#like at the end of season 3 he's staying up going over talking points to make sure he understands the business strategy

[jiminrings]

four seven eight, phase 3 (1)

pairing: jungkook x reader

wordcount: 9k

glimpse: jungkook's secure when it comes to being a husband and a dad, knowing that he grew to love being both after everything you've been through. what he isn't so secure about is the possibility that it's everything he'll ever be.

alternatively, jungkook pursues his dream of making a film, even if it means making your rival his main lead behind your back.

[ part one, intermission, part two, intermission 02, finale — complete series masterlist, from phase 1 to 3 ]

[ the return of 478jk (derogatory), major angst, fluff, the weight of devotion except jk's mean this time, flashbacks to phase 1 (im so sorry), the both of them r in an identity crisis, The Return of yoongi, yearning and the ache of unfulfillment all over, eventual redemption ]

notes: FINALLYYYYYY after a long wait, phase three is finally here :-) the og era of 478 is a time i'll truly never forget so now that i'm putting them in Several Inconveniences again, i look forward to creating another era with u citizens!!! mwah thank u love yew

as always, lmk what you think <3 send in feedback n love to my askbox anytime!!

Jungkook likes to be needed.

He likes to be needed fully, sometimes even all at once to the point that every mention of his name makes him think that his assistance is needed. He wants to be needed like the way you rummage through your old film canisters that you dumped in a large drawer just to retrieve a specific picture of him; needed like the way you sigh in relief when you find said roll.

Jungkook wants you to seek him in a crowd, past all the banners of your name from your fans and lanyards of your staff, and ask specifically him for a cold water bottle he keeps in his bag for you. As a matter of fact, he wouldn’t even mind if you ask it from him indiscreetly — he wants to be needed, even if neither of you are alone with each other.

He’s used to the feeling of being needed because it’s practically routine for him. The way Jungkook loves you has changed and evolved (needlessly to say for the better) through the years, and although he tries to look for the balance in it all, there’s a tiny, tiny part of him that wonders what would’ve happened if neither of you changed.

It’s perhaps the change in seasons, or maybe it’s the build-up of the stupid little things Jungkook’s seen recently; one of those things happen to be a ridiculously long thread by your fan, who happens to also be a fan of Yoongi, assuming that your marriage with J*ngkook (that’s exactly how they typed his name out) is ending, hence your recent collaboration on a brand deal. Jungkook, of course, has half the mind to go on his secret stan account and snark at said poster before reporting, but even then, there’s an itch in his mind that he can’t scratch.

Whatever weather it is outside nowadays or whichever stupid little thing pisses him off online, Jungkook can’t shake off the nagging question of what if in his mind.

When Jungkook cleans your water bottle every night for you to take to set the next day, he wonders if the two of you would still be together if only he didn’t rush to your place by the exact second your month-long break ended, right when he takes off the rubber from the cap to clean the ridges thoroughly.

When he blowdries your hair (even if you tell him not to bother) after you begrudgingly take a shower because you can’t sleep in bed after going outside and not washing up the second you come home, he wonders if you would’ve kept loving him even if the very incident with Sora didn’t push him to change, right when he sees you close your eyes while his hands scratch your scalp.

When Jungkook sounds out syllables to Hwayoung and tries his very best not to baby-talk her (he can’t help it sometimes) as he recounts his day to the toddler, he wonders if you would’ve even had a daughter with him if he stayed the same silent lover that he used to be, right when she parrots your name back to him with a smile.

“Young-ie’s probably starting to need me less and less,” he sighs to you with a pout, eyebrows knitted in concern as he gives you his rookie version of a blowout he’s still trying to perfect. Jungkook can’t flick his wrist the way professional hairstylists do, just in the same way you can’t pick up why he’s brought up the thought out of nowhere.

“How could you say that? She’s the biggest daddy’s girl ever,” you chuckle, placating him with the truth despite your initial confusion. If you weren’t fully awake awhile ago, you certainly are now — mostly because Jungkook springs up an unbelievable idea, and partly because whenever he tugs the brush at your hair, your whole head comes along with it.

“Not really. More like biggest mommy’s girl, you mean,” he defensively scoffs, apologizing quickly when he hears you wince at a particular experimental tug he does on your ends.

“Should we wake her up right now and let her decide?” you murmur, your eyes locking with his on the mirror.

Jungkook, at his most comfortable state, wearing ratty oversized pajamas and glasses on his face that he’s yet to update the prescription on, has never felt more competitive in his life.

“Well we could-…”

“I was joking,” you deadpan, the silence between the two of you getting long enough to the point that you suddenly find yourself laughing, effectively getting Jungkook out of his daze.

“… I knew that.”

You may have had an inkling about Jungkook feeling slightly off before in the past weeks, but all it took was his random, unprompted question tonight for you to solidify that seed of concern in your chest.

Jungkook likes to be needed, even if he can’t say the same that you need him as much as he thinks you do. He thinks it’s a perfectly rational feeling to want to be needed by both your wife and your daughter, and although he’s not as receptive to being needed as much by anyone other than his family, the feeling still stays the same.

He has all the time in the world. You’ve enabled him to do so even if he’s the one mainly looking after Hwayoung while you worked, but despite that, Jungkook doesn’t feel needed enough.

There’s an itch in his mind that he can’t scratch with neither your constant affection nor Hwayoung’s grabby hands. There’s an unplaceable, agitating urge in Jungkook’s chest to put a pause on everything and be back to who and what he used to be, despite your affirmation that he is needed.

There’s that tick going on in Jungkook’s brain that amplifies everything he does to seem wrong; that makes him grumpy when he wakes up to prepare you breakfast whenever you had early shoots, that makes him purse his lips when his daughter asks him to watch the same movie with her for the third time in the week.

All of the uneasiness in him, however, disappears when Namjoon, the acclaimed screenwriter that he has for a friend (whom he actually met through you), calls him up with an offer that Jungkook can’t refuse.

It’s an offer that releases the ache from his bones, makes him want to blowdry your hair better, and watch the same movie over and over again with his daughter — but Jungkook postpones saying it to you when you come home and want nothing more than to be in his arms, and for Hwayoung to be in yours.

( ♡ )

Jungkook could wait more.

He convinces himself that he can because although there’s a date set for the short film that Namjoon’s pitched for him to produce, it hasn’t grown yet to become the unstoppable force against Jungkook’s immovable object: family.

He knows he needs to tell you eventually and that he’s not really asking for permission in the first place, but there’s a sense of guilt in him whenever the thought of breaking the news to you comes into mind. He’s not nervous per se because he knows you’re as supportive of him, if not more, like he is with you.

It just happens that it’s within the fine details that Jungkook truly feels hesitant to tell you that he has to leave for awhile.

Jungkook could wait more, and although that means he has to deal with the occasional voice in his head telling him that lying to you (even under the guise of protecting you) has the capacity to bite back at him, he manages. He swallows down the words whenever you unintentionally give him an opening to tell you about the news of him going abroad, and just settles for holding your hand.

He could wait more because telling you now wouldn’t be the right time, now when you’re on your day-off as you’re close to wrapping up your current project before moving to the bigger, more exhausting one; not now when you have a time of reprieve to spend with your family before taking on the biggest project of your career to date.

Jungkook hums to himself as he looks down on Hwayoung who has a tiny shopping cart to herself, her strikingly round eyes that she got from him (Hwayoung looks more like him the older she gets) looking up to his own.

“Hi, pretty girl,” he lulls, mumbling loudly enough for only her to hear. “You’d understand if appa left for awhile, right?”

“Left?” she questions, holding up her left hand at the mention yet she reels at his query, brows furrowing as she seems to digest the question. “Why?”

“Yup. That’s your left. Good job, baby,” Jungkook praises, the knot in his throat growing when he looks to his daughter who looks confused at the sudden query, again, that came out of nowhere. “You would, won’t you?”

Hwayoung hums because she doesn’t quite understand, but that’s the thing that Jungkook fears most — she’s young and smart and although he wants to use those facts to his advantage, he realizes that Hwayoung being the age that she is in now could also prove him to be dispensable.

Jungkook likes being needed, but he’s much too afraid of the possibility that Hwayoung won’t even recall him as soon as he leaves.

Your husband’s snapped out of his reverie when you go downstairs with a skip in your step, the tell-tale mischievous tone to your voice already predicting that Hwayoung would make the two of you chase after her in the backyard all day. “What are the two of you plotting again?” you ask playfully, hands on your hips as Jungkook chuckles at the sight of his two girls.

“Nothing!” Hwayoung giggles, the word slipping out of her seamlessly as she even shakes her hands fervently, accustomed to what you mean exactly with your tone of voice. She’s young and bright and you see so much of Jungkook in her, even if Jungkook would argue otherwise.

Jungkook’s dazed this morning with the way his gaze locks in from far away, his bottom lip bit between his teeth more often than not as if he’s always at war with himself.

“You okay, Kook?”

“Mhmm. Couldn’t be better,” he hums half-heartedly, his lips grazing your temple as he guides you to sit down on the carpet with him. “You finally slept for more than eight hours. That’s good,” he says as an afterthought, the pauses in between his words growing in distance as his gaze is fixated on everything but you.

Jungkook looks at your daughter who’s now pushing Miso around the house in her shopping cart, and while your cat (who’s always seemed to hate your husband) looks more than pleased at being played with, she meows to Jungkook and only at him with a hiss at the end of her spiel as if in warning — as if Jungkook is guilty of something that only the two of them know about.

Almost as if out of everyone in the room, it’s only your cat who knows that Jungkook’s lying.

Jungkook can wait, but he’s certain that he can’t wait any longer because if his brain is unoccupied for long enough, he’ll start to hear Miso cursing at him through her yowls.

“Hwayoung doesn’t look like she needs you any less,” you say gently, your line of sight following Jungkook’s as he tenses at your words.

“Oh,” he sighs, jaw grinding down to a halt. “Right."

Your words seemingly came out of nowhere, even if the both of you know deep down that they’re influenced by his impulsive thoughts from last week.

“You can say the same for me,” you add, not as an afterthought, but as a lesser-known fact that Jungkook seems to forget every now and then.

There’s a weight in his chest because all of a sudden, Jungkook can’t wait anymore. The itch in his mind has already been scratched too much that it had already bled and scabbed.

There’s a weight in his chest that reminds him he can’t wait anymore, because in hindsight, the weight of him and everything that comes with him settles on his shoulders.

Maybe, Jungkook doesn’t want to be needed as much.

( ♡ )

Jungkook drops the news on you while you’re folding laundry.

He was meant to go for sincere but the way the words leave him, right when you’re in the middle of folding Hwayoung’s pajamas that she’s about to overgrow in the soonest, it sounds as if he’s been dying to tell you; now that he has, he sounds beyond relieved.

“Namjoon offered me a script,” he announces, taking the pajamas from you to put in his pile as he sees your eyes widen, the remnants of the heavy mascara they used on you on set awhile ago highlighting your surprise. “He wants me to produce.”

“What?” you punctuate, tilting your head as you try to make sense of what Jungkook’s saying. You know he’s speaking and you’re familiar with said words; you just never expected for them to be compacted in the same sentence, meaning the way that he makes it out to be. “Kim Namjoon, as in the producer for In Terms of Eternity?”

He chirps at that, posture straightening as he tries to jog your memory. “Yeah. You’ve worked with him before and introduced us, then turns out Jin’s also a friend of his and-…"

“I mean I know Namjoon and that you’re friends with him, Jungkook,” you interrupt, trying to reel yourself in as you’ve lost your focus trying to fold Hwayoung’s clothes and talk to your husband at the same time. “But I didn’t know you were that close for him to ask you to produce something for him.”

Jungkook doesn’t completely crash from the high he’s in over finally telling you the news, but there’s that spike that flashes briefly over his face, the frown on his lips letting on more than he shows.

“What’s that supposed to mean?"

You sigh at the impossible position the both of you are in, the words that try to line themselves up in your temple being no match to the way they translate out-loud. “It means nothing. I’m just… surprised that he’d ask you to be a producer for his script, that’s all. It came out of nowhere.”

Jungkook recoils at that, a stubborn brow raised as he tries to keep his composure. “Because you don’t think I’m capable of being a producer?”

“That’s not what I’m saying,” you inhale sharply, gripping a random article of Hwayoung’s clothing beside you to pace yourself. “Namjoon’s.. big. He’s established, and well, you’ve never become a producer before.”

“And you have?” Jungkook digs, even if it’s unnecessary to do so, and the way his face falls at the forthcoming regret that creeps up to him lets you know that he thinks so too.

“Jungkook,” you try again, quirking your lips to the side as you try to manage with the pace he’s set you up on. “I’m just surprised, that’s all. This is all new to me. All new to you, even. If anything, it’s nice that Namjoon trusts you a lot.

“He does. We’re close,” he nods, clearing his throat as he feels that the both of you could move on to the other phase of the news you had interrupted him at. “As a matter of fact, we’re taking it on a global scale.”

Jungkook doesn’t get why your face falls.

He doesn’t get why your shoulders rise and fall, not in relief, but out of controlled tension that threatens to pour over.

“What?”

“The script. The film,” he smiles, trying to get you to finish his sentence and connect the dots together but to no avail. “It’s… it’s — we have to film in the US for a few months.”

“What?” you repeat, the knot in your throat tangling up more and more hesitance in you the longer it stays there.

“I said, we have to-…”

“No, I heard what you said,” you interrupt, jaw clenching tightly as you try to grasp everything Jungkook has said.

You don’t get why Jungkook’s smiling.

You don’t get why he’s completely at ease and only in confusion as he sees you piece everything out.

“Then what’s the matter?”

“Kook, all of this is new. Everything you’ve just said is and will be new,” you chuckle humorlessly, running your hand through your hair in frustration as you try to relax. “I’m happy for you, believe me, but Jungkook, what you’re saying is serious. It’s a lot to take in,” you pause, eyes wide as you repeat the words to yourself. “You. Producing. In the US, of all places, a-and for months.”

There’s not one exact emotion that runs through you because the longer that Jungkook looks at you, ecstatic, while you’re weighing what he’s just said like a bag of bricks — you feel even more conflicted.

Your husband wrings his hands together, nervously smiling at you as if he’s asking for permission, but the both of you know that his mind’s already set. He thinks the opportunity of producing a short film that’s been drafted by his friend is a once-in-a-lifetime thing, eager to take off even if he’s had no experience at all in the industry.

“I don’t know, baby. It’s just been so long since I got this excited and alive, y’know? It’s a nice change of pace and I get to do something nice-…”

“Isn’t being with your daughter nice?” you ask abruptly, unable to mask the conflict that’s been brewing in your mind ever since Jungkook pulled you aside to talk. You feel hesitant; disconnected even from wrapping your head around his wording.

Even convincing yourself that you’re just spent from working sunrise to sundown doesn’t work. No matter how hard you try, Jungkook’s tone remains as is.

“Y/N,” he sighs, lips in a tight line as he screws his eyes shut. “Don’t start.”

“I’m not starting anything, Jungkook,” you grit, crossing your arms in defense. You feel guarded more than ever, not because you’re the one whom he’s pertaining to, but because your Hwayoung is involved and you won’t sit around for it. “It’s just that when you put it like that, it sounds like taking care of Hwayoung is a chore.”

You used to be sure awhile ago that you were seeing double because in between memorizing scripts and going from schedule to schedule without any time to rest in between, you’ve been worried sick because Jungkook hadn’t texted you the whole day. You were shocked enough to come home to your daughter playing by herself downstairs (with Miso watching her the whole time), even more-so when you saw Jungkook engrossed in a highly-enthusiastic phone call.

Jungkook sighs as if talking to you completely exhausts him, pinching his nosebridge before muttering under his breath. “Like you’re one to talk.”

“Excuse me?” you blink in surprise, tilting your head in sheer confusion. You’re about to shrug it off but he does that thing again, the one where he almost rolls his eyes at you but realizes it at the last minute.

“Nothing.”

“Say that again, Jungkook.”

“My god,” Jungkook groans, throwing his head back. He runs his hands through his hair frustratedly, sucking in a rushed breath. He looks straight at you when he gives his grievance. “I’m just saying! Why do you get to live out your dream but I don’t?”

“This is my job,” you bite back instantly, the second it took for you to digest his words being enough time for him to groan again. “If it were up to me, do you think I’d work six days a week? Do you not know how much it kills me to stay away from my family?”

You’re at a loss for words, the tiny bit of insecurity you have being dug up once again. You feel guilty because you actually don’t — you know to yourself that you still dedicate so much of yourself to Jungkook and Hwayoung even if you work full-time.

Jungkook chokes up a laugh in front of your face.

“Then quit your dream if you’re so miserable.”

Your jaw clenches quickly in annoyance, unable to retain the disbelief that builds up in your chest. “My dream is my job! It’s why we’re living this life in the first place, Jungkook! Your dream is this project that was pitched to you like what, two weeks ago?”

“Can I not live my life the way that I want to?” he asks exaggeratedly, eyes wide in defense. “Why am I only your husband and why am I only Hwayoung’s dad? Why can’t I go to the US a-and try things out? Why can’t I be free from all this even for just a while?”

Your mouth falls apart at that, your moment of shock simultaneously being Jungkook’s instance for guilty. He wants to reel it in right then and there, but the small part of his pride grows to hold him back.

“Do we hold you back that much?” you whisper, the headache that has been building in your head since this morning shrinking to the size of Jungkook’s words. “What are you getting so angry for? I’m not saying no. I’m asking you why you’re so hellbent on suddenly leaving to do this.”

A large part of you, if not all, feels more disappointed than angry. Hwayoung has not and should never be an afterthought for the both of you yet Jungkook brings her up with you like mere variables.

You can grasp the fact that being a parent is a full-time job like yours yet what you can’t get a hold of is your husband’s apprehension; his sudden need of pursuing something beyond your family.

“Because I’m scared, Y/N,” Jungkook whispers, exhaling heavily. “I’m scared that this is all what life could ever be for me.”

It’s only when you’re completely silent that he comes back to the severity of his words, the tension that’s been building up in him breaking the moment that you break eye contact with him.

“I’m sorry for being your wife.”

“Baby, that’s not-…” Jungkook tries to correct himself, hot on your heels as you get up from your seat on the couch. You’re not even speeding up yet he catches you just as urgently, the hold he has on your arm doing little to put you at ease.

“And I’m sorry for making you a dad.”

“Y/N, sweetheart, I’m-…”

“You should do this project if you really want to,” you quip, back still turned to him as you enter the bedroom. Jungkook noticeably stops in his tracks, the furrow in his brows fading because you’ve put him on whiplash.

“What?”

“You’ve held down the fort while I was out being the breadwinner. It’ll be nice for you to do your own thing,” you smile tightly, eager to sleep on the whole thing just so you don’t stay hung-up for too long.

“What about Hwayoung? What about your film? They want it to be an entry for the Academy, right?” he asks in concern, different from the worry he had awhile ago when he thought you were against him leaving.

You nod, easily shrugging despite the weight on your shoulders. “I’m her mom, of course. She’s gonna come first. And for the film, I think I can still do it. I’ll juggle them both if I have to.”

Jungkook nods, eyes set on the floor. He didn’t think this far at all.

“Do you want to hire a nanny? I know a friend.”

“I’ll pass. I don’t trust nannies.”

There’s an overwhelming silence that engulfs the both of you, the white noise machine in your nightstand unable to fill it completely. Jungkook looks at the ceiling while you look at Hwayoung who’s sprawled in the middle of your bed, clutching Miso like a teddy bear — she already fell asleep waiting for the both of you.

“I didn’t mean what I said awhile ago, I’m sorry. It came out the wrong way,” Jungkook apologizes after some time, hand darting out to hold yours while you only hover above your vanity, taking off all of your jewelry except for your wedding ring.

“When do you leave?” you ask, still unable to meet his gaze.

“Next week,” he clears his throat. “When do you start filming?”

You nod, coming into terms that Jungkook would leave no matter what you say. “Next week.”

You’re arranging the covers when your husband tries to hold you again, voice strained and rushed. “Y/N, I really am sorry. I love being your-…”

“Shh,” you interrupt, pursing your lips. “Hwayoung’s sleeping.”

( ♡ )

You asked for a day off.

You’ve rarely ever asked for them throughout your entire career because you were built on the mindset that at the end of the day, you’re also an employee no matter what gig you land. Be it the cameos you used to book with Yoongi or the titular characters you take from studio after studio, you’re still the employee who had worked her way up fairly.

You didn’t ask for it during that instance when you fell sick after back-to-back shoots because you didn’t want to waste anyone’s time. You didn’t ask for it when you woke up with the type of fatigue that settled in your body no matter how hard you closed your eyes or laid your head against the cushions.

You’ve never asked for it for your sake, but you’ve asked for a day off now because Jungkook’s leaving for a place you can’t come and go to as you wish.

Unlike your house or the hotels you book for him and Hwayoung to be at whenever you have to film out of town, Jungkook’s out of reach. He’s one call away, granted that your timezones match up and there’s a connection strong enough for it to continue without a hitch. He’s far from your grasp and he will be for months on end, and you don’t think you can ever stomach working on the same day he’s leaving.

“Are you seeing me off at the airport?” he asks during the car ride, voice audible enough for only you to hear and not Hwayoung who’s sprawled across both of your laps, sleeping soundly with her plushie that resembled Miso.

“I will, but I don’t think I can see you off near the gate. I can only manage up to here,” you answer honestly, willing yourself not to break down even if the both of you are still in the car, away from any prying eyes of the media that lurks outside. “So can Hwayoung,” you add, a large part of you being grateful that she’s asleep when Jungkook has to leave so neither of you would hear her cries.

Jungkook sees that hesitance in you, the same kind that softens him into fragments.

“It’ll only be for awhile, okay? Just for a few months,” he smiles tightly, rearranging his backpack next to him, the keyring that held Hwayoung’s second-favorite toy (not the ultimate favorite because she won’t ever let him take it) clattering loudly. “I love you,” Jungkook murmurs. “Do you know that?”

“Mhmm.”

“Say it back.”

You refuse to do so because saying it back feels finite, perhaps even forced, because although you love Jungkook, saying so at the moment only weighs you down as reality sinks in. “This is gonna be easy for us, right?"

“It’s not like we’ve never been in a similar set-up before,” he shrugs, the pout on his face casual as he tries to level with you.

“But this is different, Jungkook. This is beyond different. We have Hwayoung and now, we’re both working,” you stammer, chest rising and falling as you wrap your head around everything. “This— this isn’t Seoul to Jeonju. This isn’t a leave by day, come back by night type of trip. This is-…”

“You’re freaking out,” Jungkook interjects, his soft yet stern voice cutting through your thoughts as he lays a hand on your thigh, the platinum of his wedding band looking right up at you.

You surrender in defeat, not because you’re fighting with your husband, but because there’s simply no other answer he could ever conjure for you as to why this is happening.

“Why aren’t you? Why am I the only one scared?” you whisper.

“You’re not supposed to be.”

“Of course. It’s not like you— we put everything on the line,” you clear your throat, looking down on your shoes as you convince yourself. You ignore how you’re still not entirely aware of what’s with Jungkook’s project, other than the fact that Namjoon’s the screenwriter, all in favor of giving you a semblance of sanity before Jungkook leaves you and Hwayoung. “Right?”

( ♡ )

You wonder if Jungkook already ate breakfast.

You wonder if he ate the supposedly excellent in-flight meal that comes with first-class tickets, or if he ate the ramen he’s always had a penchant for eating especially during your trips, whether by land, sea, or air. You wonder if he’s grumpy with the altitude and the way he has to pop his ears ever so often, along with the way he always seems to be too long for airplane seats turned into beds.

You call but Jungkook doesn’t answer, even if you know he’ll never not purchase in-flight wifi because he’d rather knock himself out than have to read a book or something of the sort. You message, but then again, your husband doesn’t answer, even if you know he’ll much rather reply via text than to record a voice note because he’s shy with people hearing him in public spaces, albeit closed.

Hwayoung waits patiently beside you, swinging her legs back and forth on the couch as Miso stays up with her. She should’ve been in bed half an hour ago but you let her stay up with you, all in the pursuit of getting Jungkook to respond.

“Appa?” she asks again after a minute of you trying for her dad but through another app, her pout reminding you of Jungkook’s who’s unreachable.

You try not to frown in front of her, leveling yourself as you settle for kissing her forehead to cover up the sigh that originates deep from your chest.

“Not yet, Young-ie.”

.

.

.

There’s no text from Jungkook when you wake, but there is a picture of him in the buffet of the private lounge he’s staying at during his layover.

Atleast Jungkook did eat breakfast and Hwayoung was able to sleep without him (the first of what you dread is many), nevermind the dull thrum in your chest in Jungkook’s absence.

( ♡ )

Hwayoung's been behaved the whole time you were on set.

With Jimin prioritizing his voluntary role of being a babysitter to your daughter over his position of being a manager to you, you became instantly comforted at the reassurance that you're not in this situation alone.

It's only been a week since you started working right after Jungkook left, his absence rearranging every system you've previously had in place. You do your very best to have Hwayoung still thriving, and even just the reminder that you are succeeding at being the only present parent for the meantime melts all of your fatigue away.

Your trailer's more equipped for her than it is for you, the space apparently reminding Hwayoung of home so much that it's enough to make her remind you that Miso should go join the both of you sometime. Your dressing room's always been hers, and so has been the affection of everyone close to you.

“I take my role of godfather very seriously.”

Yoongi explains even if you haven't asked him anything. In fact, you weren't talking to begin with. It's not in his nature to talk for the sake of talking (that's Jungkook's), but even with Hwayoung in his arms and you still being lost in your thoughts, he can't help but to feel concerned.

“I can tell," you snicker, finally taking notice of the sight in front of you. The earpiece that was previously on Yoongi is now slung over Hwayoung's shoulder, obviously too big on her. She wanted it as an accessory (it reminds her of the toy stethoscope she'd put on Miso as a collar) and with Yoongi being himself, he can't bring himself to say no.

Your shooting day's nearly over and although today wasn't as long as your previous record of hours on end, you already seem exhausted. Yoongi, of all people, knows what scenes wear you out. You hated doing monologues as a rookie and still despise monologues (but with random, out-of-place advertisements in between) as a veteran — you’ve done neither today.

"What's with the frown?" he asks gently, not only because Hwayoung’s been quiet for the past two minutes and she’s getting groggy, but also because if he were to ask you any louder, he feels as if you’d break.

"It's nothing," you answer automatically, looking at Hwayoung to ground yourself. "Just usual family things, I guess."

"Trouble in paradise?" Yoongi asks with a chuckle, abruptly stopping his fit of amusement when he gets goosebumps starting from the tail of his spine. He instantly recognizes it as deja vu. "I've asked you this before, haven't I?"

The realization doesn’t hit you until he points it out.

"Mhmm," you hum absent-mindedly, playing with the hem of your dress. “I don't think the problem now is anything like how it was before, though."

One night several years ago, you and Yoongi were sat side-by-side in the booth of a club, the heartbreak you had over what Jungkook’s done (and haven’t, at the time) being the wedge between you.

Now, Yoongi’s standing in front of you while you’re sat down, your daughter with Jungkook in his arms.

“Me neither. I don't know how you and Jungkook can encounter any problem worse than last time, to be honest," he chuckles, shaking his head at the recollection of the hell you’ve been through. "Also, I think I can say that because I literally don't know what's going on with you. But if you do tell me-!"

"You're so nosy,” you snort, the brief moment of playfulness welcome because your head aches the longer that you dwell over your worries.

"I can be the judge to see if what you're going through now is worse than before," Yoongi shrugs to fake nonchalance, unaware that you’re gasping in awe until you kick him lightly in the shin.

Hwayoung’s asleep in his arms.

"She's never did that with anyone before," you murmur, fishing for your phone to take a picture, but not before quickly skimming to see if Jungkook’s sent you any messages; he hasn’t. “She only either sleeps in mine or Jungkook's arms. Not for my parents, not for my in-laws. Just me and him."

Yoongi smiles proudly, stroking Hwayoung’s hair proudly. "What can I say? I'm godfather of the year."

He only sways her gently back and forth, rocking her with the patience and attention that remind you of Jungkook’s when Hwayoung was a newborn.

You’re calm and quiet to see her adjusting so well already, but you can’t help but to feel lost because you feel the exact opposite. No one’s gonna stroke your hair for you and tell you to take your time — those are Jungkook’s tasks alone, yet your grievances are also because of him.

"Jungkook's producing this short film in the US. It's by his friend," you mutter under your breath after some time in silence. Yoongi flicks his eyes up at you as if you’re talking about the weather, careful not to make you feel more conflicted than you already are. “You know… by Namjoon.”

"Since when was he into that?" he asks out of curiosity, eyebrows furrowed because he didn’t know that your opening line would ever transition to this point in the conversation. Yoongi catches a second wind the longer he processes your words, the scoff that leaves his lips making his bangs loose despite the hairspray on them. “Since when did Jungkook and Namjoon belong in the same sentence?”

"I don't know either.”

"So we're both producers now?" he snickers, the teasing already coming natural. "Nepo husband alert."

You roll your eyes in recognition, clearing your throat as soon as the laughter died between the two of you. “We got into this argument and I don't know, I-I realized I was being selfish for a moment because I didn't want him to go at first, you know?" you admit in full sincerity, exhaling the lump that forms in your throat. “He said he was afraid that this is everything he'll be. My husband, Hwayoung's dad. So on and so forth."

Yoongi only listens this time, giving the occasional hum there to remind you that he’s still there.

"And last night, he, uh, he forgot to call," you gulp, already feeling the weight of your worries settle in your stomach. "The call wasn't even for me. It's for Hwayoung because he promised he'll still read her whatever she wants."

The three of you cherish that time together because normally, it happens as soon as you get home from work. Hwayoung’s long graduated from storybooks and has now branched out to the most ridiculous texts that Jungkook indulges her with nonetheless — from the ingredient list at the back of milk cartons, and all the way to Reddit threads of how cats find their way back home to owners.

"He's been secretive about the whole thing and I-I… I do that too with my projects, I get it. But only at first because I'm literally bound to an NDA," you stammer, pinching your nosebridge to get past the frustration. “I’m just-…!" you give up, admitting the truth. "I did some snooping."

"And?" Yoongi prompts, tilting his head in anticipation.

"I think he's been secretive because the main lead's Eunsu."

Yoongi recoils at that, so much so that it almost wakes up Hwayoung.

"Eunsu? As in Park Eunsu?" he repeats, the scowl on his face getting deeper the more that you stay indifferent. “Eunsu as in your nemesis?"

You relent, the mention of her finally hitting close.

"Nemesis sounds a little childish."

Yoongi scoffs immediately, rolling his eyes at your correction. “I mean yeah, because people keep pitting her against you when she doesn't even come close," he shrugs easily, make you tut in warning. "What? I'm just saying what everybody's been thinking."

To know that you can still confide in Yoongi no matter what comforts you — what doesn’t is that this time around, your gut feeling’s stronger than it had been the last time.

"I hope I'm wrong."

"I hope so too," he exhales, shaking his head in disbelief. "What kind of asshole sleeps with his wife's enemy?"

"Don't put that out there,” you grumble, the unintentional yet weird arrangement of words making you dizzy.

"Sorry. It's a metaphor, dummy," Yoongi surrenders, clearing his throat. "Okay. Retake. What kind of husband produces a film featuring his wife's rival?

"Hopefully not mine."

( ♡ )

It takes little effort to love you.

Loving you specifically doesn’t have to be hard.

Jungkook thinks that loving you isn’t hard when you serve as the peace to his otherwise hectic and turbulent mind. You manifest into the comfort he looks for in all seasons, be it the heat pack you wordlessly put in his coat pocket or the scrunchie you put around his wrist no matter the weather whenever his hair got too long.

You don’t text him at every hour of the day whether you were working or not, but you’ve made it a point to always check up on him multiple times even if the both of you are at home, going as far to randomly waking up in the night to pause your breathing and check up on his with a hand on his chest.

It’s easy love — one that could be grasped by everyone because as the world has proved to him time and time again, you’re easy to fall with and for.

You may not coo and awe at every single thing he utters, but the adoration behind your eyes always makes him warm from the inside because you held onto him, no matter how anticlimactic his stories could be.

Neither you and Jungkook are easy, that much he knows.

He knows it because although it’s never been his intention to come home late during his allotted short break between filming (it’s disguised as a break even if he only came back to take care of work-related matters personally), you make it known that you’re irked with him for every other reason.

He knows that you aren’t easy because for the past three weeks he’s been gone, you’ve reiterated twice in the last hour alone how you’ve asked him again and again who will star in his short film. You’ve asked Jungkook repeatedly to give you details outside of Namjoon and the vaguest bits he could ever give you, establishing the fact that he isn’t even bound to an NDA.

It’s the persisting barrage of questions in your head that bothers you without a single break. It’s the hovering feeling of doom above your head because having no answers to any of them, on top of Jungkook closing himself off with or without the physical distance between the two of you and being Hwayoung’s sole caregiver, that your patience ultimately thins.

Your annoyance towards your husband is clearly obvious and it bothers him to the point of frustration. Jungkook’s been convinced since last week that if he just dodged your questions for long enough and blamed it on the connection of your call, he wouldn’t have to answer to you; he wouldn’t have to explain the fine details of the project he’s kept from you.

If he had only avoided you for long enough, you would’ve forgotten about the rumors surrounding Namjoon’s upcoming screenplay that had been leaked to the press, and the roster of actresses thought out to be the main lead of his short film.

If he had only ignored your pleas for long enough, he would have never succumbed to the preliminary guilt that comes with lying to you under the impression that he’s only being protective, pushing him to drink until his vision spins — enough for him that when he admits the truth to you, your face of heartbreak directed at him isn’t as anguishing.

“Fine, fuck it! Since you’re so nosy, yes. Eunsu is my main lead, there! She’s my muse!” Jungkook just about yells, breathless from the burn of alcohol in his throat that spreads all the way to his chest, and from the back and forth he’s been going at with you for the last hour.

“Why didn’t you tell me in the first place?!” you retort, fists clenching at your sides as the thought of Jungkook with Eunsu, with her of all actresses, in a foreign place at almost every minute of the workday irking you.

“Would it have made a difference? You’d still be angry at me,” he rolls his eyes, placing a hand on his hip as he tries to stabilize his gaze on you.

“And even then, you wouldn’t do anything about it, right? Because that’s just your nature, Jungkook,” you scoff, your dig at him being incredibly low yet you steel your pride, unwilling to back down at the thought that Jungkook’s been lying to you for three weeks– perhaps even longer.

He presses a tongue to his cheek as you pertain to the past loud and clear, the sarcastic nod he gives you making your breathing tremble.

“Why? Why does it have to be her?” you try again, this time with your jaw clenched so your anger won’t flare up because you’ve been dying to have a decent explanation from Jungkook for weeks.

“Why can’t it be her?” he counters. “B-because she’s what, she’s your rival or something? You’re jealous? Bitter?”

The knot in your chest tightens, the recall you have of the woman who had sabotaged you repeatedly when you were still a rookie putting a metallic taste on your tongue. She’s hindered you in ways that not even Yoongi could explain fully despite being the closest friend to you in the industry, the vitriol you’ve had for Eunsu in the past reviving back to life.

You have no words except for the fact that begs to be acknowledged without a single syllable.

“I’m your wife, Jungkook,” you exhale shakily, the gravity of it seemingly not enough for him because he refuses to use it as a reason to get on your side.

“Don’t you think I know that? Don’t you think everybody knows that by now?” Jungkook spits. “When I’m producing my film with Eunsu, I don’t want to be your husband, Y/N! I’m sick of it,” he seethes. “Eunsu has nothing to do with me. Why should I fight your battles for you? Why do I have to carry your grudges for something that doesn’t even concern me?”

Jungkook’s the drunkest he’s ever been in his life, yet he utters the clearest words you’ve ever heard him say.

“This is showbiz, Y/N. It’s inevitable for you to get caught up with shit.”

“You’re talking as if being my husband and being Hwayoung’s dad is a chore.”

“Because maybe it is!” Jungkook bursts with a cry, the tears that spring out of his eyes momentarily blinding him. “Because maybe, I’m fed up trying to be sickeningly devoted to you all the time.”

There’s something akin to white, hot, searing pain that spreads across your chest all the way to your temple, the tremble of your lips not enough for Jungkook to realize that you’re on the verge of sobbing.

“Sometimes I hate this. I… I-I hate this life I’m living because of you, Y/N,” Jungkook whispers. “I hate how you’re so, so perfect in juggling everything. I hate how I could spend an hour just convincing Hwayoung to eat a single carrot and you come in the room, and she finishes the bowl with a smile on her face. I-I hate how you never complain whenever you need to do late night feedings after a long day because I’m already snoring. I hate how with or without work, you’re still just—…” he stills, looking at you with a distraught gaze. “You’re still so content. You’re still able to be yourself like you’ve always been.”

There’s no words left in you; no thought at all that could ever pick you up from the ground and gather yourself the way you’ve always had whenever you and Jungkook had felt the furthest from each other.

“Jungkook,” you sniffle, even if he waves you off half-heartedly. “I’m sorry if-…”

“There it is. There it fucking is again!” Jungkook whines, foot agitatedly stomping against the floor as he pulls at his hair. “You’re apologizing for being so perfect in life that it’s making me feel bad!”

“But I’m not! I’m far from it, what the hell are you talking about?” you rasp, the sarcastic laugh that goes past your lips making his ears ring. “I’m sorry if it seems that way but I’m telling you myself that everything is not perfect the way you make it out to be. I’m sorry because it makes you feel bad, but if anything-…”

Jungkook raises a finger at you, his jaw tightening the longer he stews in displacement.

“Don’t. Don’t. Don’t tell me how content you are with everything despite being exhausted, or how you juggling everything is worth it. Don’t tell me how good of a dad I am."

“Then what can I say to make it lighter for you, Jungkook? What can I say that won’t make you resent me?” you grit in surrender, chest falling so lowly, you’ve forgotten to breathe for a long second. “Do you hate the life that we’re living now so much that you can’t even look at me?”

Love isn’t always a matter of ease and although it’s always stuck to you, you prove now that Jungkook coming home to you at this instance, in this light, that he makes love the most difficult thing.

“Do you hate the life that I gave you so badly?”

“I don’t,” he answers, mouth dry as his vision spins. “Sometimes. Tonight, though — maybe I do. It comes and goes.”

“Then what can we do about it?” you whisper, your vision hazy as you look at him. “Where do we go from here?”

“It’s getting late,” Jungkook only whispers, unwilling to look at the bed you share. “I have an early flight tomorrow.”

[cryptfile]

⋆౨ৎ˚ ࣪ over the moon [ benedict bridgerton x wife!reader ]

summary — based on a request but went slightly off with it aka when your husband starts to stay up painting till late you start plotting a good plan to make him go to bed with you and actually rest instead.

warnings — pure fluff, since the rumors of sophie being latina sparked, personally went crazy with the information so it’s implied that reader is latina also, mentions of sex (nothing explicit,,, implied as part of a establish relationship).

side notes — English is not my first language, so if you find any mistakes i’m sorry in advance. this is for my latin girlies out here reading in tumblr, working extra hard to translate your works to bring new content to the page, tkm <3 reblogs, comments and likes are much appreciated,,,as brittany broski once said: i'm a benedict bridgerton believer, i'm a benedict bridgerton ally.

You really didn’t know what you were getting into when you accepted Benedict’s marriage proposal.

Nobody told you that loving an artist is a tricky thing, cause while you’re always giving Ben’s new ideas, you hate him at the same time when he’s at the art studio until late, painting as if the absence of light it’s not enough to separate him from the canvas.

God, it just drives you crazy. He lacks of a schedule so he’s able to keep on painting till the rays of light start to appear again in the window he leaves opened all night long, and you’re afraid he’s going to catch a cold if he continues with his bad habits.

It suddenly hits him, that inspiration he ends up being the victim of, kissing you quickly as he escapes so fast you aren’t able to say anything when he disappears leaving you alone, you tolerate it at first, but the second? The third? He's just testing your patience at this point.

Your marriage has never been a troubled one, your husband does not make you mad most of the time and you enjoy being in love, those little things that made your heart skip a beat. You enjoy talking to him at night, spend your day in his art room as he encourages you to keep on writing that mystery book you're so into lately, bickering about how unfair life is for women your age — Hell, woman of all ages.

You love the sound of his laugh when he's careless about everything else, when he admits he doesn't want to go that night's party cause he just wants to stay home and fuck you senseless, his way of seeing art and explain it to you as something totally opposite as what you really think it is.

Thing is, you choose to marry Benedict Bridgerton cause you're indeed, head over heels with him. You've fall for the charming smile and sassy attitude that made you finally settle after years of being called a spinster. He finds the way to intrude the walls of the maze that was your heart and managed to plant a flag in the middle of it when you're confident enough to talk to him, let alone be seen in public after all the rumors you've heard that he was looking for a wife that season.

Even when you try to avoid him, he makes you fall in no time, following you around like a lost puppy, going to your house to spend time with your family, convincing everyone he's desperate to try the food your nana makes, cause you've talked about how good it taste all the time.

It's almost like he tricked you into make you love him, to have you between the brushes dipped in a funny smell water. He has you hooked by the first months and soon after? God, he has no education when he makes you love him, how he obliges you to stain yourself with all the things he was his daily life mixed with yours functioning so well.

It's a thorn nailed in the palm of your hand, those moments of privacy when the moon evolves you and your lover completely that are now being taken away. It's selfish, surely it's something childish so you don't want to say anything to your friends, or even Daphne Basset when she visits you to have an afternoon of tea free from her kids, asking you about how everything's going days before you came up with this great idea.

You can take the matter by your hands, that's why the next time Benedict's painting at midnight your mind works like a machine.

After all the time together you happen to know him more than you know yourself, the things he enjoys what he dislikes the most — So it's not very hard to plot against your husband.

Benedict doesn't seem to hear you when you silently glide through the half-open door, unaware as the light of the candle lights is not enough to illuminate the whole room, the fire he kept close to the canvas he was currently working on. He looks handsome all concentrated. His brows furrowed as he takes the pigments with his bare hands and mix them in his wood palette to get that exact color he was looking for. A shade of pink for a piece he hasn't shown you officially yet.

"What are you doing up so late?" you ask coyly when you are close to him, hearing how his breath hitched for a second before noticing it's you, your hands coming from behind just to intrude in his space close to the easel. He's taller than you, but it doesn't stop you from standing in your tiptoes, pressing your cheek against the crook of his neck as you hugged him.

You cannot hide that you're tired. You lost the track of time when you got out of bed, so when you have your husband close and finally smell that nice and subtle aroma he carries with him, you relax in his back, the sound of his heartbeat loud against your ear.

"You scared me for a second," he says with a grin, muscles relaxing under your touch. "Didn't hear you coming in."

He has dry paint on his neck, so while you're cleaning his skin with one hand, he leans into you, back pressed against your chest seeking for your warmth, that contact he always seems to enjoy, your attention in all the ways he can get it.

“Bed’s cold without you” you say, fingers on his recently trimmed hair. "Done waiting for'you."

He has the nerve to laugh at your words, slowly at first, the sound of it making your skin shiver. He's going to defend his choices, you know it, and you hate how much you enjoy it, the way he always seems to find an excuse making you totally offended as you retort something equally ridiculous.

"Just thirty more minutes I promise," he says pressing a kiss in the palm of your hand he so gently grabs. "If you stay with me like this, can do the work in twenty."

"You can fool anyone else with that Ben, not buying it" to be honest, you're just trying to contradict everything he says, far from what you thought doing first when you plotted against him. "You said the same last week, amor. Not falling for any more lies."

"Not falling huh?" he asks, lowering the wood palette to look at you, his eyes meeting yours when you're so comfortable pressing your chin on his shoulder, looking at the painting he was doing — "You've learned the lesson then?"

"Twenty more minutes mean an hour in Benedict's language," he's the one that's now offended when his mouth opens in disbelief "Turns out I know my husband, and we both know that’s way more than twenty minutes.”

He loves it. It’s almost a secret, but he loves how you demand his company, the way you don’t fold against anything and you stand for what you believe. He loves how you claim to know him, your lavender smell filling every single space available in the room as he smiles happily in response. He was so unsure of marrying you at first, but now he doesn’t know what his life would look like without you in the picture.

“Ah, I’m guilty as charge” he says, his own hand going to his chest like it saddens him to hear you talk like that. “Thought you wanted me to paint more.”

You've been encouraging him to show his art to more people, a small gallery that displayed his talent, but that’s using your words for his advantage.

“You little bastard, that’s unfair coming from you.”

“Woah woah, you kiss your mother with that mouth?”

“Kiss you even” you stick your tongue out, and he’s suddenly turning you around to place a kiss in your forehead, making you move in front of him instead — “You wouldn’t even imagine.”

Benedict’s a romantic. A poet at heart, so he doesn’t let any opportunity slip to show his affection, his infinite devotion to you. His heart flutters in his chest and suddenly he’s kissing you, staining your white nightgown with the fresh paint of his hands and not caring about it at the slightest. Kisses you like he missed you, like he didn’t see you the whole day when in reality you’ve spent all day in the same house, baking cookies cause you’ve suffered from a burst of love to the kitchen.

“You’re not convincing me” you say between kisses, hands pressing you closer to him. “I’m not leaving this room without you.”

He chuckles at your words — “Not even ten minutes?”

He’s devastatingly handsome in a way that makes you stare at him, wonder what you did to make him so interested in you, so attracted to the point he has to marry you.

"No Bridgerton. Ni diez minutos." To be honest, the accent just makes him go weak at the spot. It's pathetic, but he cannot help it, his brain melts at the sound of your voice, even if he doesn't understand much of what you're saying. "Let's go to bed."

You know it's a weapon, your lips are on his face, and he forgets about everything else: How he's supposed to continue on working when your lips are kissing every inch of his face? Seems like an impossible task now that his hands are on your waist and all he can notice are your pink lips, how you're looking at him through half-lidded eyes cause you're sleepy, an smile that eclipses the rest.

Benedict's no longer worried of his painting. Hell, he cannot seem to remember what shade of pink he was so invested in finding before, but he don't care at all when he's the one now leaning in, kissing you with fervent love as he traces the outline of your lips, almost asking for permission to invade you before deepening the contact, tangling his fingers in the strands of your hair cause he simply cannot get enough from you.

"Take me to bed then, my beautiful wife."

He does not protest next. He loves every second of it, the slight force, your gentle touch when your guiding him through the cottage you two share in Wiltshire, the goosebumps in his own skin when you managed to get what you want.

You win. It's a war that Benedict never intended to win, a disaster he knew it would end up with the result of him leaving his work half done cause he cannot resist to the idea of being tangled with you in such an intimate way. He sleeps so well with you on his arms, burying his head on your hair as he relaxes beneath the sheets, the contact of your skin enough to make him have the best night sleep.

Can he resist it? He's neck deep. Talked about it with his brothers before, drinking too much as the words slurred together and he admits how you got him wrapped around your finger, so in love he would do anything to please you, let alone have your full attention — They surely made fun of him, but is it his fault? Being so in love with his wife?

"Can't say no to you," he says defeated "You know it."

In the privacy of the room you two share, you're washing his hands with a wet cloth, preventing him from getting the sheets dirty before pulling his linen shirt to the floor. It's so quickly, he don't seem to realize what you're doing until he's already in bed, covered with the thick duvet as he searches for you.

He realizes now he should have listened to you before, cause his back is surely happy now that he's able to rest, the weariness of being standing so many hours now falling over him as his eyes began to close by themselves.

"When are you going to stop working so late?" You ask, pressing your cheek against his chest as you hugged him, getting closer to him even when you stole more than half of the bed in the process. The second son of the Bridgerton family does not say anything about it, but instead, enjoys how needy you are of his touch, how you want him around.

"Inspiration always come late, angel" he tries to defend himself as you rolled your eyes. “Maybe it’s a curse.”

"Then i’m afraid i’ll have to drag you to bed every night," you protest. "Cause i'm not letting you stay all night in that studio, crazy man."

"Miss me too much in bed?"

"Hm, what if I do?"

"Cannot blame you," Benedict admits later, using the only traces of force he has left to caress your hair, fingertips against your scalp in a gentle massage. "I'm always missing you when you're not around."

Your heart skips a beat: How could you not be head over heels with this man? He always find the right words, what to say exactly.

Gently, your face come up to press a soft kiss against his lips, a quick one that’s not enough for Benedict when he makes you stay in the same position as he steals a much longer one.

Life is simple with him by your side, you know it cause you might as well be over the moon when you’re alone with Benedict Bridgerton.

Every. single. day.

my masterlist.

[fangirl-dot-com]

🏎Track 9 - Getaway Car

*for the people who voted an update for reputations first, here you go! we can all say thank you to George for getting me in a writing move and inspiring this chapter! sorry for all the lando lovers...he's not redeemed. thank you for reading and I hope this is what you've been waiting for!*

TAG LIST IS CLOSED

“Oh shit. I think I had contact with Leclerc,” you said over the radio as you felt a bump to your back right tyre. In one of your mirrors, you could see a flash of red trailing behind you. Your heart dropped at the thought of ruining Charles’s race, but you kept on going. 

There wasn’t much space for you to go any wider. And Checo had been on the other side of the Monegasque. It would have to be dubbed a racing incident, hopefully. 

“How’s the car?” your race engineer asked. 

You sucked in a deep breath. “It feels fine.” 

“Ok. Just keep your head down. There might be a podium if we stay on course.” 

Your head gave the slightest nod, even if no one would see it. You still didn’t want to be sole reason that Charles had yet another bad race. 

It seemed like the Monegasque’s luck ran out after Monaco. Someone must have sacrificed the rest of the Ferrari season just so that Monaco could be theirs, and it showed. A double DNF in Canada was downright awful, and Spain wasn’t anything to write home about. 

He had managed to pick up a couple of points in the sprint race, but that was it. 

Canada for you and Logan was a thing of the past. A similar double DNF wasn’t something that you would have liked on your record, but what was done was done. You and Logan were still P1 and P2 in the drivers championship and Lamborghini was leading comfortably. 

Spain was a bit better. 

The Spanish Grand Prix saw you and Logan on the podium, but Max took the first step. It was a tricky race with you, Logan, and Lando swapping places lap after lap. At one point, Logan had tapped Lando when the British driver tried to barrel down into a turn. 

Once it was over, you felt ready to be done with over the top races. You missed the beginning races when your car was able to finish the race with big gaps in front and behind you. The triple header had been grueling, and you were ready for a break. Silverstone didn’t exactly start up any excitement. The media and the atmosphere didn’t seem pleasant.

Your race had been predictable until the very end. You had just gone back into turn 3 when your engineer turned the radio back on. 

“Sargeant and Verstappen made contact, virtual safety car. Sargeant needs to retire, Verstappen has dropped down to fifth.” 

You wanted to groan. There’s no way that you and Logan had accidentally ruined races for two of your really good friends. 

“Who’s the leader and what’s the gap?” 

“Norris is currently P1. Piastri is P2. You’re running P3.” 

If you could hit your helmet on the steering wheel, you would. 

You pressed the radio button again. “And the gap?” 

“It is 4.201 seconds. But tyre degradation is bad. Don’t push as hard, just bring it over the line.” 

With a huff, you turned your radio off and kept going. When you crossed the checkered flag, you finally felt like you could breathe. There really was no competition who could have taken third from you, but your anxiety was already rising. 

Although there wasn’t any tension like there had been, your anxiety grew as you got out of your car. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw a flash of bright orange run into his team’s arms. Not wanting to get involved, you leisurely walked over to the Lamborghini team. 

Your race engineer gave you a quick hug, and many pats came down on your helmet. However, the person you wanted to be there was nowhere to be seen. As you locked eyes with many of the crew, none were the blue you were looking for. 

With a sigh, you took your helmet off and went over to the weighing station. You kept your head down, looking at the numbers so you wouldn’t have to talk to anyone. As you made your way to the cooldown room, George was able to congratulate you.

“Thanks,” you muttered, still not looking him in the eyes. 

The Briton sighed. He knew that when he saw Charles pull up in P11 and Max in P5, you and Logan were going to start closing in on yourselves again. It was his job, plus the others, to make sure that you two knew that it was just racing. 

Hell, Max was at fault for the tangle with Logan. However, the two of you seemed to take all fault on yourselves. If George ever met the people who had made you and Logan like this, they wouldn’t see the light of day. 

George put his hands on your shoulders, finally making you look up at him. His kind, blue eyes melted at the sight of tears in yours. 

“It wasn’t yours or Logan’s fault, ok? Max and Charles both know.” 

You shrugged. “Sure. That’s what they all say.” 

Not wanting to delay getting to the cooldown room, you turned on your heel, out of George’s hands and into the little room. You quietly sat down in the P3 chair, right next to Lando. Your eyes fixated on the screen when they showed what had happened between Logan and Max. 

“Aha, thank you Sargeant for that.” 

Your eyes widened at the sound of Lando’s laugh and voice. You quicky glanced over, just to see Oscar looking at him the same way. 

The Aussie let out a small scoff. “Mate, Max turned into him.” 

Lando rolled his eyes. “He shouldn’t have gone up against Max in the first place. If he can’t keep P1 then he doesn’t deserve it. Max did the right thing.” 

Was he being for real. You wanted to say something, but you were baffled. Lando’s win was definitely gifted. He couldn’t even hold P1 into turn 1 back in Spain when he was on pole. You just sat still, picking at your fingernails until the official called the three of you back. 

Lando jumped out of his chair and sauntered away. Oscar waited until you got close to wrap an arm around you. As the two of you walked, the Aussie’s head dipped down next to your ear. 

“It was all Max. Logan had nowhere to go.” 

You only nodded in response. The McLaren driver could sense that something was very off. He hoped that Logan was fairing a bit better. 

Back at the Lamborghini garage, Logan had locked himself in his drivers room after he got out of his car in the pit lane. His eyes were red as he continuously wiped at the tears that kept falling. Deep down, he knew that it was Max who turned a bit deep, but his head liked to say the opposite. 

A knock interrupted his down spiral. 

Logan sniffed loudly. “Yeah?” 

The door opened slightly and Benny popped his head in. “We’re going to the podium; do you want to come with us to watch your girl?” 

Logan sucked in a deep breath. How dare he come in and cry while you probably wanted to celebrate. He quickly shook his head. 

“She probably doesn’t need me there.” 

Benny sighed as he recalled what George had said on his way back to the Mercedes. When the trainer caught Logan’s eyes, he smiled. 

“I don’t think she’s feeling like celebrating at all. How about this: I’ll call for a car so that you and Y/n can get out of here when you’re done with your interviews. I’ll let Michael know that you two need some time.” 

Logan didn’t say anything, but he stood up and brought Benny into a hug. He choked on a sob as his friend’s arms wrapped around him. 

“It’s going to be just fine kid.” 

Logan wiped his eyes one more time as he followed Benny out of his room. He could feel the sad pairs of eyes on him, reminding him of Canada after his DNF. It kind of reminded him about his time at Williams, but the smiles made it better. At the other team, all he got where sighs of disappointment and frustrations.  

When he made it to the media pen, he kept his cap low on his face. What he didn’t realize was that Max was standing next to him while he gave his interview. 

The Dutchman has seen Logan come up to stand next to him, so he kept one ear open. Logan shuffled on his feet as the lady asked the first question. 

“Logan, you were having a fantastic race. What happened?” 

A sigh escaped before he answered. “Well, Max and I went for a battle and we both went a bit wide. There really wasn’t room for me to go anywhere, but I should have gone a bit wider to have tried to not cause the collision.” 

Max wanted to smack him for thinking that he could have avoided it. 

The lady pressed on. “So do you think that Verstappen is at fault.” 

The American shrugged. “At the end of the day, we’re both drivers that want a win. When you go wheel to wheel, you need to expect some hard moves and be ready for them. I just wasn’t ready and I dealt with the consequences.” 

“Your teammate was able to score a podium. Is that a positive you can take from today?” 

A smile rose on his face at the thought of you. “Yes. I can speak for the team when I say I’m very proud of what Y/n accomplished today. Even with the bit of bumping into turn 1 at the beginning with Charles, she managed well.” 

The interview wrapped up quickly after that, making Logan turn to leave. Once he was out of the pen, he felt a hand land on his shoulder. He slowly turned around and was faced with a concerned Max. 

The Dutchman asked, “Are you ok, Logan?” 

The blond had a sheepish grin, almost borderline uncomfortable. “Yeah, I’m ok.” 

Max wasn’t convinced. 

“It wasn’t your fault, Logan. You need to know that.” 

“Oh look, Y/n is texting me. Better check out what she needs. Bye Max.” 

“Logan.” 

“I have to get going! See you at Silverstone.” 

“You’re being unfair.” 

Max’s last sentence died out as he watched the younger round the corner out of sight. He let out a groan as he rubbed his hand down his face. If Logan wasn’t going to listen, he’d have to corner him again. 

The Dutchman didn’t want to do that, but Logan left him with no choice. He had to call the big guns. 

You were currently rushing to lot 2 where Logan had said he would be. Your eyes landed on a convertible, navy Porsche. Logan’s blond hair shone in the lighting of the late evening. When you saw him wave, you quickly made your way over. 

As you got closer, Logan leaned over the passenger seat and opened your door. You rolled your eyes as you sat down. 

“What a gentleman.” 

He smirked. “Only for you darlin’.” 

Your arm reached out and turned up the radio as Logan put the car into gear. It didn’t take long before you two were out of the lot and on the main road. Your hair whipped around you as you sang along to the radio. Logan would glance at you often, just glad to see a smile on your face. He even tried to hit a high note, which made you burst into giggles.

You didn’t know where Logan was headed, but it seemed like he knew as he turned off the road and onto a back one. It didn’t take long before he parked the car in front of a park. The lake behind the grass reflected the reds and yellows of the sunset. 

Logan took this opportunity to place his arm behind you and gently pull you in. You let out a content sigh as your head rested on his chest. 

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there at the podium,” he apologized as his fingers twirled your hair around them. He wasn’t looking at you as his eyes were cast at the steering wheel. Your fingers began to draw shapes on his chest. 

“You don’t have to be sorry. I’m glad you weren’t there. Lando was insufferable. He said some things.” 

Logan sat up slightly. “Like what?” 

You chewed on your lip, not wanting to say. “He said thank you for hitting Max, and that you shouldn’t have tried to fight for P1 if you couldn’t keep it.” 

The blond was silent for a moment. 

“At least he said thank you.” 

You sat up all the way and turned to look at him. “Logan Hunter Sargeant!” 

“What?” a smile was on his face, letting you know that he was teasing. “I’m just going to team up with Max, and we’re going to win at Silverstone.” 

Your eyes looked down and landed on your phone which was blowing up with messages from your group chat. 

“Speaking of Max.” 

You and Logan read through the messages quickly before replying.

You put your phone back down before turning to face him. 

“Think we should head back?” 

“Yeah, or your ice cream might melt.” 

Before Logan went to shift the gear, you pulled on his shirt and brought him into a kiss. Behind your lips, he sighed as he leaned in a bit more. Your hands drifted to his shoulders while his rested on your hips. 

You would have leaned in more if it weren’t for the stick shift in the middle. When it pressed against your side, you disconnected your lips from his. Logan let out a soft whine and tried to lean back in. You put your finger up to his lips to press him back. 

“Nothing good starts in a get away car baby.” 

Logan turned and thumped his head on the steering wheel. “You did not just quote Taylor Swift at me for wanting to kiss you a bit more.” 

You smirked. “Ice cream is waiting.” 

“You and your ice cream woman.” 

Logan quickly backed out and whipped the car around. The drive to the hotel wasn’t as far as you thought it was as. Logan pulled up to the front, got out, and rounded to your side to open your door. This time you didn’t tease him and gladly took his hand. 

Logan went over the details with the chauffer before he was back at your side, leading you through the entrance. 

You two thought you would have a bit more time before Max and Charles showed up. However, when the elevator opened to your floor, you weren’t expecting them, Lewis, George, and Oscar to be sitting by your door. 

You raised an eyebrow. “Uh, you guys are here early.” 

At the sound of your voice, the five of them sat up, eye wide at being caught. George scratched his head, Lewis looked at the ground, and Oscar smiled sheepishly. 

Charles bit his lip before holding a bag out. “Ice cream?” 

You took the bag from him as Logan swiped his card. “Ice cream.” 

Logan shouted from inside the room. “How long have you been here?” 

Max rubbed his face. “Maybe thirty minutes?” 

“My ice cream better not be melted Verstappen.” 

“Your ice cream? I think Charles brough enough for me too.” 

“Get your own Sargeant.” 

“Are they always like this?” 

“Welcome to the club Oscar.” 

lamborghini_racing has posted

liked by sargeantgirlie, venus2, presidentlogan, and 2,038,567 others

lamborghini_racing wasn't the result we thought we'd get, but it's better than nothing. the bees are ready for Silverstone 💪🐝

see all comments

lambo_duo logan, you did nothing wrong! I hope you know that we're still cheering for you!!

sargstappen I hope this isn't the end of Logan and max's friendship :(

leclercsdaughter I don't think it it

venus2 sorry team, we'll get it next time

phoenix95 OH YEAHHHH LET'S GO TEAM - THE BRITISH BETTER BE SCARED BEFORE WE RECREATE 1776 RAWWRRRR 🦅

lewishamilton I actually am scared now

georgerussell63 same.

usaf1 let's get Norris on his home turf 😤

ln4fan this team has som incompetent drivers who need to be replaced (I'm looking at sargeant)

logan&co literally who asked you

lestappenlove bring it on 😈

phoenix95 has posted

liked by charles_leclerc, y/n.nation, LEC, and 1,403,286 others

phoenix95 totally destroyed them at mario kart 😈

tagged: charles_leclerc, maxverstappen1, georgerussell63, lewishamilton, oscarpiastri, and venus2

see all comments

loscarland glad to see Oscar has been adopted by this group ☺️

y/n.nation nothing but a girl, her friends, and some lec ice cream

americanf1duo can't wait to obliterate them in England

maxverstappen1 I WANT A REMATCH

venus2 I think you're just a sore loser

maxverstappen1 how was I supposed to know that George is awful at mario kart

georgerussell63 HEY 🤨

sargstappen233 I'm glad to see that nothing has changed 😮‍💨

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[sylvaridreams]

Inhales. You know what gets me when I think about Heart of Thorns. The anti-sylvari sentiment in-universe was SO real for a while there. During the period of time where the whole world of Tyria learned the secret that Wynne had died to protect, that sylvari came from the jungle dragon, that they were made to serve it. Everyone turned on them. Friends, lovers, commanding officers, it didn't matter anymore. They COULD turn mordrem at any time, so you had to assume that they would. You couldn't trust something that belonged to a dragon. Even Laranthir (of the Wild) right after the crash, being held captive by his own people, waiting for him to go feral and tear their throats out. The sylvari Commander was granted a little wiggle room, a little space to walk around freely, but it's all very conditional. Prove you're a good one, that you won't fall to the dragon. There's the event in Verdant Brink where they round up all the sylvari in a camp and ask you to interrogate them, to break them down until they confess to being mordrem. And inevitably a few of them are hiding among the camp, but an equal number of sylvari run from you in fear, more afraid of you and the Pact than the certain death of the jungle beyond. The other innocents that stay don't have a choice. It's keep your head down and don't say anything or be killed, one way or another, while the Commander that you've worked under for the past couple of years interrogates a crying novice, asking if they've heard a voice. And who hasn't heard the voice at that point? The Commander admits to hearing it too. Canach likens it to a buzzing fly. Irritating. Nothing more. Strong willed sylvari don't stumble when Mordremoth speaks. But even that's not true; maybe not everyone's played Heart of Thorns on a sylvari Commander, but the closer you get to the dragon, you start to falter, to black out and lose time. In its domain you actually do fall to it. Briefly. Just for a while, you forget who you are and what you're doing there, and mordrem start giving you killing orders. And you snap out of it and never tell anyone, never. They can't know how close you got.

But what GETS ME is that after the dragon is dead, no one talks about it. It all returns to normal. Like the tension was never there in the first place. I'm sure there might be some loaded quips about sylvari in Living World Season 3 right after, but the next time I actually can recall it coming up is in Path of Fire. Right as you get into Desert Highlands; Canach says something about "I always knew this whole human/gods arrangement wouldn't work out" and Kasmeer shoots back "This coming from someone with a DRAGON in their family tree." And that's that. No one actually really discusses it in-game. They all moved on and don't care if you're a dragon minion or not.

Which. Augh. WHAT!!!!! NO ONE CARES? I'm sure it's a better end-user experience than if everyone you encountered as a sylvari player was like "OOOOOH I DON'T TRUST YOUR TYPE... YOU WRETCHED DRAGON PLANT FOLK" but narratively it's a little boring. At least in the sense that it doesn't feel finished. There should still be tons of anti-sylvari sentiment in Tyria and propaganda spread to force them out of parts of society and stupid hoops to jump through to be considered safe. Just as I think that sylvari should still hold anti-asura sentiment--you're telling me their small second generation had a huge group taken away and tortured to death and there's no ingrained fear of it happening again? I want my sylvari commander to have met Gorrik in LWS4 and been like haha. uh. 😥 (do I really have to work with this guy. An inquest...) (and EVENTUALLY come to like and trust him!) instead of the game plowing over it like oh yeah don't worry about it n_n the facility exploded and all so he doesn't work there now don't worry n_n NO I'M WORRIED!-- again I'm sure that the smoothing over of Everything is a better end-user experience. rather than everyone you meet being rude to you or vice versa. However----💥 (I am killed by a sniper from a long distance so that I stop talking before I begin delving into the prejudices that are already baked into the narrative)

[fantasywater]

Octavia WILL bend the knee

Here I will go in-depth into why Octavia will not be given the same grace in the fandom as Blitz did when she has her Full Moon Reckoning with Stolas.

NOTE/WARNING: I have seen and read the leaks, and they will be part of the reason why I feel this way.

What I mean by Full Moon Reckoning:

This is when the writers finally allow a victim of Stolas to be fully and rightfully angry at him for all the transgressions he has done to them, and more importantly when the FANDOM treats the actual victim's pain as the take back my power moment that it is.

The reason for this distinction is that I have noticed that Stolas is the fan favorite, and therefore it seemed all his wrongdoings got default reasons for not being that bad.

However, when Full Moon aired an odd and swift negative wind hit his character, and it has not abated.

Even with the newer ep the wind didn't lessen it got stronger.

It's like some spell broke.

It feels like a genie that can't be put back in the bottle.

He has gone from the fan-favorite to the most criticized.

The fandom is pretty unanimously on Blitz's side and has stayed on it.

However, as I've stated Octavia will not get this.

Octavia's pain in Sinmas is going up against:

Blitz and Stolas are male

Octavia is female, and a female in a Yaoi series at that. The women exist only as one-note plot devices for male pain, and that's even when said women themselves are technically leads(Loona, Millie).

2. Blitz and Stolas are main characters

Octavia is a side character who has barely been in two episodes spanning two seasons.

3. In the leaks Octavia takes up for her mother twice

Basically, she goes to bat for the fandom's hatesink.

4. Two other fan favorites(Fizz and Asmodeous) are written to be Team Stoliz

Plus, apparently, they are going to be against Octavia's mother and therefore Octavia.

5. THE MOST IMPORTANT REASON why Octavia is going to get it both barrels from the fandom is that Blitz and Stolas are canonically a gay couple by Sinmas.

Viv said an important arc will be finished by season's end, and I saw a post from her patron where she point-blank says they are a couple by the end of season two. Also more proof to me is that Blitz is very affectionate to Stolas in the trailer and in the leaks.

Speaking of, if you go to YouTube pretty much every comment is praising the ship sailing. A daughter is painfully estrangling herself from her beloved father, while he cries and begs for her mercy, and all everyone can talk about is getting wet over a toxic ship flying into her pain.

Recap TLDR:

Blitz got fandom grace because he is THE main character and was at the time rightfully against Stolas.

While Octavia will get to have her say she is also a woman bit player up against Blitz THE male main character who is now with Stolas THE male fan favorite in a gay romantic relationship.

She will also make the unforgivable sin of taking up for her cheated on mother Stella the hatesink.

Blitz and Stolas will also have the backing of two other favorites Fizz and Ozz as well as the rest of I.M.P.

The YouTube comments ignoring her anguish for the now canon ship are simply a taste to come of what the fandom as a whole is going to do.

Basically, this poor girl doesn't stand a chance.

I WANT to eat crow.

I realllly do.

That's why I employ the fandom to give the same grace they gave Blitz these last two episodes to Octavia as well.

However, this show is made by a fujoshi for fujoshi and that's why I know in my heart of hearts she will be damned instead.

Now, I've stated that the fandom is probably going to kiss the Stolitz ring against Octavia, but let's go into what I think the show is going to do.

Yes, after a year in the show and two seasons overall, Blitz finally got to angrily reinsert his personhood to Stolas, and yes it was cathartic and I'm glad it happened.

However, that doesn't change the fact that four episodes after Full Moon his fate is to be his abuser's boyfriend.

Also, if the merchandise is said to be hints of the creator's thoughts then his final destiny is to be his husband.

Basically, if the main character ultimately bent the knee then so will Octavia.

While the fujoshi in charge does allow them to assert their pain their ultimate fate is to comply.

Essentially it's just lip service to shut critics up.

She, and apparently his voice actor, has said don't worry everything will be alright, and by everything it's obvious they mean Stolas.

She has also said she likes happy endings so you can bet there will be none given to Stolas that doesn't have Blitz and Octavia by his side.

Also make no mistake Blitz's own daughter is also there to help the story ignore their pain. The seed was planted in Seeing Stars when Octavia warmly hugged, hung out, and was gaslit by a complete stranger. It's also why she's her ''sister' now in the pride poster.

Yea, Loona has a big part to play in season three alright, and it's to brainwash Octavia's distress so Stolitz can reign supreme.

Realistically if a fujoshi fangirl weren't writing this show this is what would happen:

Now that he has the crystal; Blitz would completely cut ties with the guy who sexually extorted and depersonalized him for a year. Not become his boyfriend/husband.

Sometime in season three Octavia finds out about her father's (poorly written) abuse and attempted murder attempts by her mother. However, instead of seeing him as a martyr, she states that Stella's actions toward him DON'T NEGATE HIS toward Octavia.

He still broke his own daughter's mental health with his infidelity and abandoned her as a consequence of his own actions i.e. illegal grimoire lending.

She then states she still wants him, and her other toxic parent, out of her life for good.

Her final words are Goodbye Dad... No.... Stolas.

Stolas for his part should be having some serious self-reflection by season 3. He should be strongly asking himself if Blitz was worth Asmodeus's self-fulling prophecy of losing his title, wealth, home, and daughter.

It should be NO, but a fujoshi is steering.

What she is going to do instead is make them use Octavia's pain to trauma bond into domestication.

Then Loona and the writing, in general, is going to make sure Octavia solely blames Stella: The Convenient Stolas Trump Card so they can all just be a family already.

Bonus: We will even get to see Octavia kick her mother from the palace with Stolas' signature GET OUT this time.

Ultimately Blitz and Octavia's misery will not mean anything. As the official car sticker merch states they will be a blended family and their suffering by Stolas be damned. 

However, I do have a small (delusional) theory that Ms. Fujoshi could throw a curveball:

Apparently, she has been liking a lot of Vassago and Stolas romantic fanart, but with a of course jealous Blitz. 

What if Vassago is Disney Princess Stolas's true endgame.

The guy who gets to show him what an actual healthy relationship looks like, and for a romantic like him this would be his true Prince Charming.

Sure Stolas ending up with a prince(and therefore getting everything back through him) just drives home that dirty, poor, broken, baggage-having, hypersexual Blitz was ultimately never going to be good enough for Purity Angel Stolas in the first place.

However, on the bright side, he's finally away from his abuser...

So on that note, Blitz's true endgame is Fizz. 

His real first friend. His real first love.

The correct star-crossed lovers.

The person who actually knows the true Blitz and can meet him blow for blow when he gets messy instead of running away crying with self-pitying gaslighting.

However, since she seems to hate her own main character Blitz's true endgame is going to be tainted.

Foreshadowing Number 1:

I've always found it curious that right after the can we make-out line the very next scene is Fizz coming back to Ozz wiping his mouth.

Why even put that thought in the audience's head unless....

Foreshadowing Number 2:

When Blitz shoots the stalker the mirror that Fizz and Ozz are kissing in front of breaks right down the middle, splitting them, with Blitz's face the last thing seen in the fracture.....

Basically, she is going to have Blitz and Fizz get together by cheating on Ozz, and the fandom is going to blow them both up for it.

Other Tidbits:

Blitz still very much has feelings for Fizz.

Even how he acted when he met him shopping in Full Moon showed this, and he fully blushed in the storyboard.

This is something he has never done for Stolas.

You know the endgame we should be rooting for and all that.

Also Fizz full-on blushes(cage) in the Opps storyboard.

Of course, the show properly erases those because we can't have anyone shipping Blitz or Fizz with their true soulmate.

Apparently, in a leaked script bit, Blitz falls in love with Stolas because he reminds him of Fizz. I mean my dear Stolitz shippers it should be a yikes on a bike for that alone.

[egcdeath]

the l word

pairing: joel miller x reader

summary: the five times you realized that you loved joel, and the first time one of you says it. 

word count: 9.1k

warnings: canon divergent, no apocalypse, 5+1 fic, hurt/comfort, a certain someone gets punched, brief mention of postpartum depression & abandonment, really brief mention of physical abuse in 3, fluff, domestic fluff, angst with a happy ending, found family

author’s note: happy very early valentine’s day! this is part three of the soccer parents au, you can read spectator sport (p1) and clean sheet (p2) here!

this fic would not be possible if it were not for the help of @freakinfairykind, who sent me the idea for scene 3 and listened to my thought vomit whenever i hit a roadblock! you can thank them for the brilliance that is what occurs in that scene :)! enjoy!

part four / series masterlist

Zero

After Nathan, you were sure that you would never fall in love again. Love was supposed to be beautiful and soft—a random bouquet of flowers, having a whole conversation with just your eyes, sweet messages sent to you when you expected it least and needed it most, and foot massages after a long day. For you, love had been nothing of the sort—settling for mediocrity, spitting out venomous words during arguments, and biting back tears on forgotten anniversaries. 

Love wasn’t kind or patient, or rainbows and flowers. Love was a storm cloud that followed you around when you were around him, pouring sadness and anger on you and striking you with lightning bolts of resentment. 

Maybe some people just simply weren’t meant for love. Maybe you were one of them.

One

After years of trying to hold together a failing marriage and hide the myriad of painful feelings you were going through for the sake of your daughter, bottling up your feelings had become your preferred coping mechanism to everyday stressors. 

For the most part, it worked for you. Sure, some days were harder than others, and the smallest confrontation or blip in the day would send you spiraling; but more often than not, you were able to compartmentalize whatever was bothering you and save it for a rainy day.

That was part of what worked so well about the relationship you had with Joel during the soccer season—you had the opportunity to unscrew the lid of the shaken bottle of your feelings just a little bit, taking some of the edge off by yelling about completely inconsequential things. But now, you don't have that outlet. And today was one of those days that you desperately needed it. 

Nathan had come by to pick up Chloe just a bit ago, and it was very obvious that she hadn’t exactly wanted to spend her weekend with him. Some of her friends were going to the mall and having a sleepover, and because Nathan wasn’t particularly fond of their parents, he’d very openly told her no. She begged and pleaded to stay with you (mainly so she could go hang out with her friends), which of course broke your heart a little bit, but also led to a pretty dramatic outburst from your daughter to Nathan when he’d picked her up.

“You’re raising a spoiled little brat,” he hissed at you, pointing an accusatory finger once Chloe was in the car. 

“At least I’m raising her. You only show up when it’s convenient for you,” you shot back. If Nathan wanted to stoop low, you could fall to his level. “Put your finger down. She’s watching us.”

“A little argument won’t hurt her,” he scoffed. “See? You’re proving my point: you spoil her too much.”

“Because years of watching her parents bicker wasn’t traumatic enough? Get in the fucking car, Nathan.”

He huffed, looking back at the car, then over at you. “Fine. But before I go, I’d appreciate it if you stopped talking poorly about me in front of her. Clearly she’s listening to you and acting out because of it.”

“Have you considered that you’re just a shit father and maybe that’s why she doesn’t like you?” you were already making your way back inside, feeling the avalanche of emotions beginning to stir inside of you, and a little frightened of what might come out next. 

“You’re still such a bitch. Every day I praise every deity that’s out there that I left your sorry ass.”

You were viciously fighting the urge to get the last word in, knowing that whatever would come out next wouldn’t be good, and you certainly didn’t want Chloe seeing you like that. You left him with a sarcastic thumbs up, then slammed your front door, taking deep breaths to attempt to calm yourself down.

You crumbled down in front of the door, still maintaining slow and deep breaths. It was no big deal. Nathan just says stuff like that to stir the pot. You just needed to find something to take your mind off of everything. Your mind went to the scarf you’d been working on crocheting, something you could mindlessly do for a little while while you cooled off. 

The scarf was going well. You were calmly crocheting the evening away when you checked your phone to find a few apologetic messages from your coworkers. Feeling confused, you went on to check your email, only to find that the promotion you’d spent the last few months of your life slaving away for had been given to someone else—someone who had worked half as hard as you, and even took credit for a few of your projects. 

Your hands shook as you set down your phone and attempted to pick back up the crochet hook. You were fine, right? Sometimes these things just happen. Sometimes you sacrifice hours of your free time, hours of time you’ll never get back with your child, or significant other, hours you’ll never get back of sleep, hours of-

You cut your mind off, tossing aside the scarf and taking a deep breath. You were gonna be okay. This just meant you could take your foot off the gas going forward, since your work, effort, and time clearly was not being valued. Maybe you would just sit at your desk and play games, then slap your name on projects and presentations like Naomi. Maybe you’d just-

Your phone began to vibrate on your bed and your immediate reaction was to silence it, but upon checking the contact name, you became slightly more inclined to answer. 

“Hey! I almost thought you weren’t gonna pick up,” the man on the other end chuckled. 

“Is everything okay?” you asked, although you weren’t sure you’d be able to handle anything else today. With how your day was going, Joel was probably calling you to break up.

“Better than okay. We finished up early, and Sarah’s already at her friend’s. You in the mood for some company?”

No, not particularly. In fact, if Joel came over, you’d probably end up going off on him over something you don’t really mean, successfully putting an end to the best thing you’ve had in a while. 

“Uh,” your voice cracked, and a rogue tear slipped down your face. You didn’t even know that you were on the brink of tears. “I’m sorry,” you uttered, digging the heels of your hands into your eyes. 

“Sorry for what? You don’t have to feel bad for not wanting me over,” he said genuinely, not picking up on your emotional state over the phone. 

“No, I do want you over,” you whimpered. “I just… I don’t want to lose you, too.”

“What? I promise you I’m not going anywhere. Well, I’m going home now, but I can also come to your place if you want me to.”

“Please,” you grit out. 

“You okay?” he asked, finally catching on to the fact that something was very off with you. 

“I don’t know,” you confessed. 

“Do you want me to stay on the phone with you?”

“No.”

“You sure you want me to come over?”

“Yeah,” you sniffled, desperately trying to fend off your tears.

“Okay, sweetheart. I’ll see you soon, alright?”

“Bye,” you hung up, burrowing yourself under layers of blankets and curling up onto your side. Maybe this tidal wave of emotions would pass by the time Joel got to your place. You closed your eyes as you took deep, shaky breaths, wiping away stray tears every now and then as they fell. You could pull yourself together. 

You kept telling yourself this as you dragged yourself out of bed to answer the door, but the moment you saw Joel with a box of chocolates and a bouquet of flowers, you completely lost it. He immediately tossed the items down and pulled you into a tight embrace, not exactly knowing what was wrong, but instinctually wanting to comfort you regardless. 

You didn’t even really know what it was either. Sure, you were pissed that you’d lost the promotion, and even more upset that Nathan had called your daughter a name while insulting your parenting skills, but it was far more than that. It was every little thing from the past two months that had upset you in some capacity that you had decided to push as far down as possible. 

You sobbed until your throat was raw and your eyes grew sore from crying so much. The whole time Joel wordlessly held you, rubbing soothing circles into your back and swaying you back and forth just the slightest bit. You almost felt like your tears would never stop, and the more you willed yourself to pull it together, the harder it was to do so. 

Finally, you pulled away, head hanging with humiliation by the emotions abruptly pouring out of you. You truly felt like a live wire. You should’ve just told Joel not to come over. 

“Want me to run you a bath?” he asked softly, tilting your chin up so he could look at you, and rubbing a thumb over your cheek. “Or is there anything I can do to make you feel better?”

“A bath is good,” you said quietly, averting your gaze. You almost felt like a toddler in the midst of a tantrum. The shame of being a grown woman who couldn’t even control her emotions was overwhelming, but Joel didn’t seem to mind much at all. He simply led you up to your bathroom and quietly filled the tub for you, checking it every now and then to make sure it wasn’t too hot. Once the tub was filled up, he helped you undress, then held your hand as you stepped into the tub. 

“Would you like me to stay?” Joel asked as you settled into the tub. 

“Not really,” you admitted. 

“Okay. Just yell for me if you need anything. I’ll be downstairs.”

Somehow, the bath was everything you needed. It was just warm enough to relax your rather tense muscles, and just quiet enough to allow you to actually process your thoughts. You sat and soaked in the bath for a while, just inhaling the scent of lavender, and trying your best to let go of the feelings that you’d been holding onto for so long. 

Eventually, you felt ready to talk about things, and called out Joel’s name, who after a moment, showed up in your bathroom and sat down on a towel next to the tub. 

“How are you feeling?” he asked, reaching for your pruny hand. 

“Better,” you answered as you laced your fingers with his.  

“Well, I’m here when you feel ready to talk about it. And if you don’t feel ready to talk about it, that’s okay too.” 

“Okay,” you said quietly. “I’m sorry,” you apologized, the apology being more of a force of habit. 

“You don’t need to be sorry,” Joel  assured, “we all feel our feelings sometimes,” he pushed away a bit of hair that had fallen into your face. 

“I’m sorry you had to see me like this, I guess,” you continued. It had been a while since you’d shown any negative emotions in front of anyone, let alone a significant other. In fact, the last time you’d been sad in front of a significant other, you’d been laughed at and mocked. You’d been conditioned to see your own vulnerability as weakness, as a character flaw you needed to apologize for.

“Like what? Naked?” he teased, trying to at least make you smile when you’d clearly been feeling so down. “You know I don’t mind that at all. Seriously, though. There’s nothing wrong with being upset, and there’s nothing wrong with being upset in front of the people you care about.”

A tear slipped down your cheek. It had been so long since anyone had made you feel like you weren’t a burden for having a rough day. Joel gently brushed away your tears with his thumb, and kissed your forehead. 

“Thank you,” you muttered, feeling all sorts of feelings, particularly one feeling you couldn’t quite describe that had been lying dormant for years of your life. 

You eventually got out of the tub once the water had become too cold and you had become

somewhat of a human prune, and you found yourself curled up in bed with Joel, wearing a flannel that he’d left behind the last time he was over. 

“Feeling any better?” he asked once again, gently rubbing your back as a trashy reality TV show played quietly in the background. 

“Yeah,” you mumbled as you looked up at the ceiling, “it’s been a rough few months.” 

“Months?” Joel asked, scooting closer to you. “What’s been happening?”

“Too much to get into,” you sighed. “I guess it just all came out now.”

Joel turned down the volume of the TV, and turned his body so that he could face you properly. “If you want to talk, we have the time. I may or may not have drank a coffee on my way over here, so I’ll be completely alert for the next few hours.”

He gently grabbed your hand and squeezed it, a little reminder that he was here for you. 

“Today’s just been… bad. When Nathan picked Chloe up, she was upset so he called her a spoiled brat and said that it was my fault that she was one. Obviously I do a lot for her, and I know that I’m a good mom, but sometimes the way he talks about her scares me a little. I don’t want her to have self-esteem issues because her dad likes to name-call. I mean, she’s probably gonna have enough issues from our shitty relationship and messy divorce. That really upset me, but that definitely wasn’t the last straw or anything.”

Joel silently sat and listened, holding your hand and listening attentively.

“I lost the promotion, Joel. You know, the one I’ve been working absurd hours for? But it’s not just that, it’s just… there are months of emotions I haven’t had a chance to process. I guess it just all came out now after that.”

“I’m so sorry,” he said softly. “Nathan is an asshole. He shouldn’t be saying that kind of thing about his child just to make you feel bad. And your boss is stupid for not giving you that position when you’ve clearly earned it. Everything you’ve felt today is valid, but so is everything else that you’ve been holding in for the past… however long. It’s okay to feel your feelings in the moment instead of waiting for them to boil over.”

“I guess, it’s just… I don’t know. I’ve had to be strong for so long. I don’t know if I know how to not wait for my emotions to boil over.”

“Well, you don’t have to be so strong anymore. You’re not alone,” he assured you. “If you ever need me to watch Chloe because you need to go out to the middle of nowhere and scream, or just need someone to talk your feelings out with, I am more than happy to do so. Okay?”

“Okay,” you agreed, setting your head on Joel’s chest. 

You were getting that weird, dormant feeling in you once again. There was an odd warmth in your chest and butterflies in your stomach, that felt strange and familiar, but most of all, exciting. You had no idea what was going on, or what that feeling was, but you did know that you didn’t want it to stop anytime soon.

And honestly, it didn’t seem like it would. 

Two

Walking into Joel’s home to the sound of soft guitar chords made you feel a bit like you had woken up in a dream, or died and gone to heaven. It wasn’t often that you’d heard him play guitar. Sing? Sure! He loved to sing along to a song he liked on the radio, or do karaoke with you and the kids. But playing guitar was something that he seemed to like to keep to himself.

Joel had picked Chloe up from school, as you had an important work event that you’d anticipated going quite late, and as you’d predicted, it was nearly midnight by the time you got to Joel’s place. It was rare for you to see those two alone, without yours or Sarah’s presence, but you’d assumed the latter had gone to bed due to how late it was and the fact that they had school in the morning.

So hearing Joel play for your daughter felt… weird. But a good weird. Like he trusted her enough to be doing something that he often kept under wraps, even for you.

“I love this song!” you heard your daughter exclaim from the living room. You rounded a corner, not quite ready to appear yet, but curious enough to eavesdrop on the scene.

Joel chuckled at her reaction, “should we sing it together?”

“Maybe, I’m not very good, though.”

“I doubt that,” Joel said, continuing to play the introduction to the song on a loop. 

“I… fine, I’ll sing.”

The two of them began to sing along to the song, and you could’ve sworn that your heart did an actual flip as you listened. There was something very sweet about the whole scene, of Joel playing a song your daughter loved, of him assuring her that she was good enough, and singing something together. 

You should’ve felt bad for listening in on the scene, for invading on a moment that was clearly meant to be private, but you just couldn’t bring yourself to feel that way when your heart was so filled with… something that you couldn’t quite place.

The song came to a soft conclusion, and you figured there was no better time to finally step out from behind the wall than then. 

“You guys sounded so good!” you stated as you entered the room.

“Oh hi,” Joel greeted a little awkwardly, looking down at his guitar as if he’d been caught red handed. 

“Mom!” Chloe exclaimed, coming over to you and hugging you. “I missed you.”

“We were just killing time while we waited for you to get home. How was work?”

“Eh,” you shrugged, sitting down across from Joel as Chloe curled up next to you. “It was work.”

“Mom, did you know that Joel sings and plays guitar? He’s really good!”

“Really? I didn’t know that,” you acted surprised for your child, but looked mischievously at your partner. It wasn’t often that you had the chance to get Joel to play you something, and you refused to let the opportunity slip away from you. “Can you play me something?”

“He can!” Chloe accepted the offer before Joel could begin to protest. God, was this child your mini-you. “Go ahead, Joel.”

He looked to you as if he needed some sort of excuse to not do it, or encouragement to play (more likely than not, he was looking for an out), but you simply shrugged, far too enthused at the idea of him playing guitar for you. 

Just as the man sighed and began to put his fingers to the string, Sarah came down the stairs and plopped herself right next to you. 

“You guys are loud,” she stated, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. 

“Sorry for waking you up,” you apologized. “You were just about to miss your dad’s concert!”

“Oh good,” Sarah giggled, getting all comfortable next to you as she pulled a blanket over her lap. 

“I feel like this is a premeditated attack,” Joel held onto his guitar. 

“It’s definitely not. We just want you to share your gift with the world!”

“Alright, fine. Only because I like you guys so much.”

The three of you cheered from the couch as Joel began to play again, the soft acoustic notes of a love song you’d heard a few times before. As Joel played and sang, he looked straight at you, and you couldn’t help but feel like the lyrics were coming straight from his heart to you. 

That warm, fuzzy feeling in your chest that you’d become more and more familiar with over the course of your relationship began to reappear as you sat there, the moment a snapshot of the perfect domestic bliss that had become your home life. As you sat with your two favorite children in the world, and your favorite man, you realized that you’d never felt more content in your life. 

Three

When you agreed to come to a bar with Joel, you hadn’t expected it to be a quaint little hole-in-the-wall with great live music. 

The atmosphere was lively, the drinks were dangerously sweet, and best of all, it was cute watching Joel in his element. Part of you wondered if he ever saw himself up on the stage, playing for a little audience. Although, he was so bashful and shy playing in front of you and the girls that you wondered if he would like it at all. 

You finished off your first drink rather quickly, but you were feeling up for another, and prepared to head back to the bar. “Do you want another drink?” you asked Joel over the loud music. 

“I’m alright. Thank you, though,” he kissed your cheek, then looked back up at the stage, directing all of his focus there once more. 

You made your way back to the bar, where you ordered another fruity drink for yourself and patiently waited for it to be made, humming along to the cover being sung on stage. 

Being able to find out more about what Joel liked to spend his time doing was (unsurprisingly) quite nice. While he was vulnerable with his emotions, he was often a little more closed off when it came to sharing his hobbies and interests. You wondered how many of these live shows and open mics he was familiar with, how many local artists he was friends with. Would he ever feel comfortable enough around you to share those things with you? Well, you certainly hoped so. 

You looked around with a small smile on your face at the thought of learning more about your partner’s interests. Had he ever been the one up on stage? Maybe before Sarah was born and he was launched straight into the time consuming world of fatherhood. Although, he surely would’ve shared that with you by now.

You were drawn out of thought when eyes landed on a head of hair that looked a little too familiar for your liking.  

No.

There was no way.

This bar was definitely not his scene. In fact, if you’d suggested this bar, he would’ve laughed in your face and called you a hipster, before dragging you out to some stuffy restaurant where he’d complain about the portion size of both his meal and the bill. 

Your mind was just playing a mean trick on you. You’d had a somewhat stressful week, and sometimes drinking made you the slightest bit paranoid. Besides, it was just someone’s hair. Literally anyone could have that hair color, or hair cut, and although the world was small, it wasn’t that small. 

Just as you began to fall headfirst into your nerves, the bartender handed you your drink, and you walked back to Joel, head still in the clouds. 

You couldn’t shake that off feeling, even as Joel danced around with you and stole a sip of your drink, both actions bringing a smile to your face, but not quite quelling the growing discomfort in your stomach. 

You just needed to go clear your mind and freshen up. At least, that’s what you told yourself before telling Joel to keep your drink safe and power walking to the bathroom.

You stood at the sink, splashing your face with water as cold as the faucets would go. Nathan was not here. You needed to just relax, and enjoy the fun date that Joel had planned. You couldn’t keep letting this man ruin your experiences, even when he wasn’t present.

“You okay, hun?” a voice asked you while your head was bowed over the sink. When you looked up, your eyes nearly popped out of your head, as if you were some ridiculous cartoon character. 

Well. Your brain must’ve really been fucking with you today. Or the Universe just really hated you. 

Claire, Nathan’s new girlfriend, was asking you if you were alright in the bathroom of a bar that your new boyfriend had suggested. 

You were completely unsure of whether she knew who you were or not, although she seemed tipsy enough not to care. 

“Oh, I’m fine,” you smiled awkwardly at her. “But, uh, my mascara’s a little smudged. Any chance you have a makeup wipe?”

“Yeah!” she said, digging into her purse to check for the item. 

You’d never met Claire before, but as far as first impressions went, this one wasn’t too bad. She offered you the wipe, then stood next to you as you dabbed at your under eye. 

“You meet anyone fun tonight?” she asked, beginning to touch up her own makeup. 

“No, I’m actually here with my partner. He really likes the music,” you said casually, dabbing at the same spot so you could at least attempt to maintain your composure in an otherwise dramatically ironic and tense situation. 

“Oh no. Was he the one making you cry?”

“Cry? No! I was sweating. We were dancing,” suddenly, a slightly perverse question crossed your mind. “Does your partner make you cry a lot?”

“How do you even know I have one?” she giggled, sounding less accusatory and more confused. 

“I don’t I just-“

“No, not really,” she shrugged as she reapplied her lip liner. “He mostly just buys me shit and spoils me. What would I have to cry about? He’s a really good guy.”

Oh, you remembered that phase. Well, phases. The time after he’d slapped you during an argument immediately came to mind. Nathan could probably teach a seminar on love bombing, then making you feel guilty for having any negative feelings because of all the money he’d spent on you. 

“That’s good,” you nodded, tossing the used wipe in the trash and making your way to the door. “Thanks for checking in on me and helping me. Have a good night.”

“Hey, do I know you from somewhere?” she asked as your hand hit the door.

“No,” you replied promptly, maybe slamming the door behind you a little too hard. 

This was a lot to process, and a lot to take in. Despite having a fun time with Joel, you really just wanted to go home. Finding your way back out to him, you silently accepted back your drink and stood besides him stiffly. 

“You okay?” he asked, gently grabbing your arm. 

“Fine, just… just.. I have an upset stomach,” you explained. You were never a good liar, the concern in Joel’s eyes told you that you hadn’t suddenly become one. 

“I’m sorry, sweetie,” he said, rubbing your forearm gently. “Let’s go home, okay?”

You certainly didn’t protest as he began to lead you out of the bar, and you let out a sigh of relief at being able to leave before running into anyone else you knew.

Although, life was never that simple, was it?

As you approached the door, a familiar voice called out your name, sending a chill up your spine. Joel’s head whipped around from where it was coming from, and scowled when he saw who the voice belonged to. Ignoring him, the two of you continued your departure, a newfound urgency in both of your steps.

Once you were outside, you felt yourself puff out a sigh of relief. You’d managed to get out of the bar with only a brief conversation with Claire, and no direct interaction with Nathan. Now, if you could only get home, curl up with Joel on the couch, and tell him the absurd story of how you’d bumped into your ex’s new girlfriend in the bathroom. 

But the universe clearly wasn’t letting you off the hook just yet.

“Hey!” Nathan called as he stepped out of the bar, Claire trailing just a few paces behind him. “You’re such a fuckin’ bitch. Can’t even say hi to the father of your child.”

You were almost alarmed by the speed in which Joel marched over to your ex and reprimanded him. Not even wasting a moment, Joel shoved him back—a warning of sorts, with your knowledge that he was certainly holding himself back. 

“Leave her the fuck alone,” he barked. It was like no tone you’d ever heard him use before, not when he was upset with anyone, and not even when he was yelling at a referee for a bad call.  

“And who the fuck are you?” your ex shot back. 

“Does it really matter?” Joel pressed, not backing down despite the slightly shorter man getting in his face. “You’re not gonna go around trying to degrade women.”

“Oh yeah? You gonna stop me, Mr. Nice guy?” Nathan pushed Joel, but your partner barely budged. 

“You fuckin’ cuck,” Nathan muttered. “Why do you even care about this whore?”

Nathan took a second to think about it, glancing between the two of you before a light seemed to go off in his little brain. 

“Oh, I know. You’re that guy from the soccer games. You two together now?" His condescension was almost jarring to hear, and part of you worried about what your clearly inebriated ex might say or do next. “I see you’re still the community cumrag,” he directed at you. 

You hardly had a moment to process what was just said before Joel was swinging, clearly seeing red as he threw a hefty right hook at your ex, leaving a nasty crunching sound as he fell to the ground. 

“Don’t talk about her, or any other fucking woman like that ever again,” he squatted down to his level, and grabbed both of his cheeks. “Leave her the fuck alone, you understand me? Or next time you’re gonna wish it was just your nose.”

Nathan cradled his bloody nose and whimpered and Joel walked back to you, the fury on his face melting into something apologetic as you looked at him with wide eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he began, cautiously approaching you as if he was something to be afraid of. “I shouldn’t have done that. I overstepped-“

“Joel. Don’t apologize. Do you know how much that asshole deserved it? You did everyone a favor tonight, but especially me.” 

You had never had someone defend you so literally before. Sure, your friends had argued with Nathan a few times on your behalf, but punching Nathan in the face had truly raised your expectations for anyone who claimed to be doing anything to help you. You don’t think you’d have felt this alive or cherished in years. 

“Now let’s get you home and ice those knuckles.”

Four

You were usually a big fan of rainy days. The sound of rain pattering against the window or on the roof of your car, and the smell of petrichor on the pavement were sensations you wished you could experience all the time. But today, you weren’t quite so pleased to see the rain. 

You’d taken the day off to spend it with Joel, who had specifically asked for you to take some time off to be with him. You couldn’t blame him, as you’d been slightly neglecting him after things picked up once again at work. You’d had a whole outdoorsy day planned, with a morning hike, a visit to a conservatory, and a picnic at one of your favorite local parks. Unfortunately, none of those activities could be done comfortably in the pouring rain. 

Instead, you opted to come back to your place after you dropped your kids off at school, and have a domestic little day-in.

After putting some homemade cinnamon rolls into the oven, the two of you found yourselves on your couch, comfortably sitting together and reading your own books while the smell of warm cinnamon filled your house. 

Occasionally, you glanced out your window, the scene of rain granting you a sense of serenity. At one point, you noticed Joel’s gaze out the window as well, and you couldn’t help but comment on it. 

“Don’t you just love the rain?” you asked, setting your book down on your coffee table. It was more of an excuse to break the silence than an actual comment, but you said it regardless.

“It’s nice,” he agreed, his tone oddly somber for a comment on the rain. 

“You okay, big guy?” you asked before moving closer to Joel. 

“I’m alright,” he smiled, but it didn’t quite meet his eyes. There wasn’t any real concrete evidence that something was off, but something inside you told you that something definitely was off. 

“You sure?” you asked, squeezing his bicep. 

“Yeah, it’s just,” he paused, looking down at his book as if he was about to go right back to reading instead of telling you the issue. After a moment of hesitation, he spoke once more, “it’s the anniversary of Diane leaving.”

Oh. So that’s why he’d asked to be with you today.

You’d never heard Joel say her name before. Sure, you’d seen her name written under a polaroid or two, but you’d never heard Joel reference her ever. Now that you thought about it, you didn’t really know what their deal was. Amicable exes? Divorcees? Was Joel a widower? You felt awful that you’d gone this far into a relationship and still didn’t know anything about his last significant one. 

“I’m sorry,” you said quietly, not completely sure how to react. You mainly wanted to get a gauge on Joel’s reaction–just how upset was he? Did he want to talk about it? Or just get the importance of the day out in the open?

“It’s just… Today feels like that day in a lot of ways.”

You nodded slowly, still not exactly sure of how to approach the situation. You thought back to all of the times he’d been there to support you when you were having a rough day, and ended up asking aloud, “is there anything I can do to make you feel better?” 

“Maybe just listening, if that’s okay. It helps to talk about it,” he paused. “The rolls smell done. I’ll go get them,” with that, he was off to the kitchen, barely giving you time to react, or even protest his departure.

He clearly wanted to talk, but just wasn’t completely ready to do so at that moment. You could listen. You could be the best damn listener on the planet if that was what Joel needed from you. No matter what he revealed to you today, you were determined to make Joel feel comfortable, and know that whatever he was going through, he wasn’t alone—just as he’d shown you in the past.

By the time he came back to the living room, Joel offered you a plate with an iced cinnamon roll and acted like everything was normal. He sat back down next to you, stole a bite from your plate, then buried his nose right back into his novel.

You respected his right to process his emotions in any way he saw fit. All you could do was be a good partner, and offer whatever he needed from you to feel better, like he’d done for you so many times before. 

While you were fine with spending your day cuddled up on the sofa and reading, you were also aware that there were a good amount of house chores that were calling your name. Upon mentioning these tasks, Joel insisted on helping out, which was how you two landed in the laundry room, laughing at something stupid that had happened to you this week. 

While you loaded light clothes into your washer, Joel suddenly caught you off guard with a question that was a far cry from the banter you’d just been having only moments before. 

“Is it… are you okay with me talking about it?”

By it you could only assume he meant the giant elephant of a woman in the room. 

“Of course,” you turned to him, offering sympathetic eyes. 

“She left just a few months after Sarah was born,” Joel busied himself by pouring out laundry detergent and fabric softeners. “I just woke up one morning to an empty bed and a note in the kitchen saying she was leaving, she wasn’t coming back, and not to look for her.”

You were taken aback by the cruelty of such an abrupt ending, especially with such a young infant. You couldn’t imagine being put in those circumstances so unexpectedly. 

Joel casually poured the respective liquids into their proper places in the machine, then turned it on. “It was a day just like this. The nursery had a nice, big window that we put a rocking chair in front of. Sarah liked looking at the stars when she was younger, it always helped to calm her down. I remember holding her in that chair and bawling my eyes out while she cried too, and with all the rain against the window… it felt like the Earth was crying right along with us.”

You weren’t sure what to say or how to react, but it seemed like Joel was prepared to move right on, quickly changing the subject as he led you out of the laundry room. 

Baking cinnamon rolls had left a lot of dishes in the sink, but luckily for you, you had an extra set of hands to help you out. Joel was on rinsing duty, and you were on loading.

You quickly found your rhythm, as you often did with partnered tasks. You worked quietly while loading the dishes, letting the music from your speaker fill up the silence, but it was obvious Joel was lost in thought.

Eventually, he quietly began to speak again, “I kept trying to make sense of her leaving. I knew that postpartum depression hit her really hard, and that she was barely sleeping at night because of how often Sarah was crying. Sarah was a really sensitive, fussy baby. She’d told me how she’d felt a few times, and I always kinda thought things would just pass. Every new parent hits that roadbump where they just can’t see themselves doing this thing forever, right? Then, she just left. I thought maybe she just needed a few days away, and that she’d be back. But days went by, then weeks, then it had been a month, and it was still just Sarah and I.”

“Did she ever come back around?” you asked, setting down the last dish into the sink, then closing the machine.

“Never heard from her again.”

You closed the distance between you and the man, wrapping him in as tight of a hug that you could manage. 

“I’m so sorry,” you muttered into his shirt as he melted into your embrace. “I can’t even imagine how painful and stressful that was.”

As a mother, you couldn’t imagine abandoning your child; the tiny human being you spent nine months carrying, and would spend a lifetime loving. But as a human, you understood the stress of being the parent of a newborn. Waking up every few hours because your baby is crying and you’ve tried everything to get her to stop but she just… won’t. Paired with postpartum depression, which you were no stranger to, you could understand the circumstances that led Diane to feeling like she had no other option but to leave. But that didn’t, in any way, make it the right thing to do. 

As you held Joel, a sound you hadn’t ever heard from him escaped his lips, wracking his body. A guttural cry that had clearly been trapped deep inside of him for the longest time had suddenly escaped as he recalled an event that had clearly changed his life. 

You stood in the kitchen holding him for what felt like forever, when he finally pulled away, wiping his face a little bit. 

“Thank you,” was all that he managed to get out.

You laid next to him in bed after a rather emotionally loaded session of lovemaking, trying to catch your breath as the two of you recovered from the underlying emotional and physical aftermath of your fornication. As Joel spooned you, a question lingered on your mind. 

“Do you still love her?” you asked, keeping your eyes forward on the wall. You wanted to say you were sure he had moved on, but these types of situations were rather nuanced. There were just some bonds that regardless of time or circumstances, people continued to hold on to. 

“No,” he answered clearly. “I don’t hate her, either. I guess I just understand her. But that doesn’t make what she put me or Sarah through any better.” 

You slipped your hand down to where his were currently laying on your stomach, and you set one on top of his. 

“I’m not jealous, I’m just curious. Do you ever miss her?” 

“I used to,” he sighed, the close breath blowing some hairs on your neck. “I don’t anymore.”

Eventually, your laundry was dry, meaning you two needed to get out of bed and get to folding. 

“She has a new family, now,” he said out of the blue, as he folded up a pair of your pajama pants. “Husband, kids, dog, the full nine yards. Tommy found her Facebook a few years ago, but I still haven’t looked. I don’t really know why.”

You didn’t really know why either, but you knew exactly the feeling he was experiencing. Seeing your ex who you’d invested so much into and had a child with move on with someone was a particularly gut wrenching feeling. You could only imagine how much worse it was in Joel’s scenario, where Diane had abandoned him and their child, yet had a child and built another family elsewhere. 

“Does Sarah know?” you asked, putting a blouse onto a hanger. 

“Bits and pieces. She kinda just accepted that her mom’s not in the picture, but doesn’t know why she left or anything about her mom’s new family,” Joel finished up with his basket, then began to help you with yours. “Maybe when she’s older. Old enough to understand that it isn’t her fault and that these things just… happen sometimes.”

“I guess,” you frowned as you grabbed your last article of clothing and hung it up. “It shouldn’t have happened, though. Neither of you deserved to be abandoned.”

“It was gonna happen one way or another,” Joel shrugged, putting your baskets away. “Our relationship had been on the rocks even before Diane became pregnant. If it wasn’t then, it would be later. I’m just glad it happened early enough that Sarah doesn’t remember. You in the mood for a coffee?”

His words gave you a bit of whiplash, but you accepted the offer of a warm drink regardless. 

You sat at your table, stirring your drink as Joel sat down across from you. 

“Good, right?” he asked. “I think I’ve officially nailed the way you like your coffee.”

“It’s pretty good,” you admitted, taking a sip from a mug that Chloe had decorated in her school’s art class. 

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“Good. It is one,” you hummed. 

It was clear that his mood was slightly improving the more that he talked about his experience. You wondered just how much of this information he’d shared with anyone else before you, as he told the story as if he were confessing something for the first time ever. 

“I’ve never told anyone this much about it,” he confessed. “I’m glad that of all the people I could’ve told, it ended up being you.”

“Joel, I,” the words popped into your head, but died on your tongue. “I care about you so much. I know this can’t be easy to talk about, so thank you for sharing this with me,” you squeezed his hands across the table. 

“Thank you for being so supportive. I also care about you a lot. So much that it scares me. Especially knowing that you could lose everything in a literal night,” he admitted. 

“Oh Joel,” you said softly. “I’m also scared. I’m always so scared that I’ll lose you and Sarah and this little blended family we’ve made. But if that’s the price I pay for… caring about you so much, I’m okay with being afraid.”

Joel looked at you like he had something to say, but instead sat there quietly for a moment, processing your words. “Do you want to watch an episode of The Bachelorette?” 

“Is that even a question? C’mon,” you stood up.

The two of you cuddled up on the couch once again, this time with a much lighter feeling in the room, partially due to what Joel had confessed to you, and partially due to the absolutely ridiculous content playing on your television.

“I’m sad that I had to go through what I had to go through, but I’m glad that it led me to you,” Joel said out of the blue, resting his forehead against yours.

You were glad that he found you too.

Five

It wasn’t every day that the forces of the universe seemed to be on your side, but for some reason, today was one of those days. 

When you’d been called into your boss’ office that morning, a pit formed in your stomach. You’d figured that the day you were going to be laid off was coming, especially following the whole promotion fiasco. As you walked into her office, you fully intended to be walking out without a job. 

Except, that wasn’t what happened. You had been promoted, and promoted into a position even higher than the one you’d previously been gunning after. 

Once you found out, you had to fight the urge to skip out of your boss’s office, singing and dancing with joy. Instead, you fought that urge by closing the door to your office, and calling Joel. 

“Hey honey, what’s up?” he answered casually. 

“Joel, they promoted me! And it’s an even better position than what I was trying to get before!” you squealed. 

Joel cheered from over the phone, making you somehow smile even harder. “Congratulations! I’m so proud of you. I can’t think of anyone who deserves this more than you.”

“Oh my god, stop it,” you giggled, putting your hands up to your warm cheeks. 

“No, I’m serious,” Joel countered. “I know a lot of hard workers, and none of them work as hard as you. You’ve sacrificed so much to get here and it’s finally paid off.”

“Thank you, Joel,” you had more to say, but you decided to keep it to yourself. Mainly, how did you get so lucky to end up with a man like him? 

“Are you busy tonight?” he asked. 

“I’m just dropping Chloe off at my mom’s, then I should be free for the evening. Why?”

“Why don’t you come over to my place so we can celebrate? You picked the right time to get a promotion. Sarah’s going to her uncle’s for the weekend.”

“Sounds good to me,” you hummed. “I’ll text you when I’m heading over.”

“Alright. Again, congratulations! So proud.”

You hung up and attempted to get back to work, but you were far too excited to focus for too long. You somehow made it to the end of the work day and to Joel’s house without spontaneously combusting from joy.

When you walked in, you were immediately met with the smells of one of your favorite candles, mixed with the mouthwatering scent of fragrant coming from the kitchen. 

“Joel, I’m home!” you announced, making your way to the kitchen only to find it very dressed up. The lights were dimmed, a crisp white table cloth rested on the table, and a gorgeous arrangement of flowers sat in a vase in the middle of the table, right next to a rather nice looking bottle of champagne. 

Joel was finishing up plating something spectacular as you came in. “Please, have a seat,” he directed. You didn’t need to be told twice. 

With the arrangement of the table, you almost felt like you were sitting at a fancy little restaurant, but better, knowing all the effort Joel had put into making the table look this way.  He brought over two plates, set one over at his seat and one in front of you, before leaning down and kissing you gently. 

“Congratulations. I am so, so, so proud of you,” he said after finally pulling away, reaching for the bottle of champagne on the table.

“If anyone in the world deserves good things,” he turned away from you so that he could safely pop the bottle. “It’s you. I’m glad you’re finally getting the recognition that you deserve.”

With the bottle opened, he poured you out a glass, then poured himself some. You lifted up your glass and Joel mirrored you.

“Cheers,” you said with a grin, tapping your glasses together, then taking a sip. Once you finished drinking, Joel leaned in for one more kiss before he situated himself back into his chair. 

“I think you deserve a promotion from best boyfriend in the world to best boyfriend in the universe,” you softly laughed, looking down at your plate. 

“Do I? I think anyone would celebrate the person they…” he paused for just a split second, and you probably wouldn’t have noticed it if you weren’t paying such close attention. “The person they’re sharing their life with if they made a big accomplishment like this.”

“Honey, you’d be very surprised. I can think of at least one person who would view this promotion as a bad thing.”

“Well, don’t think about them right now. This is an amazing thing, and we’re celebrating you today. Not an insecure man with a Napoleon complex and a small penis.”

You laughed out loud, nearly choking on a bubbly sip of champagne. 

“You’re right,” you picked up your fork and knife, reading to dig into the amazing looking meal in front of you. “Thank you for this, Joel. You always make me feel so appreciated and cherished. You’re truly one of a kind.”

He shook his head bashfully at the compliment, eating right along with you. It was almost cute how he never seemed to accept compliments, but certainly deserved them more than basically any other person that you knew. 

“You always show me how much you care about me. It’s only fair that I do the same.”

“You’re so romantic,” you sighed. “How can I guarantee that I can keep you around forever?”

“Just keep being you, I guess. That’s all I’ve really ever wanted.”

How did you get so lucky? How did you manage to hit the jackpot on men with Joel, almost let it slip through your fingers not once, but twice, and still managed to end up with one of your favorite people in the world? 

However it ended up happening, you certainly weren’t mad at it, and as you sat together, you hoped for things never to change. 

Plus One

Given that you practically lived at each other’s homes now, you often spent your mornings together getting ready to take on the day. It was cute how you both had your own little routines and were able to coexist in a tiny little space. 

Today, you stood in Joel’s bathroom, washing your face as the mirror across from you began to become progressively more foggy from the heat of Joel’s shower. 

“My hair is gonna be so frizzy,” you muttered to yourself as you rubbed moisturizer into your skin. 

“Hey, you’re the one who wanted to come in here with me,” Joel shot back from the shower, turning the water off. 

“Whatever,” you grumbled, getting back to work on your face as Joel dried himself off and wrapped a towel around his waist. 

“You’re so cute when you’re grumpy in the morning,” he commented as he approached you, standing next to you at the sink. 

“I am not grumpy,” you argued, then paused once Joel gave you a very disbelieving expression. “Fine. I can get a little irritable in the morning. Especially when someone’s boiling hot showers make my hair get all frizzy.”

“I wonder who that someone is?” Joel looked around the room in faux confusion. 

“Ugh, shut up. You are such a dad,” you fought back laughter, but you couldn’t really help the smile that appeared on your lips. 

“Shutting up,” Joel acknowledged, grabbing his razor and some shaving cream to touch up some of his facial hair. You began to brush your teeth, focusing on yourself in the mirror to make sure that you were making your dentist proud. 

Your eyes eventually migrated and were meeting Joel’s in the mirror. You flashed him a big, foamy grin, and he immediately broke into hysterics, setting the razor down so he didn’t cut himself while laughing so hard. 

“Really?” he asked between laughs. “While I’m shaving?”

“Sorry,” you shrugged with a self-satisfied smirk. 

“You are such a dork,” Joel sighed as he calmed himself down, leaning against the counter as he began to work on shaving his face once more. “Ugh, I love you,” the words seemed to come out of his mouth involuntarily, if the horrified look on his face told you anything. 

It seemed like the whole house stopped after Joel said it, the dripping from the showerhead ceasing, the faint buzz of the air conditioner nowhere to be found, and the noises of your children downstairs coming to a halt.

You were shocked at the admission, and Joel seemed to be shocked that he’d said anything. 

Now that he’d mentioned it, you really did love Joel. You loved how he supported you, and how he treated your daughter like she was his own. You loved that he wasn’t afraid to fight for what he believed in, especially when that included socking your ex in the face. You loved his ability to be vulnerable with you, and the way that he seemed to always know what to say at the right time. You loved knowing that no matter how shitty of a day you’d had, Joel would always be there, ready to order your favorite foods and spoon you while decompressing with the worst, most trashy reality TV you could find. 

You’d spent all this time thinking that you’d never experience romantic love again, that romantic love was tumultuous and exhausting, when you’d been in love with Joel the whole time. 

You were one of those people who were meant to love and be loved. Joel had proven that much to you. 

“I love you too,” you confessed, toothpaste still obstructing your mouth.

Maybe love wasn't so bad after all.

[paradiseprincesss]

please we need more Jim the delinquent season!!! please I beg idc if it's smut or fluff or both... Lol btw I am invested in your fics... Wait ngl smut sounds lovely...

perfect for you - jim (the delinquent season) x reader

masterlist

notes: hello lovely anon, i can definitely do that for you! fluffy and smutty jim content is a need. ugh, what i would do to call him mine.

summary: you've always found your best friends dad attractive. unbeknownst to you, the feeling was mutual on his end, especially after his divorce. one night, your best friend goes somewhere, leaving you and her dad alone together.

word count: 2.9k

warnings: 18+ mdni, smut, kissing, age gap (everyone is legal), reader is implied to be around 20 and jim is in his 40's, bestfriends dad! trope, p in v, aftercare <3

cassie had been your best friend for as long as you could remember. the two of you had met in elementary school, and your friendship lasted a lifetime. now, both you and her were attending college together; all grown up. purposefully, the two of you aimed to get into the same college as neither of you wanted to spend time apart from each other, even when it came to school.

you'd known her for ages, and you were super close with her family. likewise, she was close with yours, as you'd basically grown up together. however, cassie's parents divorced just over a year ago, so much to your dismay, you didn't get to see her mom as frequently anymore. she'd moved out even before her divorce was finalized, and you'd only see her occasionally now.

cassie decided to live her with her dad, jim, as he owned a lovely house quite close to campus, and you also lived just down the road. it was convenient for the both of you. jim was never very talkative, definitely more reserved than his ex-wife ever was, and you'd only really gotten to know him more after the divorce.

even though you'd known him for a majority of your life, you clicked with cassie's mom much more - isn't that how it always is, though? regardless, you would still come over frequently to cassie's place, as the two of you always worked on assignments together. even though she majored in something completely different than you, that didn't stop either of you from bonding over the college experience together.

for the first couple months after the divorce, jim was quiet. he would make small talk with the two of you, maybe ask how your lectures went but otherwise he would keep to himself.

during one particularly hot summer day, jim was having a few of his friends over to watch some sort of sports game, while you and cassie were upstairs working on homework. that same night, cassie got a text from a guy she was interested in from her class who'd asked her out, and you encouraged her to go out with him.

jim and you had talked a bit more frequently at this point in time, since he was finally coming out of his shell more. you didn't blame him after the whole thing with his marriage ending and all. that being said, you felt comfortable just chilling at her place as you'd most likely end up going home pretty soon after she'd left anyway.

plus, this wasn't out of the ordinary for you nor her. she'd often stay at your place for a few days at a time sometimes; the two of you were close like that. you'd do the same, staying over at hers for a few days as well, neither of your parents minded. it had always been this way, even when the two of you were growing up.

"are you sure? i can always tell him i'm busy." she asked you, touching up her makeup.

"oh my god, cass. just go, you've liked this guy for so long!" you insisted, giggling.

"yeah, i know," she laughed, "my dad has his buddies over to watch the stupid game, though. you can go home if you want, but if you get tired feel free to crash at mine tonight."

"i live down the road, but i will definitely keep that in mind." you say with a laugh, shaking your head.

"yeah but your basically my sister, so i don't care if you sleep here or whatever." she says, applying some lipgloss as she fixed her hair.

"go have fun tonight," you say to her, "and text me all the details."

"obviously," she says, turning to face you, "do i look good?"

"duh, like always." you say, glancing at her but returning to your notes as you scribble more stuff down from your textbook.

"if all goes well...i'll text you in the morning." she laughs, and you shake your head laughing along with your best friend.

that night, cassie did in fact have a great night - so great, in fact, that she ended up staying over at that guys house. however, she wasn't the only one who ended up sleeping in someone else's bed that night.

one thing led to another while cassie was gone for the night, and somehow you ended up in jims bed, tangled in the sheets and wrapped up in his arms. sleeping with your best friends dad was not something you planned on doing, but it sort of just...happened.

his buddies has gone home for the night, and you wandered downstairs so that you could quietly leave and return back to your house; but you noticed everyone had left already.

"you didn't go out with cassie?" jim's voice called out from behind you, and you turned around to see him leaning against the doorframe of the kitchen.

"no," you shake your head, "i have a final next week, i needed to study for it."

"ah, smart girl." he said softly in that accent that made your knees weak. for a moment, he was quiet. just staring at you while you stared back, unsure of what else to say.

"do you need help cleaning up?" you ask politely, since it wasn't too late. it was only quarter past eight, and he looked a little tired.

"don't worry about it." he smiled, and you shook your head.

"least i could do, i'm always over here anyways." you insisted, making your way to the kitchen.

there were only a few dishes scattered around, along with some empty beer cans and a few cups. you helped him put the food on the counter away and cleaned some of the dishes. after the two of you were done, he looked at you with a soft smile.

"you've always been so helpful," he smiled, "i appreciate it."

"it's no problem." you say back, watching him lean against the counter.

he doesn't respond, but instead just looks at you under the dim kitchen lighting, and his baby blue eyes pierce right through you.

"do you have a boyfriend? remind me, i forgot." he asked suddenly, and you felt your cheeks heating up at his rather...innocent question.

"n-no, i don't." you say with a nervous laugh.

"c'mere." he said and for a second, you thought you'd misheard him.

"what?" you asked quietly.

"come here." he repeated.

hesitantly, you make your way closer to him and look up at his blue eyes. he glances down at you, still leaning against the counter with his hands gripping the edge.

okay - if you were being totally honest right now, you had always found your best friends dad to be really attractive. but he was married for the longest time and he was also the father of your lifelong best friend! it was wrong on so many levels, but it appeared that neither of you seemed to cared.

suddenly, his hand was making it's way onto your waist, and you almost felt the need to pinch yourself in case this was all just a very vivid dream you were having.

"the walls are thin, you know," he said softly, rubbing circles into your waist with his thumb, "i heard you last week, on the phone to your friend or whoever while cassie was picking milo up from the vet."

your heart dropped. last week, cassie had to pick her dog up from the vet, and you were home alone with jim for around half an hour. within that half hour, another friend of yours called and somehow, the topic landed on jim. well, more like you'd told your friend you were staying at cassie's for the evening, which led to the friend asking about her parents divorce, which then led you to say some interesting things about jim.

"if he wasn't cassie's dad, i'd be all over that." you said to your friend as the both of you giggled over the phone.

"yeah, i've seen him. like, damn." your friend said, making you laugh once more.

"you have no idea what it's like when i come over, i literally have to force myself to focus on something - anything else." you tell her, but then you heard the front door open. "mhm, yeah. okay, i gotta go. bye."

with that, you ended your phone call - not realizing jim had been grabbing the laundry from the washer out in the hall. he heard everything, and he couldn't lie; it really turned him on. he always knew it was wrong, but he was definitely attracted to you. it started out innocent, like for example, it started when you had turned nineteen. he would think you looked really pretty when you wore a certain outfit, or when you did your hair a certain way.

then, as the next year or two went by, he found himself noticing other things about you. like how perky your tits looked in a certain shirt, or how badly he wanted to see you bend over when you wore a specific skirt. he tried to shake the thoughts of out his head - but it was no use.

"i-i didn't-" you stammered.

"shh," he assured you, "it's nothing to be embarrassed about. honestly, i wish you'd said something sooner."

"...you do?" you asked, a little taken aback by his words.

"i do," he said softly, "so why don't we both stop pretending like this isn't bound to happen."

his hands trailed along your waist and your hips, before his grip on them became tighter. pulling you close, he brushed a strand of your hair out of your face. the both of you leaned in - but you placed your hands on his chest, stopping him.

"jim, wait," you say, looking up at the older man in front of you, "i-i can't- i don't do casual hookups. their just not-"

"your thing, i know. i wasn't trying to imply that this was just going to be that," he assures you once more, "i want you in more than just that way."

"o-okay," you almost whisper, "me too."

he doesn't offer a verbal response, but rather gives your ass a tight squeeze whilst his lips came crashing down on yours. instinctively, you wrap your arms around his neck as he backs you up into the kitchen counter. recklessly, his lips still locked with yours, he hoisted you up onto the kitchen island. for a moment, both of you break away from the kiss with pink-tinted cheeks.

the thrill of kissing a man so much older than you (who also happened to be your best friends dad) was getting you worked up, and judging by the tent in his pants; it was getting him worked up, too. gently, he helped you out of your hoodie and sweats. you felt a shiver go up your spine as your ass rested on the cold granite of the counter, and he bit down on his lip at sight. with all your clothes discarded, you sat pretty for his taking on the counter with your pink, lacy bra and matching pink thong.

"look at you," he groaned, "so pretty, princess."

clearly, neither of you could even wait to take it to the bedroom. so, with adrenaline running through your veins, you help him out of his sweater and he reaches for his belt buckle. he pulls you into another heated kiss, this time one of his hands coming up to your throat to give it a soft squeeze. as he choked you gently, you moaned into his mouth, the action driving him insane.

he pulled away from the kiss and you felt his tip poke at your folds. you look down for a moment, and you could see him stroking himself with one hand as he lined his cock up with your entrance while the other hand rested gently around your throat.

before he put it in, he looked at you to make sure that this was okay, though he didn't say a word. you gave him a small, affirming nod and he rubbed the head of his cock against your wetness before plunging his cock in, taking you on the kitchen counter.

you let out a gasp as his veiny cock filled you, and he groaned at the feeling of your warm walls sucking him in. his hand quickly came off of your neck and down to your waist, his other hand doing the same. as his hands found purchase on your waist, he started to move in and out slowly, letting you adjust.

"j-jim," you moaned, throwing your head back, "ugh, feels so good."

"yeah?" he groaned, thrusting in and out much faster now, "d'you hear how wet you are, princess?"

when he mentioned it, your cheeks burned as your eyes rolled to the back of your head from his cock pounding your cunt. you could hear it - your pussy was dripping, and it was evident by the squelching sounds in the quiet kitchen.

"s-so wet, just for you- fuuuuck-" you whimper as his cock hit all the right spots inside of you.

one of jim's hands snaked up to your breasts, roughly kneading it and making you moan. you drooling hole started to squeeze down onto his fat cock, making him lose his breath. the both of you were chasing your highs and getting closer by the second.

"f-fuck, you're so tight, m'gonna fill this tight little pussy up." he decided, fucking into you deeply as he took you on his kitchen countertop.

"so close, jim, s-so mmph, close!" you cry out, squeezing your eyes shut as the pleasure consumed you and the coil inside of your stomach snapped.

"thaaaats it," he praised, "keep squeezing me like that, princess."

you bit your lip and moaned at the way he was talking, and he felt himself tip over the edge as he spilled into you with a groan. his hips continued to buck into you for a few more moments, fucking his cum deeper and deeper into your aching cunt.

after you both came down from your highs, he pulled his softening cock out of you. he watched with a sigh at the sight your pretty pussy which was now dripping with his cum. swiftly, he got a towel and started to wipe it up for you. he was taking his time and making sure you were taken care of afterwards, of course.

"how are you feeling?" he asked softly, wiping his seed that was dripping out from your cunt.

"a little sleepy," you admitted with a half-lidded smile, "and a little hungry."

"how about i run you a bath?" he suggested, laughing softly, "and then i'll order us some takeout from that italian place you like down on 47th and main."

"you know my favourite takeout place?" you giggle.

"obviously i do," he admits with a chuckle, "you told me a few months ago, remember?"

"well, yeah. i just didn't expect you to actually remember." you say with a sigh, and he pulls you into a chaste kiss.

"of course i remember, how could i forget?" he smiles after giving you a small peck, "so, does that sound good? a bath and your favourite takeout? then you can sleep in my bed tonight with me."

"first of all, that sounds wonderful, baby," you say, casually throwing the pet name in, "and secondly, can you join me in the bath, pretty please?"

he smiled as you called him baby, "i can't say no to that, princess."

"good." you say, beaming up at him.

true to his word, he did run you two a hot bath which you both enjoyed. after your steamy bath, he ordered your favourite food and the two of you laughed and cuddled on the couch whilst sharing a bottle of your favourite wine. after the two of you finished, you were both sleepy. as you and jim slipped into bed, he wrapped his arms tightly around you, giving you a kiss on the head before you both fell asleep.

the next morning, the two of you were still tangled in the sheets together, cuddled up in the blankets all cozy. cassie had returned sometime in the early hours just before sunrise, and as she made her way up the stairs, she noticed her dads bedroom door was cracked open slightly. she paid no mind to it - until she caught a glimpse of you in his bed with him.

doing a double take, she poked her head into his bedroom to find the both of you peacefully asleep. your head was resting on his chest as his arms were draped over you, the both of you looking so content.

cassie smiled and shook her head, laughing quietly to herself as she made her way back to her own room. contrary to what most peoples reactions would be; she wasn't mad. in fact, she kind of saw it coming in hindsight and hey, if you made him happy and he was good to you, then so be it.

though the both of you seemed oblivious to it, everyone else could see that you were perfect for him, and he was perfect for you.

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[starkwlkr]

It’s been a pleasure to read your works Jen, no one writes quite like you. Wishing you well and hope you’ll come back soon. I understand this isn’t your usual pairing but it would mean a lot to me and if you have the time: I could request: ‘Toto x Susie x reader’ where she is an upcoming driver, her family weren’t supportive and the Wolff’s take her under their wing as one of their own overtime? Thanks so much 🥰

what was i made for? | F1

for the purpose of this fic, the reader is going to be a rookie during the 2019 season because yes <3 live laugh love 2019 rookies 🫶🏼also this is my last post so thank you for all the love and support!!

Y/n knew how her parents felt about karting. They always told her the same thing: that’s no place for a little girl, you’re going to get hurt blah blah blah. But she wasn’t a little girl anymore. She continued with her dreams. Eventually she found herself winning trophies and raising it on the small podium. Then the small podium turned into a bigger one.

The journey to F1 was hard, but she was proud of herself. The holidays were especially hard for her. She hard received the news that her family wasn’t going to be with her for the holidays at all.

She didn’t live in Monaco like most of the drivers on the grid, she couldn’t afford it. For now, she was living with a roommate in London. But even her roommate had plans with her own family so Y/n was going to be spending her time alone in her flat with nothing but takeout and Netflix.

Toto Wolff was the first one to notice the frown on the young girl’s face. It was a late night in there paddock and all the team principals had a late meeting. He was surprised to see her. All the drivers were gone, most likely already on flights to their families or vacation homes. But she was still here.

“Are you waiting on someone?” Toto asked.

“No, I just don’t want to leave right now. Is that weird to say?” She replied.

“I don’t find it weird. I just thought you would’ve already been on a plane headed towards Ibiza or Mallorca. I think that’s where most drivers and their families go for the holidays. What are your plans?”

“Well . . . I have a new season of this show that I’m watching to catch up on. I might watch all the marvel movies. And if I finish everything before break is over then I guess I’ll just sleep.” She said casually.

“You’re not going to spend time with your family?” He questioned.

“I don’t know where they are. Last time I checked, they were in the Maldives. All I got was a text saying they couldn’t meet me at the airport and my roommate is away with hers, but at least I get the flat all to myself.” She tried to sound cheery, but Toto could hear the hurt in her voice.

“No, that’s unacceptable. You’re not spending the holidays alone.”

And that’s how Y/n ended up on a flight with the Wolff family to their preferred vacation destination. Y/n had gotten to know more about the young boy, Jack Wolff, and his love for Legos. He even let Y/n build a car, which surprised both of his parents since he didn’t like people grabbing his legos.

“Can Y/n come over for Christmas too?” Jack asked his mother.

“Why don’t you ask her if she wants to come over?” Susie encouraged the boy. She was hoping Y/n would say yes.

“Y/n, would you like to spend Christmas with us? Papa and I always make cookies and Mama always lets me open one present before bed! And we can make gingerbread houses and stay up all night!” Jack said.

“All night? What if Santa sees us?”

“We can be really quiet.”

Susie and Toto watched as Y/n and Jack talked about what they wanted for Christmas. “We can’t let her be alone on Christmas, Toto.” She whispered to her husband.

“She won’t, she has us.”

“And that’s P8, Y/n! Good job, you did great.”

Y/n would be lying if she said she didn’t feel like crying a bit. The beginning of the season wasn’t good, but she kept going and soon she made it into the points. She did it, she scored her first points in F1.

After getting back to the garage, she spotted Jack and Susie waiting for her with big smiles on their faces.

“You did it! Go Y/n!” Jack pounced on her the second she got out of her car.

“Thank you, Jack!” Y/n smiled and gave the little boy a hug.

“Did you hear me yelling your name? I was with papa, but I wanted you to win.” Jack said as he grabbed Y/n’s hand and walked with her towards Susie.

“I heard you, you were yelling so loud.” Y/n chuckled. She then saw how proud Susie looked and couldn’t help herself so she immediately gave Susie a hug.

“You did so well, Y/n! And you scored points! That’s amazing!” Susie cheered.

“Thank you, I think I might cry.” Y/n admitted.

“You should be proud of yourself. I am.”

Drive to survive

“How did you feel when you scored your first points?”

Y/n instantly smiled at the memory. She remembered it all too well. Her and the Wolff family celebrating afterwards, her being congratulated by everyone on the grid.

“Oh man, it was my happiest day. Before that I used to say my happiest day hadn’t happened yet. I was content with at least scoring one point, but I got four! It was amazing and I’m glad that the people that love and support me were there to witness that special moment with me.” Y/n smiled.

The camera cuts to a smiling Toto. He looked like a proud dad and he was. Toto considered Y/n to be part of his family.

“Proud. That’s all I can say.”

[goldenroutledge]

next to you

pairing ⤜ rafe cameron x reader

word count ⤜ 1.1k

summary ⤜ mornings with your husband, rafe.

warning(s) ⤜ this work contains a MAJOR season three spoiler! but other than that just fluff? might be on the hurt/comfort side just a smidge

a/n ⤜ he looks so BOYFRIEND in this outfit! i’ve been having so much writer’s block i haven’t written in a year at least, but my babygirl mila @msgorillagripcoochie inspired me with this idea <3 this isn’t canon rafe btw literally none of my work is canon compliant

rafe cameron masterlist

© goldenroutledge || do not plagiarize, repost, or translate my work in any way

Steam fogged the mirrors of the en-suite bathroom, slowly dissipating with the cooler air being let in from the bedroom. White towel hanging around his hips, Rafe sat at the edge of the bed you shared, staring down the vast space of the walk-in closet.

Fidgeting with the ring on his finger, nerves coursed through his body, and it was in times like these that he remembered the days of drinking scotch before 11am. But that was a thing of the past, he reminded himself just as quickly as the thought popped into his mind.

Today he was meeting with an old teacher from his alma mater, who grew to be one of his favorites. Probably his only favorite.

Rafe was never a scholar or anything, something Ward didn’t allow him to forget. He just learned differently, from someone like Sarah who could barely show up to school three times a week and still pass every exam.

It wasn’t until Rafe found himself with a 67% in his social studies class and less than a month left in the semester to turn his grade around that he was forced to attend office hours.

The first day was embarrassing. He felt like an idiot in the first place, seeing as his horrible grades pretty much spoke for themselves. But even more so now that he had to stay longer at school because he was an idiot.

Rafe stayed silent for the most part. Letting the professor do most of the talking, letting him know which assignments and topics he needed to perform well on to end the class with a passing grade.

It wasn’t until that Friday, his professor knocked some sense into him.

« “You know you’ll never learn anything if you don’t ask questions, right?”

Rafe rolled his eyes, tired of sitting prisoner in the chair of his teacher’s office. “What do you want me to ask?”

“Anything.”

“I don’t have questions.” He lied unconvincingly.

“Every time I teach you, Rafe, I can see the gears turning in your head. You’re a smart kid. But I can’t help you excel if you don’t engage. I get it, alright. I felt stupid asking a bunch of questions in front of everyone in school too but I need you to be receptive. Help me help you, Mr. Cameron.”

“I don’t know where to start.”

“Okay. We can start with assigning you a peer tutor.”

Rafe wanted to laugh. Or cry, he wasn’t sure. The whole thing was just ridiculous to him at this point.

“She’ll be someone you can talk with about the material, ask questions to, someone you can trust to help you get back on track. Are you familiar with Y/n Y/ln?” »

Little did he know, Mr. Murphy would be getting the boot by the school board. Something about budget cuts, as if the kook parents of the island didn’t give enough donations to the school to keep the water fountains at a perfectly cold temperature.

Not because their books were falling apart or because their desks were chipping. Because people are selfish, and the new headmistress of the academy felt like the money could be better spent remodeling her office. It was laughable, really.

Today, that professor was back on the island, and reached out to Rafe to meet with him following the news of Ward’s death. Not that he mentioned that specifically in his email, though it was mostly implied that he’d wanted to check up on Rafe after everything.

And with all the questions he’d probably be asked today during this lunch with his old mentor, all he could ponder over was what he was going to wear. Perhaps it was a method of procrastination, to get his mind off of everything else.

Rafe sighed. “Y/n?”

At hearing his voice echoing through the house, you slid your bookmark in between the pages and followed his voice upstairs into your shared bedroom.

“You called?”

“I need your help.”

Your eyebrows raised involuntarily at the sight before you; no matter how many times you’d seen Rafe almost naked (and actually naked), he never failed to make your heart skip a beat.

“Help getting dressed?”

He nods, confirming that you’re always good at reading his mind. “Dress me, please?”

You chuckled, pulling some articles of clothing from the hangers and drawers. It was just lunch, so it wasn’t like he needed anything too business-y. His striped blue and orange shirt had always been one of your favorites, though he seemed to look good in almost anything.

You threw a pair of boxers over to him, keeping your back turned as you still rummaged through the closet. No matter how irresistible he was, there wasn’t any time for funny business this morning.

“There’s no need to be nervous, y’know. Mr. Murphy has always liked you.”

How do you always know what he’s thinking, damnit. “Yeah. I guess.”

He pulled the striped shirt over his head while you found pants for him to wear.

“Just don’t want him to think I’m still the same loser I was back then.”

“You’ve never been a loser, Rafe.”

“Maybe not in your eyes.” His lips stretched into a small smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. He put on the pants you picked for him, sitting back down to look up at you.

“Definitely not in my eyes.”

His hands wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer so his head rested on your stomach. The tips of your fingernails lightly scratched the back of his neck as you embraced.

“Do you remember the science fair? Freshman year?”

Rafe hummed in response. “Ward thought it was stupid. I asked him to come and he didn’t. Said he would be too embarrassed when I lost.”

“And then what happened? You won the whole damn thing.”

“I won the whole damn thing.” He smiled against your skin, repeating your words softly.

“You’ve never been a loser.”

Kneeling down, you placed your hands on his thighs, and gave him a sweet kiss.

“You’ve already accomplished so much.” You affirmed, reminding him of the businesses he had taken over since Ward died. Still, Rafe was unsure if he could rise to the occasion.

You took the ends of his jeans and cuffed them, knowing he’s terrible at doing it himself. They always come out uneven. And conveniently enough, he likes spending these quiet moments together. Neither of you would trade them for anything.

“I married you.” He cooed, taking your left hand in his and letting his thumb glide across the ring on your finger. “Best decision I’ve ever made.”

“That it was.” You cheesed, letting him pull you up to straddle him. “Next time you think you’re not accomplished, Rafey…” You peppered soft kisses to his jawline. “Remember that you’ve got me.”

taglist: @ilovejjmaybank @missevi @nxsmss @cameronsrafe @msgorillagripcoochie @bibliophilewednesday @tovvaa @rudybarnes @annab-nana @babeyglo @reawritesthings @moniamaybank @outerbankspreferences @laneylaneylaney @jjpouggues @pogueslandia @mildkleptomaniac @whcclxr @mrs-cameron @it-was-never-meant-to-be-boys @alanniys @amourology @luversgirl + rafe cameron taglist: @bradleybeachbabe @chrisevansfuturewife @drewstarkeysbitchh @littlementalpolaroids @destourtereaux @kookkyra @iammirrorball

it’s been a while since i’ve posted writing so if anyone wants to be removed from/added to the taglist please don’t hesitate to let me know! 💌

[mrsackermannx]

˚ ༘ *ೃ༄ ❝ COME BACK TO ME…❞

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ summary: gojo’s been plotting to get you back ever since you broke up.

୨୧ word count: 4.7k

୨୧ content: gojo satoru/reader, smut, no-curses au/office au, infidelity, exes to lovers, afab reader, light angst (strategic marriage/ breakup mentions), praise kink, porn with plot, love confession, overstimulation, pet names (baby, sweetheart etc), creampie, pussy-slapping, squirting, sprinkle of degradation, slight exhibitionism.

୨୧ author’s note: gojo brainrot finally gave way to some writing hehe, still getting used to characterising him so feedback is appreciated angels <3

₊‧°𐐪♡𐑂°‧₊

"Don't shit where you eat," they say. They say that dating your colleague is never going to end well. However, even the most stoic people have a penchant for such relationships, not to mention the secret hopeless romantics. 

Workplace romances can make even affairs appear heartwarmingly wholesome. After all, there was something about trudging up stair after stair when the elevator was too full to them smiling at you just a desk away. Their voice fond as they offer you a sunny "Good morning."

That person who never forgets your favourite vending machine coffee, who pats your shoulder and tells you 'you're doing your best,' who lends you their umbrella, who opens up to you over a beer after overtime. Who notices when you get a haircut, whose eyes are seldom on their computer screen but on your lips. 

Not that you'd ever been unfaithful, not yet. But you'd heard countless stories. Girls talk, after all. You didn't judge, yet the point was although workplace romances could be wholesome and even sexually thrilling. They were sensational and exciting until they were over. 

Until that person no longer stays with you through overtime, bitter memories of you chugging vending machine coffee, swapping candy and chips together and then spit just like you and Gojo always did. You definitely never told anyone how many times you fucked on the desks of the colleagues you both thought sucked, especially not after you'd broken up.

You were together for a while, and although you couldn't say it out loud because it was still too painful, you missed him. A lot. In fact, you spent most nights, fist screwed up at your sides, eyes blurring in the darkness, questioning if there would always be that void he left that no one could ever fill.

Though, breaking up didn't cause the type of animosity that made people scurry from rooms when you interacted. Instead, it confused the hell out of your colleagues. It hadn't even been half a year since, and you and Gojo didn't appear to hate each other at all.

But the pain lingering in your heart ached and was annoying and inconvenient, like a stubbed toe that felt sore and tender for weeks and weeks—but in your case, months. However, Gojo was hardly being subtle with his efforts to ever so secretly win you back at every opportunity. He didn't mind playing the long game. He was going to be your last. 

All of you at the company came from important families in high social circles, marriage and dating. Love. It often came down to strategy, which was the only reason you were dating Miyano Haru, a Kyoto University graduate! CEO of a cybersecurity company! 

Guilt gripped at your gut as you yawned at the thought. 

Your families were shooting for a marriage ceremony during next year's cherry blossom season. But until then, Gojo wasn't slamming the brakes anytime soon. 

Whether that be surprising you with your favourite lunches, leaving tickets for movie screenings, galleries, or museums on your desk, or sending Google calendar invites to restaurant reservations or spa appointments via your work emails across the office floor. With sweet messages like,

Gojo Satoru has sent a "Spa day pamper package for two for this Friday.”

Surprise! You look tired this week baby. Let's go here Friday, yeah? 

Ps: You still look pretty, though. 

Just like you were still fucking dating. 

So today, when you're pitching a marketing idea in the monthly meeting, and Yaga cuts you off. Gojo cannot help himself. 

Yaga was a great man, someone Gojo was grateful to for many reasons, but fuck was this man old-fashioned and unaware of it. He refused to see your potential because he was eternally sceptical of the efficacy of women's ideas.

But you had the best ideas today. Gojo smiled because your ideas were always the best and that’s why this decision was so easy. He could fondly recall your rants about Yaga after every monthly meeting where you'd complain about his blatant misogyny; even Sukuna would let a reluctant chuckle loose to the show. 

All of you in the canteen at your table, Shoko, Utahime, Nobara and Maki at your side, growing passionate about gender pay gaps and audacious men at your company and then the world over. 

Nanami always said the right thing, and so did Higuruma, Yuuta and Choso. Gojo decidedly took the credit for Megumi being so eloquent and respectful. Inumaki was outrageous at times, and Yuuji was a lover of all people and argued fiercely for both sides. 

Those times were always fun. 

Yaga peered over his glasses, "Why don't you expand again on how you plan to execute this idea, Reader?” 

With one hand typing idly at his laptop and the other seating his chin, Gojo sighed so loudly all the eyes in the room cast to him. "Reader obviously has the best pitch for this project." 

He grinned as Yaga's knuckles grew white and he humphed before his voice sharpened, "So, are we really gonna make her explain it again?"

"For once, even I agree with him," Toji added.

Gojo winked as he looked up at you, and you felt yourself melt a little, even under the icy breeze of the conference room's AC. 

Megumi, Yuuji and Nobara huddled together under the oppressive communication Gojo and Yaga's eyes were engaging in. 

Gojo’s eyes narrowed, "So, what are you waiting for? Give her the project."

Nanami offered you a small smile and nodded before his expression soured, and he spoke before Yaga could open his mouth to protest. "I, for once, also agree with Gojo. I think we should open this pitch up for a vote?" 

Choso raised his arm, "Me too. I think it's just what we need, in fact." 

Maki nudged Yuuta and Inumaki before confidently booming, "I volunteer our assistance on the project!"

Albeit a little flustered, you bowed and thanked the room as Yaga reluctantly signed the dream project of the company to you. Sure, you were ecstatic you'd finally been recognised for your hard work and dedication, but you wanted to kill Gojo.

What didn't help was the aggressively obvious effect he had on you still. Sure, you had a new boyfriend, but Gojo didn't care. So that's why you found yourself lingering outside of his office door at 9pm because you knew he wouldn't care one bit. Like that man ever did overtime, you tsked. 

Gojo had been playing a game with you, knowing you'd finally relent, that you'd come to your senses and stop denying yourself of what you really fucking wanted. "Be selfish."

Everybody you'd asked today had told you he'd stayed in his office all day. So yeah, he really was doing this on purpose. His light was on, and he was baiting you, and you hated how easy it was for you to take it.

You knew he wanted you to barge in there, all flustered and mouthy, so he could shove you to your knees and fuck your throat open. 

Your boyfriend Miyano was sweet, he could talk about his feelings, and he didn't run away from emotional intimacy like others had. Like Gojo always had. But your family had set you up with him even though your shattered heart was still just that. Shattered. Your heart had been reduced to fragments— to a puzzle that only one genius could solve, he wasn’t prepared to give anybody guidance in the matter either. After all, geniuses couldn’t explain how to do the things they found easy. 

And although you were the one that ended things with Gojo, it hurt all the same. 

There was nothing wrong with Miyano per se. He came from a respectable family, one your family could bear you marrying into; though the Gojo clan would have been amazing, the Miyano clan wasn't terrible either. 

But you never wanted your family to arrange a relationship or marriage for you. You fell for Gojo instantly and hard. You loved him like you never loved anybody else. He thrilled you, challenged you, and made it seem like the world was too small for you both and that you could see it all when you stood at his side. He made everything and every day exciting but had the vexing ability to make you feel safe and at home all the same.

Gojo Satoru was irreplaceable in every facet of the word, in his work, friendships, and relationships. As fickle as he could appear, he was the first to call in a crisis and someone you could wholeheartedly depend on.

But Miyano was sweet and emotionally forthcoming but…entirely too normal. You didn't yearn to peel back his layers one by one and didn't care much for his childhood stories, unpopular opinions, or core principles. But you treasured the few times you’d sat with Gojo, pestering him to tell you anything deeper, anything that no one else knew. Watching with sparkling eyes as his voice grew so quiet you had to follow his lips until your eyes blurred instead. 

But it was rare he shared anything too personal with you. He had trouble with it more than most. Some nights, although you were sleeping in the same bed, you felt miles apart. 

Gojo had a wall with everybody else, like a layer of infinity that meant nobody could really touch him or delve deeper. They only saw and knew the surface that reflected back to them like a mirror. No one could truly ever get close. 

But it wasn't supposed to be the case for you, was it?

A fond and familiar laugh yanked you from your reverie, "Did you come to thank me? Because you can thank me by going to dinner with me tomorrow."

How was he larger than the door frame? You all but scowled as he leant down and tapped his cheek. "I also accept kisses as a form of repayment if you're willing," he said silkily, a jaunty grin on his lips at your expression. “With interest.” 

Your shoulders slumped, and you huffed, wilfully ignoring the growing heat ping-ponging between your bodies. "Why did you do it?" Your brows knotted, "I wanted to get it on my own, Satoru. And my pitch was strong enough. I didn't need your help."

He threw his hands up and yawned obnoxiously, smoothing the back of his hair down, "Well, what can I say? I'm a doer, not a talker."

You huffed, “No, I'm sure you're always talking."

"You got me there, but" he checked either side of the corridor before he looped his arm around your waist and yanked you into his office. “Game over.” 

"Satoru, I-" Your voice fell into a whimper as he flipped you against his door, his lips ghosting your earlobe as he caged you in. 

"Maybe it's because I know you like to hear my voice," he whispered. "I know you like being talked through it. And, I know you didn’t need my help, we just needed a little push.” 

We needed a final straw. 

You swallowed, fists clenched at your sides as his body suffocated yours. Heat quickly crawled up your cheeks as his large hands slid slowly down your sides, the familiar smell of his cologne igniting memories from the last times you smelt it so closely. Kissing down his throat, across his collarbones-

"What are you doing?" You finally mustered, your voice a breathless squeak. Seconds passed, and the tension blazed and kindled, refusing to be extinguished into silence. You didn't dare turn around to see him enjoying you like this.

"Nothing, nothing you don't want me to do," he said in a lilting voice, hitching the hem of your skirt up half an inch. "You've always been so vocal, so I doubt you'd lose your voice in a time like this, would you?"

"No," you hissed, curbing any further speech in case you fucking stammered.

"Don't worry though, baby. You're easy," he scoffed, "and you never stay quiet, not with me.” 

“Oh fuck you.” You gasped as he shoved his knee between your thighs to part them.

“Oh I will. But if that wimpy boyfriend of yours is doing his job, then I shouldn’t find your panties soaked in a minute, should I, princess?" 

A breath passed, and then he hitched it up a little further, resting his chin on your shoulder to taunt you more. "I see the way you look at me, baby. I know you and that look in your eyes. It tells me all I need to know, princess."

His hand caressed your quivering thighs, brushing your stomach and pausing at your chest. He gripped one breast before the other before it settled upon your throat, and he tipped your head back. 

His lips travelled down your temple, to your cheek, and to your neck, where he spoke, "Hm? Ignoring me isn't quite your style. Isn't that why you came here today?”

He kissed the corner of your mouth, and then you knew you were truly fucked. Watching as he pulled away with a grin spreading as slow and molten as melted chocolate. 

"I know you wanna kiss me," he whispered, blue eyes alight when you turned and showed him the blown-out lust glazing your eyes. "There we go, baby, that's it. Gonna kiss me?"

You nodded, already too far gone. His hand cupped the back of your head, and he met you halfway in a slow, sensual kiss. 

Your fronts drew together, and he shimmied up your skirt until it became a corset. Then he cupped your cunt, the pads of his fingers trailing feather light. Your vision hazed, and your fists curled tighter into his shirt. 

Your features were contorted beautifully with lust. "Do not tease me right now." 

He laughed as you scowled, his heart aching. He'd missed you so damn much.

"Oh? Want me to rub your pussy, baby?" he cooed, long fingers smearing the slick oozing through your panties.

"Now I know what you fucking came for,” he groaned breathily into your lips, waiting for your sign to continue. Your panties were the door, and his dumbing teasing movements were tentative little knocks. But he knew you liked to be stripped bare and fucked like you were his. This was just the final round of his game. 

You bucked your hips forward, needing more, needing him. You clung to him, tugging on his tie, "Satoru, Satoru, more, please," you whimpered through his kisses.

"I only satisfy what's mine, but you're not mine anymore, are you, sweet girl? So what can I do? Nothing."

You eagerly shook your head in protest, on your tip toes, just to drag your mouth down his jaw and neck. "Even though this needy pussy is leaking all over my fingers, responding to me like I own her," he tutted, "but I don't, do I? Pretty girl."

You made a noise half-whimper, half-growl, palming him through his pants until he hissed and then broke his feigned amusement from just how much you were riling him up. "I am yours, Satoru, always, always," you panted.

"I know that baby, but I need to know if she still is." He yanked your panties up so roughly the fabric strained against your clit and made you moan so lewdly you quickly covered your mouth.

"Needy girl," he said lowly before he drew his hand back and slapped your pussy. You moaned even louder, falling weakly into his chest. But you hardly fell far, as he grabbed your face in one hand and leant close.

"You like it when I slap your needy little pussy like this, baby?" His smile moved a millimetre as your eyes darted to his long, pretty fingers. "Want me to bury my fingers inside it till you come too? So you can stop being so needy?"

"Please, Satoru." 

"Then show me, show me how much you want them," he whispered, eyes shooting down between you both as he started to circle your clit, not daring to touch it. 

"Show me you're dying for it, and we can forget about all of this mess, can't we? You've just gotta show me who knows this pussy best.” The growing gravel in his voice turned the words into ragged commands.

In raptured submission, you yanked aside your panties and guided his fingers, back arching against the door as you ran them back and forth against your soaked cunt. Your breaths finally flew fluidly through the air, like his touch was what your body needed to convert the carbon dioxide. 

His jaw grew slack at the sight of you, getting yourself off on his fingers, clumsily rubbing your swollen clit against his fingertips, breaths huffing from your nose in the exertion. 

He leant into the beautiful image of you, moaning in your ear as your slick drowned his fingers. The slick wet sounds of your cunt as you run them back and forth, rapidly unravelling him.

"Look at me," he demanded, plunging two of his fingers knuckle deep until it squelched when you didn’t comply in seconds. You let out a humiliating whimper. The pleasure of the sudden yet sweet stretch danced through every nerve.  

He grinned, fucking his fingers inside, “You look so pretty like this, I should take a photo.”

"I can't…." You couldn't speak, not when his fingers were relentless inside like this, clenching and fluttering as he bullied that spot inside you.

But his name was a never-ending hot, sweaty mantra.

"Trying to give me scraps, huh? But you're mine," he spat. 

"No, I need you, Satoru. I need only you, only you," you babbled. 

The lustful look in your eyes catapulted him over the edge. He couldn't take it anymore, his palm granting sweet friction to your clit as he fucked you like the world was about to end. "I know you need it, baby. I've got you. I know.”

He tried to undo your buttons with his free hand but was too fucked out to do it, grunting for your help, so you did immediately. "Say the words, and I'll stretch this sweet pussy out with my cock after you come, baby.”

"I'm yours, please. Fuck me," you whimpered, your entire body shaking as pleasure climbed through your body, building until you felt the pressure about to burst. Your hands roamed his body, eager to feel him as you removed your own shirt.

But like an animal, he was all over you, kissing, licking, and biting as you squirmed close to your climax. His lips closed around your nipple, and your spine straightened at the softness until he bites it hard. 

You yelped, but he only laughed, "Hurts? Don't care, baby, it hurts seeing you with that loser, the number of times I've had to come in my fucking hand because of you."

The lewd sloshes of your pussy grew louder, and Gojo delighted in how you were now dripping onto the floor. So, he finally granted you mercy, pulsing his hand until you came in wild thrashing waves that rippled violently through your body. 

"Oh yeah? Did that feel good, pretty girl?" he whispered, tilting your chin to devour your breathless mouth. The press of his lips and the erotic flicks of his tongue were making you throb wildly on his fingers. "See, you do like it when I talk.”

He let out such an attractive laugh at your glare that you fluttered around him again. "Baby again? I'm not gonna leave this pussy just yet, let up, or I won't be able to get my cock inside," he hummed. "Isn't that what we both want?"

"Then do it. Put it in me." You spread yourself, and he bit back a moan. His eyes flickered at how you shook when his thumb brushed your clit experimentally. 

Your brows knitted at the lingering sensation, “Please, put it in me, now." 

"Oh baby, but if you keep squeezing like that." Gojo grew dizzy at how your pussy refused to let him go, helping you tug away his belt and zip down his pants. Hazy, as you let up enough for him to take his fingers out of your spasming cunt. 

"You really gonna let me fuck you right here, huh?" 

His eyes were half-lidded at the sight of you in your office heels, panties soaked and half-pulled down, shirt hanging limply and open, your skirt a thick black belt hugging your torso. 

You were a mess, his mess, his pretty mess.

"Oh baby, you're so beautiful." He knelt down, working down your panties with his breath uneven, kissing each knee as he worked them down each ankle and then tossed them behind him. 

"Shall I tell you something?" he mused, running his hands up and down your thighs as he kissed and licked at the slick threatening to stick them together.

"Yes, tell me." Your hands slid instinctively into his hair as he reached your pussy and kissed it.

"I'll be honest, yeah?"

He was waiting for a shaky, "Yeah?" so you granted him one laced through a whimper, so he suckled on your clit in return before speaking. 

“I can pamper you. Spoil you, fuck you, take care of you." His voice was almost hoarse, thick and affected by something other than lust—a different emotion.

"I know that Toru, I do."

"N' I can—love you, too," he murmured, voice so uncharacteristically small but soft like it used to be when he spoke to you at night.

You gasped. Gojo had never said those words, not once. "Satoru, I-" His tongue dove into your cunt, and you almost toppled forwards, but somehow in seconds, he was carrying you. Holding you close, you heard the unmistakable clatter of the desk's contents clatter to the floor as he pressed you down upon the cold surface.

His large arms locked your torso down, and he swiftly resumed tongue fucking your cunt, delving his fingers in and out. His heart was pounding with his confession and from your lack of reply. Though he knew he was fucking you so precisely and so perfectly that it was indeed impossible for you to respond.

Until you burst once more, hands tugging his hair, bucking your pussy into his face, greedy for not just more, but for him. For the actions to do more than the words you could barely manage, so overstimulated and so sensitive that you felt yourself heating up. But then, as your pleasure erupted, feeling your hot arousal coat your thighs, a garbled "I love you" ripped from your chest. 

Satoru froze for several seconds, and then it was as if someone found the remote and clicked play as he somehow tugged off his blazer and pants all at once. Ripping his boxers down just enough to grab the base of his cock. 

Peering down at you, hungry and lovesick. "Say it again." You giggled and tugged him down for a messy kiss, working off his shirt.

"I love you, Satoru, I love you. I've never been afraid to say it." Your body was still shaking from your blinding orgasm, and he loved every second of it. He loved that he was about to ruin you even more. 

His cheek brushed yours as he folded your body, rubbing the tip of his cock against your clit, "I love you," he whispered hotly into your ear, "I want you to feel like the luckiest woman in the world."

“I already do.”

“Yeah?” You moaned in tandem as he bucked his hips repeatedly, more of his cock easing in each time. Teasing you over and over, even though you were ready to take him, and he knew it. "Can you take me, baby?"

"Yes!" You whined, breath hitching as he tapped his cock against your cunt before he slammed in and filled you to the brim all at once. You both groaned, the sounds fading into seconds of soft relieved laughter. "Oh fuck, Toru, so good."

He moaned, voice shaky in your ear, "That's it, baby, you're so good. Take my cock. It's all yours. Take every single inch."

"Fuck Toru, you're so deep, too deep!"

"No, baby, feels good, doesn't it?" 

Before you knew it, he picked you up and slammed you against the glass overlooking the city. If you weren't on the top floor, you'd absolutely refuse. But Gojo always did like fucking you in front of Tokyo at night. 

"You can take it, baby, you can fucking take it, yeah? Cause you're made for me, so made for me," he panted.

"I can take it." 

"I know you can." He sucked and kissed on your neck, no doubt leaving his mark on you, as you wrapped your arms around his neck and took every slam of his hips. His stamina had always been otherworldly, never tiring, even as he fucked you standing up, hands sinking into the undersides of your thighs.

"Leave him," he moaned, not in the slightest asking. 

Luckily you didn't mind, as you tugged him closer and parted your lips, "I will, I promise." 

"Because you're mine, baby." His teeth were clenched, and he was groaning into your ear. Usually, Gojo could pace himself, but it had been so long, and you felt so good clinging to him like this, it was so close and so intimate. “I love you.”

So close, and so…

He blinked at the revelation that hit him like a freight train, he wasn’t going to run any longer. He liked the intimacy, he wanted to tell you all the stupid things you wanted to know now, he wanted to be close, he wanted you. He wanted to be everything you needed and wanted. 

"Are you gonna come?" Your voice was so sweet it gave him an instant sugar rush, "Come in me, baby, fill me, Satoru. Need your cum," you whimpered. “Want it?”

"Yeah? You fucking do, princess? Haah-" He pulled out and shoved your front against the glass. You moaned at the switch, and as he spread you apart before thrusting back in, his large hands engulfing each cheek. 

He lost it as you pushed your hips back on him, moaning and babbling, "Then let's have the entirety of Tokyo be a witness as I give my sweet girl what she fucking wants, huh?"

"Fuck, Satoru, feels too good! I'm close too!" you moaned, both of your bodies meeting in desperate sticky clashes of hips.

He whimpered, “We're gonna come together?" 

You were gonna send him over the edge tonight. 

"I’m so glad you came. Take me, take it, baby. Oh fuck.” His hands dug into your hips, making you take every single rope of his arousal. Lewd sounds tore from your throats at the sensation of him filling you deeply. After seconds of panting and melting into each other's arms, he still made no immediate moves to leave you.

He thrusted slowly to drive it deeper, "I'm not on birth control anymore," you squeaked. "But I'll take th-“

"Good. We're getting the family started just on time."

You giggled tiredly, "You're on board that fast?"

He squeezed you as he laughed himself, arms locked tight around your waist, "Do you wanna see the engagement ring in my desk or?"

"Satoru!" 

He twirled you around to face him, "I was gonna fly you somewhere and propose, but I suppose the cats out of the bag." He pouted and got on one knee, kissing your knuckles, "You'll marry me, won't ya? Think of this as a practice proposal, though!"

You sighed, "God, you're a fucking idiot." 

"Heh, heh." He opened his desk drawer and produced a small black box. 

“I wasn’t joking, actually,” he popped it open with a proud smile, "Shoko kind of helped me pick it, said it was-"

It was beautiful, everything you’d always envisioned but had never described to him or anybody else. 

A slow tear slid down your cheek, another racing beside it seconds later, “Aww! Are you that happy to marry me, sweetheart?"

"Go away! But…yes."

He put the ring on the desk and cupped your cheeks, "Yes, you're happy, or yes, you'll marry me?" he asked tentatively.

"Both!" 

"Yay!”

You were half-expecting people to jump out with confetti because Gojo was just that ridiculous sometimes, but instead, you heard shrill knocking and then Nanami's voice, absolutely exasperated. "Gojo! You knew I was working overtime today." 

He shrugged, grinning at you recoiling into his chest and half-expecting Nanami to barrel in, "Probably the most action you'll get all year!"

He stroked your cheek, full of adoration. 

But I got her back. 

He always did like grand gestures. 

©mrsackermannx: do not repost, plagiarise, translate or modify my works.

tagging: @afortoru @luvjiro @sixpennydame @4sat0ruu @fangirlings-world @romantichomicide95 @nkogneatho @p00pdev1l @utahimeow @hayakawasb1tch @yocoochbussin <3

[catherinnn]

Jealousy and fears

THIS FIC CONTAINS SPOILERS OF SEASON 3

JJ Maybank x fem!reader

summary: this is the scene where Sarah has to flirt with Topper to get him to help them get the cross, but instead of Sarah, reader is Topper's ex and JJ is her actual boyfriend and he has to control his jealousy. Plus, reader has to control her fear of losing JJ when the plan goes wrong.

words: 2.3k

“Honestly, the hardest part is gonna be security, all right? So most of the guys are gonna be at the rail yard” JJ states.

“Alright so, we'll need to find some place and guard it, maybe a little further down the line, like a whistle-stop” Pope responds.

“Yeah” Kiara agrees with the pair.

“You guys are getting ahead of yourselves, per usual. We don't have a way to transport the cross. What you think? On JJ's motorcycle?” Cleo says sarcastically.

“That's not my fault. Alright, all me” JJ responds to her.

“Okay, so other options…” Pope starts before Sarah interrupts him.

“Oh my god”

“Oh my god what?” Cleo asks.

“What” I ask and she points towards some behind me, on the top floor of the bar we’re in. We all turn around to the direction she’s pointing at and we see Topper talking with one of his friends.

“Oh god” I cringe and I lower a little on the chair I’m sited on, trying to avoid him seeing me. Topper was my ex-boyfriend before I left him for JJ. To this day he keeps texting me every day and calling every now and then, he truly didn’t know how to take a hint.

“Is that topper?” Pope asks and JJ rolls his eyes.

“Yup” Sarah answers.

“Why is he like, everywhere?” JJ says.

“Maybe he’s following you” Kiara tells me joking.

“Perfect. Hey, Sarah.” Pope starts.

“What?”

“I bet you topper has a way of transport the cross” he suggests.

“Actually pope's right. He does have a rig” she confirms.

“No” I say already knowing where they’re going with this.

“Yes”

“No, absolutely not”

“Yes, come on, you already got him whipped anyway so why don't you just take one for the team?” Sarah suggests.

“Wait, tell me you’re not suggesting what I think you are” JJ speaks.

“She could flirt with Topper a bit so he would give us his truck to transport the cross” Sarah confirms and he clenches his jaw in frustration.

“Come on JJ, you know it would work” Kiara tell him.

“Why does she have to be the one doing it?” he complains.

“He’s not gonna agree if we ask him, but if she does...”

“Sarah said it, she’s got him whipped, not us” Kiara explains.

“What do you say?” you ask him.

“I’m not really excited about the idea of my girlfriend flirting with another guy who’s literally in love with her” he jumps.

“I thought you would understand. Think about the circumstances, it’s about the treasure” Pope tells him.

“We can handle JJ, just go talk to him” Kiara says to you.

And as you go up the stairs and greet Topper, they all stay at the bottom of the stairs, close enough to watch but not so close that Topper would see them.

“I can’t watch this” JJ starts, “Actually I have to watch so I can go break his nose if he oversteps”

“Shut up and pay attention” Kiara demands.

“I just can't believe you're here, I texted and called. How are you? You okay?” Topper says.

“You know, Top, things are a little tough right now” you answer.

“Yeah, tough how?” he asks. You look over his shoulder to see your friends watching expectantly the scene. JJ has a straight face, clearly not enjoying this, you weren’t either.

“We’ve been after this… family heirloom of Pope’s which is why we were gone and we ended up losing it, and unbelievably there might be a chance that we could get it back tonight, in Wilmington” you start explaining and he looks at you with all of his attention nodding at every word you say.

“Okay, how can I help?”

“No, I can’t ask you to do that” you play dumb a little so it wouldn’t be too obvious why you were here.

“No, seriously”

“Topper, I feel like if I ask you I'd be- I don’t know, it’s just- you're such a giver, Topper, you're such a helper”

“That's just how I am, that's just the way I was raised. And either way, remember when I said I would do literally anything for you? Remember that?” he says.

“Yeah”

“I meant it” he says confidently and you start to feel bad about taking advantage of him. You look over his shoulder again at the group where you see JJ signalling you to hurry up. “When I say something I mean it”

“We could… really use your truck” you finally ask.

“My dad's truck? Oh my god, he would literally kill me, he’s like super careful with it"

“So are we, we're super careful”

JJ grimaces in annoyance at her.

“We’ll take such good care of it”

“You put me in a tough spot, I- I know I said I would do anything but…” he hesitates so I move closer to him, start caressing his shoulder softly and we share an intense look where I try to hide my fear of him trying to kiss me, or JJ having enough of this and punching him for getting too close. Or both, really.

“I'm so sorry about everything. I totally understand, you have no reason to help us” I play dumb again.

“Why do I feel like I'll regret this?” he says with a smile. I give him a big smile and hug him excitedly. I can see the guys celebrating quietly and JJ rolls his eyes and shakes his head trying (and failing) to hide his smile.

After arranging the plan right we all go to our places. I go with Topper and Sarah on the truck, JJ and Kie go on his motorcycle and Pope with Cleo go on the train.

Before getting in the car, JJ, Sarah, Kie and I wait for Pope to give us the signal that he is on the train.

“What’s taking him so long?” Sarah complains. We can see Topper pacing around the truck nervously, JJ gives me a look making fun of him and we both laugh. A few minutes later we see Pope up on the train and giving us the signal to move to the next part of the plan. JJ gives him a thumbs up.

“That’s it, we’re green” Kie confirms and then suddenly we hear the train horn blaring.

“What's happening” I ask confused.

“You hear that?” JJ asks too and we can hear brakes hissing and metal clanks

"Train's moving, train's moving" JJ confirms now.

“Shit, shit”

“Hurry up”

I run to the truck. “Hey” Topper says nervously.

“Do you have jumper cables in there?” I ask him.

“Do you have an idea that I am here involved in illegal activities?”

“I'm not even close to being okay with this”

"It’s not that illegal"

"Okay"

“Jumper cables? What are we- what we doing with these?”

"Topper, if you don't wanna go, its fine. We’ll take the truck"

The rest of the guys show up behind us.

“Hey, I just wanna make sure everyone here is okay ending up in federal prison” Topper says.

“If it gets to that, yeah, I'll do it for pope” JJ responds and I laugh with him. I get the cables from the truck and give them to JJ, he looks at me as if he’s asking me if I’m ready, and I nod at him.

After JJ and Kie get the traffic-lights to go red, the train is stopping. That’s our signal to drive to the train.

"What the hell are we doing right now, this is ridiculous" Topper complains. And then we get next to the door where pope was signalling us to park next to.

"Right here" Sarah and I go out of the car and up the train to help. "How’s it looking?"

“Still searching” Cleo tells us.

“You see it?” Pope asks her.

“Hey, this one says Cameron” she answers.

“This is it, this is the cross, this is it!” he jumps exited.

“Hey, hey, what are we doing here?” Topper shows up and asks us.

“We'll put this in your truck bed”

“That's gonna scratch the paint!”

“No, no, it's fine” I say even though I have no idea.

“You’ll be able to get a thousand paint jobs after we do this” Pope tells him.

“This thing right here?” he asks.

“Just help us spot it”

We start moving the heavy box with the cross in it towards the car.

“Topper help me!” I shout.

“Just push it this way, my dad's gonna kill me” he complains.

“Guide it, hurry up, let's go”

“Don't mess up the cross” Pope warns.

“Don't mess up the truck” Topper warns too.

“Stop! Hey, stop!” we hear an officer shout at us.

“Shit, we gotta go”

“Hold it right there!” He shouts again.

“Cops! Come on”

“The cops are coming, let's go!” We get the box on the truck and we get in the car.

“Push it, Chewie!” Pope yells from the back.

“Go!” Sarah tells him. He starts driving.

“How the hell can you live like this? You come from a good family” Topper tells me.

“Just drive!” I respond. He drives and passes the train.

“We got somebody on us” Topper warns.

“That’s JJ and Kie” Sarah confirms. JJ moves the motorcycle right next to the car.

“JJ! What is he doing?!” he asks me.

“I don't know” I say.

“Topper, keep going straight!” JJ shouts.

“Y'all be careful. Alright?”

“Topper hold it steady” I say.

“I'm trying!”

We see Kiara getting up on the bike and Pope trying to grab her.

"Kie! What are you doing?!" She jumps into the truck and Pope grabs her.

“Oh shit”

“Oh my god”

“Are you good? Did she-did she make it?” Top asks. I nod not being able to get words out from the adrenaline mixed with fear. I see JJ stopping the bike behind us, in front of the police car.

“Okay. Maybe he's just trying to get rid of the cops” Topper comments.

I can't take my eyes off of him, fearing his impulses until he throws a rock at the police car braking the window.

"He did it! They’re chasing him!" Pope shouts.

“Topper stop! Stop the truck” I ask him.

“I'm not stopping the truck”

The guys shout at him to stop the truck.

“We're going to get JJ!”

“Come on man!”

“I'm not going to jail for him, no chance!” He shakes his head.

“Stop the truck, please” I ask him quietly, my voice breaking. He sees the fear on my face and he agrees.

“All right, all right, damn it”

“Turn around”

“I'm not- I'm not going to jail”

“Topper look at me. They’re gonna arrest him, we can't leave him behind”

“Damn him, damn” He turns around and drives.

“Go faster, you need to go faster”

“I'm trying, I'm risking my whole life for this shit”

“It’s gonna be fine”

“Turn left!” Pope directs.

“No! I'm getting out of here” he states.

“Topper!” I take the steering weal off of him and turn it left.

“No way, he's up on the overpass” Sarah says and the next thing we see is the motorcycle falling off of the overpass right in front of us, getting absolutely destroyed. We all gasp we get out of the truck to run and look for him.

“J!” I say panting, “J! Where is he?!”

“Shit!”

“no, no, no, no”

“JJ?!”

I start crying. “Where is he?”

“Maybe he's up on the bridge” pope suggests.

“No, no, no” I start sobbing.

“I wish I could say I did that on purpose,” I hear his voice behind me. I get up and he looks right at me. “But that was the gnarliest power-slide I’ve ever done”

“You're alive!!” Pope shouts and hugs him. “Dude!”

“I know, I'm surprised too”

“Shit that was gnarly” Topper says.

Sarah pushes him and starts hitting him on the chest “Oh Jesus, Oh God” he complains. She hugs him tight. Kie goes after her and warns him that’s she’s going to kill him while she hugs him too.

“This is really nice and all but we should really get out of here” Cleo says.

“Yeah, yeah, let's roll” Topper agrees.

I don’t listen to them, I look at JJ with tears falling from my eyes still, I get closer to him and he looks at me waiting for my reaction.

“Don’t... don't ever do that again” he manage to say. He lowers his head without his eyes off of mine, his hands come to my waist but before he could get any closer we hear a cop shouting down at us.

“Hey, hey you kids don't move”

He grabs me and we start running to the truck.

“Stay right there! I said stay right there!” the officer shouts again. We get on the car quickly and Topper starts driving getting us out of there. Later we realized it was all for fucking nothing because the cross was fake, there wasn't any cross on the box.

After reassuring Pope that we will find the real one and thanking Topper, JJ and I go to my house where I sit on my bed grabbing my head trying to process everything that just happened.

JJ moves around my bedroom doing the same. “You realize it was all for fucking nothing, you- you had to flirt- I had to watch you flirt with that idiot for fucking nothing” he complains. I look at him as if he’s crazy.

“You do realize I thought you fucking died for a minute there, and all of that was for nothing too. I don’t fucking care about Topper! I thought I lost you, JJ!”

“Okay, okay. I’m sorry baby, I got down there as fast as I could and then everybody started hugging me and I just wanted to get to you, and then that fucking cop came. I’m sorry, I’m sorry it all happened that way” he hold me tight. “I love you, I’m sorry”

“I love you, I don’t know what I would have done without you” you try not to cry all over again.

“I’m fine, okay?” he asks and I nod, he kisses me and the rest of our night goes on holding each other tight as if it was the last time. Luckily, it wasn’t.

[scoops-aboy86]

Break Free (Secret Admirer pt 9)

This is the last chapter, but there will be an epilogue posted soon.

wc: 4663 / rated: T / set after season 3 / also on ao3

It ends with Steve’s hands sliding into Eddie’s hair—damp from sweat and a little tangled and stiff from whatever product he uses to make it look so full when, actually, the curls seem fine and almost wispy against Steve’s fingers—to cradle him closer. Eddie sways back, big brown eyes glazed and slow-blinking but coming back from whatever stratosphere the kiss had sent him to. Instead of letting go, Steve lets Eddie slip through his fingers until his hands come to rest on the guy’s shoulders. And then, when Eddie starts to scuttle backwards, he keeps a loose grip on his forearms that slides down until they’re nearly holding hands. 

“Eddie,” Steve tries desperately, stomach sinking. His lips and heart feel bruised. “No, please don’t go, it’s okay.”

For a moment, Eddie’s palms settle in his hands. Those wide eyes focus on him, seemingly with great effort, and Eddie starts shaking his head and muttering, “Shouldn’t have, shouldn’t have…” Slurs the words a little. 

“It’s okay,” Steve says again, softer, trying his best to be gentle, imploring. “It’s okay that you did, don’t worry about shouldn’t. I am the opposite of mad, alright?”

Eddie hesitates, then adds uncertainly, “M’drunk.”

“Yeah, you are, kinda,” Steve agrees. “I mean, kind of a lot. I’m not, but I’m… I’m good, baby. Please just stay and talk to me? For a minute?”

“Oh,” he says in the smallest voice Steve’s ever heard—smaller than he thought Eddie even could be. It sounds a little like something breaking, and everything about him seems to shrink in on himself. “So you know. That I’m me.”

“Yeah, I know you’re my secret admirer.” Something is breaking in Steve too, just watching it happen. “Look, Eddie, you’re a theatrical guy. Maybe you had an idea about some big, dramatic reveal where everything would fall right into place with, with an impressive speech like something out of your letters. You’re so good with words, man, so I can see it. I get the vision. I don’t know your voice as well as I want to yet, but I know how you sound from those letters because you’re so expressive and smart about that shit, fuck high school and what the teachers might say, but…” 

He rubs his thumbs gently over the pulse points at Eddie’s wrists, feeling how it races, and desperately clings to eye contact through the head tilt that sends curly hair draping across his face. 

“I don’t know what you had in mind for this, or if you could even picture it because it’s such a huge thing after all the build-up. But maybe this is okay? I mean, yeah, you’re drunk, that’s not ideal I guess. But I could go inside with you and get you some water, make sure you don’t puke again, get some aspirin out for you to take in the morning… and we could try that kiss again when you’ve sobered up. What do you say?”

Immediately Steve feels like an idiot for that last sentence. It sounds more like something he’d say when offering Dustin ice cream to cheer him up after missing a radio call with Suzie or something, not offering to take care of someone he’s hopeful about being able to date. He can feel his face heating up… and after a moment, Eddie raises one hand to very, very gently touch his cheek. The one that’s still bruised under the makeup. 

“Stevie,” Eddie murmurs, and that’s a new one. Maybe a little girly, but Steve kind of likes it because it makes their names match: Eddie and Stevie. “You’d really…?”

“Offer to take care of you? I think I just did.” Steve allows himself a tentative smile. “Kiss you again? Absolutely. I would maybe direct you to a toothbrush and toothpaste first, maybe some mouthwash, but—”

Eddie shakes his head with a wet snort. “Oh fuck off, don’t… don’ rub it in.” He blinks, one eye slightly slower on the uptake than the other but for the most part pretty well coordinated. “We can go in. You, you don’ care ‘s a trailer?”

“I’m literally considering getting one of my own when I move out,” Steve tells him. Because he has been, there aren’t a lot of options for a single dude in Hawkins that don’t involve a sublet basement or room above a garage or something else to that effect. Maybe if he had roommates to split the cost of renting a house with… but all the friends he has now are still in school. 

So. Yeah, Forest Hills trailer park had been on his radar before tonight. Right now, if tonight goes well, it’s honestly at the top of his list.

Big brown eyes blink at him again. “But where’ll you put your pool?” Eddie asks, dead serious in the way only little kids or the very drunk can pull off. 

“It doesn’t travel well.” Smiling, he reaches across and pops the passenger door open. “Come on now, you need more water. No, hey hey hey, wait for me to come around—!”

~

Eddie wakes up queasy and with a pounding headache. Definitely hungover, but vaguely aware that he should feel worse. 

He has a fuzzy memory of waking up in the middle of the night (or morning?) to hurl, and being coaxed afterwards to drink more water, nibble his way through a piece of toast, and swallow a couple of pills. Aspirin, probably, based on the fact that he’s not hallucinating right now, which—he’d had a bad experience once when he grabbed the wrong tin, okay, he does not want to think about that right now. 

…

Upon further consideration, the fuzzy memory was probably a dream. Because he remembers it being Steve fucking Harrington doing the coaxing. Coaxing, and blushing deliciously whenever Eddie’s fingers had brushed against his, so of course Drunk Eddie had made a point of letting that happen as often as possible.

Nice dream, though. 

…

Why is it so warm? Like, yeah it’s summer and the trailer has one dinky AC unit in the living room window that doesn’t really do shit, and it doesn’t feel like he’s slept until the hottest part of the day, but. He’s holding a pillow to his chest or something? Damn thing is radiating heat. 

He should move. 

Ugh. He doesn’t want to move. His stomach rolls less when he stays still. 

…

The pillow is breathing. It’s holding his forearms where they’re crossed over its stomach with big hands, grip lax with sleep. 

…

Wait.

That’s no moon. 

Eddie tenses, finally starting to actually wake up.

Help me Obi Wan Kenobi, you’re… a fictional character and I’m SPOONING STEVE GODDAMN HARRINGTON.

The only thing Eddie doesn’t get is how he could’ve gotten his arms around the dude like that without waking him up. He’d been a gross, vomiting mess last night, surely Steve wouldn’t have chosen to cuddle up. Maybe Wayne had come home from work and sent him crawling in here to share the mattress instead of risking a perfectly good spine on their old monster of a couch… and then Eddie had wrapped around him somehow? While they both slept?

He tries to sit up, but immediately regrets it when his head throbs, his stomach clenches, and he realizes his left arm is numb from where it’s wedged under Steve. It’s enough to make him groan out loud, and of course that’s when Steve starts to stir. 

There’s nowhere to run. Even if he rolls away, the farthest he can go is flat on his back between Steve and the wall. It’s just a twin mattress, there’s not exactly— Oh god, and he’d spilled bong water on it again yesterday but hadn’t gotten around to stripping the sheets off and doing laundry yet. He’d figured he’d hit the party and afterwards bribe Jeff to take him by the grocery store for baking soda. But that hadn’t happened, because apparently he’d decided to get blackout drunk instead and now he’s in bed with Steve Harrington and, and, and—

“Eddie, Eds, hey, breathe!”

Steve is rolled over and facing him now, propped up on one elbow and eyes wide with concern. He has a hand pressed to Eddie’s chest over his heart—and this is how Eddie realizes they’re both shirtless, fantastic, absolute cherry on top of the freakout sundae that is this morning—while holding Eddie’s non-numb hand over his own. 

“Like this,” Steve tells him, and takes a slow breath in and out. 

In and out. Eddie tries to copy him. 

In and out. 

When trying finally dissolves into actually doing it, into breathing like a human again, something in Steve’s expression loosens in relief. “Fuck,” he sighs, sagging a little but still careful not to pin Eddie’s arm again. “I’m glad that worked, I’ve never done that with anyone besides Robin before.” He bites his lip, gaze scanning over Eddie’s face like a hot brand. There’s still fading evidence of a massive shiner around his left eye, more obvious than Eddie remembers it being last night and with hints of inexpertly wiped-away concealer here and there. “Are you okay?”

“No?” Eddie manages to croak. “How did— Why are you— What did I do?”

Because he must have done something to end up in this situation, something which he has absolutely zero recollection of, to end up in this predicament, wearing only his boxers and one sock, cuddled up to the guy he’s in love with.

Who is currently wearing a borrowed pair of Eddie’s shorts. Jesus H. Christ. 

And yet, somehow Steve manages to look bashful about the whole predicament. “I, uh. Kind wanted to make sure you got home safe, because you said you didn’t have a ride.”

Eddie rakes his brain for an explanation for that, because he had had a ride. And, fuck, where the hell is his lunchbox? He winces and holds up a wait a minute finger, because while this crisis is important, he literally cannot afford to have lost that and it’s making the bottom fall out of his stomach in a completely different direction. “I need to make a call. It’s very important.”

“Oh, uh… okay.”

There’s some shuffling, not made any easier by the pins and needles feeling now rippling through Eddie’s left arm, but eventually Steve manages to sit up and swing his legs off the side of the bed so Eddie doesn’t have to suffer the mortifying ordeal of physically clambering over him. It’s the one saving grace of the day so far. He stumbles out of his bedroom, mindful to keep quiet but still glaring down the length of his trailer where Wayne is asleep in his cot, sleeping soundly while his only nephew suffers. 

“Pick up pick up pick up,” he chants under his breath while the phone rings, using the mantra to keep his breathing steady. “Pick u—Oh hey, hi, good morning, is Jeff home? Uh, awake? I need to speak with him on an extremely urgent matter. Life or death. Please tell him that. Thank you?”

Jeff isn’t a morning person. Neither is Eddie, usually, but here he is at… Christ, only 8:42am on a Saturday morning, twisting the phone cord around one finger that it’s starting to lose feeling again. He just about jumps out of his skin when he hears Jeff’s gruff, “What the fuck, Eddie?”

“Goooood morning to you too,” Eddie blusters, trying to sound insanely cheerful rather than panicked. “Quick question, did I give you my lunchbox last night?”

The immediate groan mostly answers that question. “Yeah, Munson, you did. And I’m hauling your ass home next time if this is the thanks I get for letting you stay and get wasted.”

Eddie sags against the flimsy wall separating the kitchen from the bathroom. “Oh thank fuck. Sorry man, thank you, I’ll… It won’t happen again, I’ll never call you before noon for the rest of my days, I swear.”

“Yeah right.” Jeff yawns. “What the fuck has you so wired this early, man? Or are you still awake from last night?”

I wish. “Nope, weird dream,” Eddie replies. “I’ll, uh, swing by later. In the afternoon. Go back to sleep.”

“You know that once I wake up I can’t get back to—”

Eddie feels bad for hanging up on his best friend, but it’s not like he can tell him what’s actually going on. There’s the whole gay thing, for one, but even having a female jock in his bed would send shock waves throughout his tight little friend group, so panicking at Jeff about the remaining, and once again much more looming issue isn’t an option and never has been. Probably never will be. Maybe. Eddie doesn’t know. He has a Steve Harrington to deal with.

He doesn’t even have the presence of mind to check how he looks in the mirror. Too much pressure; he already knows it’s not going to be pretty after a night of drinking, and whatever his bed head has decided to do on feels lopsided and tangled and weird. 

Or maybe he’s overthinking it. He probably is. 

Okay.

Okay, he can do this.

… He can run out the trailer door, boxers and one sock be damned, and never look back. 

No, no, he can do this. He’d had the balls to start writing the letters in the first place, he can deal with whatever inexplicable fallout has come of it! What’s the worst that could happen? 

Maybe Steve had stayed to tell him to stop writing the letters. So he could reject him face to face in the light of day, without the risk of alcohol washing the memory of it away. Maybe even reveal that he’d figured Eddie out a long time ago and played along, that it was all just a big joke. Prank the freak, right?

Just for a second, Eddie lets himself contemplate bolting. Sinks down on his haunches with his reddening face in his hands and thinks it through: how he could get to Jeff’s on foot, pick up his seed money and his guitar, buy a bus ticket out of Hawkins and maybe find an apartment when he gets to Indy, maybe catch another bus headed for Chicago, New York, Los Angeles. He doesn’t have a high school diploma but shop was the only class he’s ever passed with flying colors, so he knows he can find work somewhere even if it sucks starting out. Set up in some city where no one knows his name and no one from home (except Wayne, of course, he could never cut Wayne out) knows his mailing address. No more letters from Steve, and it’s only a matter of time before Steve breaks out of his parents house and then Eddie really won’t be able to write to him anymore. And then life would be just… like that. Never knowing if it could have worked out after all, but by then it’d be too late. Forever. 

A world without Steve. Without sunshine. Without air. 

Okay. 

Eddie groans, scrubs his hands over his face, and reluctantly goes back down the hall to his bedroom. Without a stop to check the bathroom mirror, he’s already hanging on by a thread as it is. 

~

Waking up to Eddie having a panic attack wasn’t the best way this morning could have started out. The longer Steve waits for him to come back the more awkward he feels, enough that he gets up briefly to try and find his shirt. He fails, in all the mess, but opens a nearby drawer and pulls out the first shirt he can find: something so faded he can’t even read it, with the sleeves hacked unevenly off. 

Not that this makes him feel any less presumptuous about being here.

Eddie clearly doesn’t remember giving him a ‘grand tour’ of the trailer, or ending it with “And this is where all the magic hap’ens” while dragging Steve into his room, or whining for him to change out of his clothes and and get some sleep. He probably doesn’t even remember what had happened in the car—the music, the kiss, the pleading confession on Steve’s part. 

Actually, maybe it’s better that Eddie doesn’t remember the confession part. It was kind of embarrassing. Steve could probably do better. 

… Except he’ll probably have to do it all over again, which suddenly seems a lot worse. Shit. There are a stupid number of butterflies in his stomach and it feels like they’re about to form a tornado in there. 

He nearly jumps out of his skin when the bedroom door opens. Eddie slinks back inside and leans against it until it’s closed behind him again. “Sorry, had to check on my… illegally gotten gains.”

Steve almost frowns before he remembers that Eddie had been at the party in the first place to sell. He himself has a plastic baggie in his jeans pocket (carefully folded with the rest of his clothes on top of the messy dresser) that Eddie had literally sold to him. “Oh. Shit, man, I didn’t even think to check on that last night. Sorry.”

Eddie laughs thinly and slumps his way from the door to the bed, grabbing a t-shirt off the floor, sniffing it, and wiggling into it along the way. He keeps a carefully neutral distance between them—not close enough to touch, but not so far away that it seems like he’s avoiding him. (Or maybe Steve is overthinking it.) “I don’t think you have to apologize for not helping me enough, man. Pretty sure I’m the one that should be saying sorry for taking up so much of your time.”

That makes Steve frown. Is Eddie talking about last night, or about the letters too? Does he even remember that Steve knows? Butterfly tornado is officially a go. “It’s fine. Like I told you last night, I don’t mind helping.”

“Yeah…” Not quite looking at him, Eddie reaches up to rake the bangs out of his face, even though they fall right back into the same curly fringe just covering his eyebrows. That’s when he seems to notice the shirt Steve has on, pupils dilating slightly before he looks resolutely away and fidgeting. “I don’t exactly remember last night, but I’m pretty sure ‘helping me out’ shouldn’t include letting me grope you in my sleep.”

“I’ll take an octopus over a starfish any day,” he replies immediately, and truthfully. Embarrassingly. Lately, as the nightmares have started to calm down enough to catch some actual rest sometimes, Robin has become more prone to stretching out in her sleep. Not, like—she doesn’t stretch out so quickly that she’s flailing around and giving him more bruises, but the crowding is pervasive. Like the goddamn butterflies. 

The look Eddie gives him is flat, tired, and a little manic, plucking absently at a loose thread dangling from the bottom of his shirt. Which, upon further inspection, is inside out. “Steve. What am I missing here?”

Last night, after Steve had finally found him again in the crowd, he’d kept grinning and making dimples pop in both cheeks. If there hadn’t been so many people around, and if Eddie hadn’t been so drunk, Steve probably would have kissed him long before they got to the car. 

Steve takes a deep breath, lips tingling with the memory and urge to do it again. First, though, they have to get through this part. Again. 

He reaches out, taking Eddie’s hand from where it’s fussing with the shirt, and threads their fingers together. The chunky rings Eddie usually wears are still on the nearest flat surface to the bed, but this hand still has the thinner band—an old mood ring, Steve thinks, though the stone always seems dark so maybe it’s broken. He looks at their hands together, and feels something settle in his chest. 

Nervous as he is, this feels right. When he hazards a glance at Eddie’s face, it’s pink. Also angled down to stare at their linked hands, but Eddie is looking at him through unfairly long eyelashes. 

“Steve?” Eddie whispers, sounding… what? Afraid, awed? He’s got to be nervous too, it’s written into the tension in his slightly scrawny frame, looking smaller without all his usual layers of denim and leather. 

“I know you wrote those letters,” Steve murmurs, leaning into the carefully curated distance between them. “And I still like you. I keep telling you I like you, but you keep being surprised. Just let me want this, okay?” 

He squeezes Eddie’s hand again, watches as those eyelashes flutter slightly with the pressure. 

“Last night I said a bunch of stuff you probably don’t remember, and… I kind of don’t remember exactly either, now that I have to say it again?” Steve gives him a sheepish smile. The damn butterflies have stopped doing anything as coherent as tornadoing and are just flying around like lunatics. “Basically, you’re smart and fun and really good with words, which I’m not, but after you kissed me—”

Eddie’s eyes snap up, open wide as they’ll go. “I did what?”

“Shut up, let me finish. I was listening to that new tape you sent me on the way to the party because you make me feel good. Like everything is okay and I can do anything, even talk to you at a party. And I kissed back, by the way, and I really want to do it again now that you’ll remember it, if you still want to. But the point is—” he squeezes Eddie’s hand again “—I like being your sweetheart. I want to keep being that, but with face-to-face privileges this time. As… your boyfriend?”

He’s never seen anyone’s jaw drop outside of cartoons, but that’s what happens. Eddie’s pale cheeks go from pink to outright red, a flush that travels down his neck, and Steve can’t help but wonder how far down it goes. Stupid inside-out shirt that’s in the way now. 

“I,” Eddie says weakly. “I think I might pass out.”

“Well, I caught you the first time,” Steve jokes, and only feels a little bad for it when Eddie hides behind his free hand with a groan. And then second thoughts hit. “Um, pass out in a good way though, right?”

“Yes,” Eddie whines behind his palm. He peers out at Steve between his fingers, the hand in Steve’s gripping him back tightly. It makes the butterflies still swarming in Steve’s stomach suddenly feel a lot friendlier. “Fuck, definitely a good way, sweetheart. I was just… really braced for this to not work out, just in case, and instead I just woke up with a boyfriend.” His hand lowers just a bit, pulling a lock of his curly hair over his mouth. “And, apparently, a first kiss with you that I don’t even remember.”

“I can fix that,” Steve says eagerly, leaning forward—just a bit, he’ll wait for the official go-ahead, but god, now he’s focused on Eddie’s plush, bitten lips. He wants to feel them on his again. To feel the sparks, that rightness that he’s been missing since Nancy. The early days with Nancy, anyway… Back when she’d been just as in it as he’d been, before Barb died and monsters started crawling out of the woodwork on a semi-regular basis. 

Steve wants. 

Eddie looks like he wants too, gaze growing heated as he licks his lips in anticipation, but still his hand and hair are in the way. “I should, uh, brush my teeth…”

“Already did a few hours ago,” Steve assures him with a chuckle. “You used so much toothpaste I thought for sure you’d gag and lose that toast and aspirin I finally got into you, but you insisted on your ‘god-given right to hygiene  and tonsil tennis’ and threatened to duel me over it.”

“Jesus H. Christ,” Eddie groans, squeezing his eyes shut briefly. “Can’t believe you’re still here after that.” 

Then it seems to occur to him that Steve is still here, and Eddie frees both hands and lunges forward, their mouths connecting just shy of too hard. 

Their bodies press together a second later and Steve lets momentum carry him to the mattress, the planes of Eddie’s body overlaying his. One arm goes around Eddie’s waist to keep him close and the fingers of his other hand sink into that sleep-wild mane of curls. The butterflies have dissolved, leaving his heart beating at its cage of still-healing ribs—which Eddie keeps himself propped up on his elbows just enough to not put pressure on. Steve’s lips part in a pleased sigh when he realizes, and it’s equally an invitation to deepen the kiss, his whole body tingling with glee when Eddie immediately accepts. 

It’s the opposite of the first time, which had been slow-fast and uncoordinated, desperate. This starts at a hundred miles per hour, even while chaste, and only intensifies as Eddie licks his way into Steve’s mouth. Firm and smooth, and, fuck, Eddie is good at this. Good enough that there’s a little green flicker of jealousy in Steve’s gut, in amidst the red hot coals of excitement, at the thought of Eddie making out with other guys—but he’d picked Steve to write love letters to. 

And even though Steve has been the lead when kissing girls, with extremely few exceptions, he’s happy to follow wherever Eddie wants to go. 

Just when he’s fighting off the urge to gasp for air, Eddie breaks the kiss without going anywhere, both of them panting against each other’s lips. And then Eddie presses close again and it’s even slower, savoring, tasting. Steve is floating with it, kissing back on pure instinct because everything beneath his skin has gone molten and glowing. He doesn’t have to think, because he’s the one being guided. He’s held in the gentle grasp of Eddie’s hand coming to cradle his cheek; he is loved. 

~

Dear Steve,

I hope this is not untoward; I have not written to you before, nor am I in the habit of writing letters to anyone. But as I’m no stranger to wielding a pen, I hope these words might convey the depth of feeling I hope to—no, that I must convey. 

You’ve looked so sad, for months now. It makes my heart ache to comfort you; to smooth the crease between your brows with my thumbs and shield you from the cruel world with its untold horrors. I don’t know if this will help, but I have to try. 

You, Steve Harrington, are loved. 

We’ve existed in each other’s periphery for years, enough that you might recognize my name or face if I dared to reveal them. For my part, I don’t think a day has gone by since the first time I saw you that you haven’t been on my mind. It’s as though there’s a spotlight in every room; whenever you’re there it always shines on you. I’ve seen from the way you share the contents of your lunch tray without a second thought, the way you work to cheer up your teammates after a bad game or what have you. You’re kind, Steve. While I can’t say I care for some of the company you used to keep, as some of them are real gold star assholes, even with them I could tell that you tended to give more than you took. I grew up without someone like that in my life for a long time, but I’ve come to hold it in the highest regard and you have it.

That’s all, for now. I’m going to slip this in your locker. Maybe I’ll hang around, try to see if any of it makes you smile, because god that’s such a sight. If it does, maybe I’ll write again. Try to break up a little more of that dark cloud hanging over your head, sweetheart. In the meantime, and forevermore, I shall remain—

Your Secret Admirer

Tag list: @hotluncheddie @lawrencebshoggoth @sofadofax @tangerinesteve @oatmilk-vampire

@wheneverfeasible @steviewashere @cryingglightningg @theresebelivett @sleepy-steve

@rozzieroos @lunaraindrop @just-my-latest-hyperfixation @swimmingbirdrunningrock @yesdangerpls

@matchingbatbites @ihavekidneys @p0lybl4nkk @grtwdsmwhr @cheesedoctor

@whalesharksart @thetinymm @envyadams-vs-me @practicallybegging @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme

@dauntlessdiva @nerdyglassescheeseychick @fuzzyduxk @chaosgremlinmunson @greatwerewolfbeliever

@goosesister @dolphincliffs @friendlyneighborhoodgaycousin @beckkthewreck @pitrsattabhaadmeinjao

@kurofuckingshi16 @bookworm0690 @millseyes-world @live-laugh-love-dietrich @the-tenth-mus-e

[bridgertonandchocolate]

I’ve stayed quiet with most things Lukola mainly because I’ve just been so busy and haven’t had much time for Tumblr blogging.

Here’s my overall thoughts and in not any particular order because they’re all jumbled anyway.

1. I don’t think N and L have ever been “together”. I’ve seen a few people say they think they dated at some point during filming but I don’t think they would have. Should they? Yeah. Will they? I’m so so hopeful. But if there are feelings (which I do believe there were during filming and are currently) I think they would choose to not be together because of working together and their friendship because that shit gets messy if it goes sour.

2. All of the little nuggets N left is throughout this weekend were INSANE and absolutely UNHINGED. I’ve heard some things that there was maybe a bridgerton table read but I have no evidence that happened. I have a hard time believing they’re not about L because who else would it really be about. I know N is really private but I feel like we’d have some other clues if it was someone else.

3. I do believe L and A are over. If they even began. That whole thing. I don’t want to speculate over any of it really so I’ll just go off my impression from the images I’ve seen. All pictures I’ve seen A has looked really wanting to cling and making it seem forceful whereas L has always looked miserable. The pap pictures. The GQ pictures. The vacation pictures. All of it she’s there smiling and he looks like he’d rather be anywhere else in the world. L has also never posted about her or made any claim that they were an official couple. So I’m assuming there wasn’t ever any labels put on it by the two of them but what do I know. It seemed like Italy sent something off the rails and I think things ended.

4. The only thing that has me hesitant about all of N’s recent posts being about L is that it’s so soon after Italy went down. I’m not a relationship guru but if I were N I’d be putting on the brakes and not diving headfirst but if I also finally realized I loved this guy I don’t know maybe I’d be that unhinged too. The timeframe is the only thing that’s keeping me from being like yeah it’s absolutely 100% about L.

5. I’m really interested to see what happens the more we get closer to season 4. I think N will feed us some selfies from set but just like for season 3 there will be a drought. And with all of the negativity thrown at L I don’t think they’d put themselves into a media frenzy if they go public.

6. I’ve seen a lot of people hating on Lukola fans because they think we’re delusional and I say who cares lol. You cannot watch all of the promo they did for season 3 and honestly think that’s just a platonic friendship. If anyone has ever had feelings for a really good friend you’ll know how it comes across. I’ve never seen promo like that EVER. For me it’s fun to think of them ending up together because I’m a romantic at heart. You can tell they love each other whether it’s just friendly or not. I do try to not speculate but I can’t help but do it and I usually don’t ship actors. I love them individually and I would love them as a couple but I also love if it’s just friendship too.

Feel free to send asks. I love talking Lukola lol

[backmarkerr]

please....can u speak on the conspiracy

So the conspiracy (more like a theory, really) is that Kimi was pushed out of the team starting in 2008 to make way for Fernando, who was more appealing to the big sponsor coming in. Before you click out thinking "Max, that's stupid, no team would throw a championship for a sponsor." I agree! But keep in mind that they didn't throw the championship, they fully expected to win the WDC with Felipe (and almost did) and did in fact win the WCC in 2008 with Felipe and Kimi despite everything. But there were really suspicious things going on. So with that in mind...

It's 2008. Kimi has just won Malaysia, the second race of the season. Three days after his win, there's this:

.

Ok, kinda weird, but whatever. F1 runs on rumours, right? Suggesting that Kimi might retire when he's doing so well is silly. And in the article they seem to be pretty ambivalent over whether it would be Felipe or Kimi to leave.

Fast forward to Spain two races later. Kimi scores his second win of the season and takes the championship lead. The season is shaping up pretty well for the defence of the title, you’d think this would be a good time for him, but again, the story du jour is Ferrari wanting Alonso in Kimi’s seat for 2009.

[x] I guess now we know at least Massa's seat is secure...?

If you’re like me, that sounds stupid. The reigning champion just won the last GP and his contract runs until the end of 2010, so this media narrative makes no sense. Something pretty catastrophic would have to happen for that to ever come to fruition, right?

So anyway, he gets a first row start in Monaco. Great, that's almost a surefire win/points, right? Wrong, he got a drive-through penalty due to the team not fitting the wheels to the car on time before the race start. Not a great race and he ends up outside of the points. Lewis is now ahead in the WDC by 3 points. Not really a disaster, but...

[x] what on earth...

[x] again the talk of retirement.... I mean, it's weird, right?

Zero points in Canada due to being rear-ended in the pitlane, which the team can’t control. Then he’s back to being neck to neck with his teammate and Lewis by the time the British GP is done in early July, with all three drivers on 48 points. Good news, right? Just gotta stay on track and not fuck it up somehow.

[x] sigh... (this one's a little harder to source as it was printed media, but I've seen this exact interview quoted in different pages)

So anyway, they change his front suspension for the next race in Germany. Kimi has always been very sensitive to changes in the car, so he knew something was wrong. Ferrari (via Michael, who was then head of development) say he's just not adapting well to the upgrades. Maybe, sure, but why aren't you bringing upgrades that are geared towards your world champion?

(an interesting remark from Mark Hughes here if you scroll down to the comments, which adds weight to Kimi not being listened to when it came to car development in 2008)

Bar a podium in Hungary, Kimi scores 0 points in 4 out of the next 5 races. It takes until either Monza or Singapore (hello crashgate!) for Ferrari to put his suspension back as it was.

He proceeds to get 3 podiums in the remaining 3 races but it’s not enough to catch up. By Singapore he was already 27 points behind his teammate (reminder this is the old points system) and very much expected to play the supporting role. In the penultimate race in China he very obviously gave up P2 to his teammate:

"I know what the team expects." [x] / [x]

Yet the narrative in the media and from Ferrari themselves is that his motivation is bad and he's not assertive. It was so pervasive that to this day people still parrot it and say he just didn’t care after 2007, despite Kimi always stating he was fully committed and clearly getting annoyed whenever journalists asked about his motivation even years later.

Montezemolo at the end of 2008 even 'joked' that "Kimi in the recent races was replaced two or three times by a friend, but next year he'll be back." Basically saying that Kimi wasn't really present, you know? An interesting thing to say when this absent driver scored 18 points in the last 3 races (three consecutive P3s), while the one who was amazing and had the team's full backing scored 20 (P7, P2, P1).

A whole 2 points' difference, maybe someone should hire that "friend"...

So why did they do this?

Well, the theory is that Santander (I promise this isn’t like the dumb Sainztander takes) wanted a Spanish-Brazilian lineup due to financial interests (Spanish bank, big market in South America with a looming IPO in Brazil), so Kimi was basically being pressured out of the team from early 2008 onwards. Like I said at the start, the team weren’t really throwing away 2008, as they expected to win the WCC with both drivers (they did) and Massa to be able to win the WDC, which would of course be beneficial for their new sponsor. And he almost did. Almost.

[x] they're not in charge of driver selection but this specific driver line-up would good for them. (this archived copy of the article is from 2010, but the text makes it clear it's from 2009)

Of course at this point we have to wonder if a team like Ferrari would bow down to a sponsor's demands. I can't tell you what the internal considerations were or how much money was on the line, but it's also not like Santander were telling them to get rid of Kimi for a bad driver, you know? Fernando is a great driver, so from Ferrari's perspective they were just trading a great driver for another great driver who also appealed to this huge sponsor, and an Alonso-Massa line-up would be solid. And with the previous talk that Ferrari and Alonso had already inked a deal in 2008... It's just difficult to believe there isn't a grain of truth here.

So the alleged initial plan of having Alonso in 2009 was foiled when Kimi activated the renewal option in his contract. It was then that he was bought out of his last year (apparently paid for by Santander).

[from the book The Unknown Kimi Raikkonen]

As we can see, by the end Kimi was also fed up with what was going on, especially people pointing the finger at him and at his motivation, and his frustration is very clear in interviews like here at 2.35 and here:

Publicly, Ferrari said they wanted someone more in line with how Michael used to be (ironic since Montezemolo allegedly didn’t like how Michael made the team his), who could communicate with the team and give better feedback (ironic when Todt, Dyer, Stella and others said Kimi was very clear and precise.) Kimi himself has always stated that he wasn’t the issue, that his motivation was never lacking and that the real reason he was pushed out was politics and money.

[x]

[x]

If it had only been the mechanical stuff, I’d be willing to chalk it up to just bad luck and incompetence. Shit happens. But with all the rumours around it even before things went bad on the track and Kimi stating that his work and performance weren't the reason he was let go it becomes impossible for me to think there wasn’t an actual push going on to replace him.

Hell, even famed Ferrari fanboy Sebastian Vettel didn't think it was realistic for Kimi to return to Ferrary in 2014 precisely because Kimi isn't one for "bullshit" and "politics". Why would he choose to say that specifically? And according to Finnish media Kimi’s 2014 Ferrari negotiations included Montezemolo personally apologising to him. Now why would he apologise if they hadn’t done something wrong?

Personally I think Kimi's "certain people did certain things" refers to this. He never trashed anyone and always said he had no ill-feelings. And I believe him. But it doesn't mean nothing happened, lest we forget how well he handled Lotus not paying him.

The thing that really bothers me is that Kimi got the reputation for having low motivation and not caring about what he was doing (I heard that take just last month from an F1 youtuber, how Fernando was hired in 2010 because Kimi had mentally checked out 🙄), when obviously someone who wasn’t motivated and didn’t care would have simply called it quits under these circumstances. Instead he got P3 in the standings in 2008 (I know he’s talented, but he must have been trying at least a little), trained hard to lose enough weight to use KERS in 2009 (why would he do that if he didn’t care) and took the team’s only win that year despite the car being shit. Interestingly, pundits acknowledged his good performance complicated things when it came to Ferrari’s rumoured hiring of Alonso. So imagine how much more complicated things would have been had Kimi done better in 2008?

Anyway, this is long, but if you want something longer then I definitely recommend this post here. You might not agree completely with the original authors (there are parts where I wish there was more info), but I think they offer a lot of good research and information regarding the overall situation back in 2008/2009, and it's a good jump-off point for your own research.

But yeah. 2008 could have been everything. Or at least better.

[savagewildnerness]

The Score of S2E5/E12 Don't be afraid, just start the tape.

OK, Someone was asking about the repeated piano notes that recur in S2E5 so I thought I’d have a quick go through the episode.

Please bear in mind that I have not listened to the soundtrack for season 2.  In S2E1 I was so profoundly moved by the exquisite violin music in the first 15 minutes that I was totally overwhelmed and I had to watch the first part of the episode several times to take it all in and be composed enough to continue watching.  

The way the music impacted me there, hearing it for the first time alongside the drama, as intended, made me realise I absolutely do not want to listen to the score before watching the whole of S2 and so not feel the emotion from it as intended, alongside the drama the first time I watch the show!  

I’ll spoil myself by analysing every trailer to the millisecond and reading your analyses… but the music: NO.  I even regretted knowing the Come to Me reprise before it was in the show.  

And even the S1 score… I know it well, but I listen to it on CD in the car, so I’m not familiar with the track titles as I’ve never really looked at most of them…. So, that said - this will not be referencing tracks on the score.  Perhaps I’ll return to this in more depth - analysing the music more thoroughly and with reference to the score after the series is over, but for now…

Piano pedal:

The piano pedal and theme recurs 5 times in the episode, and looking at when, I realised it is all related to Louis uncovering his suicide attempt as it culminates (on the fourth occurrence) in the full theme…

I transcribed just the first bit of slow notes, which isn’t very interesting, but here it is:

Musically the theme is just 5, slow pedal C’s the first and last occurrence - bookmarking the delve into the uncovering of memory.

The second occurrence adds an Eb, suggesting it has somewhere it is starting to head towards… but is still just 5 slow pedal notes.

The third occurrence starts the theme for a fair amount the theme and the fourth occurrence is the full theme.

1 - 5 slow pedal C’s. This occurs in Dubai at this point:

Daniel: How often has Armand spared a life?

Louis: Armand could see I was partial to you

I.e. When Daniel first opens up the concept of exploring his and Louis’ memories of San Francisco, we first hear the pedal C’s

2 - 3 C’s, an Eb and a C - 5 slow notes.  This occurs in Dubai

Daniel: I want to know, for me, what happened between us

So, the first two occurrences are Daniel opening Louis up to the idea of exploring what really happened at the first interview in San Francisco.

3 - Slow pedal C’s and Eb’s into the start of a longer piano theme.  This occurs in San Francisco

This is when Louis is talking about Claudia leaving on the train and him staying behind with Lestat and then…

Daniel: And then what?

The theme starts as Louis talks about this first contemplation of suicide and continues through Daniel’s plea to be made a vampire

4 - Full theme in San Francisco

This begins after Louis and Armand’s argument; after:

Louis: I loved her (Claudia)

Armand: But she didn’t love you.  Not like he did.  Not like I have.

Louis: I know

I don’t know if this is on the season 2 soundtrack, but I’ll presume it is, and it’ll be this, full version that continues now in its full form, through Louis going into the sun.

5 - 5 slow pedal C’s in Dubai, as at the start

This occurs when Armand returns, at the end of the episode

Armand: I could see you were partial to him.  I preserve your happiness even when you don’t or can’t.

Louis and Armand: I had a hunch

Armand: Daniel might prove fruitful in later times

The other, creepy soundscape with distorted horror/electronic sounds (YUM!) happens for the first time after Louis’ suicide attempt when Daniel is mentioned and it scores all the horror elements with Daniel and Armand, where Armand is basically torturing Daniel, trying to find out what makes Daniel fascinating to Louis and Daniel is terrified he is going to die.

The first occurrence:

Louis: He’s alive?

Armand: The boy? The fascinating boy.  He’s fine.  He’s just fine.  Oh, he’s fine.  You’re fine.  We’re all fine.

It continues as Daniel recounts what he can remember - the corpse, etc. and develops as Armand seeks what makes Daniel fascinating

I didn’t really delve into this part, but - violins/strings and a more familiar to most episodes, though sparser, predominantly piano and violin score with lots of high and thinner notes than usual return when Lestat is mentioned between Louis and Armand and Armand talks about listening to the tapes and why Louis did the interview.  It’s very pared back, but the “The drum was my heart” theme (Ahh… is that the origin track for the theme?  Anyway - you know the theme dooo doooooo, do doooo dooooooo one!) is there with high pedal strings as Lestat speaks to Louis and it suddenly drops away as Lestat vanishes…

Armand’s “easeful death” talk with Daniel as he eases him to his death also has a more musically full (and  beautiful) theme.  It reminds me a bit of Moonlight sonata and has Armand-romance-theme vibes in its gentleness - beautiful, delicate and simple.  Then a violin comes in and it becomes increasingly poignant and emotional and eventually (I feel) it has a romance to it too, especially from when Armand says “It’s the comfort we all long for” - it sort of resolves to a musical home.

Again, there is more resolved piano & strings music at the end with Daniel and Louis.

OK, so only a little analysis.  I just watched the episode once and made a few notes.  I basically did it to work out if those repeated piano pedal notes had a specific connection.  And they do - it is specifically tied into (at least as I understood it, from my listening) the uncovering of Louis’ suicide attempt.

Let me know if you’d like me to look at the music ever in the future.  I dunno… part of me feels like killing a fairy to analyse stuff like this rather than just experience the magic, but also I find it very interesting.  This is only a first little touch on stuff.  I could analyse and actually think about it…

Gosh, I adore Daniel Hart’s score!  And I love how unusual and differently this episode was scored compared to other episodes…

Let me know if this was daft of me or if you’d ever like me to look into the music at all.

[dreamauri]

♪ — 𝗙𝗢𝗥 𝗦𝗘𝗡𝗧𝗜𝗠𝗘𝗡𝗧𝗔𝗟 𝗥𝗘𝗔𝗦𝗢𝗡𝗦 - part six charles leclerc  x  fem! driver! reader (angst) “… forgetting is troublesome especially when you used to be enemies.”

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"What's happening? I don't have power." You pushed on the throttle time and time again. A 100% throttle yet the car was slowing down. "Can you hear me? . . . I don't know what's going on, the car just . . . shut down . . ."

"No . . . no." You watched as Max and Hamilton passed you, P1 slipping from your grasp. "No, please." You put your head in your hands taking a deep breath to calm yourself down.

"No no no. Come on, Y/N— FUCK!" You felt your voice crack and body slam forward into the seatbelt. Should've stayed alert. You didn't have time to brace yourself as Russell crashed into your rear, pushing you into the wall. That felt so embarrassing.

You sat on a piece of grass, waiting for your ride back to the pits under the red flag. You didn't want to take your helmet off, you didn't want to talk to anyone, you didn't want anyone to look at you. You couldn't. You couldn't let anyone see you in such a state of vulnerability and weakness, especially Charles.

"Stop following me." You scowled as you walked through the garage, your husband on your tail. "Speak to me, Y/N. Just talk to me. It'll make you feel better." He gently held your hand, pulling you back.

"No, it won't." You swiped your hands from his, folding your arms as he turned you to face him. Charles cupped your cheek from atop your helmet, flicking your visor up so he could look at your eyes through the peak. "Trust me. You can talk to me." He took one of your hands gently, holding it above his heart.

You looked away from him. A simple no. ". . . I'll score a podium for you. We can go home to your family after I'm finished. We can order pizza and watch clueless. Please, look at me, Amour."

He tried to undo the straps of your helmet but you held his wrists back. "Just for a kiss. Come on." Your hands fell to your side as he pulled off the balaclava, pressing the softest kiss to your temple.

"You held up amazing and I'm so proud of you." He titled you chin up, giving you a gentle kiss before gently brushing your hair out of the mess it was. "Go upstairs, Amour. Catch some rest."

How could you let him see your teary eyes like that? You should've never done that. Now he knows how weak you are.

You closed your eyes to salvage the bits of tears you had left. You could feel Charles pull you in a hug, rubbing your back gently. "It's all going to be alright."

He kissed your cheek one last time before going back to his car for the re-start.

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"And that's Charles Leclerc with his fifth podium finish this season with P2 ahead of Sergio Perez who crosses the line to claim P3."

Charles threw his fist in the air as he passed by his team who were cheering for him at the pit wall. He was 0.25 seconds behind Max. Maybe, he could get him next time.

Once settled in front of the P2 board, Charles hopped out, ready to jump in your arms for a hug and to tell you "told you I'd get a podium for you." He looked around, greeting his team with hugs and cheers, but you weren't there.

"Where's Y/N?" He asked Andrea. "In the motor home. Last I checked, she was sleeping."

And you were. After receiving his trophy and listening to the Dutch national anthem ( he's memorized it at this point ) he walked straight to your shared driver's room.

"Y/N—" He found you laying on the couch, facing the wall. The live playing on his phone which laid on the pillow behind you, the British commentators continued talking as they summed up the end of this round.

"This drops down Y/N Leclerc 3 positions in the driver's championship behind Charles, Alonso and Perez." "Her most disappointing race so far this season."

Charles reached over, muting the phone before pocketing it. He set the champagne and trophy aside before laying down next to you. A deep sigh leaves your lips as Charles spoons you, conforming his suspicions that you are indeed awake.

"No one's telling me why." You mumbled with an annoyed grumble. "It was a mistake." Charles stroked your hair gently, trying to comfort you. "A mistake doesn't happen multiple times. Dutch grand Prix? Silverstone last year? Abu Dhabi!"

You could see the memories flash in your eyes when you felt the, apparently familiar, heart drop. You gripped your shirt feeling anger boil in your stomach. Turning in your place, you faced Charles with a glare. "When were you going to tell me?"

"Tell you what?" Charles stuttered, holding your hand gently as an excuse to not look in your eyes. "Abu Dhabi! Of course."

you felt yourself heave and pant heavily. The checkered flag was two meters ahead but the car wasn't moving. Why wasn't the car moving? "There's no- I have no throttle! I have no-" you shouted into the radio, panic flowing through your very veins and blinding your eyes, rocking forward in your seat as if that would get the car to move. your leg pressed straight into the pedal as if it wasn't there. "no no no. i have no- i-i have- i-i-" panic attack.

You could still see the vivid memory of Max Verstappen passing you and taking the flag first. Your, of the time, sobs were clouding and ringing in the back of your head along with the noise that came along with clashing your hands on the wheel and your helmet in frustration.

"I- . .   I thought you found out already." Charles seemed relieved, but still felt awkward. "I'd like to remind you, I don't have my own phone." You huffed through your nose, gritting your teeth. "You are my source of information." You poked his chest.

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"I feel like shit." You grumbled, paying on your side as you pet Kiki. You'd brought her with you, you didn't want to leave her alone even though Charles assured you she would be fine.

You heard your younger brother click his tongue as he passed by. "Cuida tu idioma. No me gustan las palabras americanas." [watch your language. i don't like American swear words] You grumbled with an annoyed huff. "I don't speak Spanish." You reminded him, feeling angry again.

"Right, forgot."

"Forgot?!" Your voice rang through the room with a dry laugh, fury meter increasing with each passing second. "Forgot about me?! I DIDN'T EVEN KNOW I SPOKE SPANISH TILL NOW. NO ONE IS TELLING ME ANYTHING! I DON'T EVEN KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT MYSELF! WHO. THE FUCK. AM I?!" You threw your hands up, laughing as angry tears pooled in your eyes.

You wanted to break something. You wanted to hurt something the same way you were hurting. You felt like a soda bottle about to explode. You had to channel that energy outside of you.

You could feel your breaths picking up in speed with each passing second. Goosebumps crawled on your skin and you found cool sweat pooling under your shirt and neck.

"You should listen to me! I'm older—" "—God, you're just like him." You felt your breath hitch in your throat hearing the statement. The room fell silent as you watched your brother walk out the room, your sister following after as well avoiding eye contact with you.

"Fine then. Leave! I don't need any of you." You laid back down, curling and hugging yourself. "Stupid family. Stupid memory loss." You felt the cat nuzzle into your neck, the only haven you had at the moment.

"Y/N." "Leave me alone." Charles sighed as he crouched down behind you, putting his hand on your back with the intention of calming you down. "Go away, Leclerc." You pushed him away from his chest harshly.

"I don't need any. Of you." "You don't mean that." He got back up and forced you to face him. "I don't need you." You pulled on his grip. He was losing his patience with you. You were brought to ridiculous conclusions.

"Are you really that blind?" You wiped the tears from your eyes roughly. "I don't love you. I hate you, Charles. I hate you."

You stopped at every word, emphasizing the meaning. "You are nothing more than a dick that I can use to get myself off. A source of entertainment and pleasure. I am not your wife. That woman is gone. She's finished. She's not coming back."

"When are you going to see that?" Why were you the one crying? You don't cry. You shouldn't be the one crying. He should be. You were trying to hurt him.

"Not now." You pushed Kiki off as she tried to climb on your lap, not waiting a moment longer as you got up to leave your room. Charles sat frozen in his place. He could feel your words ring in his mind time and time again.

Words that you felt yourself regret as you emptied your sobs in the pillow.

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Business class wasn't bad compared to Charles' private plane. You didn't hate it that much. You sat in the window seat. The first thing you got to do was unboxing the new phone and setting it up.

You didn't care to listen to the flight instructions or what not. You sank in your seat with a huff, finally feeling satisfied. "Posso avere il tuo numero di telefono?" [can I have your phone number] You handed your phone to your father who took the aisle seat beside you.

"Non ricordi il mio numero di telefono?" [you don't remember my phone number] He scoffed typing it in. "Non ricordo nemmeno che tu mi abbia schiaffeggiato, diciamocelo." [i don't remember you slapping me either, call it even] You huffed, watching the plane take off. You've gotten used to Charles holding your hand through take offs, but he wasn't here today.

Instead, you closed your eyes and tucked your hands under your armpits, the same way you brace yourself during car crashes. The only disturbance during the whole flight was your dad nudging your face with the phone to get your attention.

You didn't like the man. Never did. Amnesia couldn't even erase the memories that consisted of him. You remember everything, leading up to you running away.

Yet here you were, ruining back to the most horrible person you know. It's not like you had a choice anyways. You didn't want to stick around Charles since that day and you didn't want to go with anyone else.

Your dad was the only man that would put anything down and give you whatever you need when it comes to racing.

The flight was boring. You felt empty and dark the whole time. You could've watched something on the small TV screen or occupied yourself with your phone. But you didn't. Something was missing. Or was it someone?

You covered your face with a cap as you exited the plane after landing. You left baggage claim and taxi calling for your dad.

Much to your dismay, your hotel room was shared with Charles. He'd come a while after, finding you laying on the couch under a blanket, shivering. You'd left the bed for him.

You could hear him move around and unpack. Only when he gently covered you with a few extra blankets did you feel warm enough to stop shaking.

You couldn't understand him. Why was he still being nice to you after all what you've said? At least now you could scroll through the article concerning your racing career with steady fingers. That was the whole point of the phone after all.

Negative energy. There was a lot of negative energy that you wanted to throw out. The thoughts and feelings were getting too much. Running was the answer. It always has been. Just run. Run away.

You stretched out your legs before hopping in a jog. The Canadian weather wasn't bad. The sun was out but the wind was cool. But that wasn't what was bothering you, it was the media duties tomorrow held for you.

Just keep running, you remind yourself over and over.

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"Y/N! Hi!" You stood frozen in your place upon seeing a girl jump in front of you. You could hear the elevator ding and leave. A forced smile made it your face as you looked down at the teen girl.

"Hi." You replied simply. "I'm a huge fan. Can I get a picture?" "I'm sorry, I'm not feeling well, plus I'm really sweaty right now—" You tried to reject her politely only for her to cut you off and ramble on.

You held back an annoyed sigh, holding up a smile. "I really got to go now—" "But I didn't get a photo." "I don't really feel comfortable with that." Your patience was slowly emptying down the drain.

"What are you guys on about?" "Lando!" You winced at her loud squeal. Lord and Savior have mercy. "I told you to be here 15 minutes ago. Sorry we have to go." Lando smiled politely, lying you out of the situation.

"What is wrong with you?!" Lando whisper-shouted as he pulled you into the empty stairwell. "Everything! I have no recollection of the past 8 years. " You argued back as you stomped up the stairs.

Lando grabbed your arm harshly, pulling you back down. "Carlos told me everything." "What does Carlos have to do with any of this?" "Charles told Carlos because he knew if he told me, I'd tell you." "Well you still fuckin told me in the end."

This was stupid. Lando dragged you back up stairs. "I'm not climbing 16 floors." You tried to get out of his hold. "Bitch, you were just going to try doing that." You growled, stomping your feet annoyed.

"You told Charles you were using him? You shouted at him! Fucking God! You're acting like a fucking 16 year old." "I am a sixteen year old!" You tugged your arm out of his grip, taking a few steps away.

"I'm sixteen! I'm not that other woman! I'm a fucking sixteen year old girl who's fucking trying to understand what the fuck is going on right now." You could feel angry tears well in your eyes. You didn't like feeling like this. You wanted to smash something, rip something apart. "I'm a fucking seventeen year old girl, don't give me the expectations of a 24 year old."

You leaned on the railway gripping your hair. "You don't think I feel like shit about what I've said?! I regret it. It's been haunting my mind!" "Then apologize!"

"You think that's easy? You think it's that simple?" You said in a sarcastic tone with the most sour smile. "I would if I could. But every time I think about it, I feel like he's actually fed up with me. Like if he can't stand to look at my face and is going to ask for a divorce."

Charles closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose with a deep sigh. Your cracking voice echoed through the stairwell, reaching to the seventh floor where he was descending to where Lando told him to meet him.

He felt himself get frustrated and agitated with all this mess. "And maybe we should divorce. He shouldn't have a shitty wife like me. All I've done is be mean and cruel to him. He doesn't deserve to live like that."

Crack, he felt his heart hurt.

"He wants his wife. And I get that. But I'm not her. Present Charles is a nice guy but I still can't return the feelings. You know what happened! Besides, he needs someone that loves him."

"That's you Y/N—" "No it's not! I'm not ready to be in such a committed relationship. Nevertheless married. Especially to Charles. He humiliated me in a featured race!"

Of course seventeen year-old you was still hung up on that. It was one of the reasons you grew all mean and brutal after all. Your reputation was tarnished for almost two years and you were barely able to make your way into Formula 3, with one of the lowest ranking teams of the time as well.

Charles leaned his hands on the railing, taking in a deep breath as he continued to listen to you rant on. He couldn't bring himself to keep up, quietly exiting out into the hall to find something else to distract himself with.