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pucksandpower · 8 months ago

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Man’s World

Charles Leclerc x Ferrari engineer!Reader

Summary: Charles refuses to just stand by and watch as you get disrespected

Warnings: misogyny and lewd comments

You’re admiring the sleek lines of the red Ferrari F8 Tributo in front of you, running your fingers lightly over the glossy paint. The showroom is quiet this early in the morning, just a few employees milling about getting ready for the day.

Charles had to stop by to sign some merchandise for a charity event and asked if you wanted to tag along. You opted to wait out front and enjoy the eye candy while he took care of business.

You circle around to the back of the car, appreciating the aggressive styling and massive rear diffuser. As an engineer for Scuderia Ferrari who often extends your expertise to working on their road cars, you know every detail of this machine intimately. Your hands itch to pop the hood and inspect that glorious twin-turbo V8, but you resist.

This isn’t your workshop back in Maranello.

Lost in thought, you don’t notice the group of guys entering the showroom until one whistles loudly. “Hey baby, those legs look good enough to wrap around me real tight,” one calls out.

You freeze, feeling your heart rate pick up.

“Don’t be shy, we just want to get to know you better,” another says as they swagger over.

You press back against the car, sizing up the situation. Four of them, all clearly well-off based on the expensive watches and designer clothes. But their eyes are cruel as they look you up and down.

“What’s a pretty little thing like you doing in a place like this?” The apparent ringleader asks. “Hoping to sink your claws into some rich guy and take him for all he’s worth?” The others laugh nastily.

You lift your chin. “Actually, I happen to work for Ferrari.”

The man snorts in disbelief. “Yeah right, and I’m Michael Schumacher. There’s no way a woman knows anything about these cars other than where the passenger seat is.”

You clench your fists, biting back a scathing retort. The thought of educating these misogynistic jerks gives you immense satisfaction, but you know it won’t do any good. They’ll never change their prejudiced attitudes.

“Don’t listen to him, darling,” one says, giving you a lecherous look. “I’d be happy to take you for a ride, show you how a real man handles power between his legs.”

You’re about to tell him exactly where he can shove his stereotypes when a familiar voice interrupts sharply.

“That’s enough.”

You look over to see Charles striding angrily toward you, green eyes blazing. The men surrounding you look irritated at having their fun spoiled.

“Can we help you with something, pal?” The ringleader asks sarcastically.

Charles ignores him, coming to stand protectively beside you. “Are you okay, mon amour?” He asks under his breath.

You nod, relief washing over you now that he’s here. “I’m fine.”

Charles turns an icy stare on the men who’d been harassing you. “I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t speak to my girlfriend that way,” he says coldly.

The leader looks Charles up and down dismissively. But then a spark of recognition crosses his face. “Wait a minute … you’re Charles Leclerc!” He elbows his friends. “The Formula 1 driver!”

The others’ eyes widen as they take in Charles with new understanding. “Whoa, seriously?” One exclaims.

The leader chuckles, clearly trying to recover his bravado. “Well, what do you know? The famous racer has a pretty girl on his arm.” His lips curl in a smirk. “Hate to break it to you, but it’s obvious she’s just using you for your money. No way she knows anything about these cars other than how much they cost.”

Charles crosses his arms. “As it so happens, my girlfriend is an engineer for Scuderia Ferrari, so I’d bet my entire net worth — and my car collection — that she knows more about the cars in this dealership than all four of you combined and then some.”

You have to bite your lip to hide a smile at the dumbfounded looks on the men’s faces.

“An engineer?” One sputters. “You can’t be serious.”

You level a challenging stare at them. “Deadly serious. I’ve personally worked on over a dozen projects for Ferrari, including the SF90 Stradale hypercar we just launched.” You point across the showroom. “There’s one right over there, in fact. Mid-front mounted 4.0L twin-turbo V8, delivering 769 brake horsepower combined with three electric motors. First plug-in hybrid Ferrari ever put into full production.” You smirk at the slack-jawed stares your technical rundown elicits. “So yes, I’d say I know a thing or two about these cars.”

Charles grins proudly and squeezes your hand. But the leader is not ready to back down just yet.

“Anyone can memorize a monologue,” he scoffs. “I don’t buy it. You’re clearly just clinging to this guy for his money.”

Fury rises in your chest. You open your mouth to retaliate, but Charles beats you to it.

“That’s my girlfriend you’re talking about,” he snaps, green eyes blazing. “I’d be very careful with what you say next.”

The man smirks, crossing his bulky arms over his chest. “Or what, tough guy?”

Charles takes a step forward, jaw clenched. The man towers over him but Charles doesn’t flinch.

Right as it looks like things might get physical, you quickly take Charles’s arm. “He’s not worth it,” you murmur.

Charles hesitates, nostrils flaring. After a tense moment, he relaxes his stance and turns his back on the leering man.

But it seems the group isn’t done provoking you yet. “That’s right, listen to your sugar baby,” one of them calls out. “Wouldn’t want you messing up that pretty face for the cameras.”

Charles whips back around, shaking with anger now. Heart pounding, you cling to his arm in an effort to hold him back. “Charles, please-”

“No, Y/N.” He shakes off your hand, stalking toward the men. “I won’t stand here and let them insult you.”

You watch helplessly as Charles gets right in the leader’s face, nearly nose to nose. “You need to apologize. Now,” he grits out.

The man narrows his eyes. “Apologize? For what? Stating the obvious?” He smirks coldly. “Face it, your little girlfriend is nothing but a gold diggin-”

He doesn’t get to finish the sentence. With lightning speed, Charles’ fist connects squarely with his jaw. The man stumbles back with a pained shout, hand flying to his face.

“Charles!” You hurry to his side, alarmed. Charles is breathing hard, staring down at the man doubled over and groaning. The man’s friends back away nervously.

Chest heaving, Charles turns to you. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t listen to him insult you for another second.”

You meet his fiery gaze steadily. “It’s okay, I understand. Thank you for defending me.” After a beat, you add wryly, “And remind me not to get on your bad side.”

That startles a small laugh from Charles. The tension in his shoulders eases. He takes your hand, bringing it to his lips for a gentle kiss. “No chance of that, mon ange,” he murmurs. “You bring out the best in me.”

***

“Ow, ow, ow!” Charles hisses as he gingerly holds his right hand. His knuckles are bruised and bleeding.

You sigh, grabbing the first aid kit to tend to your dramatic boyfriend. “I told you not to punch him, Charles. You don’t know the first thing about throwing a proper punch.”

Charles pouts, wincing as you take his hand in yours to examine it. “I was just trying to defend your honor, mon amour. That man was saying such crude things about you.”

You shake your head, amused by his protectiveness. “My hero,” you tease. “Next time just walk away. I don’t need you breaking your hand over some entitled idiot’s comments.”

Charles hangs his head. “I know, I know. I wasn’t thinking clearly. I just saw red when he kept insulting you.”

You smile softly, touched by how much he cares. You start cleaning the wounds on his knuckles with a disinfectant wipe.

“Ow!” Charles cries out dramatically. “That stings!”

“Don’t be such a baby,” you chide. “It’s just a little antiseptic. I have to clean it so it doesn’t get infected.”

Charles pouts some more but stays still as you finish cleaning the abrasions. You apply an antibiotic ointment carefully before beginning to wrap his hand with a bandage.

“I really messed up my hand, didn’t I?” Charles mumbles dejectedly.

You nod. “You definitely did some damage. Nothing serious, but you’ll be sore for a while.”

Once you’ve wrapped his hand securely, you bring it to your lips and place a gentle kiss on the bandage. “There. All better.”

Charles gives you a lopsided smile. “My own personal nurse. How did I get so lucky?”

You grab an ice pack from the freezer and hand it to him. “Here, put this on your hand to help with the swelling and pain.”

Charles sighs dramatically but does as instructed, holding the ice pack gingerly against his injured hand.

You glance at his wrapped hand, the knuckles already starting to bruise beneath the bandage. “Does it hurt terribly?”

Charles considers the question. “Honestly? Yes, it really does. Punching someone is not as easy as it looks in the movies.”

You laugh. “No kidding. That’s why you leave the punching to trained fighters, not Formula 1 drivers.”

“Ugh, this is so embarrassing,” Charles mutters. “What will the team say when they find out I injured myself in a fight? And I’ll never hear the end of it from Pierre.”

You pat his leg reassuringly. “Just say you hurt it working out. No one has to know about your misguided attempt at honorable combat,” you tease.

Charles chuckles ruefully. “Good idea. The last thing I need is for this to become paddock gossip.”

You both sit in comfortable silence for a few moments, Charles icing his hand while you snuggle contentedly against him.

"Thank you for patching me up and taking such good care of me,” Charles gently brushes the hair from your face with his uninjured hand. “Even when I do stupid things."

You grin. “It’s a tough job but someone’s gotta do it. Especially since you did almost break your hand for me.”

You settle back against Charles comfortably. He may be reckless and impulsive at times, but you know he always has the best intentions at heart. And you'll always be there to care for him if those good intentions backfire.

For better or worse, this protective man is the love of your life.

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florencemtrash · 2 months ago

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Club Rats and Cigarettes: Part I

Azriel x Modern Reader

Summary: When Azriel stumbles into a new world with his brothers, the last thing he expects to find is a mate. But she has a hell of a way of making a first impression, and Azriel can't help but fall in love with someone who feels familiar in a strange world.

Warnings: Violence, mentions of drug use

Masterlist of Masterlists

Author's note: I had a thought. I wrote it. Here ya go!

Y/n leaned back against the motley wall covered in indie movie and band posters 10-layers deep. Humidity caused the paper to lift away from the brick, curling like steam off coffee before being frozen in place by the next slather of paste. Y/n felt the sharp, glue-soaked edges poke through the mesh of her shirt.

Looking left and right she saw a few stragglers heading towards the club — three girls huddled in fake-fur coats with freshly-shaved legs trembling in the October air, and a group of college boys dressed in the same jeans, sneakers, and pale collared shirts. They flickered in and out of the darkness as the streetlights hummed with the effort of keeping their failing bulbs alight. A handful of skeletal cars sat beside busted parking meters or half-hidden in the employee parking lots of the closed down street. During the day when the restaurants were open, inoffensive jazz battled it out with the reggaeton blaring from the trendy taco joint at the end of the block, and Kpop dancers pressed themselves against the screens posted by the corn dog restaurant’s windows, neon lights announcing that they were “OPEN!” But right now the neon was just another sad shade of grey. Even the sky’s colors were muted by packed clouds threatening rain.

Music shook the pavement, but it came up from the sub-basement club deep and muffled. Y/n felt its vibrations pass through the soles of her boots, up her stocking-clad legs, and into her chest where her heart rumbled like a car without a muffler.

A flash of flame revealed her glitter-coated cheeks and cobalt-blue eyeshadow. The color slipped and slid across her skin still tacky from club sweat until it was a pale wash of blue extending up to her temples and down to her cheekbones. A cloud of smoke covered her soon after as she lit her cigarette between nail-bitten fingers. A fresh coat of black polish glittered like stones, already chipping towards the tips. Menthol crisp bled into her lungs along with a breath of cold air perfumed with car exhaust and day old restaurant grease. She licked her lips and found that she did not mind the taste of lip gloss, mint, and char.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw a boy with salt-white hair and shy, bent shoulders slink over to her trying to make himself as small as possible. “Can I bum a cigarette?” He asked, shockingly polite despite the black band t-shirt that read “Anarchy now!” and the careful spikes gelled into his hair and tipped green and black.

Y/n wordlessly held out her pack and he plucked one out before hesitantly reaching for a second. She held out her lighter next and soon there were two plumes of smoke wafting into the air as music faded in and out with each body that passed through the rusted paint doors. Drunk giggles followed voices hoarse with drink and screaming. Heels clicked down the street, some heavy as a bass drum and others high and piercing like castanets.

A quick flash of lightning splintered over the sky, followed seconds later by a dull crash like furniture toppling over.

“One mile,” The boy said, leaning over. He smelled like bleach, aftershave, and surprisingly, cherries. The overly sweet ones that came out of a jar and decorated the tops of ice cream sundaes.

“What?”

“You can count how far away lightning is from the thunder. Every five seconds between lightning and thunder is one mile.”

Another flash painted the sky purple followed shortly by crumbled eruptions of noise.

“That one was close by.”

Y/n took one last drag before putting out her cigarette on the wall. The paper smoldered and was scarred black, but never burned. “Guess that’s my cue to go back inside then.”

The boy nodded, smiling and looking her up and down a little too closely. Then his eyes sharpened, red-rimmed and squinting, as he glared into the street beyond her.

“Do you see that?”

Y/n twirled around on her heels, staring down the street to where it ended in shadow. It looked… darker than it should, although she couldn’t explain why. Like she stood before the throat of an animal. The darkness seemed to pulse and writhe, muscles clenching down on invisible meat. Then she felt stupid for having listened to him at all.

“Don’t fuck with me,” she growled, pushing the salt-haired boy aside and slipping back inside the club.

The music and heady scent of perfumes, cologne, and sweat punched her in the face, and she remembered why she’d chosen to stumble outside to begin with.

She moved in between bodies sparkling like disco balls, stealing body glitter as she went. She felt the tiny particles stick to her skin, tacky with sweat. Someone’s hand brushed against her wrist, but she swatted them off, pressing forward in search of her friends. She didn’t trust them to stay still, not in a place like this, nor did she trust them to check their phones, so she just kept searching the packed dance floor. Raised platforms crowded with plastic couches and spray painted tables hit her at eye level, but none of the platform heels and combat boots looked familiar. She thought a head of red corkscrews might have belonged to Cecelia, but it was only the changing lights reflecting off bleach blond hair.

She dipped into the corner where a line of scantily clad girls with lanky legs waited for the bathroom. Ducking beneath the overhead speakers helped dull the noise, and if she climbed up two rungs of the barrier surrounding the DJ’s booth like a fighting ring, she could make out more of the crowd. Four stationary spotlights lit up the corners of the club pulsing red, blue, pink, and purple. A man in leopard print briefs was climbing onto one of the poles there, shredding his policeman’s shirt down the center as a woman in a zebra-print coat eagerly shoved a handful of dollar bills into his underwear. A drag king had his hot pink fedora knocked off by a drunk college student stumbling towards the bathrooms with a hand over his mouth. All over there were faint pinpricks of light followed by subtle releases of vape pen air, adding hints of watermelon and strawberry to the air.

It was because she stood half-hanging off the DJ’s booth that she caught sight of the three men that entered one after another like the mob. Dressed in all black, they were better suited for a funeral than a club, save for one thing… their wings.

Y/n blinked in confusion. There had been flyers hung up around the library and grocery stores about some anime convention being held in the city, but this place was a little out of the way for hardcore cosplayers. The most severe looking of the three lifted his nose to the air, then stumbled back in shock. As the strobe lights passed over his awe-struck expression, Y/n caught the glint of knives sheathed across his chest and at his side.

Fuck. She looked up to the booth, but the DJ and the guys in ripped t-shirts bobbing their heads around him didn’t seem to notice.

“Hey!” She dropped back onto the floor and tapped the shoulder of a barrel-chested man with the word “security” printed over his shirt in all caps. “I think those three guys brought knives in here.” She pointed in their general direction with one chipped, black fingernail.

“The fuck?!” He gently pushed her aside, shouting something into his earpiece as he shoved his way into the crowd. People took a second to read the sign on his shirt before parting to make way for him. One guy with bright pink hair and studded lips even tried to kiss him on the cheek as he passed.

Suddenly, this corner of the club didn’t seem so safe anymore. There was a splash of pale light on the floor as a bottle girl in a black leather catsuit slipped out of the kitchens. She swayed her hips back and forth, a bottle of tequila swishing in its frost-rimmed bottle against her hip. She moved up the stairs to the platform where a private bachelor party was going on, heels clicking like beetle wings rubbing together. Y/n slipped into the shadows closer to the kitchens and waited for someone — anyone — to answer the text she’d typed out with shaky fingers.

Azriel had never heard music like this before. He didn’t even know such a sound could exist. Someone had weaponized the bass tones so it felt like a punch to the gut. A male’s deep voice, grainy and harsh, was indistinguishable from the crashing of cymbals and a strange, high clang that skittered over steady drums like a stone over water. Through layers of sound he could just make out the soft sighs of a female as she tried to tie the chaos together with her voice.

All around him were sweaty humans decorated in shiny, colorful clothes that sparkled as they spun and jerked about. He stood a head above most, although every so often a male or female in eight-inch heels would pass by at eye level, looking him up and down like he was a meal and they were starving.

“Hey there handsome.” Someone had found the courage to slink up to Cassian’s side — a male with pupils blown open wide enough to swallow his pale blue irises. There was alcohol on his breath and something else, something sweet and bitter at the same time. The human male smiled, teeth white and straight. Azriel had never seen a human with teeth so perfect. He was handsome — wiry and slim with a flush to his cheeks that accentuated the smattering of freckles across his tan skin. “Did you come here alone?” Rhysand and Azriel’s presence did not seem to deter him. “Did you want to leave here alone?”

Cassian sputtered in surprise. He’d never been propositioned by a male, let alone a human one.

“I’m-I’m a mated male.”

The male raised his brow, taking full stock of the skin-tight leathers Cassian wore. He took a deep drag of an oddly shaped pipe that lit up in the dark. “Ok. If that’s what you’re into.” A cloud of smoke spilled from his mouth — the source of the sweet and bitter smell on his lips. His eyes slid over to Rhysand, who only smirked and stuck a hand into his pocket. “And you? It doesn’t look like you’re into the leather stuff.” Then he seemed to reconsider what he’d said, looking between Cassian, Rhys, and Azriel like he’d figured out the final piece of the puzzle. He blinked in surprise, tipped back his head, and laughed. He was still laughing as he turned and walked away into the crowd.

“What the hell was that?” Cassian asked. Azriel shrugged, shaking his head.

“It’s a strange place we’ve landed in,” Rhysand remarked, although the comment was unnecessary. “I expect the strangeness touches everything here. Even the people.” He marveled at the scene before him. The only comparable place in Prythian was Rita’s, but even that paled in comparison to the sight before him.

Rita’s was a pleasure house with music and drinks to spare, but everything here was… more. The music was louder, the smells an assault to the senses, and the lights changed every second and made the dancers flicker in and out of existence. Even the people seemed to have more substance to them, more color.

Azriel loved it.

He loved the uneven floors that sucked at the bottoms of his shoes, the pulsing lights that made his eyes swim, and the sound blaring in his ears that drowned out all other thoughts. And something in the air smelled crisp and sweet to him, despite all the other competing scents that had Cassian and Rhysand wrinkling their nose in distaste.

He strained his neck to catch better hold of the scent. His shadows clung to his body like children, hiding in the folds of his leathers. This world was not made for them, and they worried that if they strayed too far they would be left behind.

Amren had warned them that this world was different, that its magic was different. But she hadn’t been here in thousands upon thousands of years. Who was to say what had changed in her absence and what had stayed the same?

Get in. Find what you need. Get out. Had been Nesta’s command before strumming The Harp. That’s how the three brothers had found themselves at the end of a narrow lane with boxes of metal and brick on either side. The club had been a logical next step — it was the only establishment that still whispered of life in the otherwise dead neighborhood.

One shadow dared to explore the club, slipping past a broad-shouldered man with a scowling face and sniffing at half-full glasses of liquor with bright umbrellas laying against their salt-coated rims. Then it had caught sight of something that had it scurrying back to its master.

Mate. The lone shadow hissed into Azriel’s ear. Mate.

Azriel’s fluttering bird heart dove into his stomach, carrying with it all reason and restraint. There was no possible way… no. No? Right?

Az? Rhysand steadied his brother as he stumbled back.

She’s here? Azriel breathed. If it weren’t for his powers, Rhysand would never have heard the soft sigh escape Azriel’s lips as he searched the crowd desperately. Azriel tipped his head back, breathing in the comforting scent that held new meaning. My mate. She’s here.

What?!

Azriel ignored Rhys and dove into the crowd, head swiveling this way and that as he tried to find a familiar face he’d never seen before.

Az! Wait! But his brother was gone, and the crowd closed over the empty space he’d left behind like a healing wound.

Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Rhysand cursed.

“Hey man! Where did you get your wings? They’re fucking awesome!” A plump male with cornflower blue hair and matching eyeliner piped up from behind Cassian’s back. Cassian whirled around in anger, feeling the ghost of a finger slide down his spine. No one touched his wings without his say. No one.

The male startled back in fear. Upon seeing Cassian at his full height, he cowered against the wall, clutching a crinkled red cup against his chest. Cassian blinked in surprise. The male was wearing a black and white dress, the starched apron and collar crisp and clean.

“Someone call the police. Now!” Someone hissed behind him.

“What seems to be the problem?” Rhysand spoke coolly. At the moment Cassian turned back to Rhysand, the maiden-male scuttled away and upstairs into the cold night. Rhysand examined his fingernails, an action that had the guard’s ruddy face turning white as he saw they were armed to the teeth.

The male’s arms hung loose and ready at his sides like two boulders, fists opening and closing slowly. “You guys need to leave. And before you say anything — I don’t give a shit if those weapons are fake or part of some Halloween costume, you can not bring them here.”

“What fool would carry fake weapons?” Cassian asked seriously.

The male’s face lost even more color. “Out. Now.”

“There’s no need for—” Rhysand’s brows shot towards his hairline, violet eyes flickering up like a cat’s. Cassian, I can’t control him.

His brother’s eyes widened. What do you mean?

His mind — I can’t get into it.

He’s only human!

Clearly.

The male moved forward then to grab at the knife hanging from Cassian’s side and on instinct, Cassian swung. His fist met the corner of the male’s jaw cleanly and he sank like a stone, crumbling to the floor.

A female with glowing white lips nearby let out a strangled shriek, twisting her ankle as she grabbed her friend and sprinted towards the glowing red exit sign. All around her people began taking notice of the guard’s dark shape on the black floor and the two males that hovered over him, knives sparkling in the ever changing lights.

I had hoped that the humans would not notice, Cassian explained. More alarmed cries erupted around them. He leaned down, carefully checking the male’s pulse. He was still alive, just knocked out cold.

The music dimmed and then went out completely leaving an empty hole in the air that blew against the back of Cassian’s neck. Overhead lights turned on shortly after, burning with a fluorescence that had everyone hissing in pain.

Things looked much better in the dark. In the dark no one noticed the sticky stains littering the floor, or the gum wrappers, and plastic straws, and crushed cups; the dusty strobe lights and haphazard paint jobs that left the walls bubbling with air pockets. They were also less likely to notice the three fae in their midst — 6-foot-everything and looking like they stepped out of the world’s most expensive LARPing tournament. It didn’t help that Cassian was kneeling over the man he just rendered unconscious.

Confusion led to confused panicking, and then plain panic as people began pushing towards the exits in droves.

I think they noticed. Rhysand looked over the crowd as they fluttered around him, but try as he might, he couldn’t enter anyone’s minds. Not even one. He didn’t like the oily vulnerability that followed, naked and unnerving.

Cassian slung the unconscious male over his shoulder before he could be trampled beneath pairs of dusty white sneakers and stripper heels. Then it would seem it’s time for us to leave.

Where are you? Azriel cursed at no god in particular. He didn’t know which of them existed in this realm, if any did at all.

This way. His shadows whispered, urging him towards the back corner of the club.

A battered door swung open and shut to the rhythms of females in skintight leather carrying chilled bottles in their hands. Thousands of signatures had been scrawled against the door in neon paint, and Azriel watched one of the females sign her name — Ava — in bright orange before kissing the door and slipping inside to grab another bottle.

Just to the right of the door stood another female in ripped stockings. Bright blue glitter painted her eyes and cheeks. She bounced back and forth on the balls of her feet, playing with a hole in her sleeve as she held a shiny black box up to her ear.

“WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU MEAN YOU ALREADY LEFT?! I’M THE DESIGNATED DRIVER!” She yelled into the box. Her eyes kept shifting over the club. Her lipstick, already blurred from time and dancing, smeared further as she bit her lip. A swipe of her sleeve on her cheek left a faint trail of plum-colored lipstick. She slammed her finger down on the box and for one moment, the glow it let off shot across her eyes. She looked close to tears.

Azriel froze, feeling a pressure in his chest tighten and then burst apart. He felt her fear — her anger at being abandoned by her so-called friends. It was more overwhelming than the music. If it weren’t for the thin crowd of strangers in front of him blocking his path, he might have dropped to his knees and crawled to her.

Mate. The bond sang in his chest. Mate.

Screams broke through the music, high and panicked, and the magic of the moment crashed all around him. The darkness broke, harsh white light colliding with them and rendering the glitters and colors the humans adorned pale and lifeless. But not his mate. She sparkled brighter in the resulting chaos, eyes narrowing in a dare as she caught Azriel staring. She was a prey animal ready to bolt. A worm preparing to turn and reveal its teeth.

Sharp cracks of plastic on linoleum rattled the ground as leather-clad women sprinted for the kitchen door brandishing empty bottles like weapons. Y/n raced after them.

The door flapped shut behind her before Azriel had the sense to move his feet and follow, calling out, “Wait! Please!”

He was doing this very poorly. He knew better than to chase a female like this. Sickness twisted in his stomach as he slammed into metal doors and ran through hallways crowded with glass bottles, aluminum cans, and wrinkly lemons stacked precariously in wooden crates.

To your right. A shadow whispered in his ear.

Azriel slid to a stop in front of a heavy metal door, its edges frosted over with cold.

It locks from the outside.

Azriel ripped the door off its hinges and was blasted in the face by a wave of cold. Frigid air curled out of the edges of the room and slithered over the floor like smoke. A young female in a pink tutu yelped in surprise and dove for the corner of the room, hiding behind racks of beer bottles. It wasn’t his mate.

She was just a frightened female who’d hidden in the fridge, not knowing she was trapping herself in the process.

“Here.” Azriel said, quickly ripping a coat off the wall hook and tossing it towards her. She reached for it with shaking hands and lips, mumbling out a confused “Thank you?” as Azriel turned and hurried away. The door was no more. She could walk out of the freezer whenever she pleased now.

Azriel chased after his mate’s scent, stumbling through grey, blank hallways that belonged to the insurance company next door. He strained his ears to hear the tell-tale pounding of her boots, but came up empty. A dull red light told Azriel to “EXIT” as he pushed against a door groaning from rust and disuse.

He was outside once again, breathing in car exhaust and restaurant refuse.

And something sweet.

He heard the rush of air a second too late.

A bottle slammed into the side of his face, cracking and cutting his skin. Tequila washed over the wounds. It burned like a bitch.

Azriel didn’t let out a groan of pain, but he did stumble, landing on his right knee with a twinge of soreness.

The female — his mate — stared at him in horror as blood began to pool at his temple and drip down the line of his jaw. She held the shattered neck of the bottle in her hands. Her shoes were gone, toes curling against the pavement with cold.

Gods, she was beautiful.

Cassian was a blur of movement, knocking the bottle out of her hand and wrapping his arms around her arms. She screamed, squatting down before shooting back up and locking her knees. The top of her head slammed into Cassian’s nose. A brutal, bloody crack had Cassian stumbling back, gripping his nose.

“FUCK!” He swore.

She whipped around and sprayed a mist in his eyes that had him cursing like a madman and slapping the palms of his hands over his eyes.

“FUCK! FUCK! FUCK!”

Rhysand stepped forward and cornered her against the wall. Violet eyes glittered with something bordering fury and amusement.

“No.” Azriel moved between Rhys and his mate before she could spray him too. “No one touches her.”

Rhys backed up immediately. This is her?

It’s her.

He could hear her heartbeat quicker than a rabbit as she flattened herself against the wall, holding her spray out in warning. Cassian moaned in annoyance, wiping the tears that kept leaking out of his eyes.

I do not like the humans in this world. Cassian complained, sniffling. Even his nose burned.

As if Nesta wouldn’t have done this given the chance. Rhysand said.

…I see your point. Cassian muttered.

Be careful around this one.

Because she’s a menace?

Rhysand smirked, flicking dust off the sleeve of his jacket. Because she’s Azriel’s mate.

Cassian straightened. His eyes darted back and forth between Rhysand, the blood dripping from Azriel’s head, and the human female.

Oh. Cassian thought, suddenly embarrassed. We have… not made a good first impression.

You think?! Azriel all but growled.

Her fight or flight response was running out — her energy draining. She could feel it in her leaden limbs and the faint slowing of her heartbeat as the three men kept looking around like they were seeing each other for the first time.

And they kept looking at her in mixtures of shock, concern, and — surprisingly — affection.

What sick fuckery is this? She dug her fingernails into the brick, searching for cracks like she might be able to pull out a piece and throw it at them, or find some hidden portal through the wall and back into the safety of the inside.

Were they going to kidnap her? Was she about to be shoved into a bag and tossed into some dingy trunk? But then why the wings? It was too dark to see them in their entirety, but they looked meticulous and expensive and very memorable — not ideal for kidnapping. Was this a LARPING thing? Were they Satanists? Was that how this worked?

The one in front turned. The one she’d attacked with a bargain bottle of tequila. The blood had stopped flowing and darkened against his tan skin. Hazel eyes, bright and piercing as a copper penny, looked out from a face made of elegant, serious lines. His was not a face that smiled often, beautiful as it was. The burly, rugged one looked like he was made for laughing. Smile lines gently graced his cheeks and temples. But maybe those were scars. He sported many of them, like pale whiskers over his skin. The third was the most put together of the three. Instead of strange, leather armor, he wore a suit of velvet over something stiff and protective that hugged his trim waist and broad shoulders, and his eyes were violet, not hazel.

The elegant, unsmiling one coughed awkwardly, shifting to hide his wings. Shockingly, they slid closed behind his back, the movement so smooth it looked real.

“I am…” His voice was a deep, gentle caress. “I am so very sorry. I did not mean to frighten you as I did. Please, forgive me.” He was… alarmingly polite, and his accent was… pleasant, although impossible to place — all soft rolls of the tongue complimented by the rich timbre of his voice. “ Please.” He spoke the last word quietly, urgently.

Y/n said nothing. Her arm was beginning to get sore from holding out the bottle of pepper spray. Although, it can’t have been that effective if the rugged one was already recovered. Maybe it had expired without her realizing?

“My name is Azriel,” the man spoke again quickly and gently. Even his name sounded odd. “And this is Cassian—” He pointed to the burly one,“And Rhysand.” The last of the men tilted his head in a mock bow.

“A pleasure.” The violet-eyed one said. Rhysand’s voice was weighed down with sultry charm. He purred the words more than spoke them.

“Pleasure,” Cassian copied, gruff but kind.

Y/n remained silent. Somewhere in the distance, sirens wailed. The pretty one — Azriel — stepped forward and pulled out a sleek, small blade from the belt about his waist. Y/n was about to spray him in the face when he twisted the blade so that the handle faced her.

“This will do more damage than the little bottle you carry,” he promised. “I hope this will make you more trusting of me. I swear to do you no harm. I’ll even make a bargain, if it would make you trust me long enough to explain.” His wings twitched nervously and Y/n found she couldn’t draw her eyes away from them and how real they looked.

The three men kept looking at each other furtively. Conversations, complex and unknowable, hide in every twitch of their eyes.

“Speak out loud,” Azriel snarled at them finally. “You’re frightening her.”

Rhysand smiled apologetically at the female. “We need to leave. Now. You can hear the humans coming as well as I can.”

Y/n bristled at that, and a detached feeling of horror came over her. “Are you not… are you not human?”

Cassian gawked at her, speaking his wings out far and wide. “Do the humans of this world have wings?”

She sputtered to answer, fear giving way to curiosity. Azriel took advantage of that, moving close enough that he slid the blade into her hand. It was a cool, welcome weight against her hot, sweaty skin. Up close she saw he had freckles dotting the high corners of his cheeks and that his hair came alive with dark tendrils of smoke that wafted off his skin like steam. They wrapped around her and she heard their strange whispers in her ears like white noise.

“We’re not human. We’re not even from this world.” The sirens were only a block away now and Azriel swore beneath his breath. More of those dark tendrils shot out like shadows and dulled the noises of incoming fire trucks, cop cars, and EMTs. “I swear to you that I will explain more, but we must go. Please.” He took hold of her wrist, angling the blade he’d given her right beneath his last rib.

It was a dramatic declaration — if she wanted to kill him and run away, he would let her.

Y/n swallowed thickly, her mind thick with fog and the dying embers of adrenaline. “I—I parked a few blocks down that way. I can take us somewhere else.”

Azriel breathed a sigh of relief and she pulled away from him, taking with her any shred of comfort he’d felt since coming to this world.

Somehow they managed to walk the quarter of a mile to her car without being stopped once by another living soul. She suspected it had to do with the shadows that now poured off of Azriel’s skin and trailed after her. She could feel them licking at her heels like curious dogs… or blood thirsty wolves.

She gripped the knife tightly in her hand, stretching her fingers to wrap around the steering wheel as she drove through familiar roads on autopilot. Azriel watched her curiously as she stopped at a red light and clicked her blinker on.

None of the men looked comfortable squished into her tiny sedan, wings tucked in so tight they cramped. Cassian’s boot was stretched out on the center console, almost reaching the gear shift. Rhysand was hunched over in the back seat, pressing his forehead against the cool metal of the headrest in front of him to keep from getting sick.

“What is this cursed thing?” He grumbled, then promptly shut up when Y/n took them down a local road with craters that had them jolting and jerking for a mile. “This metal box… I do not like it.”

Azriel and Cassian ignored their brother. Az was too busy paying attention to his mate and politely explaining the complexity of their situation, and Cassian was too busy looking out the window at the houses that passed by. He could hear the unfamiliar hum of electricity like a dragonfly's wings.

By the time she pulled the sedan down a beaten road to a quiet, homely one-bedroom house, her mind was swimming with words and phrases she could barely string together — Koschei, fae, Illyrians, seers. It was worse than when she’d spent two all-nighters cramming for an exam in college fueled by nothing but Red Bull and desperation.

Before the keys were even out of the ignition, Rhysand was spilling out of the car and breathing in gasps of clean, woodsy air. Gravel crunched under his feet. Once this road had been paved, but time and weather had broken up the asphalt until only chunky black rocks remained. Green grass, not yet killed off by Autumn frost, grew in uneven tufts up to Y/n’s squat, brown-sided house, skirting around the makeshift garden in the backyard before disappearing into the woods beyond. Neighboring homes inched as close as they could to the main road, half-submerged in golden brown trees that trembled in the wind.

The porch steps creaked, flexing in the center like backs ready to break, but they’d recently been cleaned and painted over with a fresh coat of white. The front door had been given similar treatment, although it was painted green. A small Autumn wreath hung from a nail.

Y/n fumbled with the keys, fingers shaking and numb from the cold.

“Here,” Azriel murmured, gently taking them from her. His shadows could have unlocked the front door in less than a second, but he was in no mood to test his mate’s patience and understanding. The fact that she’d driven them to her home in the dead of night was testament to the uneasy trust she’d placed in them.

A disgruntled meow greeted them as they filed into the short and narrow entryway. Cassian bumped into the entry dresser with his wings and nearly jumped out of his skin when the dark monstrosity that sat by a ceramic dish full of rings hissed.

It was the fattest cat Cassian had ever seen.

Acidic yellow-green eyes narrowed at him, as if sensing his judgment, and the cat’s whiskers twitched along with its pink button nose.

“Jefferson, be nice.” Y/n reprimanded the cat, scooping up its rotund body into her arms. The cat swatted her shoulder once, then consented to being held. He did not like strangers in his house, even if they were Y/n’s guests. “This is Jefferson.” She looked behind her back to the rest of the house. “And this is my home.”

She busied herself preparing for her unexpected guests. She scoured the bathroom closet for spare toothbrushes, towels, and lotions, and pulled out the thickest blankets she could find. One person could sleep on the pull out couch, the other two would have to fight for the best spot on the floor.

Azriel watched her as she moved. It was not a large house — it was barely even a cottage — and it took his shadows a short time to familiarize themselves with your home.

A lumpy couch, wicker armchair, and coffee table made up the living room, tied together by a retro rug that may have once been white, but was now a respectable beige. Four mismatched chairs huddled around a scratched wooden table near the kitchen, one of which carried a stuffy cushion that held the imprint of Jefferson’s soft body.

The cat watched them from the kitchen counter with its piercing eyes, and did not seem at all concerned when a stray shadow wound around its tail.

Pathetic. All of them! Were the cat’s thoughts. Master will not like this.

His eyes did soften when Y/n returned from her bedroom, arms heavy with blankets and sheets and pillows. Azriel quickly relieved her of her burden, promising that they’d spent nights in worse conditions than a heated house with bedding and clean floors.

She seemed charmed by that and almost smiled. Almost.

“There’s leftovers in the fridge if you get hungry, and the bathroom’s by the front door. I’ve already put some toothbrushes and towels in there if you need them.”

“Thank you,” Azriel said softly, tilting his head in a faint bow. His brothers followed suit before busying themselves laying out blankets and pillows like they’d done this a thousand times before — which they had.

Y/n nodded curtly and swept a judgmental Jefferson into her arms before disappearing into her room. Azriel heard the lock click into place and the rummaging of drawers as she pulled out an extra can of pepper spray, a pair of scissors, and the three knives she’d taken from the kitchen. She bolted her windows and drew the curtains closed and even stuffed a towel into the space beneath her doors just in case.

She was meticulous and careful despite her generosity, and Azriel found himself smitten at her resourcefulness.

Stop thinking about her and go the fuck to sleep, Az. Cassian grumbled. He could feel the longing dripping off of Azriel’s shoulders. She’ll feel more comfortable if she knows we’re asleep.

How much would you like to bet she kills us in the night? Rhysand asked, and then seemed amused by the prospect of it.

I’d worry more about the cat. Cassian chuckled. Then he turned over onto his stomach and was out like a light. Centuries spent in war camp barracks and makeshift battlefield tents had taught him to steal sleep wherever and whenever he could.

Rhysand was quick to follow suit, although centuries as a High Lord had pampered him just a little.

Azriel stayed awake, waiting to hear your heartbeat and breathing slow to a comfortable pace. But it never happened. Not even as the sunlight trickled in and touched the light-bleached floors.

#azriel x reader #azriel x y/n #azriel shadowsinger #azriel x you #acotar fanfiction #acotar #have I ever gone clubbing like this?#no #but can I imagine it?#Yes!

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thedensworld · 5 months ago

Text

Let me | C.Sc

Pairing: Ceo!Seungcheol x reader

Genre: angst, fluff, office romance

Summary: Seungcheol has known your for a long time and has been very grateful of your dedication as his worker. It was supposed to be just like that.

Seungcheol spotted you at the bus stop on that rainy evening, your clothes soaked through from the downpour. His instinct urged him to offer you a warm ride after what must have been a long day, but he stifled the impulse, convincing himself it was too late for a U-turn. Earlier, he'd overheard a conversation among his staff. Seokmin had generously offered a lift to whoever needed it, knowing full well you usually relied on the bus. Seungcheol sensed Seokmin's subtle invitation, but before you could even consider it, the seats in his car were quickly filled by eager colleagues.

"Y/n usually takes the bus, right?" one of the staff asked, and you shook your head, dismissing any concern. "I think I'll just take a cab. Don't worry about me."

Guilt gnawed at Seungcheol's insides as he contemplated his decision. He made a snap judgment, making a U-turn back to the bus stop, but you were nowhere to be found. You must have caught the bus already. With a heavy heart, Seungcheol returned home, the weight of missed opportunity and regret lingering in his mind.

Seungcheol's advertisement company had humble beginnings with just four employees. As the founder and Chief Officer, he led the charge, with Seungkwan handling PR, and you and Mingyu comprising the design team. Despite knowing you for nearly five years, Seungcheol realized he'd hardly exchanged more than professional pleasantries with you.

That rainy evening at the bus stop lingered in his mind, your image soaked by the relentless downpour. Even though it was just a passing moment, he couldn't shake the memory.

"She's sick, finally taking a day off," Mingyu informed Seungcheol when he inquired about your whereabouts that day.

"Sick?" Seungcheol's concern flickered. The thought of you unwell tugged at his conscience, adding another layer to his already heavy heart.

Mingyu nodded solemnly, a sigh escaping his lips before he handed Seungcheol another draft for the upcoming project. It was the design you were supposed to handle, but now you were at home, resting.

"This," Mingyu gestured to the draft, "she wants me to make sure you confirm it by today. Let me know if there's anything to revise, she said she'll do it today."

Seungcheol's expression tightened at the thought of you working even while sick. He shook his head, disliking the idea of you pushing yourself when you needed rest. "Do you know where she lives?" he asked, a sense of urgency creeping into his voice.

Seungcheol stood in front of your door, a sense of urgency gripping him as he clutched a portion of porridge and a pack of medicine in his hands. He couldn't fathom how he had ended up here, but the need to ensure your well-being drove him forward. With each press of the doorbell, the weight of his worry grew heavier. Ten seconds passed, then twenty, then a minute, yet there was no response. Frustration etched across his features as he pushed the doorbell again, the sound echoing through the silence of the hallway.

As he waited, a barrage of questions flooded his mind. "Are you okay?" he wondered, his concern evident in the furrow of his brow. Desperation urged him to try the door passcode pad, his fingers tapping out random combinations in a futile attempt to gain entry. Disappointment washed over him as each attempt proved unsuccessful, but a glimmer of relief emerged when he realized you hadn't used the most obvious combination.

With a newfound determination, Seungcheol tapped out a sequence that had been etched into his memory—the company anniversary date. The click of the door unlocking caught him off guard, a mix of surprise and relief flooding his senses. Stepping inside, he was greeted by the familiar surroundings of your home, yet the absence of your presence only heightened his concern.

"Y/n..." Seungcheol called out, his voice laced with concern, but there was no reply. He navigated through the dimly lit hallway of your apartment, his heart pounding with each step. Upon reaching your bedroom, a sense of familiarity guided his movements as he set the items on your kitchen island before peeking inside.

The sight that met his eyes sent a jolt of alarm through him. There you were, lying weakly on your bed, cocooned in blankets, with the glow of the bedside lamp casting a soft light upon your form. Your labored breathing and flushed cheeks spoke volumes, confirming his fears. Without a moment's hesitation, Seungcheol approached you, his hand reaching out to touch your forehead, which burned with fever.

Calling out your name urgently, he watched as your eyes fluttered open, struggling to focus. "S—Seungcheol?" you rasped, your voice devoid of its usual formality, he thought it was a sign of your weakened state.

"Are you okay, Y/n? You're burning. Let me take you to the hospital," Seungcheol urged, his voice tinged with worry as he moved to assist you. But before he could make a move, your hand caught his wrist, halting him in his tracks.

"Seungcheol, is that you?" you asked, your voice betraying a sense of urgency. Your eyes darted around the room, searching for answers. "How could you get inside? How—do you remember?" you questioned, your grip on his wrist tightening as you struggled to make sense of the situation.

Sungcheol's brow furrowed in confusion. "I don't understand. What do you mean?" he inquired, his concern deepening as he tried to comprehend your words.

Your hand suddenly released his wrist and moved to your hair, your expression clouded with confusion. Seungcheol watched helplessly as you whispered to yourself, questioning whether you were dreaming or hallucinating. The gravity of the situation weighed heavily on him as he realized the severity of your condition.

Seungcheol's confusion only deepened as you pulled your comforters tightly around you, shaking your head in disbelief. "This must not be real. It could be because of the medicine," you muttered to yourself, your arms wrapping around your body in a protective gesture.

"Hey, it's me..." Seungcheol called out to you, his voice gentle yet firm. Your teary eyes met his, and for a moment, the world seemed to stand still.

Seungcheol watched in awe as you approached him, your trembling hands reaching up to cup his cheeks. "You're home..." you whispered, tears now streaming down your cheeks. His heart clenched at the sight of your vulnerability, but he didn't pull away. Instead, he leaned into your touch, the warmth of your hands against his skin grounding him in reality.

As your sobs intensified, Seungcheol felt a wave of emotions wash over him. Your house, your voice, your touch—all felt strangely familiar, yet he couldn't shake the feeling of disorientation that lingered in the back of his mind. What was happening to him?

"You're finally home..." you sobbed, burying your face in his chest as tears continued to fall unchecked. "You remember home," you whispered between sobs, your words echoing in the silence of the room.

What is happening?

Mingyu sat opposite Seungcheol, his expression grave as he prepared to deliver an explanation for the events of the previous night. Seungcheol's gaze bore into him, demanding answers, as he struggled to make sense of the familiarity of his surroundings.

"What's this?" Seungcheol gestured toward the house, a sense of unease creeping over him.

Mingyu lowered his head, a gesture of apology evident in his posture. "I didn't expect you to come here," he admitted, his voice tinged with regret. Seungcheol's mind raced with questions, but before he could voice them, Mingyu diverted the conversation to your condition.

"She's being treated at the hospital. It was stress and exhaustion," Seungcheol explained. Mingyu's eyes avoiding Seungcheol's penetrating gaze. It struck Seungcheol as odd, considering Mingyu's usual propensity for defiance.

"Okay..." Seungcheol began, his tone clipped as he struggled to contain his frustration. Mingyu's heavy sigh only added to his growing sense of unease. "She's gonna hate me for this," Mingyu muttered, a hint of guilt in his voice.

Seungcheol's scowl deepened at the implication that Mingyu was withholding information from him, information that could potentially impact his life. As Mingyu continued, dropping a bombshell that left Seungcheol reeling.

"You lost your memory two years ago," Mingyu revealed, prompting Seungcheol to nod in acknowledgment. Memories of the car accident flashed through his mind, a reminder of the near-death experience that had robbed him of his past.

But Mingyu wasn't finished. "And you...you were engaged to her," he stated matter-of-factly, leaving Seungcheol dumbfounded.

"What?" Seungcheol's voice was laced with disbelief as Mingyu confirmed his status as your fiancé.

Mingyu nodded solemnly. "Yes, you two were engaged before the accident. You had been in a secret relationship for a long time and decided to get married. But then...you lost your memory," he explained, the weight of the revelation hanging heavily in the air.

Seungcheol felt as if the ground had shifted beneath him, the revelation hitting him like a ton of bricks. His mind struggled to grasp the enormity of what Mingyu had just disclosed. Engaged? Secret relationship? Marriage plans? It all seemed so surreal, like a plot from a melodramatic movie.

His gaze shifted to Mingyu, searching for any sign of deception or jest, but all he found was sincerity mirrored in Mingyu's eyes. This was real. This was his reality, whether he remembered it or not.

A myriad of emotions surged through Seungcheol—confusion, disbelief, and a twinge of fear. Fear of the unknown, fear of what he might discover about his past and his relationship with you.

"How...how could I not remember any of this?" Seungcheol's voice trembled with uncertainty, his mind racing to piece together fragments of memories that refused to surface.

Mingyu sighed heavily, his expression one of empathy mixed with regret. "The accident...it took everything from you," he replied softly. "But we've been trying to help you remember, to piece together the fragments of your past. It's just...it's not easy.".

Mingyu bypassed the entrance to your room and instead led Seungcheol to a different door down the hallway. Seungcheol's confusion deepened as Mingyu turned the doorknob and gestured for him to enter.

"What's this?" Seungcheol questioned, his voice betraying his confusion as he stepped into the room.

Mingyu's expression softened as he followed Seungcheol inside. "This used to be your room," he explained, his voice tinged with nostalgia. "Both of you shared this space before...before the accident," he added, his words heavy with unspoken emotion.

Seungcheol's eyes roamed the room, taking in the familiar surroundings—the cozy bed, the shelves lined with books, the photographs adorning the walls. Despite not remembering, there was a sense of comfort and belonging that washed over him, like a distant echo of a life he once knew.

"You two were happy here," Mingyu continued, his voice quiet as he gazed around the room. "You had plans, dreams...a future together," he said, his words tinged with sadness.

Seungcheol's heart ached at the thought of the life he couldn't remember, the memories that remained just out of reach. He longed to feel that sense of belonging again, to reclaim the love and happiness that had once filled this room.

"I'll give you some time alone," Mingyu said softly, placing a reassuring hand on Seungcheol's shoulder before quietly slipping out of the room.

Alone in the room that held fragments of a life he couldn't recall, Seungcheol closed his eyes and let himself sink into the memories that lingered in the air. Despite the uncertainty of his past, one thing remained clear—he would do whatever it took to reclaim the love and happiness that had once filled this room, and to find his way back to you.

As Seungcheol's gaze swept over the room, it landed on the vanity table, where a glint of light caught his eye. There, nestled among the trinkets and baubles, lay a simple yet elegant ring. His breath caught in his throat as he reached out, his fingers trembling as they closed around the familiar metal.

With a sense of trepidation, Seungcheol slid the ring onto his finger, feeling the weight of it settle against his skin. Instantly, a rush of familiarity washed over him, like a wave crashing against the shore of his fractured memories.

Tears welled up in Seungcheol's eyes as he stared at the ring, his vision blurred by the overwhelming emotions coursing through him. It was as if this simple band held the key to unlocking the mysteries of his past, a tangible reminder of the love and commitment he couldn't remember.

He traced the intricate design with his fingertips, each curve and groove sparking a distant echo of a life he once knew. Despite the gaps in his memory, there was no denying the depth of emotion tied to this ring, to the life he shared with you.

Seungcheol bowed his head, tears streaming down his face unchecked. In that moment, surrounded by the echoes of a life he couldn't remember, he made a silent vow—to reclaim his memories, to rediscover the love that had once filled his heart, and to find his way back to you, no matter the obstacles that lay ahead.

As Seungcheol observed your presence in the office, a sense of gratitude and concern mingled within him. He couldn't pinpoint exactly when he started noticing you, but he appreciated your hard work as a member of his design staff. However, there was something about you that troubled him—the subtle aura of melancholy that seemed to follow you like a shadow.

Seungcheol often found himself analyzing your habits, noting how you stayed late in the office long after everyone else had left. He couldn't help but worry as he observed you taking the same bus home every night, your expression tinged with a sense of weariness that tugged at his heartstrings.

Despite his best efforts to lift your spirits, Seungcheol couldn't shake the feeling that you carried a heavy burden on your shoulders. He wanted nothing more than to see you smile, to banish the clouds of sadness that seemed to linger around you.

With that in mind, Seungcheol decided to surprise you with a small gesture of kindness—he bought flowers for your team's designated room, hoping to brighten your day. But his well-intentioned gesture backfired when he discovered that you were allergic to flowers.

Seungcheol couldn't help but curse himself for not knowing such a basic detail about you. He had wanted to bring a ray of light into your life, but instead, he had inadvertently caused you discomfort.

Determined to make it up to you, Seungcheol resolved to find another way to lift your spirits, to show you that you were valued and appreciated. Despite the setback, his determination to bring a smile to your face burned brighter than ever before.

As Seungcheol's concern for you grew, he couldn't help but notice the rapport you shared with Mingyu. You seemed to have a closeness that bordered on familiarity, and Seungcheol found himself feeling an unexpected pang of jealousy.

He watched as you and Mingyu exchanged knowing glances, shared inside jokes, and collaborated effortlessly on projects. While he knew that Mingyu was a trusted colleague and friend, Seungcheol couldn't shake the feeling that you were too close, that perhaps there was more to your relationship than met the eye.

The sight of you laughing at one of Mingyu's jokes or leaning in close to discuss a project sent a twinge of unease through Seungcheol's heart. Despite his best efforts to rationalize his feelings, Seungcheol couldn't shake the nagging sense of insecurity that gnawed at him. He found himself scrutinizing your interactions with Mingyu, searching for any sign that his fears were justified.

"You're going home?" Seungcheol heard Mingyu ask you as you were on your way to call it a day. He caught a glimpse of you nodding excitedly.

"A big day?" Mingyu inquired, and you stopped while scrolling on your phone to show the taller guy something.

Mingyu gasped and looked at you while you laughed. Seungcheol watched both of you conversing with ease, observing if he had misread Mingyu and your relationship as colleagues.

"Want me to drive you home?" Mingyu offered, but you shook your head.

You waved goodbye to Mingyu before saying, "The bus is coming. Don't wanna miss it! Bye..."

Seungcheol's footsteps echoed softly as he approached the bus stop near the hospital. His heart quickened with each step, anticipation mingling with worry. Mingyu's message had left him scrambling, his mind racing with concern for you. He knew he had to find you, to make sure you were alright.

And there you were, sitting alone, a solitary figure amidst the bustle of the city. Relief washed over Seungcheol as he took in the sight of you, but it was quickly replaced by surprise when he noticed the weariness etched into your features.

"Seungcheol..." Your voice was barely above a whisper, and he could see the surprise mirrored in your eyes as you looked up at him.

"I'm here," he said softly, his heart aching at the sight of you looking so small and fragile. Mingyu's words echoed in his mind, reminding him of why he was here.

"Let's go home, I'll drive you," Seungcheol offered, reaching out to take your hand. But you recoiled, pulling away from him, and his heart sank.

He searched your eyes for answers, confusion swirling within him. Why were you pulling away from him? Didn't you know how much he cared about you, how much he wanted to take care of you?

But your response only deepened the mystery. "I can't," you mumbled, and Seungcheol felt a knot form in his stomach at your words.

"Why not?" he asked, his voice tinged with concern. "I'm the one driving."

"Still..." Your voice trailed off, and Seungcheol could see the turmoil in your eyes. There was something you weren't telling him, something weighing heavily on your mind.

As the bus approached, you rose from your seat, and Seungcheol quietly followed suit, taking the seat beside you. The journey to your apartment passed swiftly, the familiar route bringing a sense of comfort despite the tension between you.

Seungcheol couldn't shake the feeling that there was something deeper at play here, something he couldn't quite grasp. The realization dawned on him as you both walked to your apartment building. It wasn't just about the time saved by taking the bus; there was a deeper fear lurking within you, a fear of being in a car, even a cab. It all clicked into place—the reason behind your drenched state that night, your insistence on taking the bus.

As you reached your door, Seungcheol couldn't hold back any longer. "Are you scared because of me? Being in a car?" he asked, his voice tinged with regret.

You stopped in your tracks, your body tense, but your head nodded in confirmation. Seungcheol's heart sank at the admission, a wave of guilt washing over him. "I'm sorry I don't remember anything, but don't be like this," he pleaded softly, hoping you would understand.

You finally turned to face him, and for the first time, your voice held a hint of defiance. "Like what?" you challenged, your eyes searching his for answers.

Seungcheol was taken aback by your sudden assertiveness, but he gathered himself, his hands slipping into his pockets as he met your gaze. "Like... this," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper, his heart heavy with the weight of his own shortcomings.

You sighed heavily, turning your body to open your door, the weight of the conversation settling heavily between you and Seungcheol. "Go home, Seungcheol," you said, your voice tinged with a mixture of exhaustion and resignation.

But before you could step inside, Seungcheol took a hesitant step forward, his words pleading for understanding. "You said this is my home."

Your heart ached at his words, the truth in them impossible to ignore. But you stood your ground, facing him with a quiet resolve. "Don't be like this, Seungcheol," you whispered, your voice barely audible above the hum of the city around you. "Just because you found out everything doesn't mean it all comes back the same."

There was a raw honesty in your words, a vulnerability that laid bare the complexities of your emotions. And as you stood there, facing each other in the fading light of the evening, you both knew that some wounds ran too deep to be healed by mere understanding.

Seungcheol's heart sank further at your words, the weight of your pain heavy upon him. He reached out, wanting to erase the hurt etched in your expression, but hesitated, unsure if his touch would offer solace or only deepen the wounds.

For a moment, silence hung thick between you, the only sound the gentle rustle of leaves in the evening breeze. Then, with a heavy sigh, Seungcheol stepped back, his gaze never leaving yours. "I understand," he murmured, his voice laced with regret. "I'll go."

Seungcheol's steps to his office were slow, his heart heavy knowing you were not on the same floor as him this week. The staff were buzzing with questions about your absence, as it was the first time you had ever taken leave. Your absence had created a noticeable gap in the working atmosphere. However, Mingyu managed to handle the situation excellently by delegating all the work to the staff and explaining that you were on vacation.

"So, calling Y/n is prohibited this week," Mingyu announced to all the staff during the morning briefing.

Seungcheol buried himself in work, the meetings and paperwork serving as a distraction from a truth that was slowly dawning on him. Even after a week, all the relevance are still seemed impossible. But the inexplicable attraction he had felt towards you suddenly made sense; they were memories of feelings he couldn't deny, even after two years of forgetting you.

He sighed deeply as he leaned back in his chair, feeling a wave of frustration wash over him. Mingyu usually juggled two roles: being a key member of the design team and acting as Seungcheol's secretary, handling emails and scheduling. But with you gone, Mingyu had to take over all your responsibilities, leaving Seungcheol to manage his own emails and appointments. Once again, he found himself overwhelmed and more than a little distracted.

Seungcheol didn't know how he suddenly found himself standing in front of your door after office hours. The last time he was here was two days ago, and since then, the guilt had been gnawing at him. He rang your bell, hoping against hope that you would open the door with a welcoming smile. But there was no response, even after his fifth ring.

He was about to give up and step into the elevator when he saw your figure standing inside. So, you had been outside.

You looked surprised by his presence, immediately stepping out of the elevator and asking, "What are you doing in front of my place?"

"I haven't seen you in the office for almost a week. I'm your boss, Y/n," Seungcheol replied, trying to sound reasonable.

You opened your passcode lock and entered your home. Without waiting for your permission, Seungcheol pushed the door and followed you inside, protesting about your attitude toward 'your boss.'

"I'm packing. That's why I couldn't come to work these past two days."

Seungcheol's brow furrowed. "You're moving?" he asked, noticing a frame with a photo of the two of you placed inside a box, ready to be packed.

"There's no reason for me to stay with all of this," you sighed, opening the tape and sealing the open boxes lying on the floor.

Seungcheol's heart sank, feeling oddly betrayed by your pessimism. "You don't want to fight for us anymore?" he asked, as if he wasn't the one who had forgotten everything about you.

You stopped and dropped everything from your hands. "Everyone has limits, Seungcheol, and I've hit mine," you said, turning to face him, your arms crossed defiantly.

"How about me? It's not fair for me to just find out about our relationship and then lose it again," Seungcheol argued, challenging your resolve.

Your face shifted slightly, your eyes betraying a hint of vulnerability as you tried to maintain your composure. "I don't care about you, Seungcheol. I've been dealing with this alone for two years. You deal with it yourself!"

Seungcheol grabbed your arm and turned you to face him again. "Then why did you stay these two years? Why didn't you leave me right after the accident? Why did you stay?"

You held his gaze for a moment before looking away. "Because I thought there was hope. But there isn't. So I'm deciding to stop now."

"Why? Are you embarrassed that I found out?" Seungcheol asked, and you fell silent. "Is it that embarrassing for you that I found out everything?"

"Isn't this a good start for me? Wouldn't it help me recover my memories if I knew the truth? Not with all the subtle signs you gave me through your designs, referencing places we had been."

Seungcheol raised your left hand and showed the ring around your finger. "You wore this, showing everyone you were engaged while I had no idea you were engaged to me. Did you want me to remember through that?"

His voice rose unconsciously as he spoke, but you remained stoic. The silence between you was thick with unresolved tension and unspoken emotions..

"Then, should I do this?" you asked, reaching up to cup his cheeks and pulling him into a kiss.

Seungcheol tensed at first, but then he responded with equal fervor. When he felt you beginning to loosen the kiss, he immediately grabbed the nape of your neck, pulling you closer, not letting you step back even an inch. His other hand found your waist, pulling your body firmly against his.

As you broke the kiss to catch your breath, Seungcheol couldn't help but notice how beautiful you looked, breathless and flushed from his kiss. He pinned you to the wall, gently tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear before whispering, "I like you, Y/n. I mean, even after I forgot you, the feeling was still there."

Without waiting for a response, he crashed his lips back onto yours, this time with even more passion. His hands began to roam the contours of your body, slipping under your top to touch your bare skin. You whimpered, and the sound made Seungcheol ache to be closer, deeper.

"You're so beautiful..." he whispered in between kisses, his voice husky with desire.

"S—Seungcheol..." you gasped.

"Stop calling me that. Call me by the pet name you used to," he murmured, his lips trailing down your neckline and shoulder.

"Yeobo..." you breathed.

A smile spread across Seungcheol's face as he began to pull your top off, unclasping anything that covered you. "Do you want this?" he asked seriously, looking into your eyes as if he hadn't just been worshipping your body with his kisses.

You nodded fervently, pulling him into another kiss. Seungcheol quickly unbuttoned his shirt and pants, then tapped your thigh, motioning for you to jump on him. The kiss never stopped as he carried you to a room Mingyu had mentioned, the room where you two had shared so many memories. He was relieved to see it still felt familiar, untouched by time.

"There's no stopping after this, Y/n," Seungcheol warned, his voice filled with a mix of desire and seriousness.

You nodded again, more eagerly this time, and with that, Seungcheol began to touch you, closer and deeperdeeper.

It was midnight, and Seungcheol lay awake, watching you sleep in his arms. His eyes couldn't stop tracing the contours of your face, and his mind couldn't stop grappling with how all of this had happened.

How could he have lost all his memories of you after the car accident two years ago? Why did he have to find out about this now and not earlier?

You moved in your sleep, your eyes fluttering open. He kissed your forehead as you looked at him and smiled. A wave of guilt washed over him as he realized that, even after spending the night with you in your shared room, he still couldn't remember anything.

"Hey," you whispered, your voice soft and sleepy. "Can't sleep?"

He sighed, his fingers gently brushing through your hair. "I'm sorry, Y/n. I want to remember. I really do. But everything still feels like a blank slate."

You reached up to cup his cheek, your touch tender and reassuring. "It's okay, Seungcheol. I know it's not your fault."

"But it feels wrong," he admitted, his voice tinged with frustration. "I should remember us, our past, everything we've been through. And yet, it's like trying to grasp at smoke."

You shifted closer, your warmth a small comfort against the cold uncertainty that plagued him. "We'll figure it out together. One step at a time."

Seungcheol nodded, though the guilt remained. He wanted to hold on to the hope you offered, to believe that somehow, they could rebuild what was lost. But for now, he could only focus on the present, on the feel of you in his arms, and the love that still lingered between you, even if the memories did not.

"Do you remember the car accident?" you asked him in a whisper. Seungcheol shook his head. "I only remember waking up after days."

You nodded, understanding. "I still remember it," you suddenly said, stopping Seungcheol's breath.

"You... you were there? You were also there?" he asked, and you nodded. Your hand ran from his forehead to his temple and down to his neck, as if you were painting something on him.

"We were bleeding. You were bleeding. There was so much blood, and you were unconscious. I remember I couldn't move. I just watched you bleeding after a truck collided with our car."

Seungcheol watched you close your eyes, suffering from the memory. He held you closer, whispering that he was okay now and that he was with you.

"It happened after the company anniversary, which was also our anniversary. We argued while you were driving. I still remember that before we started the car, I refused to wear my seatbelt, but you put it on for me. I could have died that night."

Seungcheol listened intently as you recounted everything you remembered about the accident two years ago. Your anniversary, which was also the company anniversary, and the number combination you used for your door passcode. The grip of your hand on the sheets around you two was powerful, as if you regretted surviving or still had the memory buried deep inside.

"What were we arguing about?" Seungcheol asked.

You shook your head. "I don't want to tell you. It kept us apart for two years."

Seungcheol's hand went to your back, rubbing it softly as he assured you that knowing might help him remember. "Please, it might help me."

"You found out that I had helped you secure company investors and clients through my father," you finally said.

Seungcheol's expression softened as he absorbed the information. "And that upset me?"

You nodded. "You felt it undermined your efforts and achievements. You were angry that I had intervened without telling you."

Seungcheol sighed, the pieces slowly coming together. "I see... I'm sorry. I must have hurt you a lot."

You shook your head, tears welling up in your eyes. "No, Seungcheol, I was the one who was wrong. I must have hurt you so much while we were together that you forgot everything about me. I've spent these two years reflecting on our relationship, on all the mistakes I made."

He opened his mouth to protest, but you continued, your voice trembling. "I intervened because I thought I was helping, but I didn't consider how it would make you feel. I was too focused on my own way of supporting you. And that wasn't fair to you."

Seungcheol's grip on you tightened, but he remained silent, letting you speak.

"I've thought about all the times I might have hurt you, all the ways I could have been better. And I've wondered if maybe I deserved to be forgotten," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. "Maybe losing your memory of me was a way for you to start over without the pain I caused you."

Seungcheol shook his head vehemently. "No, Y/n, don't say that. It wasn't your fault. It was an accident. You didn't deserve any of this."

"But it happened," you said, your eyes searching his. "And now, here we are, trying to piece together something that was shattered. I just want you to know that I'm sorry for everything. For not being the partner you needed me to be."

He cupped your face in his hands, wiping away your tears with his thumbs. "We both made mistakes. But we have a chance now to learn from them, to grow together. I don't want to lose you again."

You nodded, your heart aching with a mix of sorrow and hope. "I don't want to lose you either."

Seungcheol kissed your forehead, his lips lingering there as he whispered, "Let me take care of everything from now on."

Mingyu visited you at the hospital, his expression weighted with guilt as he confessed that he had spilled everything to Seungcheol the day before—your relationship, engagement, and even the life plans that had been erased from Seungcheol's memory.

You looked at Mingyu, panic rising in your chest. "Mingyu, you shouldn't have told him everything."

He hesitated, his eyes conflicted. "I thought he needed to know the truth, Y/n. He deserves to remember."

Tears welled up in your eyes. "You can't tell him... You can't tell him about us planning to get married because I was pregnant. And... and that we lost the baby in the accident."

Mingyu's expression softened with understanding. "Why? Why keep that from him? He has a right to know."

Taking a deep breath, you tried to steady yourself. "Because I love him, Mingyu. I love him so much that I don't want him to carry that guilt. He's already lost his memory of us. I don't want him to blame himself for something he couldn't control."

Mingyu nodded slowly, torn between respecting your wishes and wanting Seungcheol to have the complete truth. "But Y/n..."

"No, Mingyu," you interrupted firmly, wiping away tears. "Promise me you won't tell him about the baby. Let him live his life without that burden."

Mingyu sighed heavily, his shoulders slumping in resignation. "Okay, I promise. I won't say anything about the baby."

You exhaled in relief, grateful that Mingyu understood your decision, even if it weighed heavily on him. "Thank you, Mingyu."

He gave you a sad smile. "I just want what's best for both of you, Y/n. Seungcheol deserves to be happy."

"And he will be," you whispered, though your heart ached with the weight of the secrets you carried. "He will be."

#seventeen fanfic #seventeen imagines #seventeen angst #densworld🌼#seventeen scenarios #seventeen series #seventeen drabbles #seventeen fanfiction #seventeen imagine #mingyu imagines #scoups fluff #scoups imagine #scoups smut #scoups imagines #seungcheol x reader #seungcheol fanfic #seungcheol imagines

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doritochoi · 4 months ago

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Ex-Husband Encounter | C.S

pairing: fem!reader x ex-husband!san

genre: smut

warning: public sex, unprotected sex, sexual tension, blowjob, hard fuck, eating cum? ( kinda idk)

word count: 3,7k

tags: @roguehongsami ( you can message me if you want to me tagged in my post!)

You feel your heart pounding in your chest as you walk into his office and see the shocking scene before you. "S-san?" you manage to stutter, feeling a sharp pain shoot through your chest. Your husband, with whom you dreamed of spending the rest of your life in happiness, is sitting on a chair, and one of his employees is sitting on his lap, kissing him with a passion that takes your breath away. You are destroyed. You just wanted to be a good wife, bring him lunch like every day, and now you feel like everything is falling apart around you. Your lunch tray dropped on the floor, the plates are broken into a thousand pieces, the crumbs are scattered on the floor, but to you it is only a mute decoration in front of your pain. Inside, a storm of feelings floods your mind and soul - sadness, anger, helplessness. You can't take your eyes off them, the image that tears your heart to pieces. You feel betrayed, abandoned, and at the same time you are tormented by questions that hurt more than anything else. Why? How could you not see? You try to keep your composure, not to collapse in front of them, but you feel tears fill your eyes and your voice is choked with pain. You immediately walk out the door, heartbroken, getting into the car not caring if he calls you. You need distance, space, time to collect your thoughts and understand what you are going to do. You're too hurt to go back, too confused to listen to excuses or explanations. All you want now is to run away from the unbearable pain.

You arrived home sad and angry. Even if you didn't want to do that, you couldn't stay with San anymore. You wanted to wait for him to come home, to discuss, to solve what happened, but your mind stopped thinking. So you went to your shared bedroom. When you got there, you sat on the bed and started to cry, not knowing what to do. The tears flowed even more, making your eyes red and swollen. Looking up, you saw on a small table next to the bed a picture of you and San from the wedding. Looking at the photo, you felt memories begin to flood your mind. The moment was captured into your memory, and every detail came alive again in front of your eyes. You saw San's smile again, the tenderness in his gestures, and you went back in time, reliving the moments of happiness you spent together. The picture was one of your favorites, San holding you by your tiny waist, giving you a sweet kiss on the cheek. While you stared at the photo, a surge of rage and betrayal washed over you. In a fit of anger, you grabbed it and threw it to the ground, listening to the sound of it shattering into pieces. You couldn't tear your eyes away from the broken fragments, feeling a bitter satisfaction in the act. It was a release, a way to express the pain and anger consuming you. You packed your bags, not caring whether San would see all your belongings gathered when he came. You blocked him everywhere so he couldn't find you, and you left, tears streaming down your face as you looked back at the house where you two had shared happy moments.

It has been four years since that incident, and you haven't heard from San since. In truth, you hear about him almost every day, as he is now the richest man around with countless business ventures. He's everywhere, but you’ve tried to ignore everything that happened to avoid feeling lonely. Your best friend, Nayeon, has been a rock, helping you get through it all. She has always been by your side, and with her support, you have become a fairly popular model after a long period of healing and rebuilding your life. You’ve graced the covers of several fashion magazines, walked on runways in major fashion capitals like Paris and Milan, and built a strong social media presence. Your style is admired, your confidence radiates through every photoshoot, and your fanbase grows daily. Today was an important day. You were walking the runway in Sardinia, Italy for the Dolce & Gabbana fashion show. It was a beautiful, long-awaited dream come true. Nayeon was there beside you, helping you into your dress. It was a stunning black gown with a daring cutout at the back, accentuating your figure perfectly. The dress was exquisite, made of the finest silk that flowed gracefully with every movement. The cutout at the back revealed just enough skin to be alluring without being too revealing, perfectly balancing between chic and sensual. As Nayeon adjusted the final touches, she smiled at you, her eyes filled with pride and excitement. "You look breathtaking," she said, her voice filled with genuine admiration. You turned to look at her, feeling a wave of gratitude wash over you. "I couldn't have done any of this without you, Nayeon. Thank you for always being there.", she squeezed your hand gently. "That's what best friends are for. Now go out there and show them what you're made of."

As you stepped onto the runway, the lights blazed down, illuminating the room and the captivated audience. The black gown flowed elegantly with every step you took, the back cutout adding a touch of allure that drew gasps of admiration from the crowd. While you walked, a figure in the audience caught your eye. Instantly, the smile on your face vanished as you saw your ex-husband San in the crowd. He wore an exceptional white suit, making him easy to recognize, almost glowing amidst the sea of spectators. His hair was perfectly styled, and his piercing gaze, those fox-like eyes, made you freeze. He looked directly at you, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your heart skip a beat. You tried to maintain your composure, reminding yourself to focus on the walk. Every step felt heavier, the weight of his presence pressing down on you. "Keep it together," you whispered to yourself. "Just a few more steps." San's gaze never wavered, his expression unreadable, and it took all your strength to pretend you hadn't noticed him. You felt a swirl of emotions—anger, hurt, confusion—threatening to break through your composed exterior. But this was your moment, and you were determined not to let his presence overshadow it.

Finally reaching the end of the runway, you posed, turning with practiced grace, and began your walk back. You kept your chin up, eyes forward, channeling every ounce of professionalism. Nayeon's encouraging smile flashed in your mind, giving you the final push you needed to finish the show with the same elegance and confidence with which you had started. Backstage, as the applause echoed from the runway, you took a deep breath, your heart still racing from the unexpected encounter. Nayeon rushed to your side, sensing something was off. "Are you okay?" she asked, concern etched in her features. "I... I saw San," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. Her eyes widened in surprise. "What? Where?" "In the audience," you said, glancing back towards the runway. "He was watching me the whole time." You tried to discreetly wipe away your tears, not wanting everyone to see you cry. After a while, when everything had finally wrapped up, you and the team started preparing for the after-party to celebrate the successful show. Your mind wasn't fully present; you were acutely aware that San would be there. You all headed to the most luxurious and opulent restaurant nearby, a sight of pure elegance and sophistication. The exterior was adorned with intricate architecture, lit by soft, ambient lighting that gave it a warm, inviting glow. As you stepped inside, a gracious hostess greeted you, leading your group to a large, round table elegantly set for the occasion. The table was adorned with elegant place settings, sparkling crystal glasses, and a centerpiece of fresh flowers that added a touch of natural beauty to the luxurious setting. Despite the stunning surroundings, your thoughts remained clouded. You tried to engage in the celebration, but the anticipation of seeing San again kept you on edge. The laughter and conversations of your colleagues seemed distant, almost as if they were happening in another world. You noticed that right next to you was the only empty seat at the table, and your eyes were immediately drawn to a prominent name card that read "Choi San". Your heart skipped a beat, realizing the possibility of sitting right next to him. Taking a deep breath, a mix of anticipation washed over you. Was it mere coincidence or a subtle intention from the hosts? As you carefully placed your clutch on the seat, you felt the curious glances from other guests intensify, adding to the pressure of the moment. You took another deep breath, the air thick with anticipation, and when you opened your eyes, there it was—a hand you recognized instantly by its touch, its grip, adorned with rings that spoke of refinement. San had just settled into the seat next to you. He exuded an intoxicating scent, and as he leaned in slightly, you noticed the impeccable tailoring of his suit, revealing a hint of his well-toned chest underneath. "Apologies for being late," he murmured with a respectful nod, his smile bringing back every memory you had of him.

Throughout the dinner, tension built between you and San. You felt his gaze on you constantly, and every accidental touch sent a shiver down your spine. It became overwhelming, and you knew you needed a moment to collect yourself. "Excuse me," you said, standing abruptly. All eyes turned to you as you walked away from the table, your cheeks burning. You hurried to the bathroom, closing the door behind you and taking a deep breath. You splashed water on your face, trying to calm your racing heart. After a few moments, you felt composed enough to return to the table. Just as you opened the door, you walked straight into a solid chest. You looked up, knowing instantly who it was. San. You froze, your eyes meeting his stunning gaze. You wanted to move, to walk away, but his hand caught yours, pulling you back. "San, I need to go," you whispered, but he didn’t let go. Instead, he gently pushed you against the wall, his body close to yours, creating an electrifying closeness. "Not yet," he murmured, his voice low and filled with need. His eyes burned into yours, and you felt the tension between you. Your breath hitched as you felt the warmth of his body against yours. His hand moved to your waist, holding you firmly in place. You could feel the heat radiating from him, making your pulse quicken. Your gaze remains fixed downward, avoiding his mesmerizing eyes, But San cups your chin with his hand, gently lifting your face to meet his intense stare. "What do you want?" you ask, your voice trembling. His eyes burn into yours, filled with a mix of desire and determination. As you try to pull away, his grip tightens, holding you in place. "Stop struggling. I'm not letting you go," he says, his voice low and husky, filled with a dangerous edge that sends a shiver down your spine. "What do you want from me?" you ask, your voice a whisper, laden with both fear and excitement.

Without another word, San pushes you back into the bathroom, the door closing with a decisive click behind you. Your back hits the cool tile wall, the contrast with his heated body making you gasp. His hands are on you again, sliding down your arms, gripping your waist, pressing you firmly against the wall. "I want you," he growls, his voice rough with need. "Every inch of you." San's lips crash against yours with a hunger that takes your breath away. He kisses you fiercely, his tongue exploring your mouth as his hands roam your body. His touch is demanding, possessive, and it ignites a fire inside you that you've tried to suppress for so long. He moves his mouth to your neck, kissing and nipping at the sensitive skin, leaving visible marks. His hands slide up your sides, cupping your breasts through the fabric of your dress. "God, I've missed these," he growls, his voice thick with desire. You can feel his cock pressing against you, hard and insistent. He pulls the dress down, exposing your breasts to his hungry gaze. His mouth descends, sucking on your nipple while his hand kneads the other, making you moan with pleasure. "San," you gasp, your fingers tangling in his hair as he devours you. "Don't stop." He bites down gently on your nipple, making you cry out. "I won't," he promises, his voice a low growl. He switches to the other breast, giving it the same attention, his tongue swirling around the hardened peak before sucking it into his mouth. His free hand moves down, lifting your dress higher until it's bunched around your waist. He slips his fingers under your panties, finding you wet and ready for him. "Fuck, you're so wet for me," he groans, sliding a finger inside you and making you arch against him. "Please," you beg, needing more. San grins against your skin, adding another finger and thrusting them in and out of you. His thumb circles your clit, sending waves of pleasure through your body. "You like that, baby?" he murmurs, his breath hot against your ear. "Yes," you moan, your hips moving against his hand. "More, San, please." He withdraws his fingers, leaving you aching and desperate for him. He grabs your hips, lifting you up and pressing you against the wall. "I need to be inside you," he says, his voice rough with need.

You wrap your legs around his waist, feeling the tip of his cock at your entrance. He pushes inside you in one hard thrust, filling you completely. The sensation is overwhelming, and you cry out, clutching at his shoulders as he begins to move. San fucks you with a desperate intensity, each thrust harder than the last. His hands grip your ass, pulling you closer as he drives into you. "God, you feel so good," he groans, his pace relentless. You can barely breathe, the pleasure building to an almost unbearable level. "San, I'm gonna—" , "Come for me," he demands, his voice harsh and urgent. The words push you over the edge, your orgasm crashing through you with a force that leaves you trembling. San follows moments later, his release spilling inside you as he groans your name.

For a moment, the world stops, the only sound your ragged breaths mingling together. San lowers you back to the ground, his arms still wrapped around you as you both come down from the high. When he finally pulls away, his eyes are filled with a mixture of satisfaction and something deeper. "This isn't over," he says softly, brushing a strand of hair from your face. "I meant what I said. I want you. Every inch of you." You nod, your heart still racing. "We'll see," you whisper, knowing that despite everything, a part of you wants him just as much. San’s eyes darken with a renewed hunger, and he gives you a wicked grin. “On your knees, now,” he commands, his voice low and authoritative. A shiver of anticipation runs down your spine as you drop to your knees in front of him. His erection is right in front of your face, and you can see the desire in his eyes as he looks down at you. You wrap your hand around the base of his shaft, feeling its heat and hardness. You begin by kissing the tip, your tongue darting out to taste him. San inhales sharply, his hands tangling in your hair as you take him into your mouth. “Fuck, that’s it,” he groans, his grip tightening as you start to move. You take him deeper, your lips and tongue working in tandem to pleasure him. You hollow your cheeks, creating a suction that makes him curse under his breath. Your other hand moves to cup his balls, gently massaging them as you bob your head up and down his length. San’s breathing becomes ragged, his hips thrusting slightly as he struggles to control himself. “You’re so good at this,” he growls, his voice strained with pleasure. You look up at him through your lashes, meeting his intense gaze as you take him even deeper, pushing yourself to your limits. The sounds he makes, the way he tenses under your touch, spur you on. You increase your pace, taking him in as far as you can before pulling back and swirling your tongue around the head. “Just like that,” he moans, his eyes closing briefly as he loses himself in the sensation. You can feel him getting closer, his body tensing, his grip on your hair almost painful. With one last, deep thrust, he comes, his release filling your mouth. You swallow it all, not letting a drop escape, your eyes locked on his as he rides out his orgasm. When he finally opens his eyes, there’s a look of deep satisfaction mixed with something more. He pulls you up to your feet, kissing you hard, tasting himself on your lips. “Love, I missed you,” he whispers against your mouth, his hands still holding you close. You can’t deny the electric connection between you, the intense chemistry that still burns so bright. “I missed you too,”.

You both quickly dress, but as you look at your reflection in the mirror, you realize just how disheveled you are. Your hair is a mess, your clothes are wrinkled, and your makeup is smudged. San doesn't look much better; his suit is rumpled, and his hair is tousled in a way that screams what you've just done. As you step out of the bathroom, the hallway feels like it's a mile long. Just as you turn the corner, you run straight into Nayeon. Her eyes widen as she takes in your appearance, then flicks over to San. The realization dawns on her face, and she crosses her arms, looking between the two of you with an incredulous expression. “Really? Here? Now?” Nayeon exclaims, her voice a mix of shock and disbelief. You blush furiously, trying to smooth down your dress. “It just… happened,” you mumble, avoiding her piercing gaze. San, trying to regain his composure, clears his throat. “Nayeon, it’s not what it looks like,” he starts, but Nayeon cuts him off with a sharp look. “Oh, it’s exactly what it looks like,” she snaps, her eyes narrowing at San before turning back to you. “And you? After everything, you just let this happen?” You take a deep breath, feeling the weight of her disappointment. “It’s complicated, Nayeon. We were just talking and then…” Nayeon throws her hands up in the air, clearly frustrated. “Talking? Really? Because it sure doesn’t look like you two were just talking.” San steps forward, his expression earnest. “Look, I know it looks bad, but this is between me and her. We need to figure this out ourselves.” Nayeon’s eyes soften slightly, but she still looks skeptical. “Fine. But you,” she points at you, “better think long and hard about what you’re doing. And you,” she turns to San, “don’t you dare hurt her again.” San nods solemnly. “I won’t,” he promises, his voice firm. Nayeon shakes her head, sighing deeply. “I hope not, for both your sakes.” She turns on her heel and walks away, leaving you standing there with San, the weight of the situation settling heavily on your shoulders. You know Nayeon is right; there are a lot of things to consider, and this isn’t something that can be resolved easily. San looks at you, his eyes filled with a mix of hope and determination. “We’ll figure this out,” he says softly. You nod, but inside, you’re not so sure. There’s a lot to unpack, a lot to discuss, and it’s going to take time. But for now, all you can do is take it one step at a time.

#ateez scenarios #ateez #ateez x reader #ateez imagine #ateez smut #san ateez #san x reader #san ff #san smut #ateez san

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 8 days ago

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Work-Life Balance

Inspired by this post; in the same universe as this and this and this

Warnings: non/dubcon, forced proximity, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Clark Kent

Summary: a simple car pool leads to a compicated situation.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

A haze of chatter buzzes behind your monitor. You do your best to tune it out as your fingertips skitter over your keyboard. For many, the day has been a wash, but you’re doing your best to square everything before the weekend. With the prospect of one less employee, you’ll need all the help you can get.

“Hey,” a deep voice rolls through the drone, “you coming?”

You keep typing, trying not to eaves drop. You tap the arrow keys, reviewing the column of numbers.

“Hey, I’m talking to you,” they say firmer, tapping on the corner of your desk.

As if zapped, you recoil from your keyboard and sit back in your chair. You look at Clark as he smiles down at you, his expression much less demanding than his tone. You give a sheepish smile, or something halfway there.

“Sorry, I was...”

“I interrupted, I should apologise,” he insists, “Drea’s farewell party, you going? We’re just about to head out.”

“Um...” you don’t have an answer. It’s optional but you should go. You’ve been working with Drea for two years. You get along. Still, she’s leaving in the midst of busy season and won’t be there on Monday to help you catch up. “I...”

“Come on. You look stressed. You could use a break,” he says. “The Grill has cocktails, so I hear.”

“Well...” you twiddle your fingers against the armrests. “I guess I should.”

“It’ll be good,” he grins. The cleft in his chin deepens and his eyes crinkle, sparkling like blue ice. “I’ll let Gil known you need a seat. We should have some room. Meeting down in the lobby in ten.”

“Oh, ten...” you look at the screen, “sure, I’ll be there.”

“Great,” he backs up.

He walks away and you roll closer to your desk again. Clark is friendly. You don’t know much about him but he always says hello in the break room or holds the door if you get to work at the same time. Mostly, you just overhear him talking with others. He is somehow anywhere and everywhere.

Your focus is fractured. You do your best to get back to your task but can’t help but check the clock every thirty seconds. Somehow, you’re still late. You save your work and shut down, scrambling out as the new silence of the office sets in.

You swipe up your bag and scurry between the desks. The elevator door closes before you reach it. You’ll wait for the next or... You take the stairs. It’s only a few flights but you’ve been sitting all day. Your legs are stiff as you get to the bottom.

You come out in the lobby. Your coworkers are on their way to the front door, garbling even louder than they had upstairs. You hesitate, wondering if you could just sneak back up. Would anyone notice?

Your name splinters the thought. Clark waves at you and stops to wait as the others continue through the door. Right, you’ve been spotted. You flutter your fingers at him and cross the lobby. He holds the door as he always does.

You pass through ahead of him, “thanks.”

“Don’t worry, we didn’t forget you,” he assures as he follows. “Gil’s driving us,” he points across the lot.

“Right, awesome.”

You get to the grey minivan as the doors slide back. Several other groups cluster around other vehicles in their assigned car pools. You wait patiently with Clark as your coworkers claim their seats.

“Oh,” Gil stands by the driver door, “think we’re outta seats.”

You and Clark stand staring at one seat. You cringe. Of course.

“It’s okay. I can get an uber or check with...”

Sandra’s white SUV backs out and Don’s Honda is too small for much more than a few. You turn back, “I can find my own way.”

“We can squeeze in,” Clark says, “what is it? A ten-minute trip?”

“Something like that,” Gil agrees.

“Here,” Clark gets in the seat, “I’m bigger, just hop on.”

“Just don’t be obvious about it, I don’t need a ticket.”

Gil gets in the front as Clark climbs into the back seat. The others are too distracted chatting about some sports game to pay any heed. You stare at him. He's big man; wide shoulders, tall, the very definition of burly.

“Come on, it’ll be quick,” he fixes his glasses.

“Erm,” you swallow. How awkward. Still, you don’t want to make a big deal. You already feel like a leftover.

You get in and squeeze into the tight space between the seats. He pulls the door shut, his knees pressing into your legs, and you fall onto his lap. You let out an oof and feel around for something to steady yourself.

You grab onto his forearm unwittingly, “sorry, I...”

“All good,” he shifts under you, “comfortable?”

“Um, I guess,” you put your hand up to brace the ceiling.

“Let’s go,” Carrie demands from the backseat. “I need a martini.”

The van reverses then swerves around. You jostle on Clark’s lap, squeaking at the bounce of the axle. The well-worn minivan has been through it.

As Gil turns out of the lot, you grab onto the door to keep from sliding. Clark hooks his arm around you to keep you still. You shudder and try to adjust yourself, only pressing more firmly in his lap.

You apologise again.

“It’s fine,” he chuckles. “So, you got a lot of work?”

“Um, sure,” you’re happy he’s at least trying to break the tension. “Without Drea, things are going to be, er, tight.”

A pot hole bounces you and makes him grunt. Heat creeps up from your thighs and encases your torso. It’s even more awkward than you could expect. You didn’t have time to think this through.

“Yeah, I can imagine but I’m sure they’ll fill her spot soon,” he assures.

“Maybe,” you agree thinly.

Another jolt. The city really needs to work on the roads. You hold onto the door as Clark’s arm tightens around you. He groans with the motion of the car. You crane to see around the driver seat. You gotta be getting close.

“Well...” his voice is strained. Are you too heavy? “You know, there’s lots of people who can help out.”

As the van passes over the lip of the parking lot, something pokes into you from below. You gulp and latch onto the seat in front of you. It can’t be. Clark pulls his arm back and spreads his large hand over your stomach. His other hand pushes down on your thigh. You feel him twitch under you and the prodding is more obvious.

“Yeah, we’ll figure it out,” you squeak.

Gil finally finds a spot but there’s no relief to be had. You’re pretty sure you know what’s poking into you and you don’t want to embarrass your coworker. As the van stops, you twist in his lap, unintentionally grinding into him.

You grab onto the door, fighting to pull it back, only managing to rock against Clark as you struggle. He lets out a long breath and reaches over to help you. His other hand trails around your back and nudges you out slowly.

You eagerly hop out ahead of him. He groans and takes his time. You don’t look back, instead focusing on the restaurant marquee. The other laugh again as some joke you didn’t catch. Gil is on his phone as he gets out.

“I’ll follow, wife’s calling,” he gestures you with a flick of his fingers.

“Come on,” Clark gets out and closes the door. “I’m starving.”

You walk up next to him, following the rest of the group. Another bunch of your coworkers reach the door ahead of them. Clark clears his throat and your gaze is drawn to him as he tugs at his belt. How horrifying. Hopefully, you can find a seat away from him or the elephant in the room will be standing right on your chest.

You hurry ahead to catch the door behind your coworkers. Clark grabs it past your head and stays close. You approach the reserved table but find most of it is already claimed. There’s a space at the end of the bench.

You go down and sidle beside the table. Clark takes your lead again. The bench spans the wall and you’re penned into the corner as he sits beside you. He leans one arm on the table as he looks down at the menu. You lean forward to do the same. It’s a good distraction. If neither of you mention what happened, then you’ll get through this.

“What’re you thinking?” Clark asks.

“Huh?” You look at him, startled.

“What’re you going to get?” He taps the menu, “some interesting stuff.

“Oh, I’m still looking,” you say.

You put your head down and drag a finger over the options. As you do, you feel a tickle along the side of your skirt. You wrestle between the pad thai and the salmon salad as the sensation creeps over your thigh.

You tense as warmth spreads over your thigh. You lean back and look down, realising that Clark’s hand is on your leg. He kneads your thigh as he stays perfectly unaffected above the table. He leans on his elbow and sucks his teeth.

“Pasta sounds good but it feels too early for that,” he muses.

What do you do? You look around. No one else has any clue. You’re too self-conscious to say anything. He could just move his hand and say you’re lying. Then what? Besides, you were sitting on his lap a few moments ago. What would they think?

Clark’s leg moves wide and presses against yours as he hums, “you know, I just can’t figure out what exactly I’m craving,” his hand trails down to the hem of your skirt. “But I am starving.”

#clark kent #dark clark kent #dark!clark kent #clark kent x reader #drabble #superman #dcu #dc

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hai7ani · 17 days ago

Text

a sequel (kind of) to Stay

you see Ran again for the first time in 10 years after he left home.

it's a Wednesday night in Shinjuku, when you are out shopping for a new scarf and window shopping on some possible presents for Christmas. it's particularly chilly today and the streets are more packed than usual 一 probably because the festive season is coming up (very soon) and people are out shopping just like you.

and then you see him, out the window of Family Mart when you were browsing for some rice balls as a snack. he's still so tall, a lot fitter now, and he's got a new haircut you didn't think he would actually go for, but you still recognise him nonetheless. the mole on his neck close to his Adam's apple and the many rings he still wears on his fingers makes you smile. he still likes to sit cross legged despite your nagging for him to stop from a slip disc many, many years ago.

Nii-chan is still the same.

you grab a bottle of Ayataka off the shelf and a box of chocolate you think works just fine. you ask the employee for a pen and rip a sticky note off the Post-It you like carrying with you.

Ran smells something familiar.

he blows out the smoke from his mouth and puts the cigarette a little further from him to sniff the air a few times. it gets stronger, and then a pair of ballet flats appear in his view on the floor.

"Haitani Ran?"

his world stops spinning.

"it is you!" you grin. "i wasn't sure because of your..." you want to say silly as a tease. "new, haircut."

you catch the way he tries to discreetly put away the cigarette and stomps on it, leaves his foot there to keep anymore smell from spreading, gently fanning the air around to get the smell away. he thinks it's cute that you are trying to talk to him without making it obvious that you know each other very closely, like blood.

you play with your fingers when he doesn't say a thing, but his eyes shift lower, lower, and lower, and then he sees it.

the bump on your belly, and a little girl hiding behind your legs, holding a bunny that drowns him in so much nostalgia the moment he laid eyes on it.

"oh! she's my neighbour's kid. i'm looking after her tonight, her parents aren't around."

he knows it's a lie 一 of course he does, and you know he knows. she shares so much resemblance with you two together. "Mama, don't lie." her tiny voice is muffled with your dress and you panic, trying to laugh it off and stop her from fussing, and he laughs quietly.

you introduce her then. Maya, you say. she is 4, and a very stubborn girl. she likes bunnies and the colour red. she's got a sharp mouth and very into space.

"here," you grab the Ayataka and Meiji from your bag and hand it to him. "please take it. we haven't seen each other in so long, count it as my treat tonight." you smile warmly, the crescents of your eyes making him feel at peace, and he takes it from your hands.

he looks at the box you played with a while ago and finds a piece of paper slipped into it with the chocolate itself.

"it's okay," he makes a motion around you both with his index finger. "he's clear," he nudges his chin to a man sitting in a black, shiny Bentley parked a few metres away, and he is watching all of you intensely. there is another woman sitting in the passenger fixing her lipstick through a Dior pocket mirror. "but thank you."

when you wave goodbye and make little Maya say goodnight, he gets into his car and opens the box of chocolate, fishing for the piece of paper out.

he sees that it's not just a paper, but an ultrasound 一 a foetus at six months old 一 and he flips it to the back.

'For Uncle Ran.'

Rindou is busy washing the dishes when you wrap your arms around his waist unexpectedly.

"what's got you so happy? you sound kinda insane." he asks. oh, right. you've been giggling to yourself ever since he came back home and Maya was begging for her Dad to pick her up in near tears because she thinks Mom is being weird.

"no, it's nothing." you cover your mouth and try to stop yourself from laughing any more. you're still smiling, though. "it's just..."

"i saw Nii-chan today."

he freezes. "really?"

"yeah. and you know what else i saw?" a laugh.

"he cut his hair," you make Rindou face you and show him just how short it was with your own hair, "this short!" another laugh.

"you remember the last time i tried to make him cut his hair? he locked himself in his room the whole day because i picked up a pair of scissors! i was going to open a bag of chips!"

"and, he was in a suit. it looked expensive, and it's purple. he hated wearing suits. i can't believe that man got him to wear one now."

you go on and on laughing about Ran to Rindou, the dishes long forgotten in the sink. the younger listens and laughs with you.

and if you would've taken the time to stop laughing like a maniac and look out the window to your right, you'd see the same Bentley parked right outside your apartment complex with the windows rolled down.

Ran smiles whenever the two of you would laugh.

next to the window of your kitchen is a little girl standing in front of her own. one hand holding a bunny, the other holding her weight as she leans on the glass a little.

and she waves. shows him her bunny and then her snaggle-tooth that she actually hates, but adores now that the purple-haired man who looks a lot like her father shows off his own to her.

"Maya... and Sana," he whispers. "yeah. that's nice."

you've always been a fan of these two names when you were younger, almost having change your government name to one of it out of impulse.

and the car leaves just when little Maya waves goodbye and waddles away.

"Merry Christmas, you three."

#writing #rindou x reader #rindou haitani #ran haitani x reader #ran haitani #tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo revengers

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flowershines · 9 months ago

Note

Do you think you could do the members reactions to his ex (still his fwb) leaving footprints after car sx on his window shield for other girls to see😭 thank you and its okay if not!!

Yess ofc, thank you so much for requesting something. I am a bit confused about it, then again i might just be slow but i will try my best.

warnings: Smut, fluff (if you squint), mentions of sex, fwb! reader, alcohol, lmk if i missed any

Not proof read

Heeseung:

“Don’t be a pussy, fuck me harder.” Looking in the rear view mirror, your moans was the only thing that was running through his head. “Just like that” He couldn’t help but get hard at the sight of your footprint on his window, you had texted him about how you ‘needed a good fuck’ which caused him to cave and pull up to your house, you both couldn’t even make it to the dorms so you pulled over in some random parking lot and hopped into the backseat. He came at you like a starved man, ever since you two broke up he has been having a hard time getting over you. Being with you was the only thing that made him happy, but now that he can’t have that. Being used by you was the best option. “No one’s dick is as good as your- fuck.”

Jay:

“What’s that?” The girl from the bar asked refuting to your footprint that had been left just a millimeter away from the bottom of the window, “It’s nothing, don’t worry about it.” he unlocked the car as the girl sat in the passenger’s side. “Listen I have way more respect for myself than to just be a quick fuck so i’m leaving.” Shutting the door behind her he couldn’t help but stare at the footprint, the way he was deep in your dripping cunt when you made that mark. “Jay, you fuck so good. Better than Heese-.” “Don’t finish that sentence.” Without realizing he started his car and started to drive to your house, he couldn’t live without you. He knows that you aren’t his anymore but that doesn’t mean that he doesn’t love you with every inch of his heart, every time he fucks you he hopes that you notice that spark that you got the first time you made love and get back with him.

Jake:

“S-so close, k-keep fuck-ing me like that.” Your nails dug into his back as your feet rested against the window and he pounded into you harder and harder, “Such a fucking tight cunt.” fucking into you deeper he whispered in your ear “Only I can fuck you this good.” Washing his car those memories of the other night was infused in his veins, he wanted to relive that moment and be with you for the rest of his life. The employee walked over to him, “Need help?” he shook his head at her “No thanks.” she inched closer to the car. “That from your girlfriend?” He knew what she was talking about yet acted clueless causing her to point at your footprint from the inside of the car, he shook his head once more. “Well whoever that was, let’s just say if I was someones fuck buddy I wouldn’t let some guy that didn’t mean anything to me, fuck me in the back of his car.” Her words ran through his head making him not be able to sleep that night, do you still want him like he wants you?

Sunghoon:

Walking to his car his co worker opened the passengers side and sat down, buckling up and waited for him to get in the car. “Thanks again, i really appreciate it.” She thanked him as he replied “Oh it’s nothing, honestly. Where do you live again?” “Just down the road.” she said pointing to the street away from their work. As he started the car she turned to him then out of the corner of her eye saw a smudged footprint, “Watch little kids?” his face was filled with confusion “No? Why?” pointing with her thumb she pointed to it as he looked in the rear view mirror. “Oh, yeah, m-my cousin.” She nodded and looked out the window, “Hoonie, you fuck me so good.” his fingers ran through your hair as he admired your features. Looking at you like you are the princess of his dreams, yet the ‘princess’ is laying down in his back seat being fucked like a slut. “So fucking gorgeous.” Dropping her off she waved at him as he got back onto the main roads, he wanted to just drive straight to your house but knew he couldn’t. He wanted you so bad. Needs you.

Sunoo:

Desperation filled within his body as he teased his tip at your entrance, one of your legs was propped up above his shoulder while you placed the other on the ledge of the window. “S-Sunoo please, nee-d you so bad.” A smirked formed on his lips, “God I love it when you beg for me.” “Hello, earth to Sunoo.” Jake waved his hand in front of his face as the girl in front of him looked confused, “She asked you a question.” he turned towards the girl “Are you single? Because if you are we can have some fun in your car later.” she said winking at him. “He is single.” Jake said as he nudged him, “Bu-” cutting him off she spoke again “Great, give me your phone so th-” he shook his head “I have a girl, see that footprint? It’s from her. You know when i fucked her in my car, plus she is way better looking than some slut begging for dick on the side of a restaurant. Let’s go Jake.” Jake stood there in shock making Sunoo drag him to the passengers side, hopping in he asked “Y/n?” he nodded as he looked down.

Jungwon:

“Fuck Y/n your cunt is dripping.” He said as his fingers ran through your glistening pussy, then brung his fingers up to his youth and tasted your juices. Moaning at the taste he swore he could’ve came just from the taste of your slick on his tongue. He swore at that moment as the memories of last night filled his mind, he could taste your cunt at that moment. He had gone to the bar with the members as their way to cheer him up from the breakup, a girl walked up to them as she placed her hand on Jungwon’s shoulder. Making conversations with them, “I’m gonna head out, just wanna sleep.” as she walked out of the building while following him to his car. “Where are we going?” She asked as they stopped in front of his car “I’m going home.” leaning in closer he could smell the alcohol leaking from her mouth, “Thought we should have some fun.” he shook his head while pointing at your footprint. “This, is from my lovely girlfriend so if you will excuse me.”

#smut #fluff #enha x reader #enhypen smut #heeseung smut #jake smut #jay smut #jungwon smut #sunghoon smut #sunoo smut

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mostlysignssomeportents · 9 months ago

Text

When private equity destroys your hospital

I'm on tour with my new novel The Bezzle! Catch me TOMORROW in PHOENIX (Changing Hands, Feb 29) then Tucson (Mar 9-10), San Francisco (Mar 13), and more!

As someone who writes a lot of fiction about corporate crime, I naturally end up spending a lot of time being angry about corporate crime. It's pretty goddamned enraging. But the fiction writer in me is especially upset at how cartoonishly evil the perps are – routinely doing things that I couldn't ever get away with putting in a novel.

Beyond a doubt, the most cartoonishly evil characters are the private equity looters. And the most cartoonishly evil private equity looters are the ones who get involved in health care.

(Buckle up.)

Writing for The American Prospect, Maureen Tcacik details a national scandal: the collapse of PE-backed hospital chain Steward Health, a company that bought and looted hospitals up and down the country, starving them of everything from heart valves to prescription paper, ripping off suppliers, doctors and nurses, and callously exposing patients to deadly risk:

https://prospect.org/health/2024-02-27-scenes-from-bat-cave-steward-health-florida/

Steward occupies a very special place in the private equity looting cycle. Private equity companies arrange themselves on a continuum of indiscriminate depravity. At the start of the continuum are PE funds that buy productive and useful firms (everything from hospitals to car-washes) using "leveraged buyouts." That means that they borrow money to buy the company and use the company itself as collateral: it's like you getting a bank-loan to buy your neighbor's mortgage out from under them, and using your neighbor's house as collateral for that loan.

Once the buyout is done, the PE fund pays itself a "special dividend" (stealing money the business needs to survive) and then starts charging the business a "management fee" for the PE fund's expertise. To pay for all this, the PE bosses start to hack away at the company. Quality declines. So do wages. Prices go up. The company changes suppliers, opting for cheaper alternatives, often stiffing the old company. There are mass layoffs. The remaining employees end up doing three peoples' jobs, for lower wages, with fewer materials of lower quality.

Eventually, that top-feeding PE company finds a more desperate, more ham-fisted PE company to unload the business onto. That middle-feeding company also does a leveraged buyout, pays itself another special dividend, cuts wages, staffing and quality even further. They switch to even worse suppliers and stiff the last batch. Prices go up even higher.

Then – you guessed it – the middle-feeding PE company finds an even more awful PE bottom-feeder to unload the company onto. That bottom feeder does it all again, without even pretending to leave the business in condition to do its job. The company is a shambling zombie at this point, often producing literal garbage in place of the products that made its reputation. Employees' paychecks bounce, or don't show up at all. The company stops bothering to pay the lawyers that have been fending off its creditors. Those lawyers sue the company, too.

That's the kind of PE company Steward Health was, and, as the name suggests, Steward Health is in the business of stripping away the very last residue of value from community hospitals. As you might imagine, this gets pretty fucking ugly.

Steward owns 32 hospitals up and down the country, though its holdings are dwindling as the company walks away from its debt-burdened holdings, after years of neglect that have rendered them unfit for use as health facilities – or for any other purpose. Tcacik's piece offers a snapshot of one such hospital: Florida's Rockledge Regional Medical Center, just eight miles from Cape Canaveral.

Rockledge is a disaster. The fifth floor was, at one point, home to 5,000 bats.

Five.

Thousand.

Bats.

(Rockledge stiffed the exterminators.)

The bats were just the beginning. One of the internal sewage pipes ruptured. Whole sections of the hospital were literally full of shit, oozing out of the walls and ceiling, slopping over medical equipment.

That's an urgent situation for any hospital, but for Rockledge, it's catastrophic, because Rockledge is a hospital without any hospital supplies. Steward has stiffed the companies that supply "heart valves, urology lasers, Impella catheters, cardiac catheterization balloons, slings for lifting heavier patients, blood and urine test reagents, and most recently, prescription paper." Key medical equipment has been repossessed. So have the Pepsi machines. The hospital cafeteria had its supply of cold cuts repossessed:

https://www.reddit.com/r/massachusetts/comments/1agc1j4/comment/kolicqo/

It's not just Steward's nonpayments that reek of impending doom. Its payments also bear the hallmarks of a scam artist on the brink of blowing off the con. The company recently paid off a vendor with five separate checks for $1m, each drawn on "a random hospital in Utah" (Steward recently walked away from its Utah hospitals; its partners there are suing it for stealing $18m on their way out the door).

This company – which owns 32 hospitals! – has resorted to gambits like sending photos of fake checks to doctors it hasn't paid in months as "proof" that the money was coming (the checks arrived 22 days later).

Steward owes so much money to its employees – $1.66m to just one doctors' group. But the medical staff keep doing their jobs, and are reluctant to speak on the record, thanks to Steward's reputation for vicious retaliation. Those health workers keep showing up to take care of patients, even as the hospital crumbles around them. One clinician told Tcacik: "I watched a bed collapse underneath a [patient] who had just undergone hip surgery."

Rockledge has nine elevators, but only five of them work – the other four have been broken for a year. The hospital's fourth floor has been converted to "a graveyard of broken beds." The sinks are clogged, or filled with foul gunk. There's black mold. Nurses have noted on the maintenance tags that the repair service refuses to attend the hospital until their overdue bills are paid. The fifteen-person on-site maintenance team was cut to just two workers.

Steward is just the latest looting owner of Rockledge. After the Great Financial Crisis, private equity consultants helped sell it to Health Management Associates. The hospital's CEO took home a $10m bonus for that sale and exited; Health Management Associates then quickly became embroiled in a Medicare fraud and kickback scandal. Soon after, Rockledge was passed on to Community Health Systems, who then sold it on to Rockledge.

Steward, meanwhile, was at that time owned by an even bigger private equity giant, Cerberus, which then sold Steward off. That deal was performatively complex and hid all kinds of mischief. Prior to Cerberus's sell-off of Steward, they sold off Steward's real-estate. The buyer was Medical Properties Trust, who gave Cerberus $1.25b for the real-estate: three hospitals in Florida and three more in Ohio. Steward then contracted to operate these hospitals on MPT's behalf, and pay MPT rent for the real-estate.

This complex arrangement was key to siphoning value out of the hospital and to keeping angry creditors at bay – if you can't figure out who owes you money, it's a lot harder to collect on the debt. The scheme was masterminded by Steward founder/CEO Ralph de la Torre. De la Torre is notorious for taking a massive dividend out of the company while it owed $1.4b to its creditors. He bought a $40m yacht with the money.

De la Torre was once feted as a business genius who would "disrupt" healthcare. But as Steward's private jet hops around "Corfu, Santorini, St. Maarten and Antigua" as its hospitals literally crumble, he's becoming less popular. In Massachusetts, politicians have railed against Steward and de la Torre (Governor Healey wants the company to leave the state "as soon as possible").

Florida, by contrast, is much more friendly to Steward. The state Health and Human Services Committee chair Randy Fine is an ardent admirer of hospital privatization and is currently campaigning to sell off the last community hospital in Brevard County. The state inspectors are likewise remarkably tolerant of Steward's little peccadillos. The quasi-governmental agency that inspects hospitals has awarded this shit-and-bat-filled, elevator-free, understaffed rotting hulk "A" grades for quality.

These inspectors jointly represent a mismatched assortment of private and public agencies, dominated by a nonprofit called Leapfrog, the brainchild of Harvard public-health prof Lucian Leape, who founded it in 2000. Leapfrog likes to tout its "transparent" assessment criteria, and Steward are experts at hitting those criteria, spending the exact minimum to tick every box that Leapfrog inspectors use as proxies for overall quality and safety.

This is a pretty great example of Goodhart's Law: "every measurement eventually becomes a target, whereupon it ceases to be a good measurement":

https://xkcd.com/2899/

But despite Steward's increasingly furious creditors and its decaying facilities, the company remains bullish on its ability to continue operations. Medical Properties Trust – the real estate investment trust that is nominally a separate company from Steward – recently hosted a conference call to reassure Wall Street investors that it would be a going concern. When a Bank of America analyst asked MPT's CFO how this could possibly be, given the facility's dire condition and Steward's degraded state, the CFO blithely assured him that the company would get bailouts: "We own hospitals no one wants to see closed."

That's the thing about PE and health-care. The looters who buy out every health-care facility in a region understand that this makes them too big to fail: no matter how dangerous the companies they drain become, local governments will continue to prop them up. Look at dialysis, a market that's been cornered by private equity rollups. Today, if you need this lifesaving therapy, there's a good chance that every accessible facility is owned by a private equity fund that has fired all its qualified staff and ceased sterilizing its needles. Otherwise healthy people who visit these clinics sometimes die due to operator error. But they chug along, because no dialysis clinics is worse that "dialysis clinics where unqualified sadists sometimes kill you with dirty needles":

https://www.thebignewsletter.com/p/the-dirty-business-of-clean-blood

The bad news is that private equity has thoroughly colonized the entire medical system. They took hospitals, fired the doctors, then took over the doctors' groups that provided outsource staff to the hospital:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/04/04/a-mind-forever-voyaging/#prop-bets

It's illegal for private equity companies to own doctors' practices (doctors have to own these), but they obfuscated the crime with a paper-thin pretext that they got away with despite its obvious bullshittery:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/05/21/profitable-butchers/#looted

The financier who decides whether you live or die depends on an algorithm that literally sets a tolerable level of preventable deaths for the patients trapped in the practice:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/08/05/any-metric-becomes-a-target/#hca

Private equity also took over emergency rooms and boobytrapped them with "surprise billing" – junk fees that ran to thousands of dollars that you had to pay even if the hospital was in network with your insurer. They made billions from this, and spent a many millions from that booty keeping the scam alive with scare ads:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/04/21/all-in-it-together/#doctor-patient-unity

The whole health stack is colonized by private equity-backed monopolies. Even your hospital bed!

https://pluralistic.net/2022/01/05/hillrom/#baxter-international

Then there's residential care. Private equity cornered many regional markets on nursing homes and turned them into slaughterhouses, places where you go to die, not live:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/02/23/acceptable-losses/#disposable-olds

The palliative care sector is also captured by private equity. PE bosses hire vast teams of fast-talking salespeople who con vulnerable older people into entering an end-of-life system before they are ready to die. Thanks to loose regulation, the nation is filled with fake hospices that can rake in millions from Medicare while denying all care to their patients (hospice patients don't get life-extending medication or procedures, by definition):

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/26/death-panels/#what-the-heck-is-going-on-with-CMS

If you survive this long enough, Medicare eventually tells the hospice that you're clearly not dying and you get kicked off their rolls. Now you have to go through the lengthy bureaucratic nightmare of convincing the system – which was previously informed that you were at death's door – that you are actually viable and need to start getting care again (good luck with that).

If that kills you, guess what? Private equity has rolled up funeral homes up and down the country, and they will scam your survivors just as hard as the medical system that killed you did:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/09/09/high-cost-of-dying/#memento-mori

The PE sector spent more than a trillion dollars over the past decade buying up healthcare companies, and it has trillions more in "dry powder" allocated for further medical acquisitions. Why not? As the CFO of Medical Properties Trust told that Bank of America analyst last week, when you "own hospitals no one wants to see closed." you literally can't fail, no matter how many people you murder.

The PE sector is a reminder that the crimes people commit for money far outstrip the crimes they commit for ideology. Even the most ideological killers are horrified by the murders their profit-motivated colleagues commit.

Last year, Tkacic wrote about the history of IG Farben, the German company that built Monowitz, a private slave-labor camp up the road from Auschwitz to make the materiel it was gouging Hitler's Wehrmacht on:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/06/02/plunderers/#farben

Farben bought the cheapest possible slaves from Auschwitz, preferentially sourcing women and children. These slaves were worked to death at a rate that put Auschwitz's wholesale murder in the shade. Farben's slaves died an average of just three months after starting work at Monowitz. The situation was so abominable, so unconscionable, that the SS officers who provided outsource guard-labor to Monowitz actually wrote to Berlin to complain about the cruelty.

The Nuremberg trials are famous for the Nazi officers who insisted that they were "just following order" but were nonetheless executed for their crimes. 24 Farben executives were also tried at Nuremberg, where they offered a very different defense: "We had a fiduciary duty to our shareholders to maximize our profits." 19 of the 24 were acquitted on that basis.

PE is committed to an ideology that is far worse than any form of racial animus or other bias. As a sector, it is committed to profit above all other values. As a result, its brutality knows no bounds, no decency, no compassion. Even the worst crimes we commit for hate are nothing compared to the crimes we commit for greed.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/28/5000-bats/retaliation#charnel-house

#pluralistic #Rockledge Regional Medical Center #private equity #looting #Steward Health #ponzis #maureen tcacik #Medical Properties Trust #Ralph de la Torre #Massachusetts #florida #Cerberus #too big to fail #pe #guillotine watch

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keerysfreckles · 4 months ago

Text

homesick — steve harrington

pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader

summary: steve drives to y/n's house after an alley fight with jonathan byers

warnings: s1 steve, some cursing, not proofread!

a/n: this is for aly and aly only if you're not aly pls look away rn ! @keerysbrowneyes (also ignore the date the song came out at the end i just wanted to use it)

masterlist !

⋆ ˚ ｡ ⋆ ୨୧ ˚

to say y/n had a long day would be putting it lightly. her job at radioshack started off smoothly two weeks ago, but now almost every customer has been pissing her off.

she's tried to be a good employee, wanting to empress her boss bob newby. but when every person she's dealt with does nothing but complain to her, and tell her how she should do her job, y/n started thinking about putting in her two weeks notice.

every day this week y/n's gone home to an empty house at 4 pm. her parents were visiting her relatives in california, but y/n said missing two weeks of school and work would be complete hell. which explains why she's been home alone for 5 days.

her daily routine was finishing normally as she pulled into her driveway, throwing her radioshack nametag in her glove compartment, before grabbing her backpack.

she sighed stepping into the quiet house. it was just her, her mother and her father, so it was normal the house was quiet. but knowing no one was there to greet her put a damper in her mood.

after throwing her backpack somewhere in the living room, y/n managed to find two slices of pizza from god knows where.

a car pulling up in her driveway took her focus away from the microwave. her parents weren't supposed to be home till next week, so who could be the mystery driver?

a familiar red bmw was crookedly parked in front of y/n's house.

y/n opened the door just as the driver went to knock, his curled hand frozen in the air.

"steve?"

y/n looks up at her old friend, bruised and beaten. blood dried around his eye, nose and lips, his eyebrows are furrowed in what she could only guess was hurt and anger.

y/n and steve haven't gotten along the best ever since he stopped being her friend. he'd rather hang out with tommy hagan and carol perkins. it was more than a stab in the heart to y/n when he ditched her on the first day of their sophomore year, over a year ago.

"what are- shit are you okay?" y/n leans forward to hold his head in her hands, examining the damage done to his skin.

"i didn't know where else to go," his voice sounds as fragile as a glass bottle. it could break any moment and he was worried no one would be there to pick up the pieces.

y/n noticed the waver in his words, causing the girl to bring him into a tight hug.

her arms wrapped around his neck, embracing him as he held her waist. he shoved his face into her neck, muffling the light cries falling from his eyes.

"you're okay, you're okay steve," y/n mumbles into the air, as she runs her fingers over the hair at the base of his neck.

steve shook softly in her arms. y/n does nothing but hold him closer.

she doesn't care that her front door is open. she doesn't care if people from her neighborhood are staring. she doesn't care if she has to stay like this all night.

all she wanted was for steve to be okay.

after minutes, steve let go of y/n. he wiped he eyes, before remembering one of them was severely injured. he hisses at the pain his touch causes.

y/n lets him inside, shutting the door behind the pair.

"you go ahead and shower. wash some of the blood out of your hair, okay?" y/n's voice is calm as steve nods.

he knows her house like the back of his hand. after being here so many times in the past, he walks down the hall to the last room on the right, immediately turning on the shower.

y/n's quick to grab a towel before walking to her room. she pulls open the all too familiar drawer.

the drawer filled with steve's clothes.

ever since freshman year, whenever steve stayed over he always ended up leaving an article of clothing almost every time he left. so over the span of two years, there were about five and a half different outfits in the bottom drawer of y/n's grey dresser.

she grabbed a pair of sweatpants and old gym tshirt, hoping they'd fit him.

hearing the water still running, she quietly opens the door, placing both the towel and clean clothes onto the counter.

minutes pass before steve turns off the water. his heart warms at the sight of clean clothes on the counter, and he notices his dirty clothes were gone off the floor.

he's extra careful when drying off his hair, and makes sure to be gentle around his face.

a knock makes him jump slightly.

"are you alright?" y/n asks, "i uh- found some medical supplies from my parents room. i think i can help with your cuts."

steve opens the door, and he swears his heart melts again at the sight of y/n. she's holding a small container filled with medical supplies just like she said. she had a certain look in her eyes, one steve couldn't quite recognize.

"do you-" steve let his question trail off as he pointed from the bathroom then towards her room.

"bathroom's fine," she replies, watching as he sits down on the closed toilet.

she starts sifting through the box of supplies, hoping to find at least one thing that could help with steve's injuries.

"so what did you do to get yourself all beat up?" y/n finally asks.

steve doesn't look at her, instead focusing on the tiled floor beneath his feet.

"i said shit that made jonathan pissed," steve doesn't even have to look at y/n to know she's sending him a scolding look. "if i could take back what i said i would."

y/n starts taking a wipe to get off any dried blood steve missed in the shower. she holds his face, making him look up at her.

"would you take it back if he never heard it? or would you just take it back since you told him?"

steve's silence is the only answer y/n needs to prove her point.

she hears small sounds coming from steve as she finishes wiping the blood. she continues apologizing, not wanting to hurt him more fhan he already is.

"why are you being so nice to me?"

his question catches y/n off gaurd. her movements pause as her hand hovers over his face with a bandaid for his nose.

"you came to me when you were hurting. is it so bad i want to help you?"

y/n continues working to patch up steve's face, while his silence gives her the answer she needs once more.

just as she places the last bandaid on his chin, steve speaks up.

"thank you, really. i don't know anyone else who would help me with this."

"of course steve," she sends him a soft smile. she checks one last time over his face, making sure she didn't miss anything.

y/n throws any trash on the counter away, letting steve stand and inspect her work in the mirror.

as y/n walks back to the bathroom, she pokes her head in the doorframe. she studies his face for a moment. watching his fingers trace over the fresh bandaids. she watched as his hair slightly moved with every turn of his head.

steve notices the girl standing behind him, making a switch flip in her head, suddenly reminding her what she was going to ask.

"do you want to stay for a little? i could try and find an ice pack for your eye."

steve nods, making y/n lead him towards the living room. he's quick to sit in the couch, finally feeling the stress and worry leave his shoulders.

he starts picking at his fingernails, looking around the all too familiar living room. there were still pictures up of y/n as a baby. even a few more pictures were added as she went through high school.

"okay i don't have any ice packs, but i found this," steve turns his head, chuckling at the bright red coca cola can in her hands.

steve lets his eyes stay on y/n. he notices her hairs gotten slightly darker in the past year. her freckles are less prominent. her eyes seem more dull.

he looks up at her hoping she can notice he wants to be saved. wants to be saved by her. saved from the assholes he hangs out with now. saved from the stress of high school. saved from it all.

as steve hasn't taken the can, y/n sits beside him on the couch and holds it gently over the bandaid around his eye.

a small blush creeps its way onto steve's cheeks. y/n notices.

the two sit in a comfortable silence, as y/n turns the can from time to time so the coldest part is always on steve's bruised face.

"i think you kind of deserved it."

steve's eyebrows furrow as he turns to look at y/n. her monotone expression only confuses him more.

"what?"

"losing the fight to jonathan."

"i never said i lost–"

y/n simply ignores him, "maybe his punches finally knocked some sense into you."

steve might consider himself an idiot sometimes, but he knew what y/n meant. he curses at himself every day for why he ditched the girl sitting next to him.

"i don't even know why i did it."

y/n's silence made him continue.

"i guess i hated feeling so small in school. so i started talking to the people i thought were cool. it's dumb believe me, i know," steve leans forward to run his hand through his hair.

it's a nervous tick steve picked up over the years. one y/n recognized.

she simply reached her other hand to his own, rubbing her thumb over his palm.

"you're still the same steve i know," y/n's voice is quiet. "you may have a bigger ego and be an asshole sometimes. but you're still the boy who danced with me at the snow ball when no one else would."

"you know," steve's voice seemed brighter as an idea popped into his head. "i still owe you a full dance."

"what do you mean?" y/n laughed, "you already danced with me. at the snow ball."

"not for the whole thing. if i can recall i swooped in to save the day probably halfway through the song."

y/n can only laugh again while watching steve start searching through the limited record selection in the living room.

"what are you even looking for?"

steve holds out his pointer finger, before running towards y/n's room, not satisfied with any choices from the living room.

seconds pass until steve's back in the living room, with a record in hand.

y/n tries peering over his arm to see which one he grabbed, before he slid the disc out and put it into the record player.

the familiar beginning to our last summer by abba began playing.

"steve, this isn't even a slow dance type of song," y/n tries to argue, but steve only grabs her hands to pull her up off the couch.

"i don't care, i still owe you a dance," he then places both hands on her hips. "plus i know this is one of your favorite songs."

y/n smiles up at him while holding onto his shoulders as the two sway side to side.

"you remember that?"

steve nods, "of course. i could never forget anything about you."

y/n feels the blush brushing her cheeks now as she looks down at her feet, trying to hide her nerves.

as the song progressed, steve and y/n continued swaying slowly. after seconds of internally debating to herself, y/n leans forward to press her head against his chest.

she lets all the anger and hurt for steve seep out of her. each sway the boy creates, a pound of regret leaves y/n's body.

she swears she can hear his heartbeat pick up at their close contact, but she doesn't mention this, only smiling to herself.

steve's breath quickens for a split second as y/n's head rests on him. he reaches his hand up to hold the back of her head, rubbing his thumb slightly. he kisses the top of her head, only making y/n wish it was humanly possible to become closer to steve.

"y/n," steve's voice is low a rough, he worries she didn't hear it.

she removes her head from his chest to look up at him. his hand stays on the back of her head, pushing only slightly, giving her the reason to back up if she pleases.

she doesn't back up. in fact she leans foward whether it be because of steve's touch or not. she doesn't want to back up.

in a matter of seconds steve's lip press against y/n's. the cut on his bottom lip stings slightly, but he couldn't care less about the pain. if kissing y/n made his lip sting, he would still kiss her a thousand times.

y/n's hands grip his shoulders tighter, trying to push him closer as they both deepen the kiss.

y/n begins to pull back, needing a second to regain her lost breath that was stolen by steve. however the brunette doesn't allow it, pulling the girl back in for another kiss.

her hands move to his neck. her fingers begin pulling at the hair, eliciting a small breathy moan from steve.

it caught y/n off gaurd, making her pull away again.

the two silently share eye contact. their panted breaths are mingling with each others.

steve leans forward to kiss her again. his way of telling y/n he wants nothing more than her.

he can only guess she gets the idea, when she giggles at the feeling of steve picking her up off the ground to carry her to her own room.

y/n laugh is cut off by steve slamming her bedroom door behind the two, "you know no one's here right? you didn't have to close the door."

steve simply shrugs as he lays down on the bed above y/n.

their fourth kiss of many for the night begin to become more and more passionate.

y/n would be lying if she said she didn't want to sleep with steve. and steve vice versa with y/n. but they weren't about to admit that tonight.

#shelbi writes #keerysfreckles #steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x female!reader #steve harrington x fem reader #steve harrington x female reader #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington stranger things #stranger things #stranger things fic #stranger things imagine #joe keery #joe keery fic #joe keery fanfic

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overtake · 2 months ago

Text

Trying to do something resembling coping after Singapore. Have some Max/Daniel hurt/comfort (1.3k). Also on ao3 if you prefer.

The press of a button freezes Max’s watery blue eyes, the space between them bifurcated by the crease in his forehead.

“Is now really a moment to remember?” Max asks in a raspy voice. His throat isn’t clogged by tears, but there’s almost a decades worth of race starts together sitting uncomfortably in there and congesting each word.

His hand hasn’t strayed from Daniel since he found him after the race. It’s somewhere on some part of him every time he’s close enough to touch.

Normally he’s halfway home by this point, Air Max somewhere over the circuit skies and headed back toward home.

He’s stayed, this time, in case this is it. In case this is his last chance to neatly fold Daniel’s clothes into his bag, even though his own are always wrinkled under pairs of stained shoes and dirty briefs. In case this is the last time they both exit the paddock as drivers. In case this is the final chance Max has to trace the shape of Daniel’s jawline and tell him, “Good race.”

Daniel’s mum is giving them a last minute alone. She’s standing guarding outside the door and leaving them be for now. Daniel knows, though, that when they stand, she’ll hug Daniel close, wishing he was little enough to hide in the crook of her neck while she covers all his gaping wounds with plasters and a kiss on each one to ease the ache.

Despite his complaints about the camera, Max still moves from where he’s crouched in front of Daniel to collapse into his side and observe the photo. He wraps one arm around Daniel’s back to tug him impossibly closer and rests his mouth on the top of Daniel’s shoulder in an exhausted kind of kiss.

“I look like shit,” he says, statement muffled by the fabric of Daniel’s shirt. He sounds like he wants to poke fun at himself until he makes Daniel laugh, but they’re both too hollowed out to muster up the energy. Instead, Max reaches out and turns off the display.

For a second, their fingers linger together on the camera’s body, until Daniel lets the camera drop back against his chest so he can entangle their hands instead.

“It’s not a nice memory,” Daniel agrees. Unlike Max, his voice right now can all be attributed to tears. “But in December, no matter what happens after today, I’ll get a retake on the farm. I’ll be happy, and we’ll be together, and life will go on from now.”

Daniel feels the dampness on his shoulder when a single tear breaks containment, then another, and a shuddering breath, until Max rights himself and pointedly looks away from the tiny patch soaked in cotton.

“It’s not fair,” he says tightly. For a second, he sounds every bit the bullish teenager with a black and white view on the way the world ought to work and bitter frustration that sometimes reality dapples in nuance. It’s the first thing to get Daniel anywhere within city limits of smiling since he set the lap record and gave himself a final moment in the car to reflect on everything this sport had given him, and that he had given this sport.

“Yeah,” he agrees hoarsely. “It’s not fucking fair.”

He’s done with excuses and niceties and dancing on the Red Bull puppet strings in hopes that playing their game might finally net him a seat he’d killed himself to earn. It’s not fair. It’s callous and cruel, the way they’ve strung him and everyone who loves him along for a race they aren’t even brave enough to tell him is his last.

They’re silent for another moment. Daniel closes his eyes and soaks it in: the tendrils of freshly washed hair still trailing water down his spine. The din of dog-tired employees breaking down the paddock, to be quickly vanished away as if it was never here. The ragged in-and-out of Max’s lungs as he tries to coax both of their breaths into something resembling normal.

“Thank you, by the way,” Max says softly. “And congratulations on your lap record.”

“You owe me a really nice Christmas present.”

Max presses a whisper of a kiss over Daniel’s drying curls. “You always deserve the nicest presents.”

Daniel’s mum slips in then, gently shutting the door behind her. Unlike Max, she’s made no secret of her tears. Her eyes are red-rimmed, but she musters up enough of a smile when Daniel heaves himself up into her arms.

“Come here, Max,” he hears his mum scold. A second later, Max is in an awkward three-person hug. Grace’s short arms struggle to embrace them both, but smelling her vanilla perfume and knowing she’s there is enough to surround him in all the ways that matter.

She whispers in turn to each of them, but they’re all so tightly wound, they can all hear every word.

“Thank you for being here every time I couldn’t be,” she tells Max. He murmurs something back, but he manages to keep it quiet enough that Daniel can’t make out all his words. It’s something about thanking her for trusting him with Daniel, but the rest is lost. All he knows is that his mum’s tears start flowing again.

When it’s his turn, she can barely choke out the words. “I’m so proud of you. For your career, of course, but for who you’ve grown into. I couldn’t have asked for a better son.”

“I love you,” is all Daniel manages. He buries the nose shaped like hers into the brown curls that his genes copy-pasted and soaks in gratitude that he has both her face and her endless capacity to love.

Daniel walks into humid night air with his head held high and a career most drivers would kill for, surrounded by people who love him for more than that list of achievements, and knows that he’ll survive whatever comes next.

“That’s a terrible photo,” Max complains three months later. His eyes are scrunched up all cute in it, framed by long lashes and sun-soaked freckles that are almost hidden by the streaks of dirt on his face. He’s smiling, both in the picture and right now, so Daniel knows he doesn’t actually mind.

Two weeks of busy Australian summer have left Max various shades of pink and tan. He'd somewhat learned how to use the grill that Daniel was too scared to touch and now had matching grill aprons with Daniel's dad. He christened the new baby cow the wholly uncreative name ‘Lilly’, because god forbid any animal in his vicinity not be named after Monaco nightlife. He’d also 100% taken to the dirt bikes as easily as everyone would assume and had absolutely, definitely not sworn Daniel to secrecy about where he got that giant bruise on his side after their first go.

When Daniel transfers the photos to his computer later, his finger pauses on the photo captured in a melancholic driver’s room. In it, Max’s eyes are dull and weary, but they’re looking at Daniel with the same unblinking love from today’s picture.

It’s proof, memorialized in expensive pixels, that Daniel’s life did not end on the streets of Singapore; that his worth to the world never depended on his points or podiums.

He closes the lid of his laptop and joins the gathering in the living room. Max is pouring fake tea for Isabella’s dolls. Isaac is politely sipping an empty teacup, one pinky in the air. Isabella is nowhere to be found, probably busy dragging Daniel’s poor parents to see Lilly the cow for the fifth time today.

“Daniel!” Max says, in the sweet, distinct way his mouth always forms the name. His face brightens when Daniel walks in. When Max smiles like that, it’s as if the sun has come through the roof and taken human form in broad shoulders and rumpled t-shirts.

“Max!” Daniel says back, matching his enthusiastic tone. He sits cross-legged in Isabella’s empty spot and slides his fingers between Max’s.

The tea party continues, and life moves forward.

#maxiel #fics #i’m a total inconsolable wreck today. so tried to write something with an air of hope and love and positive outlooks #not necessarily hopeful re racing #but its not about that #i actually cannot read or see anything about this so you're a braver soul than me if you actually read this #i feel like most of us are just sad and avoidant right now #but i'm posting this for myself bc it was cathartic to write

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