripping with sin. The next, theyâd be soft and tender, his forehead pressed to hers as they simply breathed together. And then there were the quiet, deep moments; when silence spoke more than words, and they found comfort just in being close, in the simple act of not being alone.Â
It was everything, all tangled together, and it made it so easy, too damn easy, to fall in love with him. She knew she shouldnât, but with Bucky, it felt inevitable.
Then, one in those blissful days, after another night of incredible sex, Bucky laid beside her, his chest still heavy with the aftermath of their intimacy. His eyes traced the soft curves of her form as she rested, her skin glowing in the dim light.Â
She looked almost ethereal; untouchable, like something too perfect for him. The weight of her presence next to him was both comforting and painful, tightening his chest with a longing he couldnât name. Shifting slightly, he cleared his throat, his voice rough when he finally spoke, the words slipping out before he could stop them. âIâm going back to Elena,â he confessed, the statement hanging heavily in the air.Â
For a moment, there was something in his eyes; a flicker of hesitation, of conflict, as if he desperately wanted to hold onto what they had, as if saying the words was a battle he was losing with every breath.Â
But whatever war raged within him never fully translated in the way she saw him. To Y/N, his words felt resolute, laced with a kind of tenderness that made it hurt even more. He seemed sorry; deeply, genuinely. But the weight of his decision pressed down between them, undeniable.
She went still for a moment and he could feel the tension radiating from her. The way her body seemed to freeze, her breath caught in her throat. She didnât respond at first, her gaze distant, focusing somewhere far away as though she needed a moment to process. Buckyâs chest felt heavy with the weight of his own words, the urge to take them back gnawing at him.Â
Yet he kept his expression neutral, as if none of this hurt him. He needed to see this through, even if every second felt like he was tearing himself apart. âThisâŠbeing here with you, touching you like this⊠this will be the last time,â he added, the sound of his voice was low but remained adamant.
Y/N had always known, somewhere deep down, that this day would come. They had both agreed that what they had was casual, temporary, nothing more than a passing thing. They had agreed their connection was fleeting; simply a series of borrowed moments. But even as she tried to convince herself it was fine, she knew better.Â
Nothing about what they shared was truly casual. Theyâd been there for each other in ways no one else had. When the world had been cruel to him, scrutinising him for his past as the Winter Soldier, sheâd been his quiet strength, the one who never judged him, never flinched. And when her own demons resurfaced, casting shadows over her life; heâd been the one there, standing between her and her doom. He had been her rock, just as she had been his.Â
They were each other's strength, each other's solace.
'Has it ever really been casual?' But she couldnât voice those thoughts. She wouldnât burden him with her feelings when he already carried so much of his own. She wouldnât beg for more than he could offer.Â
With a soft breath, she forced herself to smile, her fingers brushing over his cheek, committing every moment to memory before it slipped away. âWill this make you happy?â she asked, her voice steady, though pain lingered beneath the surface.
Buckyâs heart twisted, but he nodded, the lie coming too easily. âYes,â he said, his voice lacking conviction even as he tried to seem sure. He averted his eyes, hoping she wouldnât see past the facade.
Her smile wavered, but she fought to hold it in place. She wanted to show him that she was fine, that she wasnât falling apart. But as she pressed her smile into place, a single tear slipped from her eye, tracing a quiet path down her cheek. She wiped it away quickly, but it was already there; a silent confession of the pain he couldnât see.
âThen, I guess this is goodbye,â she whispered, barely audible.
She leaned in, her forehead resting against his, her breath warm against his lips. And then she kissed him; softly, deeply, as if it would be their last.
Because, in this moment, it felt like it was.
The days blurred into weeks, and then months, each one dragging by with a dull ache that Y/N couldnât shake. She buried herself in work, refusing to let her mind linger on what sheâd lost. When that wasn't enough, she picked up freelance gigs; anything that kept her mind too occupied even thought about pain and the aching emptiness Buckyâs absence had left behind.Â
It was easier that way; easier to drown in deadlines and endless to-do lists than to confront the hollowness. And through all this time, there were not a single call, or texts from Bucky. Just silence. Rationally, she knew it was for the best. He was a hero, after all; his life pulled him in a thousand different directions. And she told herself she was fine.
But late at night, when the world grew quiet, she could still feel it; the loss that crept into her bones and refused to let go. Most of the time, she'd catch herself staring at the ceiling, replaying the touch of his hand, the sound of his laughter, the way he had looked at her as if she were his whole world, even if just for a moment. She tried to shake it off, to convince herself that it was all just an illusion, but the hole in her chest ached too deeply to ignore.
Time passed. The headlines told of his deeds; how he saved countless lives, how the public finally began to accept him, to see him not just as a relic of violence and pain, but as a hero. She shouldâve felt proud. Maybe, on some level, she did. But every article, every broadcast, every mention of him only twisted the knife deeper.Â
At times, sheâd pause whatever she was doing when his name flashed across the screen. It was a reflex, a sudden, uncontrollable urge to reach for something she could never have. Sheâd feel her chest tighten, her emotions were a blend of pride and pain. Why did she feel like this, like she wasnât needed, like she was somehow unwanted by the man who had once looked at her like she was everything?
Even then, she couldnât help but feel proud. No matter how much it hurts, she was happy for him. She remembered the sleepless nights when his past came alive in nightmares; when heâd thrash and murmur apologies with a voice cracked by guilt. She could still feel the weight of him in her arms as he clung to her in the dark, his breath shuddering against her neck, whispering, âIâm sorry. I didnât mean it. Iâm sorry.â The memory of it made her chest ache; the rawness of his pain had always cut her deep, but it had also made her want to be his safe place, his haven.
She thought of those nights often. The way heâd hold her as if she were a shield against the ghosts that hunted him, how heâd bury his face in her shoulder to block out the worldâs judgement. Sheâd whispered reassurances, stroked his hair, and wished she could take away every ounce of his pain. Seeing him now, standing tall, saving lives, and slowly being accepted by the world; it filled her with a bittersweet pride.Â
He deserved every bit of recognition, every chance to rebuild himself.
But the cost of that pride was the deep loneliness that came with it; the reminder that he was out there saving the world while she was left to save herself from missing him. She wanted to be enough, to be the one he leaned on, but it was clear now that his path led somewhere she couldnât follow. So she pushed forward, forced herself to be strong, and told herself that being happy for him was enough.
When the crowd at the Central Park continued to roar with excitement, time seemed like it stopped for Bucky and Y/N. And then they were standing in front of one another again, the air between them held a weight, as if every word left unspoken all those nights was pressing against the space between them. Buckyâs eyes flickered; momentarily shocked, yet he didnât falter.Â
Even then, Y/N saw it. She saw the look in his eyes that she knew too well, the look he had when it was just them, wrapped up in stolen hours that no one knew about. She forced a smile, warm and soft, the very same that she used to give him in those silent times, when their skins were pressed against each other, and everything else didn't matter.Â
His heart ached with a need he thought heâd buried. He thought he had let her go. He kept telling himself he was not in love, that she was just someone to keep his bed warm, to fill the empty space his past had left behind. At least, that was what he told himself, over and over, like a mantra meant to dull the edges of the truth.
But deep down, he knew it was a lie; a desperate deception crafted to shield him from the vulnerability clawing at his walls. He was not fooling anyone, not himself at least. Each night he spent denying the way his pulse quickened at the thought of her touch, each time he claimed he felt nothing, the thin layer of defence cracked beneath the weight of untold longing. It was easier to lie, to pretend he didnât care, than to face the reality that she had carved her place inside him, far deeper than he wanted to admit.
Now, seeing her again, smiling at him as if it didn't shatter her heart when he left, it was like heâd been hollowed out.Â
And the time that seemingly stopped, abruptly resumed to its pace when they walked past each other. No words crossed their lips, but their eyes spoke a language that was theirs alone; a language that carried echoes of every touch, every laugh, every shared moment.
âI miss you,â their gazes whispered, even as the distance between them widened with each step.
They kept walking.
That night, Bucky found himself in front of her apartment. When she opened the door, it was as if she was expecting someone. Not him, but someone. Her breath caught in her throat when she saw him standing there, broad shoulders taut and expression unreadable.Â
For a second, neither of them spoke. The sight of her; dressed in a fitted dress that draped elegantly over her figure, accentuating every line and curve, stole the air from his lungs. It was the kind of dress she used to wear when theyâd go out on a date, the kind that never failed to send his thoughts swirling in the gutter. No thoughts, just lust.Â
She looked stunning. Ethereal even. But, painfully out of reach.
Y/N blinked. Shock, confusion, and hurt flashing in her eyes, as if the memories of what theyâd had; and how it ended, came crashing back all at once. âHey⊠James. What are you doing here?â she asked, her voice tight and Bucky was never used to it.
He swallowed hard, his eyes drifting to her lips and lingering there longer than he intended. âOut for a date?â he murmured, evading her question, the words tasting like lead.
âYeahâŠKind of.â she replied, guarded. Silence stretched between them, heavy with unsaid things. Finally, he spoke again, his voice a low rasp. âCan I come in?â
She studied him warily, the hurt in her eyes morphing into something sharper. âI donât know if thatâs a good idea, James.â
âPlease,â he said, and the desperation in his tone softened her resolve just enough. She stepped aside reluctantly. âYou gotta be quick,â she said, almost dismissively. âJosh is on the way.â
The mention of another manâs name was like a knife twisting in his chest. Bucky forced himself to stay still, to not let his expression betray him, but inside, he felt raw, the bitterness coiling deep.
Once inside, she crossed her arms over her chest, a defensive barrier between them. âTalk,â she said flatly.
He paced, trying to find the words. âIt wasnât real,â he started, voice thick. âMe and Elena getting back together; it was a mission. She was suspected of being a mole.â he paused as he studied her reaction, â We couldnât risk telling you. We had to make it look real. â
She stared at him, eyes wide with disbelief, as if trying to grasp the whirlwind of his sudden appearance. âYouâre here for that? To explain yourself?â There was incredulity in her voice, mingled with raw, exhausted pain that came from reopening old wounds.
âYes.â Buckyâs voice was firm but edged with something close to desperation. âWe managed to capture her.â He took a deep breath, his gaze searching hers. âWe had to keep the mission under wraps, Y/N. We couldnât risk word getting out⊠not after what happened with S.H.I.E.L.D. We couldnât have another Hydra situation, or anything that even looked like it.â
He paused, the tension in his jaw tightening. âIt turns out her plan was to isolate me. To make me even more vulnerable than I already am, before theyâŠâ His words faltered, heavy and incomplete, as if finishing the sentence would make it all too real.Â
But he didnât need to say more. Y/Nâs eyes widened slightly, the realisation clear in her expression. She was smart; too smart not to piece it together. She knew what Bucky feared most. Heâd be dragged back into Hydraâs grasp, or worse, used as a pawn by some other twisted organisation.Â
It was a fate too cruel to name, and he could see in her eyes that she already understood.
Her brow furrowed, processing everything Bucky had explained thus far. A mixture of confusion and anger flitting across her features. âSo that was it?â she demanded. âI was just collateral damage?â
âNo,â he said quickly, the word breaking from him like a plea. âNo. It wasnât like that. I wanted to protect you. We all did.â He hesitated, voice dropping to a rough whisper. âI did.â
She scoffed, a bitter edge cutting through her words. âUnbelievable. I smiled at you one time, Jamesâone timeâand you think you can just come back into my life like you own it?â
The accusation hung between them, and the depth of her frustration was like a dam bursting. He recoiled slightly, horrified by the thought that heâd hurt her so deeply. âNo,â he said quickly, shaking his head. âThatâs not what this is. I didnât want to justââ
She cut him off with a sharp, biting word. âBullshit!â The accusation hit him like a physical blow, but he pressed on, desperation bleeding into his tone. âI just wanted to tell you the truth,â he said, his voice tight with urgency. âThat it was all fake.â
âFake?â She echoed the word with a harsh, bitter laugh that rang with disbelief. It stung him, sharp as a slap across the face. âIt looked pretty damn real to me, James. You donât think I saw the pictures? The headlines? How you were with her?â
âIt was a cover, Y/N. I didnât have a choice.â
Her eyes flashed, anger and betrayal burning bright. She took a step toward him, as if the weight of her hurt couldnât be contained. âYou didnât have a choice? You had a choice when you came to me, when you told me it was over. When you ripped my heart out, did you have a choice then?â
Bucky flinched, the impact of her words like a physical blow, but he held his ground. âI was trying to protect you.â
âBy hurting me?â Her voice cracked, raw and trembling. âBy tearing me apart?â
Silence crashed over them, heavy and suffocating. Her chest heaved, each breath ragged. âBy leaving me behind?â she whispered, her words dripping with the weight of every unspoken wound. âBy pretending like what we had meant nothing?â
He stepped closer, the space between them suffocating and electric. âIt wasnât nothing,â he said, his voice quivering. âIt was everything. You were everything.â
She shook her head, tears slipping down her cheeks unchecked. âI donât believe you.â
With a trembling hand, Bucky reached for her face, cupping her cheeks as though she were something fragile. His thumb brushed away her tears, his touch reverent, aching. âI love you, Y/N,â he breathed, the confession breaking through the dam of his restraint. âFrom the start, when we laughed about that ridiculous introduction; me, calling myself the Winter Soldier and you insisting I was an AvengerâI knew it then.â
He swallowed hard, blinking through tears. âBut it wasnât just that. It was how you saw me; not the killer, not the broken man, but me. The way youâd smile at me, like I was worth something. The nights you stayed awake, holding me when I couldnât breathe, when the nightmares felt too real. The way youâd whisper that I wasnât alone. No one ever did that for me. No one.â
He paused, the rawness in his expression deepening. âI knew it was too late when I realized Iâd been in love with you for a while. It hit me that day at Sallyâs, remember?â His voice grew softer, distant with memory. âIt was spring. You wore that sundress you bragged about getting for next to nothing at a thrift store. The sunlight made your hair glow, and you laughed at something ridiculous; a dog chasing bubbles, I think. I couldnât stop looking at you. It wasnât just the dress or the moment. It was the way you made everything feel⊠lighter. Like I could breathe again. Like the past didnât own me.â
He let out a shaky breath, his thumb tracing along her jawline. âI realized then that I was in deep. That it was more than just a moment. And it terrified me, because I thought Iâd ruin it. Ruin you.â His voice cracked, weighted with a mix of love and regret.
His shoulders shook as he let out a ragged breath, the tears spilling over. âItâs the way you laugh, the way you fight for everyone you care about. How you make me feel like Iâm more than my past⊠God, I tried so hard to keep you safe. Even if it meant pushing you away. But it killed me, Y/N. Every day.â
She stared at him, stunned and raw, her own tears falling. His hands cradled her face gently, his touch trembling. âI love you,â he said again, more desperately. âI love you for every moment you gave me hope when I thought I couldnât be saved. I love you for being there, even when I didnât deserve it. And I donât want to lose you again.â
He leaned in, their faces inches apart, his tears mixing with hers as he whispered, âIâm so sorry. For everything.â
She closed her eyes, letting his words wash over her, feeling the sincerity in every broken syllable. For a heartbeat, it seemed she would turn away. But then, her voice cracked, trembling with everything sheâd buried. âI love you too,â she breathed, voice shaking. âI never stopped.â
His forehead touched hers, their breaths mingling, raw and vulnerable. Slowly, their lips met, soft at first, then deeper, a kiss that spoke of everything they had denied and everything they still longed for. In each otherâs touch, everything else faded, leaving only the truth between them.
End.
Read my other works here: Masterlist
A/N: i was planning to do a descriptive smut scene at first, but after piecing everything from my draft and re-reading the overall flow, i don't think it's suitable to include it in this. perhaps another time, a side/extra story maybe. i hope y'all okay with that and enjoy your reading đ„ș
#bucky barnes au#bucky x reader#bucky x you#bucky x y/n#bucky x reader fluff#bucky x reader angst#bucky x reader smut#bucky fluff#bucky angst#bucky smut#bucky barnes fluff#bucky barnes angst#bucky barnes smut#avenger!bucky
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renaissance dogys
characters belong to @canisalbus
#i love i loveeee ludovica sm shes so cute. ive only known her for 5 min but i fell in love with her design and i love her friendship#with vasco ^_^ i think them having each other makes hiding their sexualities a little less lonely so thats sweet#ik in modern au shes considered an old friend of vascos but i originally assumed she and vasco fake dated in college or smth#to get their parents off their backs until they came out properly and continued to stay in touch as friends after LMAO#im not very familiar with period fashion so i had to look at renaissance costumes as reference. but i have to admit i love the#high waistlines used in some of their dresses.. i have a minidress with a similar high waistline pressed against the chest and sleeves#also if u squint machete is holding a little paper bag in the 2nd photo which is supposed to be his lunch courtesy of vasco <3#idk what ludovica would wear in modern au but i thought poet shirts might suit her because theyre like somewhere evenly between#masc and femme. to me anyway.. based on observation lesbians seem to love poet shirts and i think she looks good in one#these are all shitposts.. ill draw serious art of them one of these days i promise#i listened to fools rush in and it reminds me of them.. especially when it goes 'though i see the danger there / if theres a chance#for me then i dont care' like its so poignant and bittersweet.. a little indulgent when u think of those small moments they have togethr#save me gay catholic furries... gay catholic furries... gay catholic furries save me#my art#myart#doodles#fanart#others ocs#canisalbus#fur#furry art#machete#vasco#vaschete#ludovica#sfw fur#furry#anthro
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super disorganized sketch page because i do what i want
#my art#not sure if i wanna tag these... hrm#i wonder if alt text shows up in search results.... shudders#well anyway. i wanna ramble about these!!#for willy mafton: i've been working on designing more of the human cast. mainly all the big name important ones#it's been a slow process + a little challenging but i like getting the chance to practice drawing faces! :]#in regards to His design specifically.. it's very much based off of his movie apperance#but with a reference to that Classic sprite thrown in#bc i thought making him a little cartoony and inhuman would fit him :] but idk im not an expert on his character or anything#about the rabbit lady: i forgot how i had that idea initially but it ended up looking so fucking cool tbh#im always a fan of making her design less of a feminine eye candy type of design and more of a Spooky Murderer type >:3c#it also gave me the idea to try making some similar designs for the glams...#but if i do that im not gonna be giving them that vintage rubber mask look... since they're meant to be super flashy and high tech looking#so i was thinking they could have faces with more of a silicone texture.. and that have a style based more off of their in game art work :]#so they'd be like giant dolls with weird moving faces rather than having a vintage animatronic look#also that van in the bottom middle is 100% a homage to a specific user i wont be mentioning but iykyk HFJZJFJF#ANYWAY the đđ stuff: dont be weird about it please HFJZJG#im aware that these tags are very easy to ignore but like. genuinely pls dont be weird about them#dont romanticize it. its not meant to be ''y/ndere'' or anything like that#its actually a bit personal to me so like... interpret it as you like but be aware its not meant to be a happy or positive thing#anyway i think thats all i have to say... i've been trying to branch out a tiny bit regarding the things i draw#it's always nice to challenge yourself even if its tough... especially if its tough!!#i mainly draw just for my own sake but i hope ppl see something they like here#these tags got so fucking long oops... i'll stop now JFKZJFKSJGKSJG
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'I wont cry for you, I wont crucify the things you do. I wont cry for you, see, when you're gone, I'll still be BLOODY MARY'
#cw blood#SUUUPER SCUFFED LIL WIP THATS BEEN RRRROTTING IN MY FOLDER. OUT!! GET OUT!!!#its almos 2 am and imm gettin high as hrothgar. spruced this up within an hour so i could be shared n eaten#its SUPPOsed to be part ofa bigger doodly page so ofc theres the chance this changes between now n then#fuuuuck shoulda made her dress sparkly. fuckit ill fix it laterrrrr. i havnt posted art in YWEARRS i needed to post something#also i uh. well you see i started losing followers on twitter bc im sooo inactive and i KNOW that shouldnt matter like it should be whateve#but. you see. i lkike when number go up and when it go down i get MMMADDD.we all get our dopamine from somewhere#ANYWAY so i actually havnt touched the suckening in so long. been workin on oc stuff.BUT WELL. ARTHUR AND MARY. STILL MAKE ME WEEP#THEYRE SO CUTE N TRAGIC...whadda fuck is it with grizzly n charlie characters being so in love and so doomed#kian and becky then arthur and his various exes like CMAHn.stop doing this to me#from what i remember of the episode.she seemed so.tired.disconnected.like she had been wandering a dream#and yet she seemed so positive.reasonably concerned and yet.content.she warmed up to arthur as soon as she recognized him#she speaks so gently and so sweetly and she keeps the conversation so light.even though shes dead and shes gone and she#is doomed to wander an odd limbo for the rest of time.and yet she seemed so at peace.i can see why arthur liked her.what happened?#what caused them to separate?arthur seems so jaded and so tired.marys company seems like such a gentle place to rest.#how did he squander such a blessing?was it a blessing?OHH what i would give to crack open their minds and peer inside.#yknow wat im runnign out of room i think so ill add a last thought here at the bottom of my tags. I AM MORE CORRECT ABT ARHTURS UGLY LOOK#I WANT THAT MAN TO BE BEASTLY AND GROSS AND STRANGE AND SCARY AND EEWWW I SEE THINGS SQUIRMING IN THE DARK.ther are bugs#LETTING HIM HAVE HOT HOT ABBS AND STUFF WAS A COP OUUTTTT LET HIS WHOLE FORM BE DISTORTED OR UR NOT A FUCKING 0 APPEARANCE BITCH#THE BONES SHIFTED BENEATH AS IF TRYING TO HATCH. MANY OTHER THINGS HATCHED ASWELL. THE DEAD IMMORTAL FLESH SOURED#TOO GRAND TO ROT BUT TOO CORRUPTED TO KEEP CLASSIC FORM. MMMONSTER MONSTER MONSTER MONSTER#oka y im not going to bed but im gonna go. uh. do miore drugs or something. maybe ill work on more jrwi stuff. or oc stuff.#i hope ur day goes swimmingly thankyou for reading my tags i love you so so so so so much
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BLOOD TW!! AND CIGS N STUFF
@vanglaggle CONGRATS ON 500 FOLLOWERS!!
without the many many colors on top undercut
HAHA YAYAYA!!!
#glaggledtiys500#vanglaggle#dust sans#dust undertale#murder sans#murder undertale#tw blood#tw cigarettes#i think people get triggered by that#tw knife#but its really hidden#DTIYS!!#dtiys#i keep forgetting that dtiys say do this in your style and not do this yourself or diy or whatever#ANYWAYS ITS BEEN AWHILE SINCE I DREW AN UNDERTALE AU#utau#utmv#undertale au#haha#also this persons art is so wonderful its like weed in a pride parade#GO FOLLOW GLAGGLE!!!!!#if i had a chance to make out with her art it would be so slobby and wonderful#whats the tag limits#first time i finished an art piece or made one before the dead line#yayyayaya im early :)))#like by 2 months#wowzers#!!!!!#mb for the yapping in the tags#theres not much to tag
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Iâm going to lose my mind oh my god I am so scared for this quincenera wtf
#NOT MINE BTW I MISSED MY CHANCE LMAO#but Jesus Christ family Iâve never met before flying in from PanamaâŠ. god Iâm so scared#Iâve already been dealing with some wack ass imposter syndrome ass shit cuz of how I was raised this is gonna make it SO MUCH worse#I DIDNT EVEN KNOW PANAMANIANS GOT QUINCES#i was raised with almost zero influence from any culture whatsoever I wasnât even raised close to that side of the family#and like Iâm mixed with white but I canât even use that as an excuse cuz the cousin whoâs quince it is is also mixed#and that side of the family is super tied to the culture and they speak Spanish and shit#i donât even speak Spanish even if the family from Panama doesnât think ima. total embarrassment what if most of them donât speak english#when Iâm surrounded by white people 24/7 I feel like a total outlier but the second Iâm around anyone else latine I feel like that but WORSE#i donât speak Spanish I donât know anything about the culture Iâm from the fucking pacific northwest and do digital art and watch anime#i am so far completely removed from everything Iâm gonna be sick#my grandma is already so judgy about stuff my uncle was even WORSE and made fun of the stuff that was too white or too American about me#my cousins throwing the party are the least of my worries cuz at least their mixed and second/third Gen too#but oh my god the family Iâve never met before Iâm so scared Iâm so scared#i was already thinking like. can I even call myself latine bc of how I was raised and how far removed I am from everything. Iâm mixed so -#-should I just associate myself more with the white side of my family. am I being fraudulent by identifying with that term just bc I have -#-the blood is that even enough maybe that kid had a point when he said I shouldnât count as hispanic if I donât know spanish#and thinking about showing up to my cousins quince as. me. itâs terrifying itâs awful I want to go I want to meet these people I want to -#-celebrate my cousin and be happy for her but GOD what if everyone hates us and just tolerates us cuz weâre related to them#i would say weâre the black sheep of the family but I feel like white is more fitting cuz I feel like weâre just slightly brown white people#god god god Iâm so stresssd out by this#is this a weird thing to be worried about is this stupid is this selfish#and to make matters worse I DONT KNOW WHAT TO GET HER FOR A GIRT#vent
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think this is the first time ever i have been disappointed to see an awakening banner
#ann cries about feh#I WAS SOOOO READY FOR BABY RAM VILLAGERS MAN#SO READY#BABY KLIFF⊠WHERE YOU?!????#cuz like. sorry i love the ram kids so much. and NONE OF THEM HAVE ALTS#ok well. thats not true. valentines faye and alm and celica have a few#but 1) v!faye was SO long ago and 2) alm and celica NEVER get seasonals#they got valentines and then??? AND THEN WHAT??#brave alts cuz they won and legends bc its mandatory for lords. ????!!?!!!!?!!!#THATS IT???!!!!#not that baby hell is the best outcome but i thought theyd be a shoe in eventually#also for an awakening baby banner i was. kinda hoping if it happened itd be like. the second gen???#bc. theyre the babies???#BABY LUCINA IS LITERALLY IN THE GAME#i mean i guess itd be weird to have a newborn out on her own like that#but idk i think baby lucina + a few others would be a much better idea than chrom and lissa im sorry#do we not have enough chrom alts.#+ consider if we got like. cousins duo baby lucina and owain. cMONN owain doesnt have enough alts considering hes. yk. OWAIN?!#itd be nice if emmeryn was there though. though again her being relegated to BABY BANNER is kinds insane#ugh idk. couldve had duo baby celica and faye and i think that wouldve been adorable#or not. actually high chance intsys would ruin that and turn them into only talking about almâŠ#instead we get to have lissa and emmeryn only talking about chrom! whoop de doo!#i think theres actually child chrom lissa emm art out there somewhere i forgot where but#thats probably why. but that doesnt make the missed opportunities hurt any less#whatever ram gang fs next year!!!#please#what if we got baby awakening tiki and its j y!tiki again lmfao
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the thing about art is that it was always supposed to be about us, about the human-ness of us, the impossible and beautiful reality that we (for centuries) have stood still, transfixed by music. that we can close our eyes and cry about the same book passage; the events of which aren't real and never happened. theatre in shakespeare's time was as real as it is now; we all laugh at the same cue (pursued by bear), separated hundreds of years apart.
three years ago my housemates were jamming outdoors, just messing around with their instruments, mostly just making noise. our neighbors - shy, cautious, a little sheepish - sat down and started playing. i don't really know how it happened; i was somehow in charge of dancing, barefoot and laughing - but i looked up, and our yard was full of people. kids stacked on the shoulders of parents. old couples holding hands. someone had brought sidewalk chalk; our front walk became a riot of color. someone ran in with a flute and played the most astounding solo i've ever heard in my life, upright and wiggling, skipping as she did so. she only paused because the violin player was kicking his heels up and she was laughing too hard to continue.
two weeks ago my friend and i met in the basement of her apartment complex so she could work out a piece of choreography. we have a language barrier - i'm not as good at ASL as i'd like to be (i'm still learning!) so we communicate mostly through the notes app and this strange secret language of dancers - we have the same movement vocabulary. the two of us cracking jokes at each other, giggling. there were kids in the basement too, who had been playing soccer until we took up the far corner of the room. one by one they made their slow way over like feral cats - they laid down, belly-flat against the floor, just watching. my friend and i were not in tutus - we were in slouchy shirts and leggings and socks. nothing fancy. but when i asked the kids would you like to dance too? they were immediately on their feet and spinning. i love when people dance with abandon, the wild and leggy fervor of childhood. i think it is gorgeous.
their adults showed up eventually, and a few of them said hey, let's not bother the nice ladies. but they weren't bothering us, they were just having fun - so. a few of the adults started dancing awkwardly along, and then most of the adults. someone brought down a better sound system. someone opened a watermelon and started handing out slices. it was 8 PM on a tuesday and nothing about that day was particularly special; we might as well party.
one time i hosted a free "paint along party" and about 20 adults worked quietly while i taught them how to paint nessie. one time i taught community dance classes and so many people showed up we had to move the whole thing outside. we used chairs and coatracks to balance. one time i showed up to a random band playing in a random location, and the whole thing got packed so quickly we had to open every door and window in the place.
i don't think i can tell you how much people want to be making art and engaging with art. they want to, desperately. so many people would be stunning artists, but they are lied to and told from a very young age that art only matters if it is planned, purposeful, beautiful. that if you have an idea, you need to be able to express it perfectly. this is not true. you don't get only 1 chance to communicate. you can spend a lifetime trying to display exactly 1 thing you can never quite language. you can just express the "!!??!!!"-ing-ness of being alive; that is something none of us really have a full grasp on creating. and even when we can't make what we want - god, it feels fucking good to try. and even just enjoying other artists - art inherently rewards the act of participating.
i wasn't raised wealthy. whenever i make a post about art, someone inevitably says something along the lines of well some of us aren't that lucky. i am not lucky; i am dedicated. i have a chronic condition, my hands are constantly in pain. i am not neurotypical, nor was i raised safe. i worked 5-7 jobs while some of these memories happened. i chose art because it mattered to me more than anything on this fucking planet - i would work 80 hours a week just so i could afford to write in 3 of them.
and i am still telling you - if you are called to make art, you are called to the part of you that is human. you do not have to be good at it. you do not have to have enormous amounts of privilege. you can just... give yourself permission. you can just say i'm going to make something now and then - go out and make it. raquel it won't be good though that is okay, i don't make good things every time either. besides. who decides what good even is?
you weren't called to make something because you wanted it to be good, you were called to make something because it is a basic instinct. you were taught to judge its worth and over-value perfection. you are doing something impossible. a god's ability: from nothing springs creation.
a few months ago i found a piece of sidewalk chalk and started drawing. within an hour i had somehow collected a small classroom of young children. their adults often brought their own chalk. i looked up and about fifteen families had joined me from around the block. we drew scrangly unicorns and messed up flowers and one girl asked me to draw charizard. i am not good at drawing. i basically drew an orb with wings. you would have thought i drew her the mona lisa. she dragged her mother over and pointed and said look! look what she drew for me and, in the moment, i admit i flinched (sorry, i don't -). but the mother just grinned at me. he's beautiful. and then she sat down and started drawing.
someone took a picture of it. it was in the local newspaper. the summary underneath said joyful and spontaneous artwork from local artists springs up in public gallery. in the picture, a little girl covered in chalk dust has her head thrown back, delighted. laughing.
#writeblr#warm up#this is longer than i wanted i really considered removing that part about myself and what i went thru#but i think it really fucking bothers me that EVERY time i talk about being an artist#ppl assume i just like. had the skill and ability to drop everything and pay for grad school.#like sir i grew up poor. my house wasn't a safe space. i gave up a FREE RIDE TO LAW SCHOOL. for THIS. bc i chose it.#was it fucking hard? was i choosing the hard thing?? yes.#but we need to stop seeing artists as lazy layabouts that can ''afford'' to just ''sit around and create''#when MANY - if not MOST - of us are NOT like that. we have to work our fucking ASSES off. hard work. long and hard work#part of valuing artists is recognizing the amount we sacrifice to make our art. bc it doesn't just#like HAPPEN to us. also btw it rarely has anything to do with true talent.#speaking as someone with a chronic condition i hate when ppl are like u have it easy. like actively as i'm writing this my hands r#ACTIVELY hurting me. i haven't been posting bc my left hand was curled in a claw for the last week#this isn't fucking luck. after a certain point it's not even TALENT. it's dedication & sacrifice.#''u get to flounce around and do nothing with ur life'' is a narrative that is a direct result of capitalism#imagine if we said that about literally any other profession.#''oh so u give up 10 yrs of ur life to be a doctor? u sacrifice having a social life and u get SUPER in debt?#u need to work countless hours and it will often be thankless? well i wish i was that lucky''#we should be applying that logic to landlords ONLY#''oh ur mom and dad gave u the money to buy a house? and all u did was paint it white and rent it? huh.''
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The Princess and the Piastri
Oscar Piastri x Princess of Denmark!Reader
Summary: in which you follow the time-honored tradition of Danish royalty falling in love with Australians
Note: dedicated to my favorite Dane, @struggling-with-drivers, who had to put up with me taking months to finally get the proper inspiration to write this
âAnd if youâll just follow me, Your Majesty and Your Royal Highnesses, Iâll take you to meet Kevin now,â the overly peppy Haas PR representative says as she gestures down the garage.
You force a smile, trying not to physically recoil as you take in the assault of garish Haas branding surrounding you. The white, red, and black color scheme is far too harsh on the eyes this early on a Saturday morning.
âOh goody,â your younger sister Josephine says flatly, eliciting a snort from your younger brother Vincent.
Your mother, Queen Mary, shoots the two a reproachful look before turning back to the PR rep with a polished smile. âWeâre very excited to meet Kevin and support Denmarkâs driver.â
The PR rep beams and starts leading you further into the Haas garage, rattling on about Haasâ ambitious goals for the season as you pass mechanics in matching black Haas polos barely paying you any mind.
You internally groan, already dreading the interaction ahead. As the Crown Princess, youâve long perfected the art of feigning interest, but this weekend has tested even your limits.
âAnd I know meeting the future queen will just make Kevinâs day!â The rep continues enthusiastically. âHe was so honored when King Frederik reached out about you all coming this weekend to support him.â
You resist the urge to snort. More like the royal communications secretary reached out when they realized the Australian Grand Prix overlapped with your visit to your motherâs family in Australia. Nothing like conveniently timing a royal appearance to drum up positive press.
Your younger sister, Isabella, sidles up next to you, linking her arm through yours commiseratingly. At 16, sheâs already mastered your familyâs signature skill â conveying boredom through a pleasant facial expression.
âI have some fresh sets of Haas merch we would love for you to wear when you meet Kevin,â the rep says, holding out stacks of Haas emblazoned caps and shirts insistently. âIt would mean so much to the team for you to showcase your support.â
You force a smile, already shaking your head. âOh, Iâm afraid we canât wear anything with advertisements or sponsors per royal protocol.â
The PR repâs face falls slightly before she plasters the smile back on. âOf course, Your Royal Highness, I understand. Shall we?â
She gestures further down the garage to where the Haas drivers are standing with team personnel. Kevin Magnussen spots your approach, nudging his teammate before they turn towards you.
As you reach them, Kevin steps forward first, offering a short bow. âYour Majesty, Your Royal Highnesses, itâs an honor to meet you.â
You offer your hand, which he takes, bowing again as he brushes his lips over your knuckles. âThe honor is ours, Mr. Magnussen. Denmark is proud to have you representing us in Formula 1.â
Kevin smiles bashfully as you drop his hand. âPlease, call me Kevin.â
You return his smile politely. âVery well, Kevin it is.â
The rest of your family exchanges pleasantries with Kevin before the PR rep guides you towards the pit wall to observe the action on track. Practice is getting underway, and youâre grateful for any chance to extract yourself from the oppressive Haas environment.
As you exit the garage into the sunlight, you breathe a sigh of relief. Two bodyguards fall smoothly in step behind you as you start down the paddock, taking in the buzz of activity.
You smile softly, the excitement infectious despite your general disinterest in motorsports. Thereâs something about the frenetic energy at a race that gets your blood pumping.
Your eyes light up as you spot the unmistakable papaya motorhome of McLaren up ahead. Now thatâs a team you can get behind. Cool retro appeal and a driver line-up youâve heard is full of young talent â whatâs not to love?
You pick up your pace, eager to get a closer look at the iconic livery, when suddenly you collide headlong into a firm, muscular body.
You gasp as strong arms wrap around you, stopping your momentum abruptly. Your hands brace against a solid chest as you glance up, prepared to stammer out an apology.
But the words die on your lips as you find yourself staring into warm brown eyes set in an unfairly handsome face. The eyes widen in surprise, clearly not having expected the Crown Princess of Denmark to go careening into his arms.
His mouth opens, no doubt to ask if youâre okay, but you stand frozen as the hustle of the paddock fades into background noise.
In this moment, itâs just you and this beautiful stranger. A stranger who hasnât let go of you yet, one hand still pressed gently against your back.
You know you should pull away, apologize for your clumsiness and be on your way. But something about his eyes makes you want to stay right here, wrapped safely in his arms.
You stand frozen, lost in the strangerâs mesmerizing brown eyes. You vaguely register your bodyguards stepping forward on either side of you.
âYour Royal Highness, are you alright?â Henrik, your lead bodyguard, asks urgently.
You blink, the spell broken as Henrikâs hand lands on your shoulder, gently tugging you back.
The strangerâs eyes widen further as understanding seems to dawn. His eyes flick over the royal crest on Henrikâs suit jacket before moving back to your face, a hint of panic in his gaze.
Before you can offer any reassurance, a voice calls out sharply from behind the man.
âOscar! What are you doing, mate? Weâve got the strategy briefing in five!â
You watch as the man â Oscar, apparently â glances reluctantly over his shoulder to where a thin harried man bearing a McLaren team pass stands tapping his foot impatiently.
Oscarâs hands slip from your waist as he takes a small step back. âSorry, Iââ
But whatever he was going to say gets lost as the man strides forward, clapping a firm hand on Oscarâs shoulder.
âCâmon, letâs go. No time for chatting up fans when weâve got quali coming up.â
Oscar allows himself to be steered away, casting one last, almost wistful look back at you before the brisk man hustles him around the corner.
You stare after them for a long moment before Henrikâs voice breaks through your daze once more.
âYour Highness, are you injured at all? Shall I call for a medic?â
You blink, shaking your head quickly as heat floods your cheeks. Honestly, they must think you a simpleton, standing here gaping after a man you collided with.
âNo, no, Iâm fine,â you assure him quickly. âJust a bit clumsy this morning it seems.â
You force out a breathy laugh, hoping your flaming cheeks can be explained away as embarrassment from your blunder.
Henrik eyes you skeptically for a moment before nodding. âVery well. But please be more careful, Your Highness. Next time we may not be so lucky.â
You nod contritely before allowing Henrik to usher you back towards the Haas garage, your other bodyguard falling smoothly back in step behind you.
As you near the garage, you spot your family gathered by the pit wall, watching as a group of track marshals examines a particularly suspicious drain cover. Your younger siblings all turn as one to look at you, eerily in sync.
The knowing looks on their faces make you shudder. Of the many curses of growing up in a big family, the inability to keep secrets ranks near the top. Youâre sure theyâll have the truth out of you before long.
âNice of you to join us, Y/N,â your younger brother Christian remarks wryly as you reach them. âHave a nice stroll?â
You resist the urge to stick your tongue out at him. Barely.
âLovely, thank you,â you reply breezily instead, moving to stand between your mother and Isabella.
You determinedly avoid meeting any of your siblingsâ gazes, focusing on the timing sheets instead. But you can feel their curious stares boring into you.
âYou look a bit flushed, darling. Are you feeling quite alright?â Your mother murmurs, pressing a hand to your forehead in concern.
âJust peachy!â You chirp in response, internally cringing at the unnatural brightness in your tone.
From your other side, Isabella leans in, voice sly. âYou do seem rather ⊠distracted. Anything you want to share with the class?â
You glance at her sharply, taking in her knowing smirk. You narrow your eyes in warning, but Isabella just smiles innocently.
âOh leave your sister be,â your mother chides. âIâm sure Y/N is just overwhelmed by the excitement of experiencing her first Grand Prix.â
You make a noncommittal noise of agreement, turning your focus back to the timing sheets. Isabella elbows you subtly and you pointedly ignore her, keeping your gaze fixed ahead.
Youâre immensely thankful when the Haas PR rep appears again, ushering you towards the back to âgive the team space to prepare for qualifying,â and drawing your familyâs attention away from you.
You trail after your family to the cordoned off hospitality area, gratefully accepting a bottle of water from the proffered cooler.
As the mechanics spring into action around you, Isabella sidles up next to you again, playful smile still in place.
âSoooo,â she drawls, bumping your shoulder with hers. âWhoâs got you all flustered then?â
You nearly choke on your water, whipping your head to face her. âWhat? No one! I donât know what youâre talking about.â
Even to your own ears, the denial sounds feeble. Isabella merely arches one perfect brow, clearly not buying it.
You huff out a breath, scanning the room quickly to ensure none of your other family members are in earshot before hissing under your breath. âI may have accidentally careened into a McLaren crew member during my walk.â
Isabellaâs grin turns positively feline. âOh, do tell ...â
âThereâs nothing to tell!â you insist, face flaming once more. âWe collided and his reflexes were quick enough to catch me before I fell. Thatâs all.â
âMmhmm, Iâm sure that blush is just because youâre so very embarrassed by your clumsiness and nothing else.â
You scowl and take a long swig of your water.
Isabella chuckles. âSo was this mystery McLaren man at least handsome?â
You nearly choke again. âIsabella!â You admonish under your breath.
She holds up both hands innocently, still grinning. âWhat? Itâs a perfectly reasonable question. No judgment here, promise.â
You narrow your eyes, considering her carefully. Before you can think better of it, you mutter reluctantly, âHe ⊠wasnât entirely unfortunate looking.â
âAha!â Isabella crows triumphantly. âI knew it!â
You shush her frantically, glancing around to make sure her outburst didnât draw any unwanted attention.
âDo you know his name at least?â Isabella asks, slightly more quietly this time.
You hesitate before admitting, "... Oscar, I think. His colleague called him that.â
Isabella hums thoughtfully. âVery mysterious ...â
You roll your eyes, shoving her shoulder. âOh stop it. Can we please just drop this?â
âOf course, of course,â Isabella relents, though the impish twinkle remains in her eye.
Youâre prevented from further interrogation by the start of qualifying. You rejoin your family, studiously keeping your gaze away from your siblingsâ knowing looks.
You determinedly put the morningâs events from your mind, focusing on Kevinâs qualifying efforts. Though you canât help the occasional wish that the handsome stranger from McLaren â Oscar â was the one flying around the track instead.
The session proceeds fairly predictably, with the top teams claiming the top spots and the backmarkers bringing up the rear.
As Kevin pulls into the garage after qualifying 17th, you paste on an encouraging smile.
âExcellent job out there, Kevin! You and the team should be very proud.â
Kevin smiles wryly back at you. âYouâre too kind, Your Highness. But I think we all know 17th is nothing to celebrate for a team with our aspirations.â
You nod sympathetically. âOf course, thereâs always room for improvement. But you showed admirable pace given the circumstances.â
Kevin inclines his head gratefully at your measured response. âYou have a bright future ahead as queen with such judicious words.â
You thank him sincerely for the compliment before your family takes their leave, the dayâs obligations finally complete.
As you all pile into the waiting cars, Isabella leans over and whispers, âDo you think Kevin wouldâve qualified higher if Haas wasnât so slow?â
You have to smother your snort of laughter into your hand.
âWithout question,â you whisper back. âI think a snail could qualify ahead of Haas at this point.â
Isabella dissolves into muffled giggles next to you as the cars pull away from the circuit, leaving the chaotic world of Formula 1 behind. At least until tomorrow.
***
You stare contemplatively out the car window as the city lights of Melbourne streak by in the darkness. Despite your familyâs teasing, you canât seem to remove a certain McLaren crew member from your thoughts.
Oscar. Even his name sends a flutter through your stomach.
You know itâs foolish to get caught up over a brief collision with a stranger. And yet ⊠those eyes. You canât shake the connection you felt in that moment, however fleeting.
The car slows to a stop outside your hotel and you make a split-second decision. Turning to your mother, you adopt your most winsome tone.
âMor, I was hoping you might allow me to go out for the evening. To experience the Melbourne nightlife before we depart.â
Your motherâs eyebrows raise in surprise. âGo out? Alone?â
You rush to reassure her. âOh no, Iâll take Henrik and Simone with me of course. I would just love the chance to explore the city a bit, like a normal young woman.â
You see a flash of understanding on your motherâs face and press your advantage. âIn fact, didnât you and Far meet during a pub crawl?â
Pink stains your motherâs cheeks but her lips quirk up. âI suppose we did. But those were different times ...â
âPlease Mor?â You plead. âWhen will I have a chance like this again?â
Your mother regards you shrewdly for a long moment before sighing. âOh very well. But Henrik and Simone must accompany you at all times. And I want you back by midnight at the latest.â
You beam, leaning over to smack a kiss on her cheek. âThank you, thank you! I promise Iâll stay safe.â
As you exit the car, your younger brother Christian pipes up from behind you. âHey, can I come too?â
âAbsolutely not,â your mother shuts him down swiftly, leveling a quelling look at his crestfallen face.
You hide a smile as you sweep into the hotel to change, giddiness rising in your chest. A night out is just what you need to clear your head from a certain handsome distraction.
An hour later you slide into the backseat of one of the discreet royal security vehicles, now wearing jeans, heels, and a silky camisole, your long hair spilling over your shoulders.
Henrik raises his eyebrows at your outfit but doesnât comment as he pulls away from the hotel, heading for the club district.
When you arrive, the bouncerâs eyes widen at the royal crests adorning your bodyguardsâ suits. But a few quick words from Henrik and youâre granted access without a fuss.
The heavy beat of the music washes over you as you enter the fashionable club. Bright lights flash hypnotically over the crowded dance floor. You glance back at Henrik and Simone stationed near the entrance, allowing the music to carry you further inside.
You weave your way to the bar, excitement simmering in your veins. Tonight youâre just Y/N, anonymous clubgoer. No titles, no expectations, no watching eyes judging your every move.
Well, except for your bodyguards of course. But theyâre discreet enough to give you space.
Youâre so lost in the heady freedom of anonymity that you donât notice the nearby figure doing a double take. But as you step up to the bar, waiting to order, a now familiar voice sounds behind you.
âY-Your Highness!â He stammers, nearly dropping the drinks he just received. âI mean, Princess, uh Crown Princess? Sorry, Iâm not actually sureââ
You whirl around to see Oscar standing there, looking devastatingly handsome in a button-down and jeans.
âOscar!â You gasp, a smile breaking across your face unbidden. âWhat are you doing here?â
Pink stains Oscarâs tanned cheeks. âAh, well my mates from the team wanted to go out and blow off some steam before the race tomorrow.â He rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. âBut what brings Denmarkâs future queen out to the clubs?â
You shrug lightly, grin turning impish. âCanât a girl just want to dance and have some fun?â
Oscarâs eyes gleam with understanding. âSuppose she can. Well then, may I get you a drink ⊠er ...â
He trails off, clearly unsure how to address you in this unusual context.
You take pity on him and lean in conspiratorially. âTonight, Iâm just Y/N. No need for fancy titles.â
Relief flashes across Oscarâs face and he smiles. âY/N it is.â
Soon youâve got drinks in hand and are chatting easily at a tall table beside the dance floor. Oscar is witty and charming, and laughs freely at your sarcastic commentary about Formula 1.
Youâre amazed by how at ease you feel in his presence, the crownâs ever-present weight lifted from your shoulders. With Oscar, youâre not an heiress apparent, but just a girl talking to a boy she really really likes.
When he asks what you think of McLaren, you perk up eagerly. âOh yes, what is it exactly that you do there? Are you an engineer or mechanic of some sort?â
Oscarâs eyes shutter briefly and he clears his throat. âAh, something like that. Mostly just tinkering to try and make the car faster.â
He steers the conversation to safer waters before you can inquire further. You make a mental note to look up the full McLaren staff list later and figure out his specific role.
The night flies by in a blur of laughter and stolen glances. Oscar gamely joins you on the dance floor, his hands resting lightly on your waist as you sway together.
When at last you note the time, disappointment sinks heavy in your gut. Oscarâs face mirrors your own regret as he insists on walking you to meet your bodyguards.
Outside the club, you turn to him reluctantly. âI wish this didnât have to end. Thank you for a wonderful evening.â
Oscar shuffles his feet, looking uncharacteristically uncertain. âWould ⊠would you want to meet up again tomorrow? Maybe outside the McLaren garage before the race?â
Your face lights up. âIâd love that.â Overcome by boldness, you lean in and brush a feather-light kiss to his cheek.
Oscarâs hand drifts up to his cheek, eyes dazed. âBrilliant. Iâll see you tomorrow then.â
You bid him goodnight before allowing Henrik and Simone to usher you into the waiting car, unable to keep the giddy smile from your face the entire ride back.
***
The next morning, you awake with a smile stretching across your face. The memory of Oscarâs brown eyes gazing into yours as you swayed together in the club fills you with warmth.
As you dress and prepare to head to the circuit, an idea strikes. Thereâs no rule saying you have to spend the entire pre-race hours cooped up in the Haas garage after all.
You slip into the hotel dining room, grabbing a piece of toast. âIâm afraid the petrol fumes in the garage were giving me a dreadful headache yesterday. I think Iâll take a walk around the paddock this morning for some fresh air before the race.â
Your motherâs brows furrow in concern. âOh dear, that wonât do at all! Yes, a nice walk sounds wise.â
You thank her profusely on your way out, hiding your triumphant smile until the door closes behind you. Phase one complete.
You hold yourself back from rushing through the paddock once at the circuit, maintaining a sedate royal pace. But inside, excitement bubbles through your veins at the thought of seeing Oscar again.
As you make your way to the McLaren garage, your steps falter at the larger-than-life image emblazoned on the wall. Oscar beams back at you, brown hair just barely poking out from under his McLaren cap. The block letters beside the photo proclaim OSCAR PIASTRI #81.
You press a hand to your mouth to smother your gasp. Oscar is a driver? Your Oscar?
Speak of the devil, you spot him emerging from the garage, already dressed in fireproofs with his race suit half hanging around his waist. His face lights up when he sees you, lips curving into that boyish grin that makes your knees weak.
âGood morning!â He chirps, moving in for a brief hug.
You return the hug distractedly, still grappling with this new discovery. As you pull back, you arch a questioning brow at him.
âSo ⊠youâre a driver. Funny, I donât recall you mentioning that last night.â
Pink stains Oscarâs cheeks and he rubs the back of his neck. âAh, right. I may have omitted certain details about my role here.â His eyes turn pleading. âI hope you can forgive me? I just liked talking to someone who didnât already know everything about me for once.â
You regard him thoughtfully before allowing a teasing grin to emerge. âWell, I suppose I can understand the appeal of a fresh slate. And itâs not as if I was fully forthcoming either.â
Oscarâs shoulders sag in relief. âToo right. Quite the pair we make, Princess.â His eyes dance playfully.
You open your mouth to respond but are interrupted by a shout from the garage. âOscar! Debrief in two minutes, letâs go!â
Oscar smiles apologetically. âDuty calls. But letâs continue this later?â
At your nod, he squeezes your hand briefly before jogging back inside. You make your way back to Haas, butterflies still fluttering wildly.
Once the race starts, you have to work to restrain your enthusiasm as Oscar quickly moves up the field. More than once, you catch your lips curving upward as he deftly overtakes a competitor, and have to rearrange them into careful neutrality.
A discreet glance sideways shows your family members focused intently on Kevinâs efforts in the Haas. You allow yourself a small smile. Watching Oscar race with no one the wiser feels like getting away with something deliciously secretive.
The checkered flag finally waves after 58 intense laps. Your heart leaps as the McLaren crew begins celebrating Oscarâs podium finish. You have to force yourself not to join the applause as he climbs from his car, settling for clasping your hands tightly to contain your glee.
Meanwhile, Kevin finishes in 18th position while his teammate Nico suffered a mechanical retirement. You paste on an encouraging smile, tamping down your excitement over Oscarâs podium.
âNice recovery there at the end, Kevin. Surely the team can build on this result in the next race.â
Privately, you think Haas would be lucky to keep a wheel attached long enough to make it to the end of a full race, let alone fight for points. But you keep that thought to yourself for now.
As your family rises to congratulate a dejected Kevin on completing the race, Isabella leans in close to whisper in your ear. âNot a great showing, I dare say. Perhaps you are considering transferring allegiance to a certain papaya team instead?â
You press your lips together to contain your smile. Trust Isabella to have guessed your conflicted loyalties.
âIndeed,â you murmur back. âOne must be open to supporting all teams in the spirit of global unity.â
Isabellaâs eyes dance with mirth, but she simply links her arm through yours, giving a sage nod. âSpoken like a true diplomat.â
As the celebrations kick off for Oscarâs first home race podium, you sneak glances over your shoulder, hoping for another glimpse of him through the chaos.
Someday soon, perhaps youâll be able to cheer for him openly. For now, you hold the image of his smiling face in your mind as you reluctantly follow your family back out of the disappointing Haas garage.
If nothing else, this surprise-filled weekend has shown you that your heart will not be so easily commanded. And it seems to have rather fixated itself on a certain charismatic McLaren driver.
***
You hover near the paddock exit, half hoping to catch one last glimpse of Oscar before your departure. Your family made their polite farewells to the Haas team and you seized the opportunity to slip away.
Youâve just resigned yourself to missing him when hurried footsteps sound behind you.
âPrincess! Wait up!â
You whirl around to see Oscar jogging towards you, face freshly showered but still flushed with elation. He draws up before you, bouncing a little on the balls of his feet.
âIâm so glad I caught you before I had to leave,â you smile brightly. âI had to come say a proper congratulations for your podium first!â
Oscar ducks his head bashfully even as his eyes shine. âAnd, well, I hoped maybe you were cheering me on out there today?â
Heat floods your cheeks as you let out an embarrassed laugh. âYou know I canât answer that. But I will say you drove brilliantly and Iâm so pleased for your result.â
Oscarâs grin widens, clearly reading between the lines of your diplomatic answer.
âWell Iâm glad I could end your weekend on a high note after the woeful introduction to Formula 1 from Haas.â
You groan good-naturedly. âUgh yes, I think Kevin was grateful when I finally made myself scarce from that garage of doom.â
Oscar chuckles before his expression turns wistful. âI suppose this means youâll be heading back to Denmark now though?â
You shake your head, curls spilling over your shoulders. âOh no, weâre spending a few more weeks visiting my motherâs family in Tasmania first.â
At Oscarâs look of surprise, you elaborate, âMy mother is originally Australian. Her family is from Tasmania.â
Understanding dawns on Oscarâs face. âWell how about that! Danish royalty certainly seems to have a taste for us Aussies.â He winks playfully.
Heat blooms in your cheeks but you rally to return his banter. âI suppose we do. Though from what I hear, McLaren seemed rather keen on Danes once upon a time as well.â
A rather in-depth Google search earlier that day taught you that Kevin Magnussen once raced for the papaya team. You rather wish he never left, if only so you did not have to suffer through the tedium of being in the Haas garage for the past two days.
Oscar barks out a laugh, eyes dancing with mirth. âToo right, youâve got me there.â His laughter fades to a soft smile. âBut I canât say I blame my predecessors in the slightest.â
The tender look in his eyes makes your breath catch. Before you lose your nerve, you hurriedly dig out your phone.
âI should give you my number. So we can keep in touch.â
Oscarâs face lights up as he scrambles for his own phone. You quickly swap devices, inputting your contact info and trying not to notice how his name looks lighting up your screen.
Once youâve traded phones again, an awkward silence descends. You clutch your phone tightly, unsure how to say goodbye when this thing between you feels so new and delicate.
Oscar clears his throat, scuffing his shoe against the pavement. âWell, I suppose I should let you get on your way ...â
âRight, yes ...â You trail off, searching for the right words. Because as silly as it sounds, the thought of not seeing Oscarâs smile for who knows how long makes your chest unexpectedly tight.
Acting on impulse, you step forward to wrap your arms around his shoulders in a hug. Oscarâs arms immediately curl around your back, clutching you close.
You breathe him in, imprinting this moment in your memory. The noise of the paddock fades away until itâs just this â the two of you suspended in time.
Far too soon, Oscar pulls back reluctantly. His eyes search your face like heâs trying to memorize it.
âTravel safely, Princess. Iâll see you soon.â His voice holds a promise.
You nod, not trusting your voice. With a final squeeze of his hand, you turn and walk steadily towards the exit. Your bodyguards fall in step behind you.
You donât look back, though you can feel Oscarâs gaze on you until you disappear from view. As your car pulls away, you finally chance a glance backwards, just in time to see Oscar still watching wistfully after you.
Your breath escapes in a shaky exhale and you clutch your phone like a lifeline. Everywhere else suddenly feels much too far away.
***
You collapse back onto your bed, phone already pressed to your ear before the first ring even finishes. Oscar picks up on the second, voice warm and teasing as always.
âEager today, are we Princess?â
You roll your eyes even as your lips quirk up. âOh hush, you know you wait just as anxiously for my calls.â
Oscarâs answering chuckle makes your heart skip a beat. âGuilty. Iâll gladly admit your voice is the highlight of my day.â
Warmth floods your cheeks as you get comfortable against the pillows. âFlatterer. Now distract me from the drudgery of royal life with some F1 gossip. How go things in the glamorous world of racing?â
âOh where to even start!â Oscar launches eagerly into the latest paddock drama â teammate clashes, contract disputes, and salacious hookups. You listen eagerly, living vicariously through his tales.
âMeanwhile Lando has been his usual chaos gremlin self ...â Oscar continues, recounting his teammateâs latest antics.
You laugh until your sides ache, picturing the outrageous scenes. âHonestly, I donât know how McLaren copes with you two!â
âWe keep things lively, thatâs for sure,â Oscar agrees, audibly grinning. âAlthough weâd love an even livelier paddock with a certain Danish princess around again ...â
He leaves the statement hanging tentatively. You chew your lip, heart racing as you gather your courage.
âFunny you should mention that ⊠Iâve been thinking lately that it would be nice to attend a race again soon.â
Oscarâs sharp inhale crackles through the phone. ïżœïżœïżœReally? Youâd come to another race?â His voice turns playful. âAny particular reason for the sudden interest?â
You laugh, hoping he canât hear the breathlessness in it. âOh you know, miss the atmosphere, the excitement ...â You pause before adding softly, âGetting to see a certain Aussie driver again.â
Oscar makes a pleased little noise that sends butterflies swirling wildly. âWell Iâm sure that driver would be absolutely thrilled to see your face in the paddock again.â
Warmth spreads through your chest, emboldening you further. âAs it happens, my godmother is the Queen of Belgium. So it should be easy enough to arrange an appearance at the Belgian Grand Prix.â
âThatâs perfect!â Oscar enthuses. âSpa is one of my favorite circuits too. Say youâll be there?â
His boyish eagerness melts your heart. âIâll speak to our communications secretary this week. Iâm sure they can make it happen.â
âBrilliant.â The tender hope in Oscarâs voice finds its mirror in your own thudding heart. A new chapter is beginning.
You chat longer about lighter topics until Oscar reluctantly says he should get some rest before practice tomorrow.
âI suppose I should let you go then ...â He trails off reluctantly, neither wanting to be the one to end the call.
You clutch the phone tighter, casting wildly for an excuse to keep him on the line. âWait, you havenât told me what ridiculous outfit Lando is wearing today!â
Oscar huffs out a laugh. âTrust me, words donât do justice to the monstrosity. Iâll send pictures so you can experience it fully.â
âItâs a deal.â You know youâre only delaying the inevitable, but the thought of hanging up is unbearable.
Just then, the bedroom door crashes open and your younger brother Christian strolls in.
âHey Y/N, Mor wants to know if ⊠is that Oscar youâre talking to?â He raises his eyebrows knowingly.
You frantically shoo him away but Christian swoops in and plucks the phone from your hand. âSorry mate, gotta steal my sister back. Royal duties call and all that. But great chatting, bye now!â
Before you can wrestle the phone away, Christian ends the call with a cheeky grin.
You smack his shoulder indignantly. âYou little brat! I was right in the middle of important diplomatic relations!â
Christian just cackles gleefully. âOh yeah, I could tell. Your dopey romantic sighing was a big clue.â He laughs harder at your outraged stammers.
âJust you wait until youâre madly pining over someone, Iâll get my revenge,â you threaten.
But inside, not even Christianâs teasing can diminish your euphoria. The promise of seeing Oscar again soon eclipses all else.
***
Your heels click rapidly over the pavement as you sweep through the Spa paddock gates. Bodyguards trail discreetly behind but you barely notice them, eyes scanning the bustling crowd for one face.
And then you see him. Oscar stands just ahead, back turned as he bounces on his toes, head swiveling in search of you.
Joy bubbles up in your chest. You break into a run, calling his name. âOscar!â
He whips around, eyes lighting up when they land on you. His arms open wide and you launch yourself into them with a breathless laugh.
Strong hands grip your waist, swinging you in an enthusiastic circle before setting you back on your feet. Neither of you make any move to step back, standing tangled together.
âYou came,â Oscar murmurs, voice awed like he canât quite believe youâre real.
You lean into him, his warmth chasing away the months spent missing him. âOf course. After all, I made a promise to a certain driver.â
Oscarâs answering smile outshines the sun. Reluctantly, he loosens his hold, keeping one hand entwined with yours.
âWell then, allow me to escort you inside properly.â He presses a quick kiss to your knuckles before leading you towards the paddock entrance.
After scanning your VIP guest pass, courtesy of Oscar, you pass through security hand-in-hand, giddy smiles fixed in place.
The paddock buzzes with activity but you only have eyes for Oscar as he guides you straight to the McLaren garage.
Mechanics glance up curiously as you enter behind Oscar. He squeezes your hand, leaning in close.
âReady to meet the team, Princess?â At your answering nod, he steers you confidently through the organized chaos.
You run a suddenly nervous hand over your hair as Oscar approaches a genial looking man conversing with a slimmer bearded man.
âZak, Andrea â thereâs someone special I want you both to meet.â
The two men turn, eyebrows raising in polite expectation. Oscar gently tugs you forward.
âThis is Crown Princess Y/N of Denmark. Y/N, meet Zak Brown, our CEO, and Andrea Stella, team principal.â
Zakâs eyebrows climb higher but he recovers smoothly, extending a hand. âYour Royal Highness, welcome. Weâre honored to host you in our garage.â
You return his firm handshake. âThe honor is mine, thank you. Your team has been so welcoming.â
After greeting Andrea as well, Oscar steers you further inside just as a mop of fluffy brown hair zooms by.
âOscar, mate! There you are, Iâve been ...â The words die on his lips as he spots you, mouth falling open comically. His eyes dart between you and Oscar rapidly.
âLando, come meet the princess!â Oscar calls out cheekily.
Lando snaps his jaw shut, looking utterly bewildered but offering you a hasty bow. âYour Highness! I mean, lovely to meet you, really.â
Amusement flickers through you at his gobsmacked expression. Oscar shoots you a playful wink over Landoâs shoulder as he scrambles to regain composure.
âBut, wait.â Lando glances between you again in confusion. âYou mean all those times you cooed âgood morning, Princessâ over the phone ⊠you were talking to an actual princess!â
Oscar bursts out laughing while you press a hand to your mouth to smother your own giggles. Lando flushes but eventually joins in your laughter.
After extracting a promise to explain everything later, Oscar steers you away so they can focus on final prep.
âIâll make sure youâre taken care of during the race before I have to suit up,â he promises, getting you settled with refreshments.
The anticipation builds until finally the cars are screaming away from the grid in a blur of color. Your nails dig into your palms as positions shuffle wildly on the first lap.
But soon Oscar settles into a rhythm, battling wheel to wheel with Lewis Hamilton. Youâre on your feet with every overtake, yelling yourself hoarse.
The final laps loom with Oscar still fighting for a podium finish. But suddenly disaster strikes for the leaders. Max Verstappen and Charles Leclerc collide attempting to lap a backmarker on the Kemmel Straight.
You watch in disbelief as both the Red Bull and Ferrari limp to a stop off the track, clearing the path for Oscar to sweep through into the lead.
The McLaren garage roars in elation as Oscar maintains the gap and finally, finally crosses the line to claim his maiden Grand Prix win.
Chaos erupts as a stampede of papaya uniforms makes its way towards parc fermĂ© but Oscarâs performance coach Kim grasps your arm urgently. âQuickly, heâll want you there for this!â
Kim rushes you down towards the area where Oscar guides his car to a stop. He vaults out, pumping both fists and clambering atop the chassis in triumph.
Your breath catches at the sight of his windswept hair and exultant grin. As McLaren swarms Oscar, his gaze catches on you at the barrier, pressed close by Kim.
In two strides Oscar is right there, joy and adrenaline shining in his eyes. His hand cups your cheek ⊠and then his lips find yours.
The roar around you fades away. For one perfect, suspended moment, your world narrows down to Oscarâs lips slanted over yours, his fingers tangled in your hair.
When you break apart, eyes flying open, the full reality crashes back in. But with Oscarâs breathless laugh warming your skin, the rest of the world no longer matters.
***
You pace the plush hotel carpet, nerves jangling as you await the imminent video call with your family. Since Oscarâs podium kiss yesterday, youâve been hyper aware of your phone blowing up with notifications but too anxious to check them.
A brisk knock precedes your royal secretary poking his head in. âThe call is ready whenever you are, Your Highness.â
Squaring your shoulders, you take a seat at the polished desk as the large monitor springs to life. Your familyâs faces fill the screen, ranging from sympathetic (Isabella) to highly amused (Christian).
Before you can get a word in, the royal PR advisors elbow into view, expressions like thunderclouds.
âYour Royal Highness, might we have a word about this ⊠incident from the race?â The chief advisorâs tone drips disapproval.
Ice trickles down your spine but you keep your face neutral. âOf course.â
âI trust youâve seen the coverage?â At your hesitant nod, the advisor continues, âThen you understand what an embarrassment this is, how damaging to the dignity of the crown.â
You clench your jaw, anger rising. But he barrels on, âSuch scandalous behavior, and broadcast globally! You must see how this recklessness reflects poorly on Denmark.â
The rest of the advisors murmur emphatic agreement. Your cheeks burn in humiliation even as you desperately blink back furious tears.
âThe narrative has already spiraled out of control. Such associations cannot be tolerated from the future queen.â
The scorn in his tone ignites your temper. But before you can spit out a scathing retort, a commanding voice interrupts.
âEnough!â Your fatherâs stern face fills the screen, pinning the advisors with an icy glare. They recoil, mouths snapping shut.
Satisfied, your father turns to you, expression softening. âMy dear, youâve done nothing wrong. What matters most is that youâre happy.â
Hope flickers tentatively inside you as the advisors gape. But your father silences them with another quelling look.
âI know a thing or two about duty versus matters of the heart.â His eyes soften, finding your mother. âIâll not see my daughter denied the same chance at love that brought me such joy.â
Your mother smiles gently, affection shining through the screen. On her other side, Isabella squeezes her shoulder in solidarity.
The fight drains from the advisors under your fatherâs resolute gaze. With a few grumbled concessions, they disconnect from the call.
Your muscles uncoil in relief as your attention returns fully to your family. Isabella waggles her eyebrows.
âSoooo ⊠looks like someone had an eventful race!â
Heat floods your cheeks but you canât suppress a giddy smile. âIt just sort of happened in the heat of the moment.â
âThis Oscar must be something special,â your mother remarks kindly.
Your insides turn to mush at the memory of Oscarâs kiss. âHe really is. I canât explain it, but it feels ⊠right with him.â
Your normally stoic mother looks touched. âThen he has my blessing.â
On her other side, Christian smirks. âYeah, yeah, we get it, youâre in looooove.â He exaggerates a swoon, cackling when you stick your tongue out at him.
âHush dear, let your sister be happy,â your mother chides, swatting his shoulder before smiling indulgently. âReminds me of another young prince long ago, besotted with an Australian girl ...â
Your father laughs, eyes crinkling. âToo right, darling. Clearly our Y/N takes after me.â He winks at you. âWe Danes do seem to have a weakness for Aussies.â
You groan good-naturedly at the gentle teasing, buoyed by your familyâs support. With their love behind you, the rest no longer matters.
You conclude the call with hugs blown through the screen and a heart full to bursting. No matter what the coming days hold, you wonât be facing them alone.
Later, a hesitant knock interrupts your contented musings. You open the door to find Oscar, eyebrows pinched anxiously.
But at the sight of your radiant smile, the tension melts from his frame. His hands settle comfortably on your waist like coming home.
âSo ...â he begins, nose scrunching up adorably, âThink your family will let you keep me around?â
You answer by pulling him down into a long, sweet kiss. When you finally separate, foreheads pressed together, Oscar sighs out, âIâll take that as a yes.â
Your answering laugh fills the space between you as he lifts you effortlessly into a spinning embrace. The setting sun gilds the hotel room in amber, basking you both in warmth and promise.
Let the world say what they will. Youâve made your choice, the only one your heart would allow. And with Oscarâs arms encircling you now, you know youâre right where you belong.
***
âCome on, itâll be great! Whenâs the next chance youâll get to come down under?â
Oscarâs pleading face fills your laptop screen, bottom lip poking out beseechingly. You try to stand firm, but your resolve is crumbling.
âI donât know ⊠wonât I be imposing on your family time?â
Oscar waves a hand breezily. âNah, Mum and Dad have been hassling me nonstop to bring you for a visit. Trust me, theyâll smother you with Aussie hospitality.â
You chew your lip thoughtfully. A trip together does sound tempting. And youâre endlessly curious to see where Oscar grew up.
Sensing your wavering, Oscar presses his advantage. âThereâs so much I want to show you! The beach I learned to surf at, my favorite cafes and shops ...â
His voice turns coaxing. âAnd just think, falling asleep under the southern stars ...â
Your heart flutters traitorously. Oscar knows your weakness for astronomy. With a defeated huff, you nod.
âOh alright, youâve convinced me. Iâll see if I can clear my schedule for next month.â
Oscar whoops, pumping a victorious fist. âYes! Youâre gonna love it, I promise.â
The rest of the call passes in eager planning until Oscar reluctantly disconnects to start his day. As the screen goes dark, butterflies swell in your stomach. A whole trip together!
The weeks crawl by agonizingly until finally youâre boarding the royal jet bound for Melbourne, giddiness rising with each mile.
Oscar is waiting when you deplane, sweeping you up joyfully the second your feet hit the tarmac. You cling to him, breathing in the scent of home youâve missed so much.
As the hug extends well past proper etiquette, your bodyguard Henrik pointedly clears his throat. You spring apart, blushing when you meet his knowing gaze.
Oscar just grins unrepentantly, grabbing your hand to lead you towards where his parents are waiting.
You spot them immediately â Oscarâs smile mirrored on his motherâs face and his kind eyes reflected in his fatherâs crinkled gaze. They hurry over, clasping your hands warmly.
âYour Royal Highness, weâre so honored to finally meet you!â His mother gushes. âOscarâs told us so much, I feel as if we know you already.â
You smile, charmed by her easy manner. âThe honor is mine, Mrs. Piastri. Please, call me Y/N.â
She pats your hand merrily. âOf course, dear! And you must call me Nicole. Now come, letâs get you home and settled.â
The ride to Oscarâs childhood home passes quickly, filled with lively conversation. His parentsâ sweet banter reminds you so much of your own.
When you arrive, Nicole loops her arm through yours, bustling you inside. âWeâve freshened up Oscarâs old room for you, I do hope itâs comfortable.â
You take in the posters of racing legends and cricketers adorning the walls, the cluttered bookshelves full of well-loved texts. âItâs perfect, thank you.â
âExcellent!â Nicole claps her hands. âNow, you two get settled. Dinner will be ready shortly.â
She disappears down the hall with a parting wink that makes Oscar flush beet red. You stifle a laugh and let him tug you further inside.
Dinner passes in a blur of delicious food and easy laughter. Chrisâ eyes twinkle knowingly as he refills your wine.
âWeâre just delighted to finally meet the girl whoâs made our Oscar so happy.â
Oscar covers his face in exaggerated mortification, but his fingers squeeze yours under the table. You lift your joined hands to brush a kiss over his knuckles when his parents arenât looking.
The peaceful mood continues as Nicole breaks out photo albums. You coo over baby pictures of Oscar, smothering laughter at his gap-toothed grin and wild hair.
Yawns eventually take over and everyone reluctantly shuffles off to bed. In Oscarâs room, you borrow his old karting club shirt to sleep in.
Oscar looks up from turning down the duvet, eyes darkening as he takes you in. âThis was a terrible idea, you looking so cute in my clothes.â
You giggle and kiss the tip of his nose before climbing into bed and patting the space next to you. Oscar obliges, pulling you close and nuzzling into your hair.
Outside the window, the infinity of the southern skies beckons. But here in Oscarâs arms, you have everything you need.
Oscar hums contentedly, dropping a kiss to your hair as your eyes drift closed.
âSweet dreams, my princess,â he whispers. You float off cradled in his warmth, perfectly at peace.
The rest of the trip passes in blissful domesticity â lazy beach days, intimate dinners, long talks under the stars. Meeting Oscarâs family feels like coming to a second home.
On your last night, you creep outside to sit curled against him on the back porch, committing every detail to memory.
âI donât want this to end,â you whisper into the quiet night.
Oscar presses a lingering kiss below your ear. âItâs only the start for us.â
And basking in his touch, the infinite potential of the future unfolding before you, you know heâs right. This is just the beginning.
***
You smooth your hands over your dress, peering anxiously out the palace window overlooking the winding driveway. Any moment now, the car bringing Oscar should pull through the gates.
Itâs his first time visiting the palace and meeting your family officially as your boyfriend. You know theyâll love him, but nerves still flutter in your chest.
The crunch of tires on gravel draws your gaze back outside. You watch Oscar emerge from the car, craning his head back to take in the towering palace facade.
Unable to wait any longer, you gather your skirts and hurry downstairs just as he steps inside the grand entryway.
Oscar turns at the click of your heels, face melting into a smile. In a few quick strides, he sweeps you into his arms, spinning you joyfully.
You cling to him, breathing in the soothing scent of home youâve missed. When he sets you down, hands come up to frame your face tenderly, thumbs brushing over your cheeks.
âThereâs my beautiful girl. Iâve missed you so much, Princess.â
Heart swelling, you lean in to capture his lips in a kiss that conveys weeks of longing. Oscar responds urgently, fingers tangling in your hair to keep you close.
A pointed cough interrupts your reunion. You pull back to see your brother Christian smirking knowingly.
âWell now I see why you were so eager for Oscarâs visit. Should I come back later?â
You stick your tongue out at him even as a blush stains your cheeks. Taking Oscarâs hand, you lead him towards the family wing.
âCome on, everyoneâs excited to finally meet you properly.â
Voices carry from the dining room as you approach. Inside, your family looks up, faces alight with warmth and curiosity.
Your father strides forward first, clasping Oscarâs hand firmly. âOscar, welcome. Weâre delighted to have you here.â
Oscar returns the handshake graciously. âThe honor is mine, Your Majesty. Thank you for the invitation.â
More greetings follow before your mother guides everyone to the table. Oscar pulls out your chair, pressing a discreet kiss to your temple as you sit. Happiness bubbles up inside at having him here with your family.
Dinner passes enjoyably, conversation flowing. Oscar charms them all effortlessly with his quick wit and humor. Laughter fills the room, the atmosphere light and intimate.
With dessert finished, your siblings seize their chance to grill Oscar playfully.
âSooo tell us,â Isabella begins, propping her chin on her hands. âWhat exactly are your intentions with our dear sister?â
Oscar just grins, unfazed. âWhy, to make her happy every single day, of course.â
You melt at his simple sincerity, grasping his hand under the table.
âGood answer!â Christian crows. âBut know if you ever hurt her, youâll have the entire Danish army to answer to.â
Despite his teasing tone, you know Christian means every word. Oscar inclines his head solemnly.
âYou have my word such a day will never come. Her happiness means everything to me.â
Your siblings appear satisfied, moving on to pepper Oscar with questions about his career and interests. He takes their antics in stride, witty comebacks drawing fond laughter from your parents.
The relaxed family atmosphere reminds you so much of that first dinner at Oscarâs childhood home. Your heart swells with quiet joy at how seamlessly he fits here too.
Eventually Oscar politely extracts you both, citing early flights in the morning. Alone in the hall, he sags against the wall in exaggerated relief.
âWhew, your family is something else! I think that interrogation was more intense than any press conference.â
You laugh and swat his shoulder before lifting on your toes to kiss him sweetly. âYou were wonderful. Iâm so happy youâre here.â
Oscarâs eyes soften. âMe too, Princess. Being here with you feels like home.â
Heedless of any lingering eyes, you kiss him again under the twinkling chandelier.
A loud retching sound interrupts you. âUgh, get a room you two!â Christian complains, dodging your swat.
Oscar just tugs you closer with a chuckle. âDonât worry mate, I plan to.â
He silences Christianâs protests with another searing kiss. And surrounded by Oscarâs warmth, you canât bring yourself to care who sees.
***
Moonlight filters through the curtains, bathing the room in a soft glow. You lay curled against Oscarâs chest, fingers tracing idle patterns over his heart.
The steady rhythm soothes you, but your own heart feels anything but calm. Thereâs something you need to discuss, but nerves stall your tongue.
Sensing your tension, Oscarâs hand comes up to sift gently through your hair. âPenny for your thoughts, love?â
You lean into his touch, gathering courage. âI was just thinking about the future. Our future.â You twist to meet his gaze. âI know itâs still early days for us, but if this continues to get more serious ...â
You trail off uncertainly, but Oscarâs eyes are warm with encouragement. Bolstered, you continue.
âThere are certain expectations that come with being attached to the heir to the throne. Traditions and duties to learn.â
You watch Oscarâs face closely, but he simply nods thoughtfully. âOf course, that makes sense. Iâm happy to learn whatever I need to.â
Relief trickles through you. You prop yourself up on one elbow, smiling softly down at him.
âFor example, even before my mother was engaged to my father, she decided to learn Danish. The protocol and duties, the public role ⊠it was a massive life change.â
You take a bracing breath. âI donât expect you to make such changes overnight. But someday, if this continues on the path we hope ...â
You trail off meaningfully. Oscarâs hand comes up to cradle your face. âHey, if being with you means learning Danish, or attending stuffy banquets, or anything else, Iâm in this 100%.â
His eyes bore into yours. âIâll do whatever it takes to build a life together.â
Emotion clogs your throat. You have to swallow thickly before responding. âWell, maybe we start small then. How about I teach you a few phrases?â
Oscar grins, pulling you back down against him. âJa, det lyder perfekt.â
You jerk back in surprise, swatting his chest. âYou brat, have you been practicing without telling me?â
Oscarâs eyes dance with laughter. âMaybe just a few key phrases. Wanted to surprise you.â
His smile turns tender. âIâd love nothing more than for you to teach me, sweetheart.â
Happiness bubbles up inside you. You snuggle closer, thinking. âAlright, letâs start simple. Like hej simply means hello.â
Oscar repeats the phrase dutifully, brow furrowing in concentration. You cover his hand with yours.
âJeg elsker dig,â you murmur, gazing into his eyes.
âJeg elsker dig,â Oscar echoes. âWhat does it mean?â
Sudden shyness has you ducking your head. âIt means I love you.â
Oscarâs sharp inhale lifts your head. He grasps both of your hands, staring deeply into your eyes.
âJeg elsker dig,â he repeats reverently.
Emotion clogs your throat. You lean in, whispering against his lips, âJeg elsker dig, Oscar.â
The kiss starts soft and unhurried, a confirmation of feelings conveyed best without words. Oscarâs arms wrap securely around you as the kiss deepens, pouring every ounce of love and promise into it.
When you eventually break apart, Oscar keeps you cradled close, dropping kisses into your hair. âWhat else can you teach me?â
Happiness bubbles up at his tentative Danish endearment. You settle back against him, whispering translations as his steady heartbeat lulls you towards sleep.
But too soon, Oscar is reluctantly packing to leave, both clinging to these last private hours before he has to set off for the next race.
You wind yourself around him, unwilling to let go. Oscar holds you close, murmuring promises of next visits and calls into your hair.
As you finally part at the airport, his whispered âjeg elsker digâ warms you from the inside out. No matter the miles between you, your hearts remain entwined.
***
You adjust the diamond clips in your elegantly twisted updo, scanning your reflection critically. The deep blue gown hugs your frame perfectly, but nerves still flutter in your stomach.
Because tonight, Oscar will be attending his first official function as your partner â a lavish gala in honor of the new childrenâs hospital bearing your motherâs name.
A knock precedes Oscar peeking his head in, hands clapped over his eyes. âSafe to look?â
You smooth your skirt with a shaky exhale. âYes, come in.â
Oscar drops his hands, mouth falling open. âWow. You look absolutely stunning tonight, my love.â
He takes your hands, eyes roving appreciatively over you. âGoing to have to beat all the envious blokes away with a stick.â
You laugh, swatting his shoulder lightly. âOh hush. You look rather dashing yourself, Mr. Piastri.â
And he does in his impeccably tailored tuxedo, hair swept back neatly. You brush a piece of imaginary lint from his lapel, nerves melting away under his warm gaze.
âShall we?â He offers his arm gallantly. You lay your hand atop it, spine straightening.
âWe shall.â
The ballroom glitters under fairy lights as you make your entrance, immediately garnering interested looks and murmurs. On your arm, Oscar draws admiring glances of his own with his rakish good looks and easy confidence.
You greet various dignitaries and philanthropists, Oscar a steady, charming presence at your side. As you speak with the hospitalâs key figures, his hand at the small of your back anchors you.
But as the speeches drag on, Oscar leans in subtly. âIs it terrible Iâm already bored senseless? Iâd rather actually meet these kids weâre meant to be helping.â
You hide a smile behind your wine glass. The same restlessness plagues you as schmoozing patrons preen and prattle.
As dessert wraps up, an idea strikes you. You catch Oscarâs eye, tilting your head meaningfully at a side exit before excusing yourself discretely.
Understanding dawns on his face and he trails casually after you. In the entry hall, you hurry to a secluded alcove, grabbing his hand.
âQuick, while we wonât be missed. Letâs actually go see the children.â
Excitement flashes across Oscarâs face. âBrilliant thinking. Lead the way, Princess.â
Adrenaline courses through you as you sneak out to the waiting car, bodyguards eyeing you curiously.
âRigshospitalet, please. Quickly.â
At the childrenâs hospital, you sweep inside, Oscar at your heels. The receptionist gapes as you approach.
âSo sorry to drop by unannounced. We were hoping there might be a chance for us to visit with some of the patients?â
The receptionistâs mouth opens and closes before she stutters, âO-of course, Your Highness, right away!â Clearly your boldness has paid off.
You exchange exhilarated looks with Oscar as she pages a nurse to escort you up. On the cheery pediatric ward, you peek into rooms, greeting curious families.
At one doorway, a gasp stops you short. A little girl sits up in bed, pointing.
âMama, itâs the princess! And her boyfriend!â
You glance at Oscar to find him rubbing his neck bashfully. Clearly his fame extends beyond the F1 sphere here.
You laugh and enter slowly. âWe were hoping we might visit you, if thatâs alright?â
The girl â Else â nods eagerly, blond braids bouncing. Her mother rises to curtsy but you wave her off kindly as Oscar produces a small plush racecar from his pocket, to Elseâs delight.
As you chat and play with Else, joy lights up her face. For a short time, sheâs just a normal girl again. Your chest aches at her bright spirit despite her poor health.
All too soon, a nurse taps her watch. As you make your goodbyes, Else throws her thin arms around your waist.
âThank you! This was like a fairytale.â Over her head, her mother mouths a tearful thank you of her own.
You hug Else gently before kneeling down. âIt was our honor. You stay strong, little one.â
Her returning whisper warms your heart. âDonât worry, I will!â
Similar scenes play out in room after room. Your cheeks ache from smiling but itâs a welcome ache. The childrenâs awed joy makes the real reason for tonight crystal clear.
Watching Oscar kneel patiently as a shy boy shows him a prized toy car, your heart clenches with love. Catching your gaze, Oscarâs eyes mirror the same emotion.
Far too soon, your bodyguards notify you itâs time to return before your absence draws notice. A chorus of disappointed groans follows you out.
Back at the gala, you slip in just in time for closing toasts. No one seems the wiser about your little detour.
Under the table, Oscar squeezes your hand. The contact says it all â this is what truly matters. Not accolades or commendations, but joy brought to hurting hearts.
You know youâll be back. Both of you. Not for galas or acclaim, but for the chance to see young faces light up, if only for a moment.
Late that night, you slow dance alone in the empty ballroom, music and laughter faded. Oscarâs arms circle you from behind, chin tucking onto your shoulder.
âI think tonight was the most important royal function Iâve ever attended,â he murmurs.
You cover his hands with yours, leaning back into him with a contented sigh. No more words need be said.
The rest of the world may see events like tonight as social currency and networking. But you hold the truth in your heart â the only currency that counts canât be bought, only given freely through love.
***
Two Years Later
You smooth your hands over your dress, pulse thrumming as you await the imminent news conference. Just hours ago, the palace formally announced your engagement to Oscar, sending the public into a frenzy.
Now, youâre about to face the media together for the first time as an engaged couple. Press stands crowd the palace gardens, cameras poised and ready.
At your side, Oscar seems calm and collected, fingers threaded loosely with yours. But you sense the storm brewing beneath his tranquil surface.
You reach up and gently adjust his suit collar, fingers lingering on the lapels as you meet his eyes. He gives you a small, grateful smile before you both turn to face the expectant crowd.
Because today also brings another announcement â one that will upend Oscarâs world irreversibly.
Your father steps forward first to formally confirm the engagement and expound on Oscarâs character. As he returns to your side, Oscar squeezes your hand and you nod in encouragement.
Oscar clears his throat, stepping closer to the microphones. âThank you, Your Majesty. Y/N and I are over the moon at the chance to spend our lives together.â
He gazes at you softly before continuing. âIâm truly the luckiest man in the world to have won the heart of Denmarkâs lovely princess.â
You have to resist the urge to kiss him senseless then and there. Cameras flash brightly as Oscar details your romantic (and heavily abridged) love story, punctuated with charming wit.
But gradually, his mirth fades. With another fortifying hand squeeze, he steels himself for the harder part.
âWhile Iâm elated at this new chapter ahead, it also brings difficult changes. Iâm announcing my retirement from Formula 1 following this seasonâs conclusion.â
Murmurs ripple through the crowd. Oscarâs grip tightens as he pushes forward.
âAs a member of the royal family, I will no longer be able to continue racing competitively. I am grateful to have achieved my dream this year of winning the championship.â
His voice falters briefly and your heart clenches. Racing is Oscarâs passion â having to walk away is unimaginably hard.
Oscar visibly gathers himself. âBut as difficult as this is, marrying Y/N is worth any sacrifice. She is my true dream now.â
He turns to you then, eyes glistening. âThe honor of being your husband eclipses any trophy or medal. You are my greatest victory.â
Emotion clogs your throat and without thinking, you wrap him in a fierce embrace. The rules of propriety fade away, only your pride and love for Oscar remain.
His arms clutch you close as flashes erupt around you. But in this moment, you see only each other.
Eventually you separate and Oscar takes your hand once more, gracing you with a tender smile. He turns back to the microphones for one last address.
âTil Danmark og det danske folk. Jeg lover at tjene jer med ĂŠre, respekt og kĂŠrlighed.â
The Danish press reacts first, visibly surprised and impressed at Oscarâs speech in their native tongue.
You blink back a fresh wave of tears at his poignant promise â to serve Denmark with honor, respect, and love.
Overcome with emotion, you step forward to the microphones as well.
âOscarâs love for me and Denmark is clear to all who meet him. I am truly blessed to have found such a selfless, caring partner.â
Your voice wavers with feeling. âThough it grieves me to see his racing career ended prematurely, I could not be more proud of the man he is.â
You reach for Oscarâs hand, gazing at him through tear-filled eyes. âHe gives up much out of love for me. I only hope I can bring him a fraction of the joy in return.â
Oscarâs fingers tighten around yours, eyes shining with affection. Cameras flash furiously at your raw display of love and emotion.
But you remain lost in Oscarâs eyes, the rest of the world fading away. In this moment, all that matters is your shared devotion and the bright future stretching before you.
Questions start flying from the excited press corps but Oscar politely extracts you both, ceding the floor to the waiting palace officials.
Alone inside once more, Oscar sags against the wall in clear emotional exhaustion. You wrap him in your arms, heart aching for the pain this transition causes.
Oscar clings to you tightly, face pressed into your hair. âI meant every word,â he whispers fiercely. âYou are my whole world now.â
You draw back just far enough to meet his eyes, hoping he can see the depths of your love reflected there.
âI know, min kĂŠreste. Weâll face this new future together.â
The answering kiss speaks what words cannot. No matter what comes, your love remains constant.
A new path lies ahead now, one you will walk hand in hand, till the end of your days.
***
Five Years Later
The roar of engines draws nearer as your car nears the Copenhagen street circuit. In the seat beside you, Oscar bounces his leg restlessly, face alight with anticipation.
In the backseat, your three-year-old daughter, Margrethe (affectionately called Maise for short), mimics her fatherâs excitement, chattering cheerfully about anything and everything.
You reach over to still Oscarâs jostling knee, smiling indulgently. âEasy there, weâve barely arrived and youâre already wound up.â
Oscar shoots you a boyish grin. âCan you blame me? Itâs been so long since I was last in the paddock. Feels like a lifetime ago.â
Your heart swells with quiet awe once more at the sacrifices Oscar has made for your future together. While racing still runs through his veins, his duties as Crown Prince of Denmark now take precedence.
But today offers a joyous reunion, with Oscar instrumental in bringing Formula 1 racing back to Danish soil for the first time since 1962.
As the car pulls through the paddock entrance, Oscar cranes his neck eagerly, drinking in the familiar organized chaos. Before the door even opens, you hear a familiar voice shouting.
âHe lives! The prodigal prince returns!â A blur of McLaren papaya hurtles towards Oscar as he steps out.
Oscar just manages to brace himself before Lando Norris tackles him in an exuberant hug. Laughter bubbles out of Oscar as he returns the embrace.
âGood to see you too, mate. Itâs been way too long.â
You round the car to find Oscarâs former team already swarming him, clapping his back and jostling each other good-naturedly to greet their long-lost driver.
Oscarâs eyes shine as he falls back into easy banter, trading inside jokes and reminiscing. With Maise balanced on your hip, you hang back contentedly, letting Oscar have this moment.
As the reunion finally winds down, Lando gestures to you and Maise. âAnd who do we have here? Donât tell me this little beauty is your daughter?â
Oscar beams, waving you both over. âShe is indeed! Lando, meet my little girl.â
Lando pretends to stagger back in shock. âNo way, our little Oscar is all grown up and domesticated now!â
Oscar shoves him playfully before sweeping Maise into his arms. âWhat can I say, my fast living days are behind me now.â He kisses Maiseâs wavy hair, eyes finding yours. âIâve got all I need right here.â
Your insides turn mushy at the adoration in his voice. The years have only deepened your love further.
More drivers trickle over to greet Oscar, ribbing him good-naturedly about his new royal status. But the obvious affection underlying the teasing is clear.
Zak Brown claps Oscar on the back. âItâs so good to have you back, even just for a day. You and your family should stay, watch the race from the garage!â
For a fleeting moment, naked longing flashes across Oscarâs face at the thought of experiencing race day excitement again up close.
But reality settles back in quickly, his expression turning regretful. âThatâs a lovely offer, truly. But Iâm afraid weâll have to make our way to the royal box.â
He bounces Maise gently, tone wry. âSome of us have a job to do handing out trophies later.â Maise giggles and tugs at his ear happily, blissfully unaware of the wistfulness simmering beneath her fatherâs smile.
You slip your arm through Oscarâs, offering a comforting squeeze. His answering smile doesnât quite reach his eyes.
After more fond farewells, you exit the nostalgic bubble of the garage. Oscar pauses, taking a moment to just breathe and gather himself.
You shift Maise to your other hip, wrapping your free arm around his waist. Oscar leans into you gratefully, pressing a kiss to your hair.
âCanât believe itâs been five years already,â he murmurs. âFeels like another lifetime.â
You smile up at him sadly. âI know, my love. But look at everything youâve accomplished for Denmark in that time. This race wouldnât even be happening without you.â
Oscar huffs a small laugh. âToo right. Who needs driving when Iâve got you two anyway?â
He tickles Maise playfully, eliciting delighted giggles. The melancholy edge has left his eyes now, replaced by contentment.
Hand in hand, with Maise toddling happily between you, the three of you set off together towards the royal box. The Danish Grand Prix awaits, along with the bright future you continue building as a family.
This may no longer be Oscarâs world, but he now shapes the path for future generations of drivers. After the race, as Oscar graciously awards the beaming winner while Maise excitedly cheers from the side of the podium, you know this is precisely where heâs meant to be.
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Irene x Male Reader
word count: 3.2K
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You drive up to Irene's mansion, where every inch of the lawn looks meticulously manicured, and the fountain at the entrance shoots water in a pattern that can only be described as "obscenely expensive." You still can't believe you were hired to train a woman who doesn't seem to need a single day in the gym, but money is money, right?
You step out of the car and walk to the front door, a massive wooden structure that probably weighs more than your car. Before you have the chance to knock, the door opens as if the house has been eagerly awaiting your arrival. Irene appears, and the first thing you think is that the photos simply don't do her justice.
She's like an upgraded version of a classic diva, someone with a beauty that would be admired in any era of humanity, now enhanced by all the improvements time could offer. Black hair cascading in soft waves, feline eyes that devour you in a fraction of a second, and a posture that makes you wonder if you're standing before a queen or a trap disguised as a woman.
"Oh, I was excited to finally meet my personal trainer," she says.
"Ms. Irene," you reply, offering your hand in a gesture that feels outdated in her presence. Her hand is soft and firm, and the grip is just enough to make you feel that you are, without a doubt, in foreign territory.
"Come on, I'll show you the house," she says, turning quickly without waiting for a response. You follow her, walking through a house that is a maze of marble, stainless steel, and glass. Every piece of art on the walls screams in a flamboyant way, "I have more money than you can imagine," and the faint scent of fresh flowers lingers in the air, as if even the aroma of the house was custom-made.
"This here is the living room," she says, passing through a room larger than your entire apartment, and you pretend not to be impressed. "And over there is the kitchen. You might need something to drink after the workouts. Or during, if I decide to tire you out too much."
She smiles again, and this time you canât help but smile back, with that kind of irony that only arises when you know you're in trouble.
"This is the bedroom," she says, stopping in front of a closed door. You feel the tension rise a bit, and she notices it. "Not that youâll need it, but I thought you'd like to know where it is." She opens the door and reveals a room that looks like it came straight out of a decor magazine: an immense bed, silk sheets, and a view of the garden that seems hand-painted.
"Nice place," you say, more out of politeness than anything else.
"Thank you. Now, the gym," she says, as if this was the true purpose of the entire visit. She leads you to a room where all the exercise machines seem to shine with newness. "I need to stay in shape, after all," she says, leaning casually on a treadmill, her posture suggesting that the idea of sweat is something completely alien.
"Shall we begin, then?" you ask, already pulling out the water bottle from your bag, trying to appear professional.
You decide to start the session with the basics, which seems like the best approach when dealing with someone whose idea of physical effort probably consists of reaching for the remote control.
"So, Irene, have you trained before?" you ask, but in your mind, she doesnât exactly look like the type who frequents a gym.
She smiles, that smile you're already beginning to associate with trouble. "Only if you count marathon shopping trips and half-hour Pilates sessions with my instructor who told me to breathe deeply and think of happy places. Does that count?"
You smile back. "Well, let's start with something simple. A warm-up. Just to prepare the muscles."
"Oh, I love a good warm-up," she replies.
You guide her through some basic stretches, and of course, she starts asking for help. "Can you show me how to do this one? I've always had trouble with it," she says while trying to touch her toes.
You approach, placing your hands on her waist to guide her, trying to ignore the fact that sheâs perfumed for a workout. "Like this, push a little further forward... Thatâs it."
She lets out a soft sigh, almost inaudible, but you notice. "I don't think I've ever had someone help me like this," she says, making you realize that "help" has multiple connotations for her.
"Practice makes perfect," you respond, trying to stay focused.
After the warm-up, you lead her to the weight machines. "Let's start with something simple, like the leg extension machine. This will work your quadriceps."
She looks at the machine as if it were some kind of medieval torture device. "Quadriceps... Right. And this does what exactly? Makes me gain muscles?"
"Exactly. You sit here, adjust the weight, and lift your legs to extend the knee. Itâs great for toning the thighs."
She sits down, but instead of following your instructions, she just pretends to be confused. "I don't think I'm getting it. Can you show me again?"
You lean in to help her adjust the position of her legs, and you feel her gaze fixed on you. "Like this? Is it good now?" she asks, her voice softer than it should be for a simple exercise instruction.
"Yes, it's perfect," you reply.
"So, have you been training for a long time?" she asks as you guide her through the exercise. "Itâs noticeable, you know... by your physique, the way you explainâŠ"
"Iâve been training for a few years. Itâs a passion of mine."
"Passion? Interesting," she says. "And are you single? Or is there someone waiting for you at home after you spend the day helping women like me stay in shape?"
You hesitate, realizing that the conversation is veering off course.
"I'm single. I guess my work takes up most of my time. What about you? You told me your husband is always traveling, right?"
"He's away most of the time, yes. His work is... demanding. But luckily, I know how to take care of myself," she says, lifting her legs on the machine with a little more enthusiasm. When Irene was done, she paused to drink water, then walked between the machines until she chose the next one. âHey, help me here. I don't want to mess up the movement, I need your guidance." She says, standing in front of the lat pulldown machine.
"Oh, great. This oneâs for your back and shoulders," you explain, adjusting the weight. "You hold here, pull the bar down, and then release slowly, feeling the resistance."
She looks at the machine as if it were an abstract art piece.
"Looks complicated. Show me how it's done?"
You demonstrate the movement, feeling her eyes on every motion of your body. When you finish, she positions herself, but instead of pulling the bar, she holds it for a second, looking at you with a false expression of confusion. "I think Iâm not doing it right. Can you guide me?"
You approach again, this time placing your hands on her arms, helping her execute the movement. "Like this," you say, your voice a little lower. "Pull with your back muscles, not just your arms."
"Since youâve been working out for a long time, you must be very strong," she comments as she pulls the bar, her muscles tensing softly under your hands. "And you must be used to lifting heavy, right?"
"It depends on the workout," you respond, trying to ignore the fact that every word she says seems to have a double meaning. "But itâs always good to vary, to do a bit of everything."
"So, how many of these should I do?" she asks, as if sheâs genuinely interested in the answer, but her eyes say something else.
"Let's do three sets of twelve reps," you reply, trying to keep a professional tone. She does the first set with you close by, watching every movement, and then asks for your help with the next machine.
The dynamic continues until, by the end of the workout, sheâs sweating, but in a way that looks more like a healthy glow than discomfort. She stretches, her muscles relaxing, and looks at you with that same smile that started everything. "I think you made me work pretty hard today. Maybe Iâll need a massage afterward," she says, her tone provocative.
You smile, unsure whether to take her seriously or laugh. "Massages arenât part of the package, but we can talk about a relaxation stretch."
"Weâll see," she says, stepping closer with that smile that always precedes trouble, the kind you should have learned to avoid. âIt seems like Iâm the only one sweating here,â she says, with a sweetness thatâs pure venom, before leaning in and, without warning, licking your cheek.
You take a step back, your heart pounding in your chest. "Ms. Irene, what is this?!"
"I told you, youâre not very sweaty. And I licked you to prove it," she responds with the casualness of someone asking the time.
"But what the hell does that mean? I came here to workâ"
"And youâll get paid at the end, of course!" she interrupts, her smile widening in a way that only makes things worse. âI just want⊠to have a little fun with you. Include that in the deal. You could earn a bonus for it, if youâd like.â
She takes another step forward.
âIrene, youâre married. Whatever youâre thinking, itâs not a good idea.â
âNo one needs to know, sweetheart,â she whispers, as if it were a secret you truly wanted to hear. âYouâre too young to be so worried about life.â
You try to speak, but the words come out jumbled, as if your mouth forgot how to work.
âI-I⊠This isnât right.â
She laughs, a sound that makes you feel like a mischievous boy caught in the act. âI bet Iâll make you change your mind once you see what youâre missing.â With a quick, decisive movement, she removes her top, revealing small, pale, perfect, and provocative breasts. Her smile widens, and you feel your face flush with heat. Worse than thatâyou feel your cock pulse in your pants.
âWhat do you think?â she asks, each word dripping with irony and certainty.
âCover yourself, please!â Your voice comes out louder than you intended, but the plea is almost pathetic.
âOh, donât play the saint with me,â she retorts, suddenly stepping closer, grabbing your hand with firm resolve and placing it on her breast. The touch is warm and soft. You swallow hard, but it feels like the lump in your throat is stuck there for good. And the worst part? You canât pull your hand away.
âWhat do you think? My boobs are small, but they fit perfectly in your mouth,â she teases, her voice lower, more intense.
âThis isnât right, Ms. IreneâŠâ you try, but your resistance is fragile.
âShh! Just call me Irene,â she orders, and before you can protest again, she seals any chance of escape with a kissâwarm and commanding, as if she already knew you wouldnât say no.
Before you could even process what was happening, Irene had already wrapped her hand around your cock. With force. With a desire that you felt reverberate down your spine. âYouâre so hard for me,â she whispers, her lips pulling away from yours, but the heat of her proximity still clinging to your skin.
âIreneâŠâ you murmur, the name escaping as a whisper, almost a plea, but for what? For her to stop or to keep going?
âThatâs right,â she continues, giving you no room to regain control. âI want to hear you moan my name while you fuck me good.â
Before you could refuseâor worse, agreeâshe pulls you toward a weight bench like sheâs practiced the move a thousand times. Itâs astonishing how a woman so small, so delicate, can exert such absolute control over you. You feel like a toy in her hands, powerless to resist.
You take off your shirt while she kneels to untie your shoes, making sure every detail is perfect, that youâre comfortableâbut not for you, for her. When she asks you to take off the rest, you comply without question, feeling the cool air caress your exposed skin. She compliments your physique, her words sliding over your skin like hot oil. Her hands roam over your muscles, her fingers tracing the contours of your biceps.
âYouâre so hot,â she murmurs, kissing your chest, her lips warm and soft. The excitement builds within you, uncontrollable, wild.
You sit back down on the bench, Irene kneels between your legs, her smile a mix of wickedness and pure desire. She takes your cock with a confidence that makes you hold your breath, her touch firm, almost possessive. âWow⊠youâre much bigger and thicker than my husband,â she murmurs, licking the tip, teasing, while her eyes remain fixed on yours. âIâve always wondered what it would feel like to have something like this⊠Iâm going to love gagging on this cock.â
She slowly opens her mouth, her lips stretching around the head of your cock, and the sensation is mind-blowing. You watch, mesmerized, as she starts to take you in, inch by inch, until her mouth is completely full. âOh, yes,â she mumbles with difficulty, her words muffled as she struggles to accommodate your size.
She begins to move her head up and down, faster and faster, the wet, warm sound of her mouth creating a steady rhythm. Her small mouth adjusts to your cock, fighting the instinct to pull away, but instead, she pushes forward, making it clear she wants more.
The sight of her, drowning on your cock, is almost unbearably arousing. You canât resist, your hands go to her hair, pulling to gain more control. With a decisive move, you push deeper into her throat, and the muffled moan she lets out is a mix of pleasure and challenge. âJust like that,â she moans, tears welling in her eyes from pleasure and effort, but with no intention of stopping. She wants this as much as you do.
You feel her throat tightening around your cock, each movement sending waves of pleasure through you as she takes you as deep as she can, not giving up even when her air becomes scarce. The mix of pain and pleasure on her face only fuels your desire further, and you continue, deeper and deeper, until she finally has to stop to breathe, gasping, but with a satisfied, lascivious smile on her face.
Irene stands up, her gaze burning with a desire that mirrors your own. She starts to take off her leggings, revealing sheâs not wearing any panties. The sight of her like this, naked and ready, is enough to take your breath away.
Without a second thought, you grab her firmly, your hands holding her slim waist as you lift her off the ground with an ease you didnât even know you had. Irene lets out a low, sensual moan as she wraps her legs around you, locking her ankles behind your back, pulling the two of you even closer. With a decisive movement, you press her against the nearest wall, the cold concrete contrasting with the growing heat between you.
âOhhh, yes,â she moans as you penetrate her for the first time, her head falling back, hitting the wall, but she doesnât seem to care. âYouâre so thick!â
With each thrust, Irene responds with louder, more desperate moans. âJust like that, baby⊠more, please, more!â Her voice is a mix of command and plea, her nails digging into your shoulders, pulling you closer, as if she wants to merge with you.
âThatâs it! Oh, God! You fuck me better than my husband!â
That somehow spurs you on, every movement becoming deeper, stronger, as if youâre trying to shove every inch of yourself into her. Irene bites her lip, her face in pure pleasure, and then she starts babbling, as if facial expressions werenât enough to describe what sheâs feeling. âYes⊠fuck me⊠fuck me hard⊠do what my husband never couldâŠâ
But sheâs not the only one on the edge. The heat of her body, the almost painful tightness around your cock, every moan and sigh, it all makes you want more, makes you lose control.
After what feels like both an eternity and an instant, you feel like you need more. With a quick move, you pull away from the wall and carry her to the bench. Irene drops to the floor, turns around, positioning herself on all fours while you sit down. She positions herself, slowly lowering onto your cock, moaning as she feels you stretch inside her, filling every inch.
She leans back against you, her head resting on your shoulder, her body sinking even further into your lap. Your hands immediately move to her small breasts, squeezing them, while your lips find her delicate neck, biting and sucking the soft skin. Irene lets out a loud moan, the sound of pure satisfaction, and arches her body, pushing herself even deeper.
âYes⊠leave a mark⊠mark that you were here⊠that you fucked me like no one ever has,â she pleads, her words breathless, interrupted by moans that only grow louder as you squeeze and thrust into her.
You donât hesitate, biting harder, leaving a visible mark on her neck, a testament to whatâs happening. Irene shudders in response, her pussy tightening even more around you, each of her movements sending waves of pleasure through you, making you forget any shred of morality. She moves against you, her rhythm frantic, the need for more, always more, evident in every gesture.
âYes⊠yes, baby⊠fuck me until I canât take it anymore,â she moans, her hands reaching back, grabbing your neck, pulling you closer as she continues to move, to lose herself in the sensation.
Irene, breathless, leans in closer, and with a soft voice, almost a whisper, says in your ear, âI want you to fuck my tight ass.â
Her words are like a match striking the box, igniting something fierce within you. Irene rises off your lap and walks to a corner of the gym, where she grabs a bottle of lube. She returns with a mischievous smile, shaking the bottle in the air. âI brought this just for this moment,â she says.
âYou had this in mind from the start, didnât you?â you ask, already knowing the answer.
Irene doesnât bother replying. Instead, she kisses you before lying down on the padded floor, her pale skin contrasting with the dark material, her body exposed in a posture of pure submission, but with the confidence of someone who knows exactly what they want. âCome here, you naughty boy,â she calls, her voice like poisoned honey.
You kneel beside her, your hands trembling with desire as you reach for the lube. Irene smiles at you, then gets on all fours and arches her back. With steady movements, you pour the gel into your palm and begin applying it to her ass, feeling the warm, soft skin under your fingers. Irene lets out a low sigh, closing her eyes, savoring the sensation. "That's it... get me ready, I want to feel every inch of your thick cock inside me."
You donât waste any time. With one hand, you spread the lube around and inside her ass, your fingers gently penetrating to prepare her. Irene bites her lip, her body slightly writhing, a mix of pleasure and anticipation. "Feels good, keep going... make me ready for you."
When you feel sheâs sufficiently lubed, you apply the rest to your cock, rubbing it until itâs fully coated, hard and throbbing.
Irene changes position, lying on her back on the floor. You position yourself between her raised legs, and she looks at you with eyes full of desire. "Come on, don't wait any longer," she begs, her voice low and sweet. You press the tip of your cock against her tight entrance, pushing slowly, feeling the initial resistance. Irene lets out a moan of pain mixed with pleasure, and you keep going, advancing inch by inch, feeling the heat and pressure around you.
"Ahhh⊠yes," Irene moans, her eyes closed, her hands gripping the padding beneath her as you penetrate her slowly. "It's so big⊠so tightâŠ"
You keep pushing, feeling her ass open up, millimeter by millimeter, her body adjusting to your size. The heat, the pressure, the sensation of filling her completely is indescribable, and the low moan she lets out only fuels your desire. "Yes, yes, yes! Fuck me deeper," she pleads.
You obey, pushing deeper until you're finally all the way inside her. Irene lets out a muffled moan, a sound of pure satisfaction, her body arching with pleasure. "Yes⊠like that⊠donât stop," she begs, her eyes shining with wild desire. You start to move, slowly at first, savoring every second, every contortion of her body, every moan that escapes her lips.
As you gain rhythm, Ireneâs moans grow louder, more desperate. "Yes⊠fuck my ass⊠do what I never let my husband do⊠ahhh⊠harder⊠please," she moans, every word an encouragement for you to go deeper, to push both of you to the limit.
And you do, increasing your speed and force, your hands gripping her thighs firmly, guiding each thrust with precision, feeling her body tremble with pleasure until it all comes down to heat, sweat, the pure desire consuming you both.
Irene then begins to tremble, her body stiff with imminent pleasure. She looks at you, her eyes burning with lust and urgency. "Mmm, Iâm about to cum, babe⊠Letâs cum together?" she asks, her voice broken by moans.
You feel her body pulsing around you, each contraction almost pushing you over the edge.
"Do you want to come inside my pussy? Fill it with your cum?"
The desire and madness of the moment take over you. âCan I?â you ask, your voice tense, almost disbelieving.
âOf course you can,â she replies with a wicked smile, "I'm on the pill, darling. I want to feel you unload everything inside me."
With that, you both move into the classic missionary position. Irene spreads her legs and bends them, her feet planted on the floor, while you kneel between her thighs, your cock positioned exactly where she wants it. Irene wraps her legs around your waist, pulling you closer. The warmth and tightness of her pussy confirm your decision: you need to cum inside her.
You start thrusting into her, each stroke deeper and faster than the last. Irene moans loudly, the sound of her moans echoing through the gym. âAhhh, yes⊠more⊠harderâŠâ she screams, her eyes closed in pure ecstasy. âFuck my pussy⊠Make me your cum dump.â
Youâre on the verge of exploding, your entire body tense with the anticipation of climax. Irene feels it and, between moans, murmurs, âIâm almost there⊠Iâm going to cumâŠâ
âMe too⊠Iâm almost thereâŠâ you reply, your breathing fast.
She opens her eyes, her gaze burning with intensity. âHave you ever cum inside a stranger before, huh? Ever filled a married woman with cum, you pervert?â She asks, her words hitting you like a wave of heat.
Those words make you lose control. With one last, powerful thrust, you bury yourself deep inside her, feeling your cum release into the depths of Ireneâs pussy. She screams as she cums at the same time, her body writhing beneath you, her legs tightening around your waist.
âAhhh⊠I can feel it all⊠itâs so warm⊠so goodâŠâ Irene moans, her words loaded with pure pleasure, her breathing ragged as she feels every hot stream filling her. You keep moving, even as the orgasm leaves you breathless, prolonging the pleasure for both of you.
When you finally pull away, your cock slipping out, cum begins to slowly drip from her pussy.
Irene smiles, a satisfied and wicked smile, as she looks at you, her breathing still uneven. "That was⊠exactly what I wanted," she says, her eyes gleaming with contentment, as the cum drips between her thighs, and you watch, fascinated, as she uses her fingers to spread her lips, letting the cum flow freely. She collects some of the semen with a finger and brings it to her mouth, tasting the result of your mix.
Irene kneels beside you and leans in for a deep kiss, her lips warm and moist against yours, while her hands glide over your body, caressing you with a certain tenderness.
âSo, handsome, what did you think of the workout?â she asks.
You, still with your body pulsing with residual pleasure, respond with a smile, âI loved it. It was⊠incredible.â
Irene smiles back. âGood to hear that,â she says, with a note of amusement, âyou can consider yourself my official personal trainer now. And the best part, youâre still getting paid for it. Isnât it the best job in the world?â
You laugh, a mix of incredulity and amusement, realizing that your concept of âjobâ will never be the same. âSo thatâs it? Daily sex with a gorgeous woman and Iâm going to get paid for it? What are the downsides?â
âThere arenât any. As long as my husband never finds out, of course. But thatâs my problem. Your only requirement and concern is to keep me satisfied.â
With that, she gets up nonchalantly, and starts gathering the clothes scattered on the floor.
You also get up, and as youâre dressing, you canât help but think about the absurdity of the job youâre accepting.
When youâre almost ready to leave, Irene approaches, casually adjusting her hair.
âDonât forget, tomorrow is training day again,â she says, her voice full of light arrogance. âSame time. Donât be late. I want more of that⊠energy,â she adds with a smile.
You nod, laughing to yourself as you try to regain some of your composure.
âSure, Iâll mark it on the calendar.â
#kpop smut#male reader#male reader smut#smut male reader#x male reader#x male smut#smut#gg smut#irene smut#irene red velvet#red velvet irene#red velvet smut#m!reader#smut oneshot#irene x reader
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Breaking Point
pairing: art donaldson x fem!reader
summary: You and Art were hitting partners (and a bit more) in college, so when you run into him a decade later at the U.S. Open, old sparks reignite...
word count: 3.4k
warnings: SMUT, p in v, oral (fem!receiving), slight marking, drinking
a/n: I watched Challengers last night and then wrote this whole thing in one sitting. Nothing in this is really canon other than Art being a major simp lol so no spoilers for the movie! I usually make playlists (or at least find a few songs that get me in the zone) when writing, so I thought I'd start sharing them here too if people are interested!
You should've known he'd be here. You've been following his career for the last decade since you graduated, and ever since he won Wimbledon last year, he's been tennis royalty, but a small part of you still thought you wouldn't run into him here. At the fucking U.S. Open.
Stanford was a lifetime ago, and you haven't kept in touch with anyone from the college team, but there was always something about Art Donaldson that stuck with you. Ten years later, that hasn't changed.
"It's been so long," he calls out when he spots you from across the practice courts. "I didn't think I'd see you."
You didn't either, and you still haven't decided how you feel about it yet, but when he jogs over to your side, you just shrug. "Guess it's your lucky day."
He smiles, and his teeth glimmer in the bright sunlight. "It certainly is."
The loud thwacks of tennis balls hitting rackets echo around you, but you can't seem to focus on anything but the man standing in front of you. He looks good.
He was beautiful in college too, whether he was training across the net or slipping into your bed, but it feels different now, with so much time apart. He looks like a man now.
"Anyway," Art says, jerking you back to reality. "We should get a drink sometime. To catch up."
He adds the last part almost as an afterthought, but it doesn't escape your notice how his eyes have been trailing up and down your body since he walked over.
A drink could mean almost anything with Art Donaldson, but you're too curious to refuse. "Sure. This weekend, after the semi-finals."
He nods, his eyes glinting with amusement, and you grab your bag from the bench beside you before looping the strap over your shoulder.
You walk off the practice courts after one last glance over your shoulder, and you feel his eyes following along until the doors swing shut behind you.
***
He should've expected this. You were a firecracker in college, and you kept him on his toes every single day you were together, so he really should have known what he was getting into when he met you for drinks that weekend.
Instead, he's one too many beers in, and his buzz is only enhancing the glow of your beauty in the hazy bar light. Your dress isn't even that low cut, but something about the shadows glancing over your strong shoulders reminds him of late nights in the Stanford dorms after a hard practice when there was only one thing he wanted more than sleep.
"You played really well this morning," he says genuinely as he sets his beer back onto the table. "After that first set, Mueller didn't stand a chance."
You flash him a dazzling smile as you shrug, resting your chin on your palm. "I had her after the third game, but thanks. It was a quick match."
Art hasn't taken his eyes off of you since you sat down, and while prolonged eye contact usually makes you nervous, you find that you're actually enjoying the attention quite a bit. Attentiveness was never an issue with him, and you would normally give in to your urges, but there's just too much history with him, and you can't afford to lose focus. Not when the title is so close you can taste it.
"I hear the networks are eyeing you for a commentator post," you say, trying to change the subject.
You trace your finger around the rim of your nearly empty margarita, before lifting it to take a final sip, and you don't miss how his throat bobs as you lick the salt off your lips.
"Uh, yeah," he mumbles, clearing his throat. "It was just some chatter, but I'm not looking to retire anytime soon."
You frown. "Is that right?" He's playing better than ever, but he definitely hasn't been himself out on the court in years.
He glances down, clearly trying to avoid the scrutiny, and when his eyes land on your empty glass, he changes the subject again. "You want another drink?"
You shake your head, knowing that another will lead to a less than fun morning, but he isn't done yet.
"You sure?" His eyes find yours again, and this time the eye contact feels primal. "It doesn't have to be here."
Your eyebrows lift and you tilt your head with a knowing smile. "Where were you thinking?"
"I don't know," he shrugs, before his lips curve up into a cheeky grin. "My room's nice."
You saw it coming from a mile away, but it still pulls a laugh out of you. "Oh, I'm sure it is, but this isn't college anymore, Art. You should get some sleep...focus on your match in the morning."
You push your glass forward and stand up, nodding at him as you turn to leave, but then you see him stand too out of the corner of your eye.
"I'll walk you to your car."
He looks at you with a hint of amusement in his expression, and you can't help but want to play along, even though Art Donaldson was nothing but trouble for you.
You don't respond, instead just stepping out from around the table and walking out the front doors of the bar. You don't have to turn back to know he's right behind you, and when you reach your car, parked in the center of the nearly empty parking lot, you spin around.
He doesn't stop walking until he has you practically boxed in by your driver's side door, his face less than a foot from yours as he tucks his hands into his pockets.
He had pushed his sleeves back at some point in the night, from the humid summer heat of the bar, and you can see the veins on his forearms now, under the dim light of the street lamps.
"This is me," you say jokingly, tipping your chin at your car as he looks at you with an expression you can't distinguish. "I'm good from here."
He doesn't move.
It's not that you expected him to give up so easily; you had just forgotten how persistent he could be.
Art's mouth stretches into a slanted smile. "Do you remember the Davis Invitational? Junior year."
Speaking of his persistence...he had been pursuing you for months, not in any tangible way, but you always knew what he was thinking.
After the invitational, where you and Art had been the respective men's and women's champions, you had gone back to his dorm to celebrate. Three hours and just as many vodka shooters later, he had finally gotten you in his bed. Not that you were complaining.
Art knew his way around your body, and even that first night, he had managed to get you off more times than you can remember.
"What about it?" you shoot back, your eyebrows raising at the insinuation.
"Nothing," he says with a shrug, but you don't miss the humor glinting in his eyes. "You just used to be a lot more fun to celebrate with."
"Fuck you," you spit out, shoving his shoulder harder than you mean to. He barely budges, instead grabbing your hand and tugging you a few inches closer, and suddenly a wave of lust washes over you, making your breath hitch.
You press your thighs together under your dress, hoping he can't feel the heat spreading across your skin, but then his smile turns to a smirk and you know you're done for.
"What do you think?" he whispers, leaning in so close that his lips brush over your earlobe. "Want to celebrate?"
Molten lava pools in your gut and you are only peripherally aware of his hand sliding down your hips to the flowy edge of your dress. His fingers glide over your skin as his hand goes under the loose fabric, before rising up to grab your ass, drawing your hips flush with his.
Your arousal is already starting to soak through your panties, but the feeling of his hard bulge pressed up against you sends you flying back to reality.
You lift your hands to his chest and push him back so that he's a few steps away from you. It's not far enough, but at least you can't feel him from there. "I'm not fucking you, Art."
He shrugs, his smirk only slightly shaken. "Who said anything about fucking? I just wanted to talk."
You huff out a laugh. "You're funny. Besides, I'm too tired for this. I need to rest up before my match."
"What about tomorrow night then?" His lip is still curved up in a smirk, but there's an earnestness in his gaze that surprises you.
"What makes you think you'll still be here tomorrow?"
His mouth spreads into a wide smile. "I always win."
You snort. "Fine. Win your match and we can talk."
You don't miss the grin on his face as you climb into your car and leave.
***
You win your next match in straight sets again, so by the time you're out of the locker room, Art's match is still in play. Driven by a mixture of curiosity and intrigue, you head over to his court and find a seat halfway up the stands.
He has won two of three sets, and he's leading the fourth, so with the prospect of the match ending soon, you use the time to observe him from a different angle.
His form is much better than it was in college, and you've seen him play countless times on TV, but you haven't really let yourself see how good he looks out there. The sinewy muscles rippling in his arms as he lifts them to serve. The rugged sturdiness of his legs as he races back and forth across the court.
You wish you could be down there with him, running your hands over the smooth lines of his abdomen, tasting the drops of sweat as they roll down his body-
The crowd erupts in cheers, and you are thrust back into reality as Art throws his arms into the air with a loud whoop. The scoreboard confirms his victory, and you clap along with the audience as he shakes his opponent's hand and heads over to his chair.
People around you stand up to leave, but you stay in your seat, watching as he grabs his bag and stuffs his rackets inside. When he wipes a towel over his face, his head turns up and his eyes immediately go to you, like he knew you were here the whole time.
Your stomach does an involuntary flip and he flashes his eyebrows at you as you bit the inside of your lip, trying to hold back a smile.
When he ducks back down to grab his things, you stand up quickly to avoid letting him see your blush and follow the rest of the crowd off of the stands.
***
You hear it late that night. Three little raps on your hotel room door, just before midnight.
You're in the finals, and you don't have any friends here to celebrate with, so you were sipping a beer and watching old match recordings when you heard the knock.
There's no one else who would come to see you this late, so you're not surprised when you open the door to find Art, dressed in a tee shirt and comfy-looking pajama pants.
"What are you doing here?" you ask, even though you already know the answer.
Art just looks at you, his pupils already massive. "You said if I win, we could talk." He shrugs. "I won."
"Okay," you concede, opening the door wider to let him in. "Just talking then."
He nods, before following you inside and shutting the door.
"You want anything to drink?" you ask as he trails behind you.
He shakes his head. "I'm good."
You grab your beer bottle from the side table and sit down on the floor, crossing your legs beneath you.
Art sits across from you, his feet in front of him and his elbows on his knees. You were assigned to a modestly sized room, but for someone as tall as him, the space must feel cramped.
"How did the match feel?" you ask, taking a swig of beer.
He thinks for a moment. "It was close at first, but once I shook my legs out, it became a breeze."
"Your legs were never the problem," you say, leveling him with a serious look. "It was always your attitude. Or your confidence."
He frowns, his eyebrows scrunching slightly. "I'm plenty confident."
"You are now," you tell him as you swirl the bottle around in your hand. "You won Wimbledon, you have a reason to be confident."
That makes him smile. "So you're saying my legs are fine."
"Yeah," you say before you can process what you're saying. "You looked good out there."
His smile turns to a smirk so fast it nearly gives you whiplash. "You think I look good?"
You let out an exasperated scoff. "At tennis."
His grin doesn't falter so you roll your eyes at him before lifting the bottle to your lips to take another swig. When you tilt the bottle back down to swallow, his hand reaches forward to take it from you. Your grip on the beer doesn't loosen, so the motion sends you pitching forward.
Your mouth parts with a small yelp as his arm wraps around you, tugging you closer, and before you can process what's happening, his lips are on yours.
If you let yourself think too hard, you would realize that there is way too much shared history and way too much baggage here for this to be a good idea...so that's why you don't.
Instead, you let him pull your body flush against his and when his tongue slides over the seam of your lips, you grant him access immediately. Your shirts come off in quick succession and you gasp as his hands run up and down your body, his strong, calloused fingers grasping at every inch of purchase they can find. Yours reach up to tangle in his messy hair, and when his lips move down your neck, your grip tightens, making him moan quietly against your skin.
Something about being on the floor takes you back to your college days, when you'd both be so worked up after practice that you couldn't even make it to the bed, but that feels too real right now.
"Art," you whisper as he runs his lips and teeth over your neck, before replacing it with his tongue to soothe the quickly blossoming marks. "Art, the bed. Now."
It takes him a second to process your words, but when he does, he loops an arm around your waist and lifts you up and onto the bed in one motion, before pushing you back onto the covers.
By the time your head hits the bed, he's already pulling your shorts and panties down, exposing you to the cool air. His lips follow the path of his hands as they trace up your legs, making you squirm under the hot touch of his rough fingers. He presses wet kisses to the insides of your thighs before spreading them apart and dropping to his knees on the floor in front of you.
"So wet for me," he whispers, almost to himself, before he dives in, his mouth making lewd noises as he licks a thick stripe up your core. "You taste so good."
He lifts your legs over his shoulders to give himself some leverage as he makes a mess between your thighs, licking and sucking your clit into his mouth before fucking you with his tongue.
His grip on your thighs is the only thing keeping you pinned to the bed as you writhe beneath him, trying to not squeeze your legs together from the heat spreading up your core.
His mouth feels amazing and it takes only minutes before you're already nearing the edge. You don't want to come until he is inside of you, though, so you yank his hair, pulling him up and off of you.
He looks up at you through his lashes, and he looks ethereal with his disheveled hair and his chin wet with your slick.
You, on the other hand, look like heaven itself with your eyes half-hooded from pleasure, and he can't help the grin that crosses his face as he licks his lips and climbs over you onto the bed. He lets you taste yourself as he kisses you again, and he lets out a low groan when you bite his lip just hard enough to sting.
"Fuck me," you gasp, your voice too breathy to be actually authoritative. "Fuck me the way I like."
Art grins at your desperate tone and the wild lust in your eyes, committing this image to memory for a later time when you're much further away.
He kicks his pants off as he lifts you both further up the bed, and after covering himself with a condom from his back pocket, he lines himself up and slowly pushes forward.
He gives you a few moments to adjust to his size before slowly pulling out nearly all the way and then thrusting in again.
The slight pain turns to pleasure almost immediately, but he keeps his pace steady so as not to hurt you. You need more right now, so you wrap your legs around him for leverage and flip him over so that you're straddling him.
He groans as his head hits the pillow, and when he tries to sit up, you press your hands to his chest, pushing him down as you ride him. This position gives you a lot more control, and you use it to your advantage as you bounce yourself on his cock, feeling the way he fills you up so fully from this higher angle.
His fingers dig into your hips as he helps lift you up and down, and his eyes are practically feral as he watches the spot where his cock disappears inside of you.
He's the perfect size to fill you up completely, and with each swivel of your hips, you get closer and closer to your climax, which is approaching so fast you can taste it.
You cry out when he hits exactly the right spot deep inside of you, and his eyes fly to yours as your movements start to stutter from your impending release.
Needing to see the look on your face when you come, he pushes your lower back forward so you fall against his chest, before lifting himself up to meet you halfway. With one arm locked around you, he brings his other hand down between the two of you to rub quick circles over your clit. The new angle lets him thrust up into you, and the increased pace of his movements mixed with the speed of his fingers sends you flying over the edge.
Your mouth falls open with a loud cry, and you squeeze him so tightly he's practically seeing stars. You look so beautiful when you come, like a goddess sent down here just for him, and when your eyes meet his, he finds his own climax.
His body jerks forward with the force of his release, and you let him thrust a few more times as he finally finishes inside of you.
After pulling out, he tugs you down to lay next to him, and at first you let him, but the emotions warring inside of you don't stay quiet for long.
You know that whatever this was isn't going to go anywhere. You didn't work in college, and you won't work now, and you don't want anyone to get hurt again, so you have to make a choice. Now.
"I need to get some rest," you say quietly, a tiny part of you hoping he doesn't hear you. "Before the next match."
"Yeah," he sighs after a beat. "Me too."
You let him hold you for a moment longer, before he unwraps himself from your body and sits up, tugging his shirt and pants back on. You tug the sheet back and wrap it around your torso as he stands up and walks to the door.
You're not sure what you're expecting as he goes to leave, but what you get is a silent nod as the door swings shut behind him.
#art donaldson smut#art donaldson#challengers#challengers smut#art donaldson x reader#art donaldson x fem!reader#challengers fanfiction#art donaldson x female reader#art donaldson x you
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â đđđđđđđ, đđđđđđđ đ«
max verstappen x singer!fem reader // smau
‷ summary: when max verstappen starts commenting on the posts of the beloved singer y/n l/n, fans are confused and less than enthusiastic at the new friendship. what they could never expect is just how long they've been 'friends'...
based on this request <3
ââââââ àŒ»â©âââŸââșâ§àŒș ââââââ
liked by sabrinacarpenter, maxverstappen1, and 46,908 others
tagged sabrinacarpenter
ynusername my new album is now officially out on all platforms! thank you so so much for all of the love and support, and special thanks to sab for her feature on the song <33 love u bb girl đ«Šđ«Š now that the album's out, tour next!!! see you all soon!
23,560 comments
user1 THE ALBUM OUT. THIS IS NOT A DRILL PEOPLE THIS IS NOT A DRILL.
user2 i cannot be normal about this i fear
user3 ik her back hurts from CARRYING the music industry on her back đ©
user4 hey so WHO TF IS SO AMERICAN ABOUT?? A LOVE SONG
user5 y/n writing a love song in god's year of 2024... wow
user6 y/n in the top 10 charts, fork found in kitchen
user7 sabrina and y/n are never beating the gf allegations
ynusername damn right we're not đ
user7 HOLY SHIR HOKY SHIT HOKST SHUT
user8 y/n's in love and it's not with me, hanging myself as we speak
user9 the comment is gonna get reported but so real op
ïżŒuser8 can't a woman hang herself in peace đŁ
user10 album's such a banger i had this shit bumpin at my grandmas funeral đđŒ rest in piece nancy đïžđȘđ»
user11 OH MY GOD???
user12 rest in piece nancy you would've loved make you mine đ
ynusername oh my god please tell me your joking
user10 sorry queen the grind never stops
ynusername NO SHOT
maxverstappen1 great album! đđŒ
user13 why does he text like my father đ§đ»ââïž
user14 brother eughh
user15 what da hell is a polar bear doin in arlington texas
ynusername thank you max!!!
user16 y/n l/n to redbull in 2025
user17 hellurrrrr who is this man in ur likes y/n
user18 f1 driver!!
user17 Y/N NO ATHELETES PLEAEJEWK đ«”
user18 tour content soon??? i'm sat
ââââââ àŒ»â©âââŸââșâ§àŒș ââââââ
user19 bro looks like he snuck onto earth, get his ass outta here
user20 grammy-award winner, vogue cover model, new york university graduate and Some Fucking Guy
user21 not y'all coming to her defense like the mighty morphin power rangers đđ he's literally a world class athete and she writes pop music
user20 17.172.224.47
user21 IS THAT MY IP ADDRESS??
user20 melinda charleton
user22 IS THAT HIS MOTHER'S NAME!!?1?1!
user20 you want me to do you too???
user22 no we good đ
user23 ruth bader ginsberg did not die for this
user24 now wtf does this have to do with babe ruth đ€š
user25 WHOOOOO đ§
user24 ... that wasn't right was it
user26 now let's be fr he does NAWT have a chance
user27 have u seen the marble-carved ïżŒ goddesses these men pull, i fear he does đ
user28 please no i feel ill
user29 TWO???? OH HELL NAW
user30 two might be pushing it, only one was confirmed
user31 jesus christ
user32 first taylor, now this
user33 yall, all he commented was great album đđ yall are LEAPING to conclusions
user34 what can i say it's an art
user35 i do not see đïžđđïž
user36 no like đđ im in your walls
user37 haha max verstappen!! right!!! (theres a sniper at ur location)
user38 omg ur so right đ€© it is about him (i have a bomb strapped to my chest)
user39 i dont mean to sound stupid, idk who that man is, if i saw him on the streets i wouldnt know a thing đ„±
user40 this is so random too like what đ
user41 the power of kindness won't work here, i have to throw him off a building
user42 i used to be a max verslsjjwwo lover đ€© now im just a max verslsjjwwo hater đ
user43 NURSE đ«” SHE'S OUT AGAIN
user44 why would u put that into the universe đ§
user45 alright, lets get you to bed grandma
user46 mari stop being delusion and go touch grass đ§đ»ââïž
user47 ENOUGHHHH
user48 ain't no way in hell đ
user49 ik ur feet hurt from all this jumping to conclusions babe
user50 lets leave the parkour to the athletes đ
ââââââ àŒ»â©âââŸââșâ§àŒș ââââââ
liked by maxverstappen1, landonorris, and 54,789 others
ynusername italy thanks for letting me be inside you (; it was such a lovely show, expect me back asap!!!!
15,267 comments
user51 IT WAS SO GOOD I THNK I BLACKED OUT THE WHOLE TIME THO
user52 oh!
user51 oh so now this isn't a safe space
user53 LANDO AND MAX IN TGE LIKES??? NO NO NO NO
user54 ABORT ABORT ABORT
user55 y'all are doing too much đ she's one of the top artists in the world, i think it's safe to say they might like her music
user56 the second picture đ§đ»ââïždo you need a stool cause i can kneel and be really quiet
user57 y/n fans be normal challenge (impossible!!!) (never done before)
user56 WOMP WOMP
maxverstappen1 wonderful show! đđŒ you are so talented
ynusername ty max (: im glad you could come see me
user57 ain't NO WAYYYYYY
user59 THIS IS SIXKENJNG IM GONNA PUKE
sabrinacarpenter my gf looking sexy đ«Šđ«Šđ«Š
ynusername only for u bbg đ§đ»ââïžđ§đ»ââïžđ§đ»ââïž
user60 BOOOO đŁïž GET A ROOM
user61 do y'all need a third!!!!
user62 mamma mia pizza pasta mozzerella moment
user63 i just put u on a watchlist
user62 đ§đ»ââïž
landonorris RAHHHHHH đŠ
đ«”đŁïžâŒïž
ynusername RAHHH RAHHH RAHHH RISE POWER POWER đȘđ»âŒïž
user63 what the fuck
user64 OH GOD WHAT IF SHES DATING HIM????
ynusername brother eughhhh
landonorris WHAT THE FUCK????
user65 SINCE WHEN IS SHE FRIENDS WITH F1 DRIVERS HOW MANY CHAPTWRS DID I MISS
user66 apparently we all went into a universal coma while she was out galavanting cause idk how else this could've happened
ââââââ àŒ»â©âââŸââșâ§àŒș ââââââ
maxverstappen1 posted to his story!
(caption: beautiful show)
22,456 replies
ââââââ àŒ»â©âââŸââșâ§àŒș ââââââ
user67 someone save my girl bro, she don't know any better đ
user68 it's like a little kid trying to touch the hot stove, LIKE STOP THAT!! DON'T DO THAT
user69 am i the only one who thinks they'd be cute together....
user70 YES!?!?
user71 there is literally no fucking way he bagged her
user72 losing y/n to european f1 driver would be the biggest american tragedy since 2001
user73 i had to read this shit twice, op what r u waffling abt đ«”đ§
user74 can't even be nonchalant about this one bro, i'm chalanting hard asf
user75 we do not care
ââââââ àŒ»â©âââŸââșâ§àŒș ââââââ
liked by redbullracing, f1, and 78,567 others
tagged maxverstappen1
ynusername first time in monaco, safe to say i enjoyed myself! so happy to see you shine this time my love<3
25,788 comments
user76 oh. my. fucking. god
user77 THEYRE FUCKING DATING OH MYFODNSJ
user78 THAT SHOULD BE MEEEE HOLDING YOUR HAND THAT SHOULD BE MEEE MAKING YOU LAUGHHH đ€
user79 i'm in mourning
sabrinacarpenter CHEATER đ«”
ynusername BABY IT'S NOT WHAT IT LOOKS LIKE, IT WAS JUST ONE TIME đŁđŁđŁ IT WAS A MISTAKE
maxverstappen1 we've been dating for 2 years??
sabrinacarpenter SHUT UP FAST & FURIOUS NO ONE ASKED YOU
user80 i'm sorry đ two Y EARS
user81 i feel like i just got dumped. y/n don't do this, the kids need you đ
maxverstappen1 i got p1 for you, i love you đ«¶đŒ
ââââââ àŒ»â©âââŸââșâ§àŒș ââââââ
hope you all enjoyed! please let me know your thoughts and feel free to leave a request for me to write something for your fav <3
#f1 x female reader#f1 x reader#f1 x y/n#formula 1#f1#f1 smut#f1 x you#formula one#f1 imagine#f1 smau#max verstappen smau#max verstappen x reader#max verstappen#max verstappen x you#max verstappen x y/n
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the ultimate deception | benedict bridgerton (part one)
summary: you are a well known artist who paints under a pseudonym. What happens when Lady Whistledown comes to know of your identity? How will your relationship with Benedict evolve?
pairing: benedict bridgerton x fem!(artist)reader
word count: 4k
warning(s): poor writing and dialogue (sue me, I'm rusty lol), very unedited so if there are mistakes, I apologize, misogyny, penelope aka Lady Whistledown's biggest defender
a/n: this is definitely going to be more than one part, but I wanted to post something after so many months. Let me know how you like it (or don't like it haha)...comments and feedback are much appreciated <3
âą âą âą âą âą âą
âI wish I possessed merely an ounce of your talent.âÂ
Benedictâs gaze seems to be wholly absorbing your latest painting, a depiction of the botanical wonders of Londonâs Royal Kew Gardens.Â
You puff out a breath, blowing on the feathery end of one of your writing quills. In your haste, it had gotten loose, tickling your face irritatingly. Tucking it back behind your ear, you wave him off. âYou have much more talent than you give yourself credit for.â You admit through squinted eyes, scanning your work. âYou simply lack conviction. And you worry far too much about what others think of you.â
Benedict smiles, receiving your words as the highest of praise. He reaches out to take a better look at the piece of art before him. âYou flatter me.â He mumbles in awe. âBut I suppose thereâs a chance you could be right.â
Chuckling at his words, you grin knowingly. Youâre right. Itâs more than a chanceâŠyou just are. He knows it too.Â
You both continue to steadily eye the painting, you out of critical evaluation of your work, and him in sheer admiration of it.Â
Benedictâs favourite part remains the beautifully bloomed magnolias that are scattered across the canvas. Heâd been sure to tell you numerous times of their elegance while youâd been working on it, eagerly awaiting the finished product. As youâve come to realize, Benedict loves watching you work. Itâs one of the prices youâve had to pay for his allowance of your workstation being at Bridgerton House, if you could even call it that. Â
You are grateful, truly. You wouldnât be able to make your own living without his kindness. And you certainly wouldnât be able to keep to yourself in the way you prefer to.Â
âWhen will Augustus Leighton be displaying his latest work of perfection?â Benedictâs question reminds you of your fate as an artist.Â
Augustus Leighton is the pseudonym you paint under. Using his name, you have become a well known artist among the ton, even going so far as to have a painting hung at Buckingham Palace. Itâs difficult, you must admit, pretending to be someone else. But itâs a necessary evil.
Painting as a woman would get you nowhere. Especially as a woman with no money (particularly at the time you began), no status, and no husband.Â
Your mother is a seamstress with little to her name and your father was a servant to Violet and Edmund Bridgerton, before his heart became too weak. He passed away when you were thirteen, only a few years after the Bridgerton children had lost their own father. Youâd grown up with little money, but Violet had been kind to both you and your mother, seeing how close youâd become with her children.Â
You were raised alongside them, Benedict and Eloise becoming your closest of friends. At three and twenty, there are five years between you and the two siblings in either direction, with Eloise being freshly eighteen, and Benedict having turned twenty eight. To this day, they remain two of only three people who know of your true identity, outside of Penelope Featherington.Â
You hadnât exactly meant for Eloise or Penelope to find out about it, but once they had, it became comforting to have more than just Benedict to speak to about your predicament. Especially considering, although Benedict has been wonderfully supportive, he could never understand the struggle a woman must endure in a male dominated world. Â
âLikely never. This one is a gift for Lady Danbury.â You answer Benedictâs inquiry after a bout of silence. âSheâs spoken about her love of these gardens quite regularly, so I thought, why not have Mr. Leighton recreate it for her?âÂ
âHow will you get it to her?â He questions.Â
A smile pulls at the corners of your lips. âI have my ways, lest you worry about it.â
⹠ж ⹠ж ⹠ж ⹠ж âą
The next few days are interesting to say the least. Youâd somehow managed to get the painting delivered to Lady Danbury, and as far as Violet had been willing to speak of her latest visit with the formidable aforementioned woman, you have been made aware that she adores it.Â
Youâd also heard more about it from Benedict, whoâd mentioned something about her being at a loss for words, an ultimate shock to both him and his mother. Theyâd never seen her look so bewildered.Â
According to Eloise, Lady Danbury had been surprised to receive such a gift, especially of something so near and dear to her heart. Sheâd said it reminded her of her time with the Queen, telling the young Bridgerton woman about the months just after her husband had passed, when a new independent lifestyle began to bloom for her.Â
The painting itself reminded her that women like her could be free, and one day, they would be. That sort of metaphorical mindset had definitely appealed to Eloiseâs sense of social justice. Sheâd been more than excited to tell you about the older womanâs reaction to your art, claiming it to be a wonderful revelation.Â
Today though, as you sit in the Bridgertonâs common living room, the opposite representation of said female autonomy rests in your hands. The paper feels rough against your skin as you pass it to Eloise whoâs propped excitedly to the left of you. Youâve never been a fan of Lady Whistledownâs gossip column, although you can admire her unabashed confidence. But despite her strong will as an author, which could be seen as an inherently empowering trait, you are of the impression that she goes about it in an entirely backward way.Â
Women donât need to put each other down to build themselves up. It accomplishes nothing, consequently acting as a source of nourishment for the patriarchy you find yourself trapped in.Â
âYouâre not going to read it?â Eloise asks as she takes the pamphlet from you.Â
âI never do.â Is your instant reply.Â
Penelope perks up at the mention of the column, eyes trained curiously on you. If you had known better, youâd say she was a little too interested.Â
But at this moment you shrug it off, listening with no suspicion as she asks a simple, âWhy?â
You donât have the hindsight to understand why your stomach turns at her question, but you respond anyway. âI tend to think of Lady Whistledown as a poison.â Itâs the first time youâve voiced such an opinion.Â
Penelope and Eloise turn to you in surprise. âCome again?â Penelopeâs soft voice cuts through.Â
âShe is a poison.â You repeat before explaining yourself. âDo not get me wrong, I hold admiration for her bravado, but her words, the things she writes, they cause nothing but pain and conflict for those she chooses to sink her teeth into.â
âBut sheâs an independent woman.â Eloise interjects. âOne who is doing more than any of us could dream of. She is making a name for herself!â
You try to think about your next words carefully, but your mouth makes quick work of a reply. âA name which she hides behind, casting stones through the guise and safety of anonymity.âÂ
Penelope lets out a scoff from beside you. Sheâs always been one to defend the infamous gossip columnist. âAt least she does not hide herself behind the mask of a man.â That feels like a shot. âThe people know full well of her gender, despite her true identity remaining a secret.â
You hear the implication on her tongue. The same cannot be said for you.Â
And sheâs not wrong. You do hide yourself behind the mask of a man. Youâd never once denied that.
You sigh. âI know you must think of me as a hypocrite.âÂ
Eloise agrees hesitantly. âOnly a little.â She admits. âItâs just that you do the same as Mr. Leighton.â
You soften at her honesty. Truthfully, you understand where sheâs coming from, but you canât help the urge you feel to defend yourself.
âI disguise myself as Augutus because I know that no artist or art critic alike will take me seriously as I am. I want to share my work with the world, that is simply all I want. Itâs all I have ever wanted.â
âDoes that not make you a coward?â Penelope inquires, although it feels less like a question and more like an opinion. This is what she believes. And she's entitled to that.Â
âPerhaps.â You nod in acknowledgment. âBut it has also made me uniquely successful. And I take great pride knowing that my work is highly regarded, in spite of the fact that I have to be someone else to succeed.âÂ
âDoes that ever bother you?â Eloise persists. âKnowing that no one will know you for the work you have done?â
Before you can respond, Penelope chimes in with a query of her own. âDoes it ever make you feel guilty, lying as you do?â This feels like a challenge.Â
You turn to Eloise, answering her first. âNo, I feel quite unbothered. I like the privacy it provides me.â Your gaze flicks between the two girls, a fire in your eyes as you speak.Â
You answer Penelopeâs question next. âGuilt is one of the last feelings to cross my mind.â You feel content with it. âBecause of Augustus, I have my own money, my own independence. I do not need a man to survive or to be happy. I have choices. And that's a facet of my life I never dreamed could have existed. If there is anything more empowering for a woman than that, I cannot think of it.â
Eloise listens to your words carefully, absorbing them, reveling in them. She hadnât thought of it like that, but youâre right. Independence is a sign of true equality. And you have that. Not because of the name you hide behind, but because youâd used the insecurities of men to your advantage. Youâd played the game and won.Â
âI suppose I have been quite short sighted.â Thereâs much less arrogance in her tone. Eloise sounds humbled. âYouâve given me a new perspective to think about.â
Penelope does not enjoy the direction this conversation has headed. âSurely you cannot think yourself above someone such as Lady Whistledown.â
Your face scrunches in thought. âAbove?â You stipulate. âI do not think myself above anyone, gender aside. But I do think I have a much higher sense of self respect than she does.â
âAnd how could that possibly be?â Penelope has to bite her tongue. She wants to say more, defend herself more. But she cannot.Â
Eloise cuts in. âLady Whistledown has the utmost confidence in herself. I dare say more than all the women in London combined. As much as I have come to see your side, I cannot agree with that.â
âOneâs high level of confidence is of little concern here.â You deliver. âOften, in matters regarding the human condition, such as these, it can act as a detriment.â Your eyes narrow as you speak. âSelf respect and self confidence can coincide, but they are not the same.â
Eloise laughs out of confusion. Sheâs not used to being this clueless. âI donât understand.â She says.
âAh,â you decide to stop tiptoeing around the subject. âI merely think that no self-respecting woman would use the pain and suffering of other women, or any other person for that matter, for their own profit and entertainment.âÂ
Eloiseâs smile drops. âOh.â Again, she hadnât thought of it that way. But what resonates with her most is that youâre not wrong.Â
âIs that what you truly think of Lady Whistledown?â Penelopeâs voice is calm and collected for the first time this afternoon. It almost scares you.Â
âYes.â You say, before voicing, âHowever, I mean no offense to either of you. I know how much you girls adore her column. I just want more for you than what she does. A life of gossip is dangerous, and you deserve so much more.â
If you had known youâd been talking to Lady Whistledown herself, maybe you would have kept those opinions to yourself. But little did you know how much your life was about to change, how dangerously youâd walked the line, and how much vengeance rests in Penelope Featheringtonâs soul.
Future note to self, do not play with fire if one does not wish to get burnt. Â
⹠ж ⹠ж ⹠ж ⹠ж âą
â(Y/n), I think you need to see this.â Benedict holds up the newest edition of Londonâs famous gossip column.Â
Your heart sinks at the look in his eyes. Iâm sorry they seem to say.Â
You havenât even read it and you already know itâs bad. Handing it to you, Benedict looks hesitant, almost in preparation of what's to come. As you take it from him, you glance down at the ink on the paper, her handwriting etched in your brain.Â
You swallow the lump in your throat as you begin to read:
Dearest Gentle Reader,
It has come to this authorâs attention that a certain individual is playing an unforgivable game of deception within the world of classical art that this ton so highly regards. This artisan has gone to great lengths to keep their true identity from you, painting under a well recognized pseudonym.Â
By now you may have guessed, this artist is a woman. One who has tricked you and lied to you by passing her work off as that of a manâs. What a horrid crime it is to keep such a secret from you, and a desperate one, I must admit. A woman so foul as to seek such attention for her art, far too greedy to be content with the life so many of the wonderful women of the ton lead. Instead, she parades around disguising herself so she can live a life she feels entitled to.Â
This author asks you to consider the arrogance of it all. But the question remains, as I am sure you are desperate to uncover: who is the serpent who remains among us?
And so it is with great sorrow that I announce the once beloved Augustus Leighton is a fraud. A man never seen in the public setting, has given us a reason why. He is a woman.
And her name, ladies and gentleman of London, is (Y/n) (L/n).Â
As I am sure you, gentle reader, are shocked at this revelation, I will take a moment to address the woman this particular entry concerns.
May I remind you Miss (L/n), I have ears and eyes everywhere. Or did you forget? It would do you a world of good to remember that the next time you think about besmirching me. And, as I write this, I must say, this warning goes for all. Heed it, live by it, breathe by it. I am not a woman you want to cross.Â
Yours truly,
Lady Whistledown
Panic crawls through your body. You want to cry, scream, maybe even simply die from the anxiety youâre feeling.Â
âWhat am I going to do?âÂ
Your voice cracks, it sounds like glass breaking. Shattered, ragged, and tired, and Benedict can do nothing but hold you.Â
Again, as your body shakes and caves into the pressure you think, what am I going to do?
⹠ж ⹠ж ⹠ж ⹠ж âą
The moment Eloise enters the room with Anthony at her side, your mind is sent ablaze. Only three people had known about Augustus. Only three people could have possibly let it slip, and you know for a fact it wasnât Benedict.
As much as you want to believe Eloise would never do something like that to you, you canât help but feel like she might have offhandedly mentioned it to someone. Her mouth had always worked much faster than her brain. Â
Benedictâs gaze meets yours in understanding. He hopes his sister hasnât done this; heâll be furious if she has.Â
Youâre about to say something when a certain eldest Bridgerton catches you off guard. Anthony smiles when he sees you, eyes twinkling uncharacteristically so.Â
âI had no idea you could paint like that.â He says. âI must admit, Iâm quite proud of you.â
You blink rapidly in confusion. Proud? In all the years youâve known Anthony, heâs never told you heâs proud of you.Â
âSo youâve read the column then?â Your head hangs in shame. Everyone in London has probably read it by now.Â
âEveryone has.â Eloise pipes in timidly, confirming your suspicions.Â
Sheâs nervous, understandably so, fingers fiddling with the hem of her dress. You assume when you finally catch her gaze that sheâll avert it quickly, but instead, she holds it well.Â
We need to talk.Â
Benedict, reading the room perfectly, coughs in apprehension. âBrother, how about we let these ladies be for a moment? Iâm certain they have some things to discuss.â
âOf course.â Anthony nods with a smile, not before reminding you how proud he is of you.
If anything good can come of this, it might just be that.Â
Once alone, Eloise is eager to assure you of her innocence. âI spoke to no one.â She promises. âBlood be forgotten, youâre my sister (Y/n). I would never betray you like that.â
The look on her face is one of pure panic; she needs you to believe her. And despite everything, you do. It almost makes you feel guilty that you questioned her.Â
âItâs alright.â You assure her. âI know you wouldnât.â
But that only leaves one personâŠ
âI think Penelope is Lady Whistledown.â You're taken aback by Eloiseâs words, like a stab to the chest. Twisting the knife in further, she corrects, âI know she is.â
Moments of silence pass before you can collect your thoughts. âHow long have you known?â
This is where Eloise loses her composure. Pure shame is etched upon her features. âI caught her a few weeks ago.â
A few weeks. A few weeks⊠A FEW WEEKS?
âOh.â Your murmur is dejected and weak.
Eloise had known youâd been slandering Lady Whistledown in front of Lady Whistledown, and sheâd done nothing to stop you, except defend her best friendâs honour. No wonder sheâd been so reluctant to agree with you.Â
âI wanted to say something.â Eloise stammers. âBut I couldnât. Penelope doesnât know that I know.â
You inhale a staggered breath of air, face falling to your palms. âIâve been such a fool. How could I have been so stupid?â
âYou have not.â The girl beside you opposes before continuing, âTrust me, I am furious with Penelope. The things sheâs done and said about me, about the people I care about, Iâm not sure I can forgive her for it.â
You scoff lightly. Trust her? How are you supposed to do that?
Sure, Eloise has certainly been burned by Lady Whistledown before, but sheâs always had her name to fall back on. âYou have no idea what itâs like, Eloise.â
âIâm sorry.â She slumps in apology, shrinking in on herself. Eloise likes to think she can understand where youâre coming from. Sheâs a woman, same as you, one who has the same struggles against the patriarchy, and yet, hers are much different. Â
âDonât.â You dismiss her apology in frustration. It feels harsh but necessary. âYou always speak about feminism and the difficulties of being a woman. How it is impossible for you to hold title and rank, or to be recognized for your accomplishments. But you are a Bridgerton Eloise, and that comes with more privilege, more title, more rank, and more acknowledgment in society than you seem to understand.â
Eloiseâs brow furrows. âMore often than not, that name is a burden, something you could not possibly grasp.â
âAnd I should not have to.â Your lips pull into a thin line. This isnât a competition, but you feel it necessary to defend your point wholly. âI am the daughter of a servant and a seamstress. I have no money, no control, and no future if I am not to marry. Since the day I was born, I belonged to someone else. You talk of struggle, but you have no idea what it truly means.â
Eloise doesnât like what youâre implying. âYou think I live a life of luxury? That I am a stranger to the adversities life has to offer? I can assure you, I know much more about the struggles of which you speak. My mother has prepared me for the purpose of my future; finding a husband is imperative.â
âYou plan to remain unmarried, correct?â You ask her seriously.
âWith every fiber in my being.â Is her scathing reply. And it only serves to prove your point. But you can see her side of things too.Â
âEl, you defy your mother with your distaste for society. And while I applaud your determination to fight for equality, your fault remains in your failure to recognize the entitlement that has been bestowed upon you simply by having that choice. Unlike so many women, you can choose to live your life as a spinster. For you, those options exist. For me, I have not one choice besides finding a well suited, at best, middle class husband, because that is all I am suited for.â
In this moment, her heart shatters for you. Is that really what you think of yourself? âYou cannot possibly mean that.âÂ
âItâs how it has to be.â You affirm.Â
âItâs not.â She disagrees. âThereâs so much more for you than a husband.â
Both your defenses are down, walls have collapsed, and youâre starting to get through to each other. Sheâs starting to grasp the gravity of what this means for you. Your career is more than likely over, as is the steady source of income youâd managed to build. Except where before youâd had less than no money to your name, you now had a healthy dowry (that youâd earned no less) to find a more comfortable suitor.Â
Eloise sees it now. What Penelope has done is monumentally life changing.Â
However, as emotional as this circumstance is, you still feel the need to reach out. Sheâs your sister after all.Â
âEloise,â your eyes search hers. They tread in a sea of empathy. âI never meant to imply you have lived a life without misfortunes. Iâm not trying to diminish your hurt. But I thought if you heard my side, you might come to understand mine.â
She softens at your admission, having gotten carried away in defending herself. Nodding, she smiles gently. âI do.â She says. âAnd while you may not bear the Bridgerton surname, you do have us. Every Bridgerton will stand behind you, always.â
Against every fibre in your being, you believe her. Somehow youâll always have this little family of yours, somehow you hope youâll be okayâŠ
#benedict bridgerton x reader#benedict bridgerton x you#benedict bridgerton x y/n#benedict bridgerton x fem!reader#benedict bridgerton#benedict bridgerton imagine#bridgerton x reader#bridgerton x you#bridgerton x y/n#bridgerton x female reader
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((question: I realize I can make carterio canon for Carter's main verse as well as the ikau by saying she and Quentin were together while she was in college, but then they broke up pre-aou or just after. Do y'all think that could be something that'd work or just leave it as an alt-main during iw/eg?
#ground control (ooc)#((I'm at a stall with the rewrite rn because I'm weighing out some ideas I've had before but either got rid of (for some reason)#or placing more importance to (like including her lessons with music and art when she was younger)#and I'm trying to figure out a way to make a summarized version since I feel like I'm getting too detailed#but after that is where I'm debating on if I should leave as is or make some changes#and I feel like it could work with carterio - though I'd make adjustments according to his character#and I'd probably finally watch ffh again to get a better feel lol#but I figured I'd ask since I'm on the fence about this and don't really have a strong feeling either way#so other opinions would help! and again I'd make adjustments to the situation if I go this way although it's still gonna be toxic#because Quentin is a toxic person imo - he's absolutely interesting as a character and I love that he's a diva lol#but also because there's nothing wrong with writing characters who are terrible people and stay terrible - like Obadiah#but also it's fun exploring other ideas like that one anon had for the ikau au of carterio!#plus it'd actually give Carter more incentive to not say anything about their relationship to Tony#since I'm sure Quentin would've also dated her then to try and increase his chances getting a job at SI#and she wouldn't want to ruin that/take away that chance from him despite him hurting her#I will say I actually might go with them dating in college in the ikau before breaking up and then getting back together like I have now#but anyway - I'm gonna stop rambling bc I know there's a tag limit dsfghkjdfshj#I'll sleep on it and think about it a bit more - but I'd love y'all's two cents!))
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Two Days - Jungkook
Summary: He just wants you to give him two days. He'll take you on a few dates and you'll decided if you actually like him? Or not?
Genre/tags: mostly fluff, tiny bit of angst, friends to lovers, biker jungkook, jungkook is a goofball and a simp! :)
Pairing: Jungkook x she/her reader
a/n: this is my first ever bts/jk fic, I'm just trying this out since i have some days off from work, hope y'all like it <3
âPlease?â
âNo.âÂ
âYouâre missing out.âÂ
âJungkook, weâre literally in a Burger King.â
You heard the man playfully saying, âYes, and?â in a singing tone. All you could do was rolling your eyes in reply. Jeon Jungkook, this guy who had been begging you for his so-called masterplan that he called, âtrial dateâ for weeks, was now yet again begging you for a chance.
You could not exactly pinpoint when it actually began. He was shy the first time you met. You had known the rest of the boys ever since you met Yoongi at an art class. The cold looking guy who was surprisingly friendly and soft-hearted, later on introduced you to the rest of the guys. Jungkook was introduced almost a year later into befriending the group. He was a guy who went to the same gym as Namjoon. They became friends ever since he offered Namjoon a ride one time.Â
Being the youngest amongst the guys and also the latest you got to meet, you would think that his shyness would linger at least a little bit longer. Then again, if you really think about it, he probably only stayed quiet and shy on the first meeting.Â
The idea of both of you together was never mentioned until recently. Namjoon was the one who started calling out Jungkookâs odd behavior towards you, but the nail on the coffin was when you all got drunk at Jiminâs house that one time.Â
It was Jiminâs birthday and truthfully, you knew the guy was loaded rich, but you did not know he was rich with capital R. The selection of bottles in his house was pretty much unlimited from the ones you like to the ones you couldnât even name. It was five hours into all the celebration and you all were blurting nonsense. You were tipsy, but still aware cause for some reason you were winning all the games that night and got to drink less. But Jungkook on the other hand, who was usually winning everything, was getting pissy cause he kept coming second after you.Â
âThis is unbelievable.â Jungkook groaned, casually throwing the boardgame cards on the table.Â
âYou just have a soft spot for her.â Jin shrugged.Â
âI do not! I just have a crush on her.â Jungkook retorted back, as if his sentence made any sense.Â
You heard Hoseok voiced a small âohâ with his usual judgy expression, and the rest were silent for a second, including you.Â
âI meanâŠâ Jungkook tried to correct himself but stopped mid-way, trying to make up words in his already drunk mind. His eyes went back and forth to everyone before he scoffed. âYou all act so surprised, as if you didnât tease me everyday right after the first time I met Y/N.âÂ
When the room was still silent, Jungkook realized he fucked up, his blurry mind completely ignored the fact that you, the subject of this topic, was in fact also in the room.Â
âShit.â Was all he muttered before he excused himself to the bathroom, and did not come out for twenty minutes.Â
When he was done, everyone had decided to wrap it up due to the awkwardness and the absence of Jungkook himself. He found Taehyung and Jin sleeping on both sides of Jiminâs big couch, and a small smile formed on his lips, shaking his head over the dumb expression they had in their sleep. His stomach soon flipped right after he saw you on the kitchen, making yourself a cup of instant noodle.Â
âOh, hey.â You greeted awkwardly. âI got hungry from all that drinking.â You shyly mentioned.Â
Jungkook only nodded and took a seat on one of the dinning chairs.Â
âYou want some?â You offered, trying to break the ice.Â
âY/N stop.â His eyes widened once he realized how bad that sounded. âI mean⊠I didnât mean it like that?â He chuckled dryly, it was more of a statement rather than a question.Â
When you kept quiet but sat down next to him regardless, and ate your noodles, he decided you were at least comfortable enough to hear him talk. âThis whole huge crush on you thingy⊠thatâs not gonna ruin our friendship or anything, right? If youâre uncomfortable Iâll just stop showing up when youâre around for aââ
âWhat?! No! Jungkook, Iâm not uncomfortable.â You sighed. âIâm just a bit surprised, I guess.â
âWhy though?â He asked innocently, his big doe eyes looking straight at you, making you slightly nervous.Â
âItâs just⊠you do realize youâre quite popular right?â
âWhatâs that gotta do with this situation?â
âI thought I wasnât your type.âÂ
âYou donât get to decide that.â
That was the last civil conversation you had with him until he decided it was a good idea to cling to you almost every single day, pestering on the idea of this whole trial dating. Everyone other than Yoongi, who was neutral (read: don't really care enough to actually voice an opinion at the moment), was pretty much on board with his plan. You being single for a year now definitely did not help your case. They kept saying that you needed to lit up your dating engine again, so it wouldnât be rusty.Â
It was not that you did not find Jungkook attractive. Heck, he was one of the most attractive person you had ever laid your eyes on. It was just, weird? He felt like a brother, the same as the rest of the boys. If you didnât treat any of them different, then you should not with Jungkook either, right?
âHave you maybe considered that maybe sheâs tired of your bullshit?â Yoongi blurted with a blank expression, as he continue to munch on his burger.Â
âItâs only been two weeks.â Jungkook protested. âBesides, you never know 'till you try, right?â He winked at you.Â
You rolled your eyes. âIâm good, Kookie.â You pinched his cheeks, a little bit too hard.Â
âH-hey!â He pouted, his cheeks forming even rounder. âTwo days! Two days!â He suddenly shouted.Â
âOh boyâŠâ Hoseok side-eyed the rest of you, clearly done with the younger one.Â
âGive me two days, Y/N!â He said with his two fingers right in front of your face. âYou donât have plans this weekend, right?â
âHey, maybeââ Namjoon didnât even get to finish his sentence before the lad interrupted.Â
âIâll take you on two dates and then you can decide afterwards.â He grinned, as if that was the most brilliant thing he had ever thought of. âIf you still donât like me after that then I will gracefully back off.â He threw his hands in the air.Â
âYou promise?â You suddenly spoke, after being silent for a while.Â
âWait, youâre actually consideringââ Jin stood up from his seat, almost knocking his table.Â
Jungkook hurriedly covered Jinâs mouth, not letting yet another man finish his sentence again. âI promise!â He saluted, grinning so hard his cheeks almost hurt.Â
âAre you really sure?â Yoongi whispered to you.Â
You only shrugged. Truthfully, you were not sure either. But at this point, you just wanted Jungkook to get over his girl hyperfixation of the month. Which was, you.Â
You just did not buy the story of him being head over heels on you since day one. As if he didnât look like a Greek god himself? As if you did not know how women and even men would kill just to get a taste of him. You just wanted him to get it over with, so he can realize how weird the whole idea was and went back to being the goofball friend you once knew.Â
â
Right, so.
Now here you were, basically having a mini dress-up montage moment, picking an outfit for your cinema date. Even after spending almost an hour getting ready you ended up with just wearing your usual crop top and baggy jeans, hoping it will be fine. Clearly you didnât wanna seem like a try-hard. It was just Jungkook. He had seen you with pajamas and you didnât hear him complain, so there shouldnât be a problem. Why did you even go through the trouble to pick an outfit? You wondered yourself.Â
Ten minutes later and Jungkook was already ringing your phone.Â
âIâm at your lobby!â He exclaimed loudly over the phone.Â
âYouâre early.â
âJust canât wait to see you.â You could not see his face, but you knew he was grinning like an idiot. âHurry down! Oh, and bring your jacket.â
You didnât expect him to came with a motorbike. A huge one not to mention. Something stirred in your stomach for a millisecond seeing him in a leather jacket.Â
He took a spare helmet and innocently handed it to you. âGotta make sure my girl is safe.â He sheepishly said.Â
You tried your best to ignore the nickname, and spoke. âI didnât know you ride a motorcycle.â You said, taking the helmet he gave in your hands.Â
âIâm just too lazy to drive sometimes so I just lift on Hobiâs car.â He shrugged. âWhy? Are you scared?â He teased.Â
âOf course not.â You said and put on the helmet. You did not miss his small snickers when you struggle to hop on his Harley, having to grab him by his shoulders.Â
âOkay, just wanna let you know, I drive like suuuuuper fast. So, you have to hug me to be safe!â He giggled.Â
You rolled your eyes, even if he couldnât see. âIâm just gonna head back upstairs...â
âDonât be such a sourpuss.â He chuckled. âIâm a good driver, Namjoon approved! But you can grab onto my jacket if you want.âÂ
â
The movie was great.Â
And that was a lie, cause truth to be told, you could barely focus on the plot. Every time you caught a glimpse of the boy next to you, his eyes were already looking at you. While it was true that you had not been dating for quite some time, you could feel your spidey-sense tingling, as if you were to turn your head towards him, something would happen. Thinking about it was not exactly the best thing for you.
âWeâre getting ice cream.â Jungkook cheerfully said, as you both walked out the cinema.Â
âThatâs not a question?â You couldnât help but to smile at the silliness.Â
âNot a chance Iâm letting you go home yet.âÂ
âIs this a date or a kidnapping?âÂ
âCould be both if you want.â He laughed. âSoâŠâ He cutely put his hands in his pockets as you walked.Â
âSo?â
âSo⊠howâs life?âÂ
âYou did not just ask me that.â You laughed.
âWhat? Iâm just trying to make actual conversation!â He laughed as well, but later on his expression softened. âYou seemed down these past couple of days though?âÂ
You tilted your head slightly. You didnât think he would notice.Â
âYou⊠noticed?â
âOf course I did!â He grinned, patting his chest proudly. âYou didnât talk that much at our last movie night at Taehyungâs. You usually love to debate after watching a movie.â He chuckled. "The fact that you're not even starting a discussion right now, is lowkey concerning."
That was because of an entirely different thing, but you chose not to say. âI haven't even told Yoongi.âÂ
âEven if you tell him, he wouldnât tell anyone either, so whatâs your point?âÂ
âThatâs fair.â You broke a small smile.Â
âWhat happened?â He stopped mid-track, suddenly losing a bit of confidence in his speaking tone. âI mean, only if youâre comfortable enough to tell meâŠâ
Your expression softened. âItâs a bit stupidâŠâ
âItâs okay, Iâll listen!â He nodded towards you. âIâll just quickly grab those ice cream and weâll sit down somewhere?âÂ
Minutes later he came back with two ice creams and a big stupid grin plastered on his face as usual. âHere you go, letâs sit down on that bench.â
You nodded and thanked him before following him to the bench.Â
âCome sit close to me!â He patted right next to him. When you only looked at him blankly. He added, âPlease?â
You sat down close to him but left a bit of space enough so that your shoulders wouldnât touch.Â
âAre you cold?âÂ
âUh⊠no.â
âOkay, good.â He smiled and took a big bite of his ice cream. âSo, do you still wanna tell me? Or we could also just sit and talk shit about Jin while we eat ice cream if you donât want!â
You smiled. Looking into his eyes, you could feel his sincerity. It could be just you, but you felt somewhat⊠safe.Â
âI used to date this one guy⊠We dated for three months before I ended things with him.âÂ
You looked up to Jungkook, expecting to see a negative expression but he remained silent, only nodding to signal you to continue.Â
âTo be fair we havenât been in touch for almost a year, but he suddenly called me. He was drunk and said a bunch of nonsense. I still replied at first, cause I was worried for his safety. But after I found out he was drunk at home, I bid my goodbye. Then he suddenly saidâŠâ You took a deep breath. âHe said that Iâm a 4.5 with a bitch attitude and being picky wonât help me.â You broke into a sad grin. âItâs stupid, I knowââ
âWho is this fucker? Can I beat the shit outta him? How come Iâve never heard about this?!â
âProbably cause this is how you react.â You chuckled. âIt had me quite bothered for quite sometime, maybe the fact that I also havenât dated in a while adds to it, but I guess I feel somewhat better now.âÂ
âSo thatâs why you said you thought you werenât my type?âÂ
âHuh?â
âThat fucker needs to get his eyes and brain checked.â He shook his head. âYou know, itâs fine to not want to settle for less.â He said as he looked at the sun setting in the sky. âHeâs just butthurt you donât want him back.âÂ
You stayed silent but nodded.
âHis dickâs probably small anyway.â When you slapped his arm, he laughed. âWhat? Am I wrong? Why did you even break up with him?â
âHe's sexist!â
âAnd his dick is small.â He followed.Â
âJungkook!â You began to laugh as well.Â
âYou know youâre easily a ten, but Iâll give a nine for now.â He said, pretending to be serious with rubbing his chin and squinting his eyes.Â
âWhy? What deduct the one point?â
âCause you havenât like me back yet.âÂ
âGod, make that at least five points then, I hate you.â You rolled your eyes, but laughed.Â
He smiled softly. âFeeling better?âÂ
âWell, I guess? But now my ice cream's all melty.â You pouted, trying to lick some that was melting down the cone.Â
âThatâs why you eat fast like me.â He proudly said.Â
âAnd have stomach problem? No thanks.â
âHere let me justâŠâ He licked a stripe from your cone and took a big bite. âThere.â
You were taken aback. So stunned that you could only blink a few times at him.Â
âWhat? Donât tell me that turned you on?â He smirked.Â
âYou⊠Jungkook, thatâs gross!â You whined, which only resulted in his laughter.Â
â
The next day Jungkook wanted a full day date. Boy kept saying that he wanted fair chance since it was his last day. He already planned a list of things both of you would do and all, and the first being eating brunch with you.Â
âDo you really have to come this early?â You complained as you opened your apartment door for the guy.Â
When the said guy sheepishly didnât move and enter, you raised one of your eyebrows. His hands were behind his back, clearly holding something, and you can see both of his arms flexed, seemingly grasping something tightly. You were searching for his boyish grin, but his expression seemed worried instead.Â
âI got you flowers.â He said, sounding discouraged.Â
âOh?â You replied, but wondered why he just kept standing and not move.Â
âI found out last minute that you donât like flowersâŠâ He frowned. âYoongi told me in the group chat after I got too excited and sent them a pic of the flowers I got you.â
He looked like a lost puppy, and suddenly you had the urge to hug him to ease all his pain away. You stopped yourself before the impulse got the best of you and you grabbed him by the forearm, dragging him inside and closing the door.Â
âYou canât stay in that position the whole day, you have to hand me the flowers.â You folded your arms, trying to hold in a chuckle.Â
âBut you donât like them!â
âI havenât even seen them.â
He finally moved his hands and revealed a small bouquet of fresh daisies. It was a simple bouquet, nothing too extravagant with a brown wrapping paper. It somehow reminded you of his smile and how radiant he looked when he did so. Yes, you did not like flowers, they were unpractical, it felt like an unnecessary addition, a waste of space. But somehow you like it. It made you feel all warm and fuzzy and it was very pleasant. It made you wanna accept it with open arms. Truthfully, the description did not really feel like it was describing flowers anymore, but you decided to not further ponder on it.Â
âThank you.â You took the flowers and sniffed it, before setting it down on your table.Â
âIâm sorry I didnât know, I feel so dumb cause everyone knew already andââ
âHey, weâve only known each other for three months.â You assured. âBesides, itâs really not much of a big deal, I actually like them.âÂ
âYou do???â
âYeah, they look pretty. I donât know how long I can keep them looking like that though.âÂ
âOh my godâŠâ He exhaled deeply. âI was so worried it would be a deal breaker or something. I was literally shaking!â
He laughed and showed his right hand in front of you, it was shaking slightly. You didnât know why he laughed at it, you didnât find it funny.Â
âIt happens sometimes when Iâm nervous.â He chuckled.Â
Instead of saying something, you took his hand into yours just by intuitive. It was impulsive, but you let go before he had the chance to intertwine his fingers with yours. He didnât comment on your behavior, but a smile was still on his face as he waited for you to grab your things to go.Â
The brunch was on this small cafe near your place. You insisted on paying this time, since he paid for yesterday. The brunch was spent with him trying to sneakily hold your hand, but failed every single time.Â
Next activity on the list was buying clothes together. As cringey as that sounded, and you even almost opposed the idea, Jungkook said that he needed to buy new outfit and he wanted to hear your feedback. Plus, some of his clothes barely fit him anymore since he decided to become a gym rat.Â
âYou actually look great in those skirt.âÂ
âYouâre joking.â You denied, but twirled around in front of the mirror anyway, while trying to convince yourself that you didnât need the purchase.Â
âIâll buy them for you if you wonât.âÂ
âWe didnât have all those money-saving talk with Namjoon only for you to say that.â You folded your arms.Â
âOh come on, you look great!â He pointed to you and his lips forming into a small pout. âBesides, weâre on a date today so I think thatâs a pretty good excuse.âÂ
âI thought we are here to help you buy some clothes, not buy me skirt that I probably wonât wear that often.âÂ
âLet me spoil you for once⊠please?â He begged, eyes all sparkly. His lips shined along with his two lip piercings.Â
âAlright, fine... Iâll get the skirt, but!â You eyed him. âOnly if you buy that straight-cut jeans you just tried before.â
âDeal.â
âThatâs it? Youâre not gonna argue on how those arenât on trend anymore?â You raised an eyebrow.Â
âI was gonna buy them anyways. You were practically drooling when I showed you.â He smirked and wiggled his eyebrows playfully at you. âKinda was just waiting for you to admit itâŠâ
You only rolled your eyes, but you couldnât open your lips to deny his words either.Â
After you changed back into your clothes and Jungkook paid for the purchases, he went back to you with a sly grin on his face and you immediately suspected something. He came back with a pair of matching string bracelet.Â
âYou can just not wear them later if you donât want to, but let me be delusional for today, okay?â
You both left the store after you let him put the bracelet on your wrist.Â
Next in line was spending time on a local amusement park. It was nothing too extreme, just a small carnival that has a few rides and snack booths. The guy kept insisting that you both should take a picture when the sun set.Â
âCotton candy!â Jungkook sprinted to the booth like a hungry kid, his laughter could be heard even as him getting far from where you were standing.Â
You shook your head, smiling to yourself as you walked to his direction.Â
âPink, blue, or green?âÂ
âBlue, maybe?â
âAlright.â He grinned and paid the seller as they handed the blue cotton candy stick. âWhy blue though?âÂ
âDunno, just kinda matches your outfit.â
âSweetheart, Iâm wearing jeans and a plain white t-shirt.â He giggled.Â
Which should be a crime! Cause who even looks that good in a basic white t-shirt??? You thought to yourself. âYour jeans, I guess..?â
âIf you say so.â He chuckled. âWanna ride the ferris wheel?â
âBeing in a such small space with you sounds dangerous.âÂ
âIâll protect you, babe.â He winked.Â
âThe danger is you, babe.â You mocked.Â
He smirked, clearly amused. âWell, at least I got you to call me babe, thatâs a win for me.âÂ
âYouâre annoâ hmph!â He stuffed a ball of cotton candy in your mouth, laughing continuously at the sight.Â
After wandering around for a while and finishing the cotton candy, Jungkook dragged you to the shooting game. You refused, saying how you never really win these kind of games, but knowing him, losing was never really his thing. You saw how big the main prize was and you know Jungkook, you knew his ego, you knew damn well that was what he was aiming.Â
âIf youâre aiming for that giant teddy bear, donât. We canât carry that thing around...â
âYou canât tell me what to do.â He didnât listen and instead paid for the game tickets.Â
âWe canât carry that in your motorcycle, thatâs like another passenger!â
âJust watch me.â He smirked, already aiming with the toy gun.Â
You rolled your eyes, thereâs really no telling him on this. âFine, whatever.âÂ
After just two shots, you hear him jump in celebration, fist in the air and the staff rang the bell for him winning the price. You were ready to complain, but the staff handed you a small frog plushie instead. You looked at Jungkook and saw his boyish grin, his eyes almost turned into crescents. You looked back at the plushie in your hands and couldnât lie to yourself, it was very adorable.Â
âYou didnât aim for the grand prize?â
âYou told me not to.â He shrugged. âPlus, you like frogs, right?â
âWellâŠâÂ
âI wished I took a picture of your expression when they handed you the plushie.â He laughed, a soft blush decorating his cheeks.Â
You finally agreed to ride the ferris wheel with him. The park was going to close in an hour anyway, and you thought why not, it wouldnât hurt anyone to go for one ride.Â
You sat across him, hugging the frog plushie on your lap. It was silent for the first few minutes, but it was comfortable, not awkward. You were just looking at the view from above and silently admiring it.Â
âDid you have fun?â He asked. Suddenly your attention went back to him and his smile.Â
âWell, yeah⊠I did.â You nodded. âThanks.âÂ
âDonât thank me, I had fun too.â He smiled. âEverythingâs fun with you though so I may be biasedâŠâÂ
You didnât really know what to say to counter his words. You just smiled and went back to looking at the window.Â
âMind if I sit next to you?â
âUh⊠sure. Just be careful, you might tilt the cart.âÂ
Jungkook carefully moved to sit next to you. He muttered a small âphewâ as he sat down. âWow, the viewâs better here.â He said, looking straight at you.Â
âWhat do you mean? Howââ And then it clicked to you. âOh my god⊠shut up!â You hit his arm, and he laughed.Â
âTake my compliment for once!âÂ
âNever.â You stuck your tongue out.Â
The ride soon came to an end. You remembered that you promised Jungkook to take a picture with the sunset, but out of nowhere it started to rain. Although it was just small drizzle, itâs hard to take picture and avoid getting soaked at the same time. You both ran to the nearest sheltered place, with Jungkookâs leather jacket covering both of you.Â
You said your sorry about his now wet jacket, but the boy did not seem to be bothered, as you can see how bright and happy he was, just from running with you under the rain. You sighed, but an idea came to you as soon as you saw a photo booth machine, not far from where you were standing.Â
âDo you⊠maybe wanna do that instead?â
âPhotobooth?â He looked at you, as if he couldnât believe your words.Â
âWhy? You donât want to?â
âNo! I want to!â He said, almost too quickly. âBut itâs just weird that you suggest it. But itâs a good weird!â He chuckled.Â
âI promised you a picture, so weâre getting a picture.âÂ
âAww.â Jungkook pout his lips in a kissy way, teasing you.Â
âLetâs go before I regret it.â You dragged him inside the booth.Â
The first pose you playfully put peace signs behind Jungkookâs head, giving him bunny ears, while he only stuck out his tongue. The second one, Jungkook made a love sign with both of his hands, and you surprised him with a middle finger, which he yelled at you afterwards, but couldnât really continue to complain as the countdown for the next photo were already starting.Â
Since Jungkook spent at least three and a half seconds with his protest, you both were panicking for the last picture, running out of ideas. As the countdown stating two, he suddenly pulled you closer and leaned on your shoulder. The shutter flashed and the photo was taken. You were still in awe and couldnât process what just happened. You only followed when you saw Jungkook making his way out from the booth to collect the picture.Â
The guy giggled like a highschool boy, taking the printed photos, then giving one copy to you. You stared at the last picture, how genuine Jungkookâs smile when he leaned on your shoulder, while you had your eyes widened in surprise. You felt your face heating in embarrassment.Â
âUgh⊠can we just cut out the last picture?âÂ
âI was thinking the same thing, Iâm putting it on my wallet!â He said, eyes still looking up and down on the set of photos.Â
When you only looked at him in disbelief, he uttered a small âwhat?â, and laughed.Â
Both of you ended up eating some cups of ramen in a nearby convenience store, as you wait for the rain to stop pouring. He took you home right after, insisting on waking you to your door.Â
âTake care of little Kookie for me, yeah?â He said, pointing at your frog plushie, as you stopped at your unitâs front door.Â
âWhy is he named after you?â You chuckled.Â
âIâm his father!â He pretended to be offended.
âWell, say bye to your papa now, little Kookie.â You waved the plushieâs small hand to him.Â
Jungkook felt his heart somersault. He turned away for a second, covering his mouth. He cleared his throat. âWell, uh⊠thank you again, for todayâŠâ
âYeah! Thank you tooâŠâ You chewed your inner lips, hugging your plushie close.Â
âI uhâŠâ He awkwardly rubbed the back of his head. âI just wanna let you know that what I said to you⊠about deciding whether you like me or not after the dates⊠I was just saying stuff. I donât wanna pressure you into deciding your feelings for me or anything, I genuinely just wanna spend some time with you, and Iâm thankful for your time.âÂ
You nodded, smiling at him. Your eyes locked with each other for a quick second. Your heart skipped a beat. Maybe it was the moonlight, or the lamp in front of your door that you recently just got replaced. Either way, you could see the stars in Jungkookâs eyes and his skin glowed, but so did his lips. They were practically sparkling and glossy, you wondered if he had put any lip balm over it. For a moment, your attention stopped at his lips, just wondering how it would feel against yours. Would it be soft? Would you feel the cold metal of his lip piercing against your skin?Â
The man in front of you seemed to be lost in his thoughts as well. You swore you saw his eyes darted to your lips for a quick glance, before coming back to your eyes. Just when he leaned down a bit to your height levelâŠÂ
You froze. What was that? You felt your stomach turned, you couldnât exactly point out whether it was due to nervousness, or if you were simply just afraid. You took a step back and your back almost hit the front door.
âYou should head back, it could rain again soonâŠâ You said, looking away.Â
âOh.â There was disappointment in his voice. âOkay then⊠bye.â He waved to you awkwardly and walked away.Â
As you see his figure walking away, you went inside your apartment and closed the door behind you. Sitting down on your sofa, you put your hand over your chest. Funny how your heart was still beating so fast. You were panicking, feeling everything all at once. Nervousness, excitement, curiosity, but mostly fright. The unknown territory was making you scared. The new feelings you were feeling, you didnât even know if it would be okay to feel it.Â
Still laying down on your sofa, you took your phone and dialed your best friend.Â
âYou called.â You heard Yoongiâs voice from the other line.Â
âWhy are you saying it like that.âÂ
âYou only call when youâre stressing over something, otherwise, you only text.âÂ
You hate how smart and observant your friend was sometimes. âI think I feel something for Jungkook.âÂ
âIsnât that⊠I donât know, good?âÂ
âI donât know⊠it just hit me like a truck, okay? One minute I wanna punch that stupid grin out of his face, the next thing I know, his lips looked so shiny and he got me wondering if his piercings would feel cold against my lips.âÂ
âOkay, wow.â Yoongi said in amusement. âCare to elaborate?â
âWhat if Iâm just⊠super horny or something? I mean I havenât been with anyone for like god knows how long now, and I could just be desperate and Jungkook is good looking, extremely good looking may I add, andââ
âOkay, okay⊠Y/N, pause for a second.â Yoongi sighed. âSo you think you might be just horny and you feel bad for it?â
âOf course I feel bad! I donât wanna use Jungkook like that! Just because he has this stupid crush on me, doesnât mean I can do whatever I want with him. Iâm not that kind of person!â You exclaimed, the volume of your voice getting slightly higher.Â
âTell me, how do you feel after the dates? Did you enjoy it?â
âWell yeah, I had a great time actually. I didnât expect Jungkook to be that caring, and heâs actually very good at initiating conversationâŠâ You wondered what else you could point out.Â
âDuring that time, did Jungkook mention or do anything sexual?âÂ
âN-no! Of course not! Yoongi, do you take me as the fuck-on-the-first-date kind of person???â You said, slightly offended.
âSo you like him.â He stated casually.Â
âIâm sorry?â
âYou caught feelings. Just admit that Jungkook has officially win you over.â
âI⊠whatâŠâÂ
âI knew it. I shouldnât have let you go on those dates, now both of you are gonna be so gross when we hang out...â You heard your friend groaned.Â
âI like him?â You asked, more to yourself rather than to your best friend.Â
âMaybe you should call Jungkook instead and tell him.â
You widened your eyes in horror. âNo way, that guy only has a crush on me, itâs more of a hyperfixation, like Iâm his girl of the month or something. Iâm sure itâs not like how you think it is.â
âYou should ask him yourself instead of making assumptions, just saying. And you knowâŠâ Yoongi paused for a second before continuing. âI think that kid is actually a good person, despite how dumb and annoying he looks.â When he got no respond from you, he spoke again. âAlright, Iâll leave you with your thoughts, just make sure youâll talk with him about this, okay? Take care, Y/N.âÂ
Yoongi hang up the call while you were still sitting down, expression blank, staring at the wall in front of you.Â
â
Jungkook didnât text you at all after the date. Not like you text each other regularly, but you lowkey expected him to after. You wanted to call him, or at least text him. You wanted to say how you feel but you were again, scared. You began to think if you were reading it wrong. He was popular, you wondered if he just acted like that to everyone, if you were catching feelings, while he just wanted to hang out and have a bit of fun. After all, he never really explicitly said that he had feelings for you, all you knew that he admitted his giant crush for you while being under the influence of alcohol.Â
You never hear from Jungkook again until the next week. Hoseok invited you all to game night over his place. You wanted so badly to bail and fake being sick, but Yoongi picked you up, basically forcing you to come and face your problem like an actual adult.
With all these new and mixed emotions that you were still getting used to, the thought of seeing Jungkook in person sounded so overwhelming. He would probably just act like how he usually would, because of course, why wouldnât he. After all you were the one who suddenly took a weird turn.
âFinally!â Hoseok shouted, as he opened the door for both of you and Yoongi.Â
âCome on, switch with Namjoon, he sucks!â Jin spoke while his eyes still not leaving the TV screen and his fingers loud against the controller.Â
They were playing Tekken 8 on Hoseokâs Playstation. You saw how Namjoon was basically getting his ass kicked, playing as a Panda character, while Jin quickly leading himself towards victory using the character that coincidentally has the same name as him.Â
Jin Kazama wins.Â
The oldest one screamed happily, while Namjoonâs protests and excuses could be heard very loudly. Everyone laughed at the two, so it was easy to spot the one who didnât laugh as much, whose expression didnât hold that much excitement, sitting on the edge of the sofa just playing with his phone instead.Â
âY/N, come on!â Jin patted the on the carpet to the now empty seat next to him, since Namjoon already excused himself to get more popsicles from the fridge.Â
You followed and sat down next to Jin on the carpet, which was directly in front of Jungkook, who was slouching on the couch.Â
Sitting down quietly, you took the controller and beginning to scroll through the rooster of characters. You chose the character named Lili, while Jin stayed with his current main.Â
When you beat Jin and the sound of your friends cheering loudly was heard, you began to feel a little bit relaxed, at the very least you could forget for a moment about your situation with Jungkook. That was until, you heard Yoongi spoke.Â
âJungkook, your turn.âÂ
You immediately turned your head towards your best friend, eyeing him straight. How could he betray you like this was beyond you.Â
âNah, you play Iâm not really in the mood.â He rejected politely.
Your eyes went back to the screen because you refused to see Jungkookâs expression. You pretended to busy yourself pressing the dpad button up and down on the character choices.Â
âThis is the first time Iâve ever heard Jungkook refusing a match.â Taehyung said while munching on his potato chips.Â
âYeah, thatâs so unlike you, man!â Hobi joined. âCome on, we all know youâre good, but Y/N doesnât know that yet!â He added.Â
A small groan came out from Jungkookâs mouth before he stood up, and once again everyone cheered. Jin stood to switch seats with him. The man locked his eyes with you once, before sitting down and picking up the controller in his hand. He didnât take too long picking a character. His choice landed on a boxer character.Â
The match went quietly with only the sound of the video game from the speaker. Your friends behind you somehow went silent as well, and the atmosphere in the room became very tense.Â
âIs it just me or it kinda feels like theyâre actually fighting with each otherâŠâ Jin whispered to Hoseok who was sitting next to him. Hoseok only signaled with his hand shaking next to his neck to cut it out, while the rest only widened their eyes and try their best not to make any comment.Â
You pretended like you did not hear any of it and kept mashing the controller buttons. The milliseconds of your attention being taken away from the game gave your opponent a leaway to break your combo and finally beating down your character.Â
Steve Fox wins.Â
âAll right, Yoongi you switch with me, Iâm gonna go get some air.â You excused yourself and headed to the balcony, closing the door behind you.Â
Technically it was not a lie. It just got a bit stuffy with eight people inside an apartment living room. Especially when the guy you suddenly had feelings for was in the equation as well.Â
You searched your back pocket for your pod and cursed silently when it was nowhere inside your jeans pocket.Â
âLooking for your vape?â Jungkook entered the balcony uninvited, wiggling your small disposable vape pod in front of you. But when you were about to take it from him, he withdrew his hand. âI thought youâve stopped.â
âI did. I only do it when Iâm nervous. Thatâs why itâs a disposable.â You said weakly.Â
âI noticed.â He replied in a monotone, now pocketing the pod inside his pants, refusing to give it to you.Â
âYou smoke, donât act all high.â You retorted.Â
âWell, have you seen me smoke these past few weeks?âÂ
âNo, actually⊠yeah, now that I think of it, you didnât even smoke once when we went outââ You stopped when the memories of your date went through your head. âJungkook, about thatâŠâ You bit your lips, nervously facing him.Â
He also turned his body to your direction, looking at you directly. âIâm sorry.â He suddenly said.Â
âHuh? For what?âÂ
âI feel like Iâve pressured you into something you donât actually want. Iâve been thinking and re-thinking about it the past few days and it drives me crazy. I may have feelings for you, but that doesnât give me the right to drag you along to do stuff with me just because you enjoyed spending time with me as a friend.â
âWait, Jungkook, I donât feel that way!â
âI know! Thatâs why I apologizeââ
âNo! I mean, I didnât feel like you dragged me along or anything. I genuinely enjoyed our date andâŠâ You looked away, taking a deep breath before continuing. âIf Iâm not reading it wrong, youâre saying you truly have feelings for me?âÂ
âIsnât that obvious already?âÂ
âWell, I thought I was just your girl obsession of the week or something⊠You have celebrity crushes left and right, okay?! Hell, you even had a crush on Namjoon at one point!!!âÂ
âThe Namjoon crush was a joke. Man just got some nice thighs and I was just admiring it.â He defended.Â
You took another deep breath. âLook, Iâm sorry as well⊠the emotions were all just come clashing to me at once and I just told you to go home instead of dealing with it.âÂ
âBut, you rejected my kiss...â He said with a weak voice, you almost didnât catch it.Â
âCause I havenât figured out what I want yet. I thought I was just so touch deprived that your lips looked inviting that day.â You admitted while cursing yourself secretly inside your mind. That was lowkey embarrassing.Â
âTry being me, your lips look inviting every single day!â He exclaimed, his mood now seemed to be improving.Â
âBe serious.â You hit his sides. He muttered an âowâ but you doubted it even hurt the slightest bit.Â
âSo now youâve figured out what you want?â His doe eyes looking at you directly.Â
âIâm getting there⊠I guess.â You broke the eye contact, it was a bit too much for you and suddenly you felt a bit sweaty. âBut I think I like you too.âÂ
âSay that again while looking at me.âÂ
âHell no.â You suddenly covered your face with both of your hands.Â
âPlease?â He grabbed your wrists, softly trying to prey open your hands. âI just want to have the visual memory of it captured in my brain.â
When you finally loosened your grip, he took his chance and held both of your hands in his. He grabbed them for a few seconds, intertwining his fingers with yours, before letting them go. He traced his fingers along your right wrist where you wore the bracelet that he got you, the one he got matching with his, and then moved his hands up to cup your face. The entire time he did all that, you could actually feel the shakiness in his hands, and it melted your heart.Â
âCan I?â
You nodded and he did not waste any second before dipping in and closing the gap between you.Â
Oh boy you were right, his piercings did feel cold against your lips, but that was only for a quick second before everything felt warm and soft, and your mind became blurry. You were moving your lips against his carefully, afraid to accidentally hurt him by his piercing, but instead earned a small bite on your bottom lip from Jungkook. You gasped and pulled away, hitting his chest. Since when were you in his embrace? That you did not know.Â
âWe gotta head back now or theyâll get suspicious.â
He giggled and kissed your forehead. âTheyâre already suspicious, babe.âÂ
âStill, we gotta head backâŠâ
âYou guys done making out?! Weâre hungry!!!â You heard Jimin shouted from inside the apartment.Â
Jungkook and you looked at each other with widened eyes, before laughing in unison. He pecked you on the lips one more time before running back inside with you, holding hands.Â
Thank you for reading! đž
#jungkook scenarios#jungkook#jungkook fanfic#jungkook fic#jungkook x reader#jungkook x you#jungkook x y/n#bts scenarios#bts fanfic#bts fic#jungkook fluff#jungkook angst#jungkook imagine#bts imagines
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sheâs driving me crazy
description. STILES STILINSKI finally gets another chance with you, and he wonât take it for granted
includes. SMUT 18+, riding, car sex, fem!reader, protective p n v, lots of making out, loser!stiles, awkward stiles, bi!stiles, exes getting back together, slightly manipulative reader, reader has easily malleable hair, reader wears makeup, drinking (but no drunk intercourse), bickering, scott guest appearance
wc. 6k+
a/n: long awaited stiles fic. bestie boo this one's for u. title from confidence by ocean alley. art credits unknown.
Stiles knows he fucked up.Â
He had you, after almost a full year of tortuous pining, and he let you slip through his hands. All of it, your relationship with Stiles, really didnât last more than two months. Two months where date nights were rain checked and eventually canceled. Sleepovers were lackluster, and nothing more than a movie playing in the back while Stiles worked over something that wouldnât rest in his brain, leaving you alone in the center of his unmade bed. Promises were made, and never kept. It was a mess, a horrible, murky mess of Stilesâ own creation.Â
He knows this. But he still allows himself to mourn what could have been. He grieves what was. All while nursing a warm beer that doesnât sit well in his stomach, mostly because of the sight he has been doomed to acknowledgeâalso his own doing as he could definitely turn his gaze elsewhere.Â
Youâre tucked under the arm of some guy who looks nothing like Stiles, and he doesnât know if that makes him feel better or worse. Is that your dream guy? Or are you forcing yourself to branch out and try something that wasnât him? He tries to resist the spiral that sends him on, and is only able to start crawling out of the self-deprecating and insecurity tunnel through Scottâs voice beside him.Â
âWhatâre you staring at?âÂ
Scott reeks of alcohol and fruit-flavored syrup. If he wasnât a werewolf, Stiles knows his best friend would be unable to stand straight by now. But Scott stands like his usual self next to Stiles, a big grin on his face probably from the attention heâs been getting from Kira. (It was sickening for Stiles to watch but he forced himself to be happy for the strong relationship his best friend has.)
Stilesâ immediate instinct is to lie. âNothing.â He says it a little too fast. He tries to cover his slip up by taking a sip of his beer, but the flavor is unappealing to the point where the face of disgust he presents makes him look more guilty than he really is.Â
Scott stares at Stiles, waiting. Stiles knows he wonât lie to Scott, not about something this small anyway, and it is only a matter of a few seconds before Stiles sighs.Â
âLook,â he points at you and your suitor. âDonât you think heâs making her uncomfortable? Look at that. Heâs all over her. Probably reeks of Axe body spray.â
Itâs then that the guy cracks another joke, your head throwing back in laughter just before you rest your ear against his chest. Itâs so affectionate. As if youâve known this guy for years, and not just mere minutes.Â
Stiles flicks his eyes over to Scott, expecting to see his best friend analyzing the situation with at least a small amount of attention that Stiles is. Instead, Scott is looking over at Stiles, wearing what Stiles can only describe as a knowing smirk on his lips.Â
Stiles steps back, a little bewildered. âWhat?âÂ
Scott, annoyingly, shrugs. He sips his drink, one he has solely for taste as Stiles knows, and only responds once heâs taken a long, slow swallow.Â
âShe seems fine to me. I thought you guys were broken up anyway.âÂ
âWe are!âÂ
âThen why do you care so much?âÂ
Stiles canât help but petulantly roll his eyes. He turns to face you and your human shaped bag of bricks once again, gesturing for Scott to do the same. His mouth opens, lips parted and tongue ready to spew out the analytics heâd been gathering this entire time in lieu of an excuse.Â
Then Scott interrupts.Â
âDo you want me to see whatâs going on?â Scott throws a finger up towards his ear, one eyebrow lifted as he waits for Stiles to gather the implications and then make a decision.Â
It takes Stiles longer to complete the latter than the former.Â
He waits, thinks, looks at you and the guy. And then remembers the strict âno listeningâ rule you all have set in place, the one he most definitely wonât betray in the name of jealousy, even if you arenât particularly aware of all of the intricacies.Â
When he sighs, itâs defeated and with his entire body. He knows heâs pouting, he assumes he resembles his teenage selfâmopey and brooding. He doesnât mean to speak through gritted teeth, but he ends up doing it anyway.Â
âNo. Sheâs probably ⊠fine. I guess.â It hurts to admit, deep in Stiles' jealousy-filled gut. Scottâs way of comforting him is by clapping a hand on his shoulder, and telling him that youâre a grown adult who is allowed to make her own decisions, the same as him.Â
Scottâs intentions arenât understood until he points at someone in the opposite direction of you. A guy who, from the looks of it, has been eyeing Stiles for a while. Heâs Stilesâ type. Exactly his type, actually, and Scott knows this.Â
âInstead of sulking around âŠâ Scott doesnât need to finish his sentence in order for Stiles to understand. He only lingers for a few seconds, and then is pulled back towards the larger group by Kiraâs eyes and grin.Â
The guy on the other side of the bar is still watching Stiles. Heâs smiling a small but confident smile, like he knows Stiles wants him as much as he wants Stiles. He tilts his head in a beckon, and Stiles is close to letting the guy pull him over there. Until he sees you step away from the man, smile dismissively up to him, and start towards Stiles instead.Â
Instantly, itâs like a flip has been switched.Â
He starts to feel the effects of the alcohol, even though heâd been nursing the same bottle the entire night. Still, he chooses to attribute the buzz flowing throughout his body to the overpriced beer and not excitement of finally having your attention.Â
He watches your path, trying not to feel too disappointed as he takes notice of the way youâre struggling to walk in a straight line.Â
You fall into his arms in a fit of giggles. Your head resting on his chest, your hands circling around his back.Â
âStiles,â you sing, long and drawn out and definitely drunk. Â
He repeats your name in the same tune, placing his drink onto a tabletop next to him and abandoning it for good. Keeping you away from self destruction is his new main priority.Â
You slump against him even more, turning yourself around and leaning back against his body. Your position leaves Stiles with nothing else to do other than stand stiffly. He knows that if you were sober, you wouldnât be nearly as affectionate as you are now. He ignores the way your ass brushes against his crotch. He ignores the smell of your perfume wafting up to him, a scent he had the privilege of seeing you apply a few times before when you were dating. (The image of you getting ready for the day, lathering yourself in the oils and lotions and scents that worked to create your unique scent will never leave his brain, for better or for worse.)
He does his best to remain unaffected, but then you tilt your head up, the crown of your hair rubbing against Stilesâ shirt as you look at him. As soon as he glances down, he sees you pouting, clearly over exaggerated but itâs a look he, pathetically, will never be able to resist.Â
âWhy wonât you touch me?â You manage to sound pitiful, as if you had lost every single thing you hold dear to your heart in the last couple of minutes.Â
In his response, he tries to remain neutral. Drunk or not, you know the game youâre playing, and Stiles foolishly believes that his knowledge of the ploy makes him insusceptible.Â
âBecause youâre drunk,â he platonically rests his hands on your shoulders and encourages you off of him. âAnd we arenât together anymore.âÂ
You turn around to face him, grinning up at him like the cat with the canary as you tell him, âit didnât stop us last time, right?â
That, and the way you almost throw yourself at some guy walking past, is enough reason for Stiles to link his hand in yours and pull you towards the others. Scott stares down at your interlinked palms for only a moment before Stiles explains his plan, which entails getting you back to your apartment before you do something you could regret.Â
This isnât an excuse for Stiles to continue hanging out with you. He makes sure he clarifies that to himself and his best friend before heâs pulling you out of the bar and towards his Jeep.
Youâre both less than ten steps away from the entrance to the bar when you suddenly have your lips pressed to Stilesâ.Â
There is a moment where Stiles fails to resist. Where he reciprocates quicker than his brain can realize, acting on pure instinct and muscle memory instead of logic. He is unable to stop himself from getting comfortable, from linking this kiss to the last one heâd received from you. Hotter and messier than this one. (Lost in his appreciation to finally be kissing you again, Stiles fails to notice how you donât taste like alcohol at all)
Only a few more seconds pass before Stiles reminds himself that youâre drunk, and that this is wrong. When he pulls away from your lipsâregretfully, that isâheâs tempted into staying by the slight stickiness of your lipgloss and the almost-disgusting string of saliva that briefly keeps you two sewn together.Â
You try to lean back in, but Stiles stops you with his hands on your shoulders.Â
âYouâre drunk,â he reminds you.Â
Youâre fixing him with a look, one that feels strong and weirdly sober. His suspicions have more proof to back them up when you say his name with the same matter-of-fact tone he had just used on you.Â
âIâm not drunk.âÂ
He scrunches his eyebrows together, the muscles in his face mimicking the movement as well. His lips part as he nonverbally exclaims his confusion. He lifts one of his hands from your shoulder to hook his thumb towards the bar entrance. He looks around, for nothing or no one in particular, but as if the night will have an explanation that you would surely be willing to provide if he asks.Â
He didnât even need to ask before you provide an explanation. Itâs cut and dry, matter-of-fact, spoken like it is the most casual thing in the world.Â
âI faked being drunk so you could take me home.âÂ
Stiles knows what you mean. Heâs not dumb. But he surely does feel it when he says, âIf you didnât feel well you couldâve just told Lydia. She wouldâve taken you back to yours.âÂ
You roll your eyes. âIf you donât wanna sleep with me, thatâs fine. Just let me know before I waste my time.âÂ
Stiles should stand up for himself. He should reprimand your attitude, and exclaim how unnecessary it was. Instead, he flounders and almost falls to your feet with the speed he clarifies himself.Â
âNo. I do wanna sleep with you. Like, really bad. But ⊠um ⊠well,â you lift your eyebrows and Stiles clears his throat. âHow many fingers am I holding up.âÂ
âJesus, fuck, Stiles.â He continues holding up his first three fingers on his right hand until you answer. âThree.âÂ
You lean in but Stiles takes a step back. And then another. And then another, until heâs standing against the wall of the bar and youâre standing at the edge of the sidewalk.Â
âWalk in a straight line towards me.âÂ
You donât seem happy about it, but you place one foot in front of the other over and over again until youâre in front of Stiles. Nothing more has to be said before Stiles places his hands on your hips, pulls you flush to him, and finally allows himself to kiss you.Â
Itâs been a while since Stiles had the privilege of kissing you. The last time, just a month ago, didnât count in his mind. Sure, he remembered nearly every detail, but your shared inebriated state at the time overruled any legitimacy the encounter could have held. Now, it only acts as a reminder and motivator for Stiles to enjoy every moment of this that he can.Â
Eventually, it would be smart, and preferable, to leave the outside of the bar and actually take you home where you two could be alone. But for now, Stiles presses his hands into the middle of your back as a way to pull you as close to him as possible. He has his legs spread, creating space for your limbs to stagger. Your hands rest on his shoulders, then at the back of his neck, then in his hair. Both of you are attempting to get as close to the other as possible, all while engaging in the sloppiest kiss youâve ever had. You both kissed cleaner when you were drunk.Â
Now, outside this bar with your closest friends inside, and with nothing but the night (and the bouncer) as witness, you submit to the other. There is a level of appreciation in the way your lips slide together. There is a level of gratitude in the presses of your tongues against each other. There is an exorbitant amount of longing that is solved each time you jerk your hips into Stiles and each time he reciprocates.Â
You thread your hands through Stilesâ hair the same time that he slides his hands down to your ass and squeezes, pulling you as close to him as possible and rubbing his thigh against the center seam of your jeans. You both groan into each other's mouthsâStiles from the way you tug just right on his hair, and you from the feeling of his leg between yours.Â
Sensingâknowing that he did something right, something good, Stiles does it again. And again. And again. The steady slide of his thigh between your legs does the job. You let your head fall, leaning the top of it against Stilesâ chest just right under his sternum.Â
The sound of you moaning Stilesâ name goes straight to his dick, with a few remnants traveling to his head, leaving him dizzy and with a steady growing semi. His actions make you grip his hair stronger. His actions indirectly cause pleasure for him, too.Â
It all disappears when the sound of spittingâloud and boisterous, almost cartoonishâbreaks up the moment. Stiles stops his movements. He lays his hands flat on the back pockets of your jeans as he turns his head to the side.Â
The eyes of the bouncer meet Stiles and Stilesâ ears burn.Â
While the bouncer doesnât say anything to him, Stiles knows the message heâs trying to communicate.Â
Get the fuck out of here.Â
Stiles is forced to push you back by hooking his fingers in your belt loops. Heâs still touching you, at least an extension of you, but then your hands drop to your sides and Stiles can feel his body crying out for you. The same way his body calls out for vital needsâfood, water, sleep, entertainment. He squashes his emotions for a second, plasters on aâtruthfully sympatheticâface, one that comes off more as a tight lipped smile than anything else.Â
âSorry, man. You â uh. You have a goodnight.â He throws a hand up to the bouncer, hoping it is received as friendly. When the bouncer returns the gesture, still with that same look in his eyes, Stiles heads down the street and pulls you with him.Â
The walk to the car is tortuous. His boner keeps rubbing against his jeans, leaving him to stop every few paces, face away from the street, and try to adjust himself. After the third time, you were voicing your frustration, claiming that it was taking forever to reach the car because of Stilesâ worry about who could see his erection. He tries things your way, ignoring the way his dick calls for his attention and instead focusing all of his attention on you.Â
The way your hips sway in your tight jeans. The way the wind blows your perfume to him and lifts the edge of your shirt in one, giving Stiles a peek of your skin. Itâs such a small look, nothing more than a glimpse, and Stiles feels like a Victorian man the way heâs having to bite his fist at the next crosswalk to avoid groaning. The street lights illuminate your face in just the right ways, highlighting your makeup in an unnaturally ethereal way. Everything about you is driving Stiles crazy. Thereâs no way heâs going to make it to your house. If he doesnât get to his car soon, he might pull you into the next bar bathroom that he could find just for a semblance of privacy.Â
If he could just get to his Jeep.Â
Itâs then that Stiles realizes heâs been walking for far too long. He stops in the center of the sidewalk. You stop right beside him.Â
Stiles doesnât say anything as he turns around and leads you three blocks down the street, one street over, and then into the parking garage elevator.Â
The way youâre grinning at him alerts Stiles of the words soon to come out of your mouth, definitely words that would be at his expense. He stops you while youâre ahead.Â
Itâs nice to have the position switched. Your back against the wall instead of his. His hands are still on your hips, but he uses them to push you into the metal instead of pulling you into him. You have that part covered, your arms once more thrown over his shoulders, pressed into the back of his neck and head, drawing him in until the pressure of his lips against yours is a little painful.Â
In the rush neither of you have pushed the button, leaving the elevator stagnant on the ground floor. Stiles notices at the same time that you scratch his scalp. He moans, he really canât help it. His mouth opens as you purse your lips again, and he feels a little bad but you arenât deterred. In fact, you do it again, your nails scratching in just the right spot and Stiles feels like an animal the way he shudders and keens.Â
Heâs more human when he admits, âMissed this.â He presses his lips to yours again, pulling back with a smack. âMissed you.âÂ
Your lips slide against his with what Stiles can only describe as desperation. Pure, unadulterated desperation and desire. Youâre breathing a little heavy, deep exhales through your nose and inhales in the in between moments, and it doesnât turn Stiles off at all. He wants more of you. He takes more of you.Â
He doesnât know how long you two are in there, but it is eventually you who pulls back first, your lips visibly swollen and lacking any of the makeup that was previously on it.Â
âHas the elevator been moving at all?â You could check for yourself. Just one look over Stilesâ shoulder and you could see that the small screen still displayed a digital â1â. Yet, youâre looking up at him instead. Like Stiles is the most important thing in the elevator. Like heâs the most important thing in the world to you. (Maybe itâs Stilesâ delusion talking, but he chooses to believe it either way)
Still, Stiles looks over his shoulder, confirms that he hadnât hit the button at all, and leans back to correct his mistakes.Â
The elevator beeps twice, bringing you both to the third floor, and as much as Stilesâ wants to continue standing there and just admire you, he can hear the door daring to slide close. Again, he pulls you out behind him.Â
As soon as he turns the corner, Stiles is immediately made aware of the lack of other cars on the level. Itâs a little eerie, and if he wasnât about to get his dick wet he would possibly be on the lookout for potential threats that could turn one of the best moments of his life into another inconvenience.Â
Your hands are on his shoulders, his back, his arms, as you hold onto him.Â
âWhy did you park all alone? Did you plan this? Were you trying to get in my pants all night?âÂ
Stiles digs into the front pocket of his jeans and searches for his keys. âNo. There were other people parked here earlier. Theyâre just all gone now.âÂ
You hum unconvincingly. âUh-huh. Whatever you say, Stiles.âÂ
As soon as Stiles has the passenger door unlocked, he holds the door open for you and stares, hoping the annoyance is overpowering every other feeling heâs currently having towards you.Â
âIn the back,â he tells you. You smile up at him, big and entertained, and then do as he says.Â
He climbs in right behind you. At this point in the night, there was no point in attempting to get back to your apartment or his. Stiles couldnât wait much longer, and you two are no stranger to the back of his Jeep. Youâve been in this situation before.Â
Itâs all completely effortless. Youâre already in the process of slipping your jeans off whenever Stiles has the door closed. He mourns for just a second, pouting to himself over not being the one to take those sinful jeans off of you. But then you climb over his lap, situating yourself to hover just a bit above him.Â
Stiles plants his hands on your hips, just like he did before, and pulls you to sit right over him, just like you have before. He knows that the status of your relationship has changed since the last time he had the privilege of being in this space with you like this, but that doesnât mean the way you do things has to change, too.Â
You were never shy before. You would always be quick to attach yourself to Stiles in whatever ways you could, just like you had been doing just a little earlier into the night. But thatâs gone now. Now, youâre staring at him, your teeth pressed into your bottom lip.Â
Before you were together for a short time, Stiles had spent months pining. Months analyzing whatever he could about you. Months mentally cataloging your tells. And now, he calls on that information to declare that youâre hesitant. Youâre nervous. No, not just nervous. Youâre worried. Almost regretful.Â
He tilts his head. âWhatâs wrong?âÂ
You shrug but Stiles knows youâre aware of what has you like this. He just gives you the time to voice it.Â
Eventually, you say: âWill this change anything between us?âÂ
Itâs his turn to shrug. âI dunno. Do you want anything to change?âÂ
You shrug again.Â
âWell ⊠do you want to keep going? And we decide that afterwards?â Stiles really wants to fuck you, but deep down he knows that if you stopped and got up off of him in this moment, he would be okay with it. Well, he would be okay with it after a few days. Maybe a week or two.Â
A little part in him swells, jumps, and clicks its heels when you nod.Â
âYeah. That sounds good.â You press your lips to his once.Â
âYou just tell me when you decide, okay? Iâm cool with whatever youâre cool with.â And Stiles means that. If he gets just one more time with you, if this is his final time with you, he would cut his losses and be grateful for the time that he was allowed. What else was he supposed to do? He would never dream of doing anything that could jeopardize his spot in your life.Â
Stiles can feel the warmth of your center is his hand when he trails his touch down. He cups your mound and his eyes flutter shut. He feels like a pervert for only a second before you start to work your lips down his neck and rock your hips into his hand. The way your mouth suctions around his favorite spot almost has him distracted enough to not notice your hands working on his pants. Almost.Â
He canât really tell in the dark, but he can slightly feel your once confident movements start to falter. You stop on his neck, keeping your lips as nothing but a pucker against his skin before you pull away completely to look down between the two of you.Â
âWhen the fuck did you start wearing a belt?âÂ
Stiles doesnât want to tell you the truth, he feels like it would be too embarrassing. Really, he knows it wouldnât, but something about having to tell you that he decided to wear a belt because you always said he should makes him feel a little meek. So instead of filling the silence with the truth, he fills the silence with the clinks of his belt buckle as he undos it himself.Â
âRecently,â is all he tells you when youâre still staring at him for a response. Somehow, itâs enough for you and your hands are back on his waistband.Â
In record speed, your hands are down the elastic of his boxers and wrapping around Stilesâ cock. He doesnât hiss, but he does shudder. He tries to hide it by pretending that the car is cold, which it was beforehand, but now itâs warm. It becomes warmer when you spit in your hand, wrap it around Stilesâ cock and pump him a few times, and then push your underwear to the side and hover above him.Â
It really pains Stiles to stop you, but he does. He asks if you have a condom, then he asks if you want to use a condom, and the entire time heâs kicking himself. Because he can feel the warmth radiating. He has his tip already nudged between your folds, and just this small touch is already making him lose it. His nails are digging into your hips, heâs breathing harder than he was before, and he has to blink a few times to really focus on you.Â
It feels like Stiles blinks and suddenly youâre tearing the foil packet open and slipping the condom over him. He watches it go down as best as he can, and the light doesnât reveal much. Just the bottom of you and the tip of him is visible, the rest Stiles is forced to make out through squints and memorization.Â
Heâs just briefly dejected about the lack of visuals, but then your hands rest on his shoulders and he hears you take a breath and he knows itâs time.Â
Stiles rests his hands on your side and looks up at you.Â
You go down slowly. Softly. It allows Stiles to feel each delicious inch as they go by, revealing more and more of the inside of you as time passes. He battles between watching your face and simply basking in it. Eventually, he settles on the former.Â
Your eyebrows are tightened just enough to show your discomfort. You have your lips parted, long breaths leaving them every so often, usually right before you sink down again. And Stiles has seen you take him before. He knows that you have been able to take him faster than this before. And then he wonders: is this your first time doing this, with anyone, in a while? Have you been as lost without him as he has been without you? Have you even attempted to fill that hole, and was your stunt earlier tonight just that: a stunt?
There isnât time for him to ponder over his questions like he would have wanted to whenever you bottom out. Itâs with a sigh, the back of your thighs meeting the top of his just briefly.Â
You rest your forehead against his, and you both breathe together. Or, itâs more so you breathing and Stiles matching the pattern.Â
You lean up, you move your hair out of your face, and you tell him, âDonât remember it being this hard.âÂ
Slightly cocky, Stiles tilts his head. At first he doesnât say anything. He smiles, his eyes are heavy when they look you up and down, and then he rubs your back. âTake your time.âÂ
You take the time you need and then you start moving. Up and down. Up and down. Agonizingly slowly at first, and then faster when you get more comfortable.Â
This is what Stiles has needed. This is what he has been missing in his life. Youâre like a drug for him, and one hit seems like enough at the time, but by the time this is all over he knows heâs going to be searching for more. Heâll do anything he has to, so long as it gets him in a spot similar to this again.Â
He searches for your hand, refusing to look away from the way your body moves atop of him for even a second. You help him out, bringing your hand to his, pressing the fingertips together, leaving Stiles to interlock them. He lifts your hands, looking at them in the white light that enters the foggy window. Somehow, this image is even more captivating. There is a more pornographic way the two of you are connected, one that demands Stilesâ attention. There is something about the innocence of this. Heâs doing nothing but holding your hand, and Stiles feels like he might either lose his mind, or cum too quickly.Â
He might do both. One after the other.Â
You sink down on him again, a little awkwardly this time, but it does it for you. You hit a spot that makes your mouth widen and your eyes flutter shut. You search for it, and find it miraculously. Your head throws back as you hit that spot over and over again, pleasing yourself on Stilesâ dick. The image is heavenly for him. Itâs euphoric.Â
He lets his eyes wander down your neck, along your clavicle, and your shirt reveals just a bit of your bust but itâs not enough. With his free hand, he pulls the rest of the fabric down, and when he sees that youâre not wearing a bra, he almost cums into the condom then and there. He doesnât wonder how he hadnât noticed, he doesn't consider how he hadnât taken into account the natural shape of your breasts pushing through the fabric, almost reaching out to him. Instead, he leans forward, presses his hand into the curve of your back, and attaches his mouth to the untouched skin.Â
Your free hand sinks into Stilesâ hair. Your fingers weave through the back of his hair first, and then you make your way up to the front, pushing back his bangs blindly.Â
Stiles peers up at you from his spot around your nipples. Youâre still in ecstasyâyour head now level once more, but your mouth still open and your eyes still closed.Â
He detaches from your nipple to tell you: âLook at me.âÂ
It fuels Stilesâ ego when you do as told quickly.Â
Youâre looking at him on his command yet Stiles feels like heâs the one entranced. Because of your eyes. Fuck, your eyes. Watery, lazy, but your pupils are dilated. Your mascara has transferred to under your eyes by now, and itâs smudged a bit, making you look completely fucked out. Stiles thinks some of your makeup along your face has disappeared too, but it allows for a fresh skinned appearance instead.Â
Really, there is nothing else for him to do except kiss you. Itâs so messy but so good. You flatter in your movements on his cock, but Stiles feels absolutely no remorse when he takes over.Â
He unlocks your hands and plants them both on your hips again. This time, he uses the leverage to pull you down on him again and again. He lets you lead the kiss, while he leads this.Â
Your hands land on the leather of the seat behind Stiles' back and the foggy glass pane of the window. He hears your fingertips glide down the surface as he starts to fuck you harder, and then the sound is combined with your moans when your lips separate from Stilesâ.Â
You call his name, low and breathy.Â
He hums.Â
ââm so close. Keep going. Just like that.â He nods. Then you add, âLittle faster.â And he does as told.Â
Your forehead pressed against his, the sweat on both of your skin making your heads glide more than anticipated. It doesnât deter either of you. When your nose bumps against Stilesâ, he kisses you again. When your head becomes too heavy for you to hold it up, he presses his thumb under your jaw, rests his fingers on the side of your neck, and holds the weight for you.Â
âYouâre so pretty,â he tells you, adding your name at the end to seal the deal. âBaby,â he says, and his heart swells when you hum in response. So he says it again. âBaby, you feel so good. Feel so good, babe.âÂ
He doesnât know what more he says. He can vaguely recognize his lips forming the words and his own voice in his ears calling you the prettiest girl ever, telling you that he could never get this anywhere else, telling you he never wanted to get this from anywhere else.Â
âNeeded this so bad. I needed you so bad. Iâve missed you.â And just as his words finish, yours begin.Â
âStiles, Stiles. Right there. âm ⊠IâmâŠ!âÂ
He singles two fingers out, slips them between your thighs, and rubs along your clit until youâre shaking above him and holding onto his wrist between your bodies. He doesnât know if youâre trying to pull him closer or push him away, but watching you cum is too gorgeous for him to ever dream of making it stop.Â
So he doesnât.Â
Not even when your eyes start to leak and your lips start to plead and you contract around him.Â
âOne more,â he asks. âI just need to see it one more time. Please.âÂ
The sound of him moving in and out of you is loud. He drifts his eyes down to watch it happen, groaning when he just barely sees a broken ring of white glinting in the fluorescents from the parking garage.Â
It feels a little romantic when you cum and then Stiles follows right after.Â
The Jeep is warm, the windows are foggy, and thereâs an ache in Stilesâ thighs. He knows for every one of his aches, you have three. The condom has been removed, tied, and disposed of in an old paper bag Stiles had sitting on the floor of his car. His pants are pulled back up, but his belt is still undone. His shirt sticks to his skin and he really needs greasy food and a shower.Â
But if that means leaving this moment, and never returning to it, he could put off his needs and wants for an eternity.Â
Youâre sitting next to him, redressed with the button of your jeans still undone. Youâre staring straight ahead, trying to catch your breath as you rub the muscles in your thighs.Â
Stiles doesnât know what to say, so he licks his lips and he says, âUh ⊠do you ⊠um. Would you like some ⊠ice or something? For your legs?âÂ
You smile ahead, turn to face him, and shake your head. âItâll be fine. Nothing a shower and good sleep wonât fix.â You pause. âAnd maybe some food.âÂ
Which is how Stiles ends up sitting in your bed, sipping the remnants of his Dr. Pepper as he watches you lather lotion on your legs with your towel still hanging off of your body.Â
âYour foodâs cold,â he tells you. He doesnât tell you about the handful of fries he stole earlier, but he knows youâll notice it and hold the grudge for later.Â
Later. Will there be a âlaterâ?Â
âBe there in a second.â You start to walk back to the bathroom. âShould we go to that place in the morning? Or âŠâ you look at your clock and wince at the time. âLater. The one with the really good pancakes?âÂ
Stiles is quick to agree. He would love to do something with you later.Â
#stilesworld!#stiles stilinski x reader#stiles stilinski x you#stiles stilinski smut#celeste writes misc
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