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twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat · 9 months ago

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DEAR SPRING, STAY FOREVER ; SATORU GOJO, SUGURU GETO, SHOKO IEIRI

synopsis; just another mellow breakfast shared between you and your partners. (you don’t think you’ll ever get tired of them.)

word count; 3.8k

contents; sashisu/reader (poly relationship!!), gn!reader, all of u are whipped, lots of petnames, literally just breakfast fluff, it ended up kinda sugucentric on accident (not my fault btw he just really loves making breakfast for u that’s on him), also ended up kinda sappy at the end (that’s on me), implied no curses au, they’re in their twenties but it isn’t specified, everyone is eepy and in love <33

a/n; a little breakfast fic bc i love mornings and i love them :33 (tagging my beloved sashisu soldiers @catchuuu @staryukis i am making breakfast for both of u btw ☕️🥞) pls listen to spring thief by yorushika it’s the most sashisu song ever

as always, suguru is the first of you to make it into the kitchen.

he’s humming. it’s soft, a low lull of his voice, beckoning you closer like the call of a siren. sleeves rolled up to expose his forearms, fiddling with a pan, sizzling and simmering and breathing in the scent of pancakes; it pairs well with the espresso steam from the coffee pot to his right, the vase of hydrangeas by the windowsill.

it’s a sunny morning. the perfect setting for the start of your day, an atmosphere you can savour, like the gradual sipping of your soon-to-be morning cup of coffee. somewhere outside your vision comes a morning symphony, chirps and songs by cicadas and robins. splotches of sunlight splatter against the windows, the kitchen table, the floorboards — illuminating the man in front of the stove.

something in your chest constricts, when you look at him. a tenderness uprooted, a fondness watered and trimmed, a hungry plant only satiated at the sight of this; the back of his head, raven locks cascading down his broad shoulders in obsidian waves, hair put up into a lazy half-down bun. a little messy, a little too breathtaking for words. wearing a black turtleneck that hugs his waist just right.

you should be used to it, by now. suguru has always been an early bird, always the first to rouse from his slumber, only ever contended by shoko and her occasional bouts of sleep-deprivation. he’s always waiting for the three of you, just like this — in front of a sizzling pan, adjusting his glasses by the kitchen table, cooking or reading or simply reminiscing. content to stir in the peace and quiet of the morning hours, before the world wakes up.

and he’s always taken to preparing breakfast for the four of you, always ready to greet you with a smile and a cup of freshly made cappuccino. he enjoys taking care of you, all three of you. always has.

(it wasn’t any different back when you were kids. suguru was always the first one in the dormitory’s kitchen, messing with the rusty french press or making a grossly bitter smoothie for himself. he was snarkier, more roundabout — but no less thoughtful. grumpy little shoko would always get the last bitter pumps of espresso, and sleepy little satoru would get a french toast if he asked nicely enough. and you?

you got to see them, be with them. that alone would’ve been enough. the steaming cup of cappuccino left on the kitchen counter — a little too tailored to your taste to be a mere coincidence — was always nothing more than an added bonus.)

the soft humming falters, for no more than a beat or two. suguru shifts his weight from one foot to the other, and suddenly you can’t resist the temptation.

with clumsy steps, heavy feet weighed down by a sleepy sense of numbness, you stumble towards your target. it’s a familiar waltz, five steps to reach him, a warmth that spreads throughout your body in tandem with the curl of your arms around his waist. slumped against him, cheek squished against his upper back, you hold your breath.

silently, you wait. one, two, until you hear the familiar roll of his breath; a delighted little sigh that slips from his parted lips.

when suguru cranes his head to get a glimpse of you, his amber eyes are leaking adoration. a sense of liveliness, a joyous spark — like a firefly, the flicker of a rusty lighter. he looks well-rested, dark circles long faded, only the dimmest remnant of them still visible beneath his eyes.

he holds your gaze, steady and kind, and then he’s leaning forward; eager to press his lips against your waiting forehead. glasses slipping ever so slightly down the bridge of his nose. the kiss is chaste, familiar. warm, warm, a faint heat that simmers in your chest, a tiny firework of a feeling. even the metal of his piercing feels warm on your skin.

you melt into his spine, fingers searching for a pair of hands that find yours first — his thumb rubbing tender circles over your forearm. practiced, memorized, that familiar waltz of motions. he lingers against your skin, breathing in satoru’s favorite strawberry shampoo. you’ve been stealing it for weeks now.

suguru’s lips curl up into something amused, still not quite willing to part from you.

but then he does. turning towards the stove, reaching for the coffee pot with one hand, the other securing your own and lacing your fingers together. he gives them an affectionate squeeze, still resting on his lower stomach. a silent greeting that he always ends up voicing anyway.

”g’morning, love,” he croons, a little raspy, but sweet and nice. honeyed and deep, sending pleasant shivers down your spine. you hear him pour something into a cup. ”how did you sleep?”

all you can give him is a tired grunt, stretching your limbs out, blinking sluggishly to shoo away the drowsiness. suguru knows what to expect; he simply smiles, endeared, pouring steamed milk into your favorite cup. with a clink of his spoon against the ceramic, he adds the foam, stirring it carefully.

then he’s shifting his weight, angling his face towards yours, and pressing the rim of the cup against your lips — not before blowing on it gently. he watches as your eyelids flutter, waiting for the hum of contentment he’ll hear once you have your first sip. and he gets it. the rich aroma stirs you into a more awakened state, and a single taste of the creamy foam has you standing up a little straighter, humming in sleepy delight. suguru smiles, crow’s feet hidden behind his glasses.

you accept the cup with a grateful squeeze of his palm, and he makes sure it’s steady in your hold before he faces forward again. another sip, and your throat feels a little less dry, your mind a lot less sluggish. so you answer his previous question.

”… slept well,” another tiny sip. it’s hot, warming you up from the inside. ”i would’ve preferred waking up to you, though...”

a low chuckle bubbles up in your boyfriend’s throat. it makes you want to pout, but you smile instead. traitorous lips.

he’s looking at you again, unable to help himself, reaching over to brush some loose strands of hair away from your face. ”aw, ’m sorry,” he coos, teasingly, sickeningly sweet. ”but then you wouldn’t have woken up to a fresh cup of coffee, hm?”

now you really are pouting. he shifts, until you're standing chest to chest, and kisses it away. twice, for good measure. he must be in a good mood.

he usually is, at this time of year. when the air starts smelling of honeydew and snowdrops, and he’s awoken by barking dogs, luscious sunbeams splattered on soft bedsheets, the pitter patter of sudden spring rain. when the apricot trees outside your apartment complex begin to bloom; a flurry of sickly-white kisses pressed against your windows, sticking to the locks of your hair. it gives him an excuse to run his fingers through it. even when shoko whines for him to cut it out, and satoru purposefully shakes the branches to make the tiny white petals even harder to find. he must like having his hair ruffled like a misbehaving dog.

they make suguru sigh and sigh, exasperated, but there’s always a smile waiting somewhere out of view. he’s not very good at hiding it.

(he likes the apricot trees. likes watching them change shape, colour, likes waiting for them to wither and blossom and turn into fruit.

once they’re ripe enough to pick, i’ll make marmalade for us.)

the morning waltz continues. while suguru continues to flip his pancakes, you sleepily decide to set the table. fondness erupts behind his eyelids at the gesture, small as it is. you stand on your tiptoes to reach the highest shelf, just to grab satoru’s favorite mug; one you all got him for his 19th birthday, a heartfelt message of world’s okayest boyfriend etched into the front. it was meant to make him pout and whine, but you’ve never seen him drink out of anything else at home.

you place the cup on the table with a soft thunk, along with plates and cutlery. suguru has already brought down a cup for shoko, seated on the kitchen counter next to him, soon to be filled with the same rich espresso he always drinks. he’s waiting until she joins you both, so it doesn’t end up going lukewarm. there’s nothing shoko hates more. you can practically hear that grumpy scoff, see her cute little frown.

your sleep schedules differ from day to day. suguru is always up early, satoru always sleeps in. shoko fluctuates between the two. you usually end up rousing from your slumber whenever the bed starts feeling a little too empty — a fact you doubt they’ll ever quit teasing you about.

that differs from day to day, too. sometimes you sleep with suguru, sometimes the other two, sometimes all three. you have your separate rooms, but always end up with your limbs intertwined one way or another; even if one of you comes home late or falls asleep on the couch watching tv. satoru can’t sleep without hugging someone, and suguru can’t fall asleep unless he knows you’re all sleeping well. shoko isn’t picky, but you know she feels safest when she’s linking elbows with you, or touching pinkies with suguru, or snoozing on top of satoru’s chest like a weighted blanket. as for you…

you’ve gotten way too used to their touch to ever go without it. last night, you ended up in suguru’s room, tucked underneath his chin, while satoru snuck into shoko’s bed to convince her not to pull another all-nighter. you’re assuming it worked.

”mm, smells good. you makin’ pancakes?”

a bubbly, groggy voice spills into the air, just as a light breeze flits in through the window. soothing, refreshing. you turn your gaze towards its source.

and there they are. sleepy satoru, and grumpy shoko, the former clinging to the latter like an overgrown koala. satoru seems to be in high spirits, calling out to you with a smile, blue eyes glimmering like a sunny sky; but you can tell he’s tired by the way he’s stretching out his limbs, only wearing a pair of pyjama pants. and shoko is silent, blinking drowsily, twitching when his loud voice buzzes in her ear. she makes no move to push him away.

suguru gazes at them with a smile, in tandem with you, nothing but fond. loving, in the way the amber of his eyes gleams and swirls with promises of something everlasting. he’s a little intense, honestly. but you wouldn’t have him any other way.

and, admittedly, your sleepy little partners are a sight for sore eyes.

shoko meets your gaze, and finally decides to shake off the man with an arm over her shoulder. said man huffs, but makes no move to follow her when she stumbles into your arms.

her limbs find their way around your midriff, her chin to the curve of your shoulder. her hair is loose, almost as long as suguru’s, messy and brushing against your cheek. your hand goes to smooth down her back, the fabric of her oversized shirt, soft and laced with the scent of laundry detergent. she yawns, right by your ear, lips jutted out into a small pout, and something in your chest returns. a hungry plant, drinking up her raspy voice, the glimpse you get of that mole beneath her eye. her stretch marks, when she pulls away and her shirt rides up enough to expose her thighs. little lightning bolts.

”morning,” you chirp. she presses a tiny kiss against your cheek, dangerously close to your lips; sometimes you think she does it just to tease you.

”hey, how come i didn’t get a morning kiss?”

shoko turns her head, finding satoru’s accusing stare. he’s pouting, tilting his head, already making his way over to suguru. but she only rolls her eyes.

”you’re such a baby.”

”you know you love me!”

suguru stifles a puff of laughter, leaning back against the kitchen counter, elbows resting on the marble. watching his partners with barely contained delight. satoru notices, grinning softly, throwing his arms around his boyfriend’s neck.

satoru’s kisses are always sloppy. you hear that drawn out mwah! even without looking at the pair, even without seeing his lips against suguru’s jaw. a phantom warmth sprouts on your skin.

”good morning, handsome,” he purrs, low and rumbling through his chest, pressed flush against suguru’s — their heartbeats mingling together. soft skin against smooth fabric. there’s mischief in those aquamarine eyes, something teasing, and it makes suguru want to return the favour.

”good morning, baby,” he presses his lips against satoru’s cheek. voice muffled against his soft skin, silky and deep. ”you kinda smell.”

a moment passes. the calm before the storm.

satoru blinks, barely registering shoko’s dry chuckle from behind him — and then furrows his eyebrows together like an irritated cat. a scandalized noise builds up at the base of his throat, and he glares at the man in front of him, frustration only growing when he notices that suguru isn’t returning the favour. his gaze is still fond, like an artist admiring a marble statue, drinking in his pouty boyfriend’s fluffy hair and droopy eyes and rosy lips. flattering, but the damage has been done.

”oh, i see how it is,” he withdraws his arms and takes a step back, crossing them with a hmph. ”bullying your sweet boyfriend first thing in the morning, huh? have you no shame?”

”sorry. you just look really bulliable today.”

another offended little noise. he turns on his heel, messy strands of hair swaying with the movement, glaring at shoko instead. ”unbelievable. i feel neglected in this household.”

you huff out a breathy laugh, taking a seat by the kitchen table while your lovers bicker. sipping from your cappuccino in silence, soaking up the mellow morning mood. until you feel satoru staring at you; eyes like marbles, big and bright, rich with mirth. his pout fades away, and he closes in on you with a smile. troubles forgotten.

before you can greet him, he’s leaning down to leave a fat kiss on your forehead — messy, uncoordinated, but loving. a coo on the tip of his tongue. when he’s this close you can see his dimples, those tiny freckles that only come out in the light of the sun.

you feel him smile against your skin, pulling back to speak. parting his pretty, glossy lips. ”and good morning to you, my dearest.”

he’s silly.

your lips bloom into a sweet grin, honeyed nectar on your teeth. he’s illuminated by the light streaming in through the window, a little disheveled, with his cute bedhead and bare chest exposed. a giggle slips from your lips, and your voice carries a melodic lilt, coming out as a soft croon. ”good morning, sunshine.”

satoru blinks. just once, before the telltale signs of his excitement start to show; his face brightening, breaking out into a cheshire grin, something sweet in the way his eyes crinkle. like folded origami, like messily cut fruit. citrusy and smooth.

before you can protest, those strong arms are reaching around your waist — hoisting you up into his arms with a coo of c’mere. he spins you around, just once or twice, and chuckles at the way you let out a sleepy yelp. even after stilling, he doesn’t put you down, only guiding your legs to wrap around his middle; his naked chest and muscles pressed flush against you. he’s warm, one large palm on your back and the other on your thigh. he touches you like it’s muscle memory, every ridge and dip, every part of you he’s already long mapped out. honestly, you don’t understand how he can get so excited this early in the morning.

but who are you to complain, when it means getting smothered like this?

”oh, and i smell great, by the way,” he suddenly huffs, directed at the partners behind him. he’s quick to smile down at you, tilting his head and searching for approval. ”don’t i, baby?”

for a second, you’re tempted to join in on the teasing. some part of you wants to. unfortunately, it loses against the parts of you still mesmerized by the splotches of white inside his pretty eyes, those cute little freckles. so you nod.

”yeah,” you breathe. inhaling, taking him in, sunlight and strawberries and laundry detergent. ”you smell like spring.”

his smile continues to blossom, turning sweeter by the minute. brighter than the sun. he throws a victorious glance behind him, delighting in the simultaneous roll of their eyes — before finally putting you back down. he wastes no time in plopping down on the seat to your right, dragging your chair closer to his, until they’re pressed against each other. curling a leg around yours. so clingy in the morning.

suguru and shoko are quick to join you. they blink slowly, sipping on their cups of espresso, a rich aroma spreading throughout the kitchen. it blends well with the plates of pancakes suguru scoots towards you, drizzled with the syrup satoru likes. he’s attentive, making sure you’re all comfortable, rising to his feet when shoko asks for a single cube of sugar. she’s started to mellow out a bit, no longer as grumpy, soothed by the bitter taste on her tongue. and satoru keeps your leg locked in place beneath the table.

it’s hard not to feel nostalgic, like this. when spring is blooming just outside your window, when all three of them are just the same as you remember. some things have changed, sure, but they’re still so unapologetically them. loud voices, rude eye-rolls, teasing comments and all.

they munch on their pancakes, sip on their coffee, and you chat about what to do when you all get home. what movie to watch, what food to order, what food to make because suguru doesn’t think you’ve been eating enough homemade meals lately. bickering and bantering. smiling.

(it feels like high school every day.)

shoko is the first to leave. she glances at the clock on the wall and stutters out a string of curse words, a mutter about being late. suguru plays dumb when she accuses him of not reminding her on purpose. she kisses you again, right under your jaw, and lets her clingy boyfriends give her one kiss each on the lips — despite her protests that they’ll mess up her lipstick. then she’s heading out.

”goodbye, doctor!” satoru calls, cheery even as your girlfriend rolls her pretty eyes.

”don’t call me that yet,” she snorts, adjusting her scarf. ”there’s still a good chance i’ll drop out. or cheat my way to a doctorate.”

so she says, but you all know her. you catch that glimmer of amusement in her eyes, something smug in the way she straightens her back. a little embarrassed, maybe. but the faith you have in her makes her glow.

then it’s satoru’s turn. he’s whinier, about it, ignoring the alarms on his phone on purpose. suguru has to bribe him, promising him kikufuku and take-out and an extra tight hug when he gets home. only then does he get up from his seat, untangling his leg with yours.

”do i have to?”

”yes, you do,” suguru tuts. ”the kids have an exam today. be responsible.”

another pout. but he listens, slipping on his sunglasses, putting on a coat and stealing a sip of your coffee that only makes him grimace. he has you both kiss the taste away, and you indulge him, because he’s silly and stupid and yours.

and then it’s just you and suguru. he has a day off, and you don’t have to leave until later. the kitchen falls silent, back to a mellow morning rhythm, that quiet waltz of motions and sunshine. suguru pours you more coffee, gazing at you from across the table, and you thank him with a smile. he adjusts his glasses and flips through the morning newspaper; absently, you wonder if shoko and satoru would’ve teased him for it.

what the four of you have is an odd arrangement. but that’s what all of you are, anyway; a little odd.

and as you sit there, serenaded by cicadas and morning birds, senses caressed by cappuccino foam and apricot blossoms and a hand holding yours over the table… you think to yourself that even if everything shattered around you — if the earth stopped spinning or the stars crashed through the roof of your apartment — you’d probably still keep on living. you’d do it, if only to continue chewing on these memories, these mornings, like savouring the faded flavour of an old piece of gum. over and over again, until you can’t tell where your teeth end and where the gum begins, so that you’ll always be able to taste it on your tongue. for the rest of your life.

it’s melodramatic, yes, but they are too. you’re sure suguru is pondering a sentiment even more dramatic, right now, even heavier with devotion. something so sappy you’d have to hide your face in your hands and beg him to stop talking.

and, lo and behold, he suddenly speaks up.

“are you happy?”

the question breaks you out of your silent stupor. you look up from your plate, his amber eyes already taking you in, drowning you in fondness. he’s smiling, and he’s looking at you like you’re spring personified. the silver of his lip piercing catches the light of the sun. a couple apricot petals are stuck in his hair, woven between his raven locks.

you blink. inside your chest, something unfurls, twists and turns, grows and withers all at once. a whole garden of love, just for them.

you lean forward, elbows on the table, and brush through his bangs. petal caught between your fingertips. when you lean back, you’re smiling.

“yeah,” you answer, truthfully. inhaling the scent of spring. “i’m always happy when i’m with you.”

a breeze caresses your cheek, your hands, and the whole apartment smells of apricots. suguru seems pleased, returning to his cup of lukewarm coffee, a little clink of ceramic against porcelain that strikes you as distinctly heavenly.

soon, you’ll have to leave. you’ll have to manage without their jokes and banter and touches, without them, for a grueling number of hours, one tortuous lecture after another. but they’ll be waiting once you get back — and tomorrow, you’ll have breakfast again, just like this. forever and ever. you never want the coffee to run out, never want the apricot trees to wither. you want to stay greedy for a long time to come.

and you’re sure they feel the same.

the sun lets her golden hair flow throughout the city, melting rivers and warming benches. she falls across shoko’s lecture hall, sneaks into satoru’s classroom, kisses her way up suguru’s neck. you let a sigh slip past your lips, and the sun breathes it in again — a vein of joy awoken, slumbering inside your veins.

and you smile.

(it’s springtime, now. a little warmer.

here’s to another year together.)

#jjk x reader #gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojo x y/n #geto x you #geto x y/n #shoko ieiri x reader #shoko ieiri x y/n #shoko ieiri x you #gojo fluff #geto fluff #satosugu x reader #sashisu x reader #gojo satoru x reader #geto suguru x reader #jjk fluff #jjk x you #jjk x y/n #jjk x gender neutral reader

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dpr-stay · 1 year ago

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Through the years | D.K

Doh Kyungsoo x f1driver!Reader

Warnings: Swears, a lot of crack

WC: 9.1k (ik, kill me now)

Howdy Cowpeople! This one is... hefty. This wasn’t supposed to be as long as it was but when I get in a groove... I think I made it obvious but I just wanted it to be over L O L. This one is pretty niche, but hopefully it can be enjoyed by both sides as it is a driver!reader.

(I didn't edit this, whoops)

2015

“Can you explain this picture?” The reporter asks, hovering in front of you with a phone in hand. The crappy quality is amplified as they have zoomed into the point where the picture is unrecognizable. You squint your eyes to see it and can’t make out quite what they’re trying to show.

“Sorry, w-what is that?” You ask, drawing back and squinting your eyes, resisting the urge to close them from exhaustion. Whoever decided it would be a good idea to do interviews after nearly 100 continuous laps in some barely held together race car with no break was a sadist. No other explanation.

“Oh! It’s a picture of you in a car with a guy.” The reporter said eagerly and shoved the phone your way. You briefly looked at the camera, an unimpressed look on your face, before turning back to the phone and squinting again.

You paused for a minute and drew back, your face still scrunched up, and exhaled.

“Nahhhhhh.” The drew out word left your mouth.

The reporter’s head tilted and they frowned.

“But it is! It’s you in Seoul after the Japanese Grand Prix!” He continued, looking very determined. You plastered a confused expression on your face.

“I’ve never been to Seoul before.” His face dropped and he turned back to his phone, as though trying to rationalize what he was hearing.

“Have you just taken a picture of… two random people in a car? To me it honestly doesn’t even look like anything cause it’s so zoomed in but to each their own.” You finished your words with a shrug.

“No, my source told me that that was 100% you! They said they saw you get in the car at the airport.” He continued on, undeterred by your flat disregard.

“I hate to say it, your contact’s wrong. I’ve never even set foot in the country.” You shrugged before turning to your PR manager who was gesturing for you to leave, with rather forceful movements. That was to clue you in that you were in trouble. With her personally or with the boss man, you didn’t know.

“Lovely to see you again, though.” You smiled and held your hand over. The interviewer tentatively took it and you exchanged good-byes before you turned around and left to go onto more interviews. The glance you exchanged with your PR manager told you that you were lucky you had not been caught out on your multiple lies and you heaved a sigh of relief to yourself.

Being the only female driver in a heavily male dominated sport was incredibly stressful. Add to that the eyes of reporters trying to find you doing anything remotely weird to spin it into a scandal and you had a lot of things to worry about. Especially since you had just started a relationship with a highly coveted Kpop singer which you were determined to keep under wraps.

You both had a bet running with each other. The first person to reveal the relationship would lose. There was no consequence but your pride, something which both of you had a bit too much of.

And so, a game was born. It simultaneously made you more careful of revealing your relationship while also making it a fun game.

This also meant that you had to start constantly lying to reporters to get out of tricky situations. Surely nothing bad could ever come from this.

2016:

“How does it feel to be a key contender for the championship?” Asked a reporter, directing it to, of course, Lewis Hamilton, who was sat beside Daniel in a panel of drivers. You were sat on the other side of Daniel, the small desk in front of you reaching for miles on either side.

As Lewis gave the carbon copy response that he had given to every interviewer so far, Daniel leaned over to whisper in your ear.

“I’m surprised they haven’t called him out on that yet.” He then reached for his plastic water bottle and took a sip. You considered this for a second before leaning to his side and answered, not turning your face from the crowd of reporters.

“I’m surprised they haven’t called you out on your disgusting trim.” He jolted forward at this unprompted attack on his hair and the choking sound he emanated drew attention from all in the room, all watching him with curious eyes as he tried to regain his breath.

“You alright mate?” Lewis asked, one of his eyebrows arching.

“Y-yeah I’m fine.” Daniel replied, waving his hand, eager to have attention off of his spluttering. It took a while but eventually all the cameras were aimed back at Lewis, so Daniel took the opportunity to elbow you hard in the side, your reaction being to topple off your chair dramatically. Usually one for the dramatics, you’re not sure you’ve ever seen Daniel want the cameras off him so much.

Hidden behind a small desk, you could only hear the questioning tones calling out your name and see Daniel’s slightly panicked face urging you to get up and back on your chair. With one single hand, you reached for the desk and slowly pulled yourself up.

You released a deep breath as you hauled yourself into your seat and turned to face the crowd of reporters who were looking at you. With a grand hand gesture, you motioned for them to continue with their interviews and turned slightly to Daniel with a smile. He shot you back an exasperated glance before your name was called from the crowd of reporters. You looked towards the reporter and he began speaking.

“So, as you’re the only female on the grid I feel the need to ask, if you could date any of the drivers, who would it be?” The eager face he had contrasted with your entirely unimpressed face. You could hear Daniel begin to start speaking and you could feel the defensive energy emanating from the rest of the drivers on the panel, but before any of them could interrupt with scathing criticism about the misogyny that permeated the question, you replied to the reporter.

“Literally none of them, I’d rather die.” Your response was met with general silence before Daniel started laughing as usual.

“Really? You wouldn’t fancy any of them?” The reporter asked, almost in disbelief.

“No!” You said almost equally in disbelief.

“I’m fine with what I have at home!” You added on after a second.

“Are you saying you’re in a relationship???” The reporter was on the edge of his seat, others shoving their microphones and cameras trying to get a good shot. You dramatically pondered that for a second before replying.

“I wouldn’t say that, I just have other things at home.” You said that and then leaned back, shrugged, and didn’t say anything else into the mic even at the reporters continual uproar as they took in the implications of that statement.

You, luckily, were able to avoid the increasingly weird questions by just not answering and smiling. You weren’t as lucky to miss the smirks thrown your way by the other drivers.

2017:

“It doesn’t count!” You said in disbelief, aiming it at the microphone of your phone.

“Mmm I’d say it counts.” Kyungsoo replied back teasingly, his voice echoing into your AirPods.

“You can’t go back on your word!! You said it was fine last year!” You were sitting at a table in your company's hospitality, having a conversation with Kyungsoo on the phone, blissfully unaware of the interviews going on outside the building which had a clear view into the small area.

“Yeah but it’s been two years, one of us has to call it quits soon.” Your face contorted before Kyungsoo quickly amended his statement.

“The bet! The bet! Sorry, that came out the wrong way.”

You just shook your head, a small smile growing on your lips.

“You bastard, you had me a little worried.” He scoffed in response. He had been speaking quietly into the phone as he was hiding in a closet in the SM building, taking a break from practice to talk to you. A true charmer.

“As if.” He replied shortly, a loud scuffling heard on his side.

“One second.” He said, as a banging sound came through into your headphones.

“Come on Hyung! Get off the phone and come back before someone else finds you!” Kai’s voice could be heard through the door. A pause before the banging started again.

“Also tell her I said hello!” You giggled at the younger man’s words and Kyungsoo’s sigh in response.

“I’ll call you after the race, do your best, I love you.” Kyungsoo muttered into his phone before shouting back to Kai something about respect and to shut up. It just made you laugh more.

“I love you too, practice well and I’ll call you soon.” You finally said in response after the yelling died down.

“Bye.” He said before quickly tacking on another “love you” and then he hung up.

After he hung up you just stared at your screen for a second with a smile you would 100% not call radiant on your face. It was quickly wiped off when your PR manager popped up out of nowhere and started talking about interviews, causing you to switch to English as you stood up and followed him.

However, the interview still captured your little moment and the conversation preluding it. You knew this because, when you went back to your phone after the race, Baekhyun had sent you a picture of your smile through the tinted glass with a smirking emoji as well as a picture of Kyungsoo on the floor in the closet in the dark talking to you on the phone, not to mention the hounding you got at the next press conference.

2018:

You knew it was risky to do a live in your own apartment, especially since you were in a completely different country than where you were claiming you were.

But your PR team wanted you to do it, and you couldn’t exactly tell them no, even if you were currently lying to them about your circumstances. You were a bit worried that something unexplainable might happen like the South Korean national anthem suddenly blaring but what you weren’t worried about was the person who you were living with coming back and interrupting your live.

Kyungsoo was at practice and, while you were ok with him skipping it to talk to you on the phone, you didn’t want him to skip it now, as you had been promised a few days without any interruption if he went to every practice. So he was at practice and you were fulfilling all your expected PR duties for the next couple of days, which included the live.

Regardless of your hesitations, you set up your phone on your coffee table facing the entrance to your home and sat on the couch before turning on the live. Immediately people joined, flooding the chat and making your phone vibrate.

“Uhhh hello everyone.” You awkwardly greeted as you tried to think of things to say. Kyungsoo would be fantastic at this, you couldn’t help but think, always having to do live’s with his members.

“How’s everyone’s days been?” You settled on and watched the responses roll into the chat. You noticed a few drivers had joined your live and even a few of the boys from F2 and F3 were watching, which you thought was pretty nice of them considering it was mainly you rambling for around 30 minutes.

Your manager wanted you to do an hour minimum for the live and the time seemed to stretch for years, you continuously making small talk and occasionally replying to comments. You even snuck in a few jokes for the other drivers before, around the 55 minute mark, a sound came from your end.

You furrowed your eyebrows as you wondered where the noise was coming from, looking around the apartment. Quickly standing up, you looked around the apartment, making a lighthearted joke about ghosts as you nervously tried to find the origin of the sound.

You realised that sound was the wrong key being put in the lock as soon as you registered the sound of the correct key being put in.

As Kyungsoo opened the door, you made the biggest leap you think you have ever made. It would’ve had to have been around 4 meters surely. Somehow you had leapt onto the coffee table, knocking your phone down. Kyungsoo was staring at you weirdly as you violently gestured at him to shush. He raised an eyebrow.

“Are you ok?” He asked, his deep voice sounding as lovely as ever. You took a second, contemplating your options in this circumstance before coming to a logical conclusion.

You started to scream.

“GET OUT OF MY HOUSE!!” Kyungsoo’s face shifted to one of confusion as yours was full of desperation.

“YOU CRAZY PSYCHO! GET OUT!!” You continued to yell in perfect English, a contrast from his peaceful question, and gestured for Kyungsoo to close the door, which he did, albeit very confused.

As soon as he closed the door, you maneuvered yourself so that you weren’t facing him and quickly picked up your phone from underneath you.

“Oh my god, what just happened.” You said, showing the camera your roof. You picked up the phone and started fidgeting with it.

“‘Are you ok?’ Yeah I’m fine, I just gotta figure out how to change the locks. I’ll uh.. I’ll get back to you guys. See you later.” You said absentmindedly, as you ended the live.

You paused for a second, sat back on your heels, and sighed, staring up at the roof. The sound of footfalls reached your ears and you didn’t react when Kyungsoo placed a hand on your shoulder.

“I’m not losing this bet.” You mumbled, staring at the ground. An incredulous laugh left him at that as he reached his hand further and brought your face to look at him. A smile that there was no other way to describe but goofy was spread across his face.

“You’re still thinking of that?” He asked and you nodded.

“I take our bet very seriously.” You said before he slightly shook his head, gave you a kiss on the forehead, and moved towards the kitchen.

You picked yourself up and moved to the dining table as he started work in the kitchen. And, as he made a delicious dinner that you both enjoyed, you started to field off your PR team asking who was in your house and ignoring the comments wondering why the guy was speaking Korean in the middle of England.

2019:

It was approximately ten minutes before you had to be in the car and ready to go, and you were half-way there. You had your fireproofs and race suit on and you were being herded towards your car by a crowd of engineers. Strategies and specifics were being directed at you and you could only nod and act as though you were absorbing what they were saying.

Even after four years on the job some people felt they just couldn’t rely on you. Honestly, they should just let you do your thing, you knew what you were doing.

No! God, ever since Kyungsoo had joined the military you’d been irritable and quick to anger on the track. Your poor engineers were trying their best to get through to you, likely because they wanted to keep their jobs, but you’d been incredibly closed off since after you got back from the honeymoon.

Oh yeah, you got married. During a break and right before Kyungsoo was scheduled to start his enlistment, you got married down in a small courthouse with only a few people from either side. You had your family, a few close friends, and a few drivers while Kyungsoo had his family, a few close friends, and the whole of EXO.

It was very emotional and intimate, but that was how you’d describe your relationship so you were very happy with it. You were also extremely happy with the week get-away in the middle of nowhere in New Zealand that followed after, a week of people not recognising both you, farmers markets, and sheep. Lot’s of sheep.

But ever since he’d flown off to do his duty to his country (and shaved his head, no one should look that good with a shaved head) and you’d flown to your next race, you’d been incredibly… angry.

You didn’t know if it had to do with not seeing Kyungsoo for the better part of two years or having that split immediately after the wedding, but what you did know was that it was affecting your racing so you had to snap out of it.

Being dragged back to the present you quickly hopped in the car and performed all of your checks on the steering wheel and adjusted things while people flitted around outside the car, adjusting things and making sure the car was in proper state.

After a quick radio check, the call to start up for the formation lap (you were in P11 after a pretty dodgy qualifying) was relayed and all around you could hear car’s engines coming to life. You glanced at your engineers and snapped down your visor at their nod, starting the car.

Before you pressed the throttle something quickly came to mind. You rapidly gestured for one of your engineers to come close to you, incredibly conscious of all the cars revving around you. The poor engineer almost sprinted to you as you started to fiddle with the zip of your racesuit, the gloves you were wearing prohibiting you from unzipping it.

The engineer's face was comically concerned and he slowly reached forwards before you looked up and grabbed his outreached hand. His face immediately went to one of shock as you made his hand grab the zip and unzip the front part of the suit.

Choosing to ignore the cameras capturing this interaction you continued unzipping it till it lay around your collarbones, hoping the cameras don’t catch any of your naked shoulders. The engineer's face then relaxed as he saw the necklace around your neck and he quickly reached in, almost leaning over the car, to move your necklace around your neck till the latch was in front of him.

He cautiously unlatched the necklace before zipping up your race suit. You immediately relaxed as the pressure around your neck was relieved. Before he could retreat back to the crowd of engineers, you grabbed the hand that wasn’t holding your necklace and slapped it appreciatively with your other hand.

He retreated as you powered up the car and started to move it forwards, letting all the cars that needed to go before go before you started to move.

Your team radio started up as you were leaving the pit lane.

“You all had us very confused there.” Your race engineer said as you started your cruise around the track.

“Yeah, sorry I completely forgot about it. But I thought it was better to take it off.” You said, pressing down on the throttle.

“He better not lose that though. I want that back at the end of the race.” You subtly threatened, suddenly thinking of the rings that were attached to the necklace. You hoped that maybe the cameras hadn’t seen your wedding and engagement rings but you knew there was no chance they hadn’t not captured it. Oh well.

“I don’t know if you’ll get it back by the end of the race.” Your engineer said, her tone almost sarcastic.

“What’s that mean?” You asked, letting the car cruise.

“You’ll probably be killed by your PR team first.” She said bluntly. So bluntly it made you laugh.

“I’ve got a race to focus on.” You reminded her, leaving out the part that you had a race to think of an excuse as to why you have two rings attached to a necklace around your neck.

And you did think of an excuse, wearing the necklace proudly during post-race interviews and saying it was a family heirloom that had been passed on to you by your grandma whenever you were questioned about it.

The moment still went viral though, people questioning the relationship between you and the engineer. It went viral enough to that you had to suffer through teasing by Daniel and his accomplice Max Verstappen (you didn’t know how the kid knew you were married but you suspected it had something to do with an annoying Australian) not to mention the shit being talked in the EXO group chat you were in.

I mean seriously, all of those guys are millionaires, does Chen have nothing else to do with his time than bully the wife of his bandmate?

2020: (sorry Alex)

Somehow you got signed to RedBull on a year contract. Not to say you weren’t grateful for the opportunity but you were definitely a bit confused. But anyway, you let bygones be bygones and now you had a 22 year-old dutch nuisance under your wing.

He was a great kid but god, was he traumatized. You were convinced he’d never seen a healthy family dynamic, so you were more than happy to let him see how you and Kyungsoo functioned. Or at least how you functioned when he was not in the military.

You kind of felt like a life coach for the kid, telling him when he was being taken advantage of or when he should continue with something. You’d been woken up plenty of times in the middle of the night by him drunkenly whining into the phone about wanting to go “home”, something neither of you commented on when he woke up on your couch the next day.

So, safe to say, you’d practically adopted a child without the permission of your husband.

This extended to on the track as well, you’d gotten into a few mild disagreements with Jos Verstappen after his cruel comments which often involved you looking at him angrily and him shit-talking you in interviews about you being a woman. You’d often have to refrain from saying that you’d always be more of a man than him, but alas, you didn’t want to get kicked from your seat.

You knew that Max was extremely appreciative of your dynamic, even commenting on it a few times during interviews, saying that he was very happy to have you as a teammate. After that interview you almost felt like you and his lover, Daniel, were able to give him some sort of an idea of what a normal family relationship should look like.

This sentiment was definitely reinforced when a loud knocking on your Monaco apartment door happened in the early afternoon. It was a weekend with no race, so you were soaking in relaxation. You were having a nice bubble bath after having read for the whole morning, so you were hesitant to hop out of the bath.

The knocking persisted however, and with a sigh, you got out of the bath and wrapped a bathrobe around you before loudly yelling you’d be a minute. You tugged on some sweats which weren’t yours and put your hair in a towel before eventually making your way to the door.

You might’ve taken more than a minute, but it didn’t matter when you opened the door and were greeted with the image of Max Verstappen on his knees, face pressed into the expensive hallway carpet. What a sight to see, the prodigy and most highly anticipated driver of his time, lying face-first on the floor.

“What the fuck?” You asked, immediately crouching down to his level after a quick glance to see that none of your neighbors had left their apartments to check on the banging (pretentious, self-concerned people).

You rolled him over, your confusion doubling as you took in the remorseful look etched across the young man's face, almost tripling as you took in the barely concealed tears in his eyes. Your heart ached though and you pulled him up so that he was sitting on his knees.

“I’m so sorry.” He muttered as your face contorted in confusion. What had happened? “Come inside Max.” You said quietly, helping him up from his spot on the floor and leading him inside, locking the door after you both. Leading him to the couch, you left him after putting the throw blanket over his shoulders, and went to make both of you a tea.

You noticed your phone constantly vibrating on your kitchen counter and quickly chucked it on do not disturb, not checking the notifications because you were more concerned with your teary teammate.

After grabbing the teas you made your way to the couch, setting them down on coasters on the coffee table, before sitting on the edge of the ‘L’ piece of the couch, so you were facing Max. You grabbed his hand from his lap where he had been nervously picking at his nail beds.

“What’s wrong Max?” You asked calmly, bringing his hand to your lap to stop him from hurting himself. He looked up at you, a few tears having rolled down his cheeks.

Whatever had happened had fucked him up. You didn’t think it was a fight with his dad, he’d sadly become pretty unresponsive to those. You briefly considered him losing his seat but shook that off, he was doing exceptionally well.

Maybe you’d lost your seat and he was sent to deliver the news. That would make more sense, especially as your phone was blowing up. You hadn’t been performing very well, but you didn’t think they’d drop you from your seat midway through the season, especially during a season as turbulent as this one.

It was the only reason that made sense though, so you prepared yourself for the news that you would be unemployed. Maybe you’d go back to F2 or maybe IndyCar? Or you could just move to South Korea and live there permanently, letting Kyungsoo fulfill his passion for acting and singing while you did a few kart races to occasionally quench your thirst for adrenaline.

That actually didn’t sound too bad, though you’d definitely have to discuss it with Kyungsoo when he got back from enlistment, which meant around 5 months of unemployment. But hey, you had the money and so did Kyungsoo.

Max snapped you from your thoughts of the future by clearing his throat.

“You don’t know?” He asked, curiously glancing up at you. You furrowed your eyebrows.

“No…” You said, conveying your confusion. “Should I?”

“Have you checked your phone recently?” Yep, you were definitely getting fired. You should probably start packing now. Maybe Daniel could get his seat back? You shook your head in response to his quiet question.

“I’ve just been reading all morning.” Max nodded, a small ‘ah’ leaving his mouth as he stared at the floor. He reached for his tea, his hand leaving your lap. You narrowed your eyes at that, following his movements as he sipped, a gasp immediately leaving his throat as he burnt it.

You immediately cussed and sprung up from your couch to grab a glass of cold water, running back to the couch and giving it to Max, watching as he gulped down the glass. When he finished he turned back to you and thanked you, before pausing for a second and bursting into another round of tears. You placed a hand on his shoulder.

“You’re really freaking me out Max. Can you please tell me what’s wrong?” You asked gently, trying to make him catch your eye.

“Promise you won't hate me?” His small voice asked and you internally crumpled at his vulnerable question. Honestly you never thought you’d end up gentle-parenting a teammate like he was a child of yours, especially since you were only like 5 years older than him, but here you were, caring for him like family.

“Yes, I won’t hate you Max.” You repeated as he finally caught your eye. He took a deep breath before starting to speak.

“I was doing an interview for the press and they started asking questions about other drivers and my relationship to them. They then asked about you and I said that I’m really close to you and etcetera.” Ok, seems pretty normal so far. At least you weren’t getting fired, hopefully.

“And they asked if I see you more as a mother figure or a romantic interest.” He said before quickly turning his eyes away. This confused you before you clued in.

“Oh Max.” You said quietly and he turned back to you. “I’m flattered you feel that way but I am married and I am loyal-”

“No, no, no!” He said, louder than he’d ever spoken in the time since he was on the floor. His cheeks had turned bright red as he looked in your eyes.

“No, I didn’t say that I saw you romantically!” He quickly amended and you breathed a sigh of relief, smiling.

“Ok, that’s good! I didn’t want our friendship to be awkward.” You said, looking at him for a response. He just grimaced and averted his gaze. You gestured for him to go on confusedly and he began speaking again.

“And I said more like a mother-figure.” A statement which made you feel positive things you don’t want to address. “Then I may have accidentally said that, even though I haven’t met him, I see your husband as more of a father-figure as well.” He quickly rushed the last part out and you sat, stunned.

The room went silent while you processed what he told you. Fuuuuckkk. How much trouble were you going to be in? I mean the team knew, but this wasn’t something you could pass off as your grandmother's rings. This was undeniable proof that you had a husband. God press days were going to suck after this unless you could somehow make an excuse.

As time went on he seemed to collapse in on himself, the energy quickly switching to something you didn’t like.

“To be honest I thought you were going to tell me I’d lost my seat.” You said and Max’s head snapped up. “What?” He asked, disbelieving.

“Yeah I know, crazy.” You laughed, dragging out the last word, trying to establish a more relaxed aura in the room.

“No, why haven’t you kicked me out yet?” It was at times like this you really wanted to punch Jos Verstappen in the face. You made an over exaggerated confused face, hoping the fact that that had never gone through your mind was on display in your face.

“Max, why would I do that?” You asked, your voice very quickly becoming soothing.

“Why aren’t you mad at me? You’ve spent years hiding this! You should be yelling at me!” He said, standing up. You tried, in vain, to get him to sit down by gently calling him, but he started pacing.

“I’ve just ruined your chances at revealing this yourself, at ever having another peaceful day in your marriage, and all you can do is make a joke?!” He almost started yelling, clenching his fists. You got fed-up and yelled his name, calling his attention to you.

“You’re in my house as my guest. You will not tell me what to do or how to handle situations. Sit your ass down.” You yelled, your voice incredibly commanding. He followed your instructions and sat smally in front of you.

“Max. It was eventually going to come out. I don’t mind. I’d much rather it come off handedly from you than maliciously leaked by a random instagram page.” You said and he looked up, almost looking close to tears. You frowned before bringing the boy up into a hug. You stayed like that for a few minutes before you had to ask a question.

“You didn’t reveal who he was though, no?” You asked, still in the hug. You felt Max shake his head and you silently fistpumped behind his back. It wasn’t your fault, so it technically didn’t count and you hadn’t lost the bet.

You were right, by the way, press days were soon filled with questions about your mystery husband instead of your racing. But it was fine, you were somehow able to twist it as though you’d made a joke about having a husband and Max took it seriously.

Phew.

2021: (sorry latifi)

“And so today you will be reacting to fan edits of yourselves!” The lady behind the camera finished, prompting you and George to look at eachother. It was early in the season and, even though you’d raced together for a few years, you weren’t exactly close, being that before pre-season meetings, you hadn’t ever talked. At all.

This meant he didn’t know much about your personal life or the whole ‘husband’ thing. Which was fine, you’d tell him in your own time, when you felt your friendship was strong enough. He seemed to be a great kid, though you were determined to not adopt another grown child, especially after the look you got from Kyungsoo when you mentioned the fact you may have ‘accidentally’ had Christmas with Max Verstappen.

But hey, they had finally met during February and it was almost like a Dad saying that his daughter can’t adopt a cat while simultaneously cuddling with the cat. Kyungsoo, against his better judgment, had instantly attached to Max and now you were battling for the position of being his favourite driver. Which you were totally not bitter about (you said your favourite EXO member was Sehun in retaliation and he changed your mind very quickly).

Back to the present, the people behind the camera placed a tablet on the table in front of you. It was open on the photo gallery and you could already see some very flattering videos saved to the device.

“You wanna go first?” You asked, and George nodded before picking up the tablet and scrolling through the photo library. He closed his eyes and landed on one. Loud music immediately began playing from the device, you think ‘London Boy’ by Taylor Swift, and you both watched in varying states of horror as photos and clips of him flashed on the screen.

As the video ended you both accidentally made eye-contact. Now, as an almost 28 year old woman, the simple gesture of looking into your teammate's stricken eyes should not have made burst out laughing as hard as you did. But, god, George’s eyes were expressive. In fairness he also did laugh, though he probably was confused as to why you were laughing so much.

After you caught your breath you could only utter out,

“Your face...” Before peeling back into giggles again. He started laughing again as well before putting the tablet down. In doing so, he accidentally swiped the tablet and the Backstreet Boys started playing, an edit of the 2019 rookies playing as the video.

This chain event caused you to start gasping, the sheer ridiculousness of the videos catching up to you. George only took one look at the tears forming in your eyes before he was also wheezing out harsh breaths from laughing.

It took around 2 minutes for you to look at each other without laughing and, for you both to be able to pick up the tablet without giggling, it took another minute or so. You eventually began scrolling through the tablet, laughing at some and ‘aww’-ing at some of the sad ones.

Eventually a video came up with the background music to ‘Give it to me’ by Sistar, an edit of you that was hot but had you gasping at the lyrics.

“What?” George looked over to you, curious as to why there was another noise that came out of your mouth than laughing or a strained ‘why?’.

“The audacity!” You said, as the music continued playing.

“What..?” George asked, more confused than previously.

“Do you want to know the lyrics they’ve just edited me to?” You asked, looking over at him, your voice pretending to be offended.

“What?” He said, his tone changing again to have a sort of goading lilt.

“Will I even get married before I turn thirty.” You said with an air of finality, turning to glare at the camera, your jaw dramatically hung open. George gasped mockingly.

“How dare they!” He said sarcastically and you nodded eagerly.

“I know right!” You responded beginning a stereotypical mean girl impression. “How dare they!” After that little fiasco, you both kept scrolling and laughing (a notable example of this being when an edit of George crying came up, him pushing your shoulders as you continued to laugh).

Eventually the video was being wrapped up and George was preparing to do a sort of sign off when he paused and turned to you.

“I know we aren’t incredibly close…” He started and you prepared for a multitude of questions. You didn’t know him well enough to predict what he might say, so you went over your predisposed answers to questions in your head.

You knew he wouldn’t ask anything uncomfortable, like about your relationship status, or anything really weird, like how many socks do you wash at once. But that left a gaping probability for mildly-weird or mildly-uncomfortable questions. You hoped he wouldn’t ask that, but you were still prepared to be asked if you threw out your receipts or kept them.

“But I didn’t know you knew Korean. How did you learn?”

Oh. Fuck.

You did not have an answer for that. How the fuck did you not have an answer for that? You definitely should have had an answer for that. Oh wait, you didn’t have an answer because you promised yourself not to tell anyone that you could speak Korean so that you didn’t get that question!

The real, close-friends answer was that Kyungsoo had taught you over a range of years and that you’d taken courses so that you’d be able to talk to his friends and family. However you didn’t have a PR approved answer because you’d never thought that you’d need one. Time to put your problem solving skills to the test.

“Uhhhhh…” You said, staring confusedly at George, aware of the seconds that had passed while you were internally monologuing. You hoped your expression didn’t convey the level of gob-smacked that you felt but you think it did because George’s face contorted to be one of worry.

“If that’s a sensitive topic or something you don’t have to answer!” He quickly said as though he was trying to fix the situation. You’d later learn the George thought before your video that you were kind of ‘fucking terrifying’ (his words) and that he was scared he’d screwed up by asking you this and one of his ‘hero’s’ (his words) wouldn’t ever want to talk to him again.

“Nah, nah. It’s ok.” You waved him off, desperately trying to think of something. Oh! You knew exactly what to say.

“Basically I just have this really good friend who is Korean and I asked him to teach me for fun.” You said simply, before realising that wasn’t good enough considering your reaction.

“I was trying to hide how good I’ve gotten to try and surprise him but I guess it’s ok.” You said, a small smile on your face. George relaxed from his tense state and nodded, a small smile playing onto his lips as well.

“Ah that’s cool. Sorry to spoil the surprise.” You waved him off again and he continued the video’s outro.

Another good save, you really oughta be hired to problem-solve. And by problem-solving you mean lying to the media. And George. Poor George.

2022: (yeah the timelines don’t match, don’t call me out pls)

A loud banging sounded against your hotel door. You groaned, dropping the book onto your chest from where you held it up. Glancing angrily at the door, you rolled out of bed and stomped over to the entrance. You ripped open the door and prepared to start reaming the person on the other side before letting out a high-pitched scream.

You were in Japan for the Suzuka GP. You always didn’t like the Japanese GP because, even though you were incredibly close to Kyungsoo, your schedules never lined up so you could never see him.

That fact really grinded your gears, but it’s what you get when you try to schedule something with SM Entertainment. A decisive ‘No.’ What a great company. To be honest, was Willaims really any better?

No. No they weren’t. That mere fact infuriated you enough to make you scream. However, it wasn’t the reason you were currently screaming. That was because, standing in your doorway in the middle of the team hotel, was Kai.

You hadn’t seen him in a few months, you both had busy schedules, so the man appearing on your doorstep was miraculous. You didn’t think of why he was there, or how he got there. You just threw your arms around him and gave him a hug.

“Oh my god!” You screamed, before immediately regretting it and quickly pulling him into your hotel room before someone came out of their rooms and wondered why he was in front of yours.

“Hi!” He said, laughing as he let himself be pushed into your room despite the fact he could pick you up and throw you.

“What are you doing here?” You asked changing your pulling into a hug, squeezing the younger man as though he was your child. You had a serious problem with that, treating men almost your age as children. But Kai was more of a brother than a child, to be quite frank. That distinction just meant that he really really bugged you.

“I have a concert tomorrow and I thought I might just stop in.” He said, a smile on his face. “Though it is only me, sorry.”

“That’s ok!” You said, still in disbelief one of your closest friends was on your doorstep.

“Does Kyungsoo know?” Kai smirked in response to your question. That was answer enough in itself and you slapped Kai on the shoulder.

“You should’ve told him! He might’ve come.” Kai gasped in mock offense.

“What am I not good enough? Would you really prefer your husband that much?” He continued in mock offense and you dead-panned him. He just laughed in response.

“I did have to tell the company I was coming though, and they asked me to film a TikTok with you.” He quickly rushed out and you groaned, staring at the sky. What was up with all of these people wanting you to do TikTok’s?! You had all of your team's PR people constantly chasing you with a camera and now you had Kai asking for a video.

“Fine.” You ground out and Kai grinned, purposely ignoring your annoyance.

“Fantastic!” He said and quickly whipped out his phone, launching into his plans of what to film. Your only artistic input was that he had to cool it on the filters or else you wouldn’t film.

The video started with the familiar sound of Peaches by Kai and a hand knocking on your hotel door, you opening the door curiously. As the chorus sounded, you recorded Kai dancing in your doorway, incredibly aware of the chance of any of your colleagues walking into the hallway and wondering what the fuck was going on.

The video continued after the chorus, Kai recording you slamming the door in his face with a confused expression. The video then ended with a still image of the both of you doing a heart together with your hands and you let Kai go rampant on the filters, hearts and sparkles flying around on the screen.

When you watched it back, Kai waiting at your side eagerly to see your reaction, you did your best to hide the laughing fit you had in reaction to the monstrosity. You couldn’t quite hide the gasps that were leaving you though and Kai frowned.

“It’s perfect. I love it.” You said, through your giggles and he smiled.

“I know. It’s fantastic.” You only nodded because you couldn’t trust yourself to talk, a small whine escaping through your lips at the struggle of not laughing.

“Do you want to see the caption?” He asked and you violently nodded your head.

“Please.”

“P15 but still P1 EXO-L.” He read out and you just hung your jaw open. “You bastard!” You laughed out.

“I put it in Korean as well.” Your only response was to hit him, hard, while still laughing and shaking your head.

“Should we run it by your PR team before posting?” Kai asked, taking a serious note. You looked to him and sucked in air through your teeth.

“Nahhhh.” You replied and he shrugged, and clicked post.

“I should probably tell Kyungsoo you were here before he finds out through the internet.” You said, reaching for your phone. Kai nodded vehemently.

One phone call later, an angry Kyungsoo and an apologetic Kai later, the TikTok was making its rounds and your phone was blowing up, your poor PR agent about to have a heart attack.

On that delightful note Kai left your hotel room, farewelled with a minute long hug and a well-wish for his concert, and you were left to phone your PR agent who just screamed into the phone for 10 seconds before actually speaking.

Of course, during the press releases for the rest of the season, you talked about how much of an EXO-L you were and how close of a friend you were to Kai. This didn’t come without dating rumours but, due to one poorly angled camera shot of your disgusted face when a reporter suggested dating to your face, that was shut down pretty quickly.

Still no one had shipped you with the other EXO members though, so you weren’t even close to losing the bet. (Though you had been asked which EXO member was your favourite, which you responded to with a smirk.)

2023:

It was a good race, you finishing P4 which was a huge improvement since last season. Your team was on top of the moon as were you, smiling from ear to ear. You were currently in the press area, getting asked questions left and right about the car and your performance.

You were adequately responding to each question, sometimes looking questioningly your PR agent when you weren’t sure how to respond. A loud crash sounded through the area that drew the attention of most in the area as a reporters chair fell to the ground. They had jumped up at something on their phone and, like everyone else in the pen, you were wondering what had them so fired up.

Then their eyes darted up and made eye-contact with you. Your internal monologue quickly changed from questioning to a repeated loop of ‘Oh no. Oh no.’ as they advanced your way, moving like a predator stalks their prey. They thrusted their phone under your nose, the shitty little mic attached to it capturing every breath you took and the many cameras in the area capturing your wide eyes.

The reporter addressed you by name before starting to speak.

“Do you know of a man by the name Doh Kyungsoo?” They asked and your world cracked. What on earth had happened? How did they know? All you knew was that it was time for the one acting class your mum had made you take to try and sway you from racing to come to full effect.

“I think he’s from that band Kai’s in, yeah?” You responded after a second of fake pondering. The reporter's eyes narrowed like a hawk.

“You wouldn’t say you were close? Not close enough to get married perhaps?” The reporter asked, clearly trying to stir the pot. Oh my god, was this a prank? How the fuck did they know? How were you supposed to play this off? Would this jeopardize your career?

“Uhhm no…?” You said, incredulously, fixing them a scandalized stare. They sarcastically nodded.

“Oh really? Then what’s this?” They said and shoved their phone closer to your face till you saw a picture of you and Kyungsoo on your wedding day. How did they get this? Had one of your small circle leaked something?

You tried not to let the bewilderment you felt show on your face.

“I’m sorry? Are you trying to pass this off as real? It’s obviously photoshopped! I’m so tired of people trying to fabricate a story of me dating every person I’ve interacted with!” You finally snapped, letting a few years of pent up tension out in this moment. The reporter only continued to smirk.

“Oh really!” They said and you wanted to punch them and their snooty little face. To try and display this, your face fell into one of contempt.

“Is that why this image was posted to Doh Kyungsoo’s official instagram account with the caption ‘Sorry for making you lie to the press for eight years!’?”

They got you there, dam.

Your jaw dropped open, the corners of your mouth rising at the pure hilarity of this situation.

“Excuse me?” You asked, grabbing the phone off the reporter and tapping back onto the post. They were right, Kyungsoo had posted to his official instagram that exact post. It was a carousel post with pictures taken of when you’d lied to the press about him, from the initial lying about being in Seoul to a picture of your ringed necklace to a picture of you smirking after being asked which EXO member was your favourite.

You couldn’t help but release a laugh, your hand traveling to cover your open mouth. Why did he post this?

Wait.

This meant you won the bet. Your head shot up to stare at a camera.

“I won the bet.” You said quietly. The reporter snatched their phone back and stared at you confused.

“What?” They asked and you whipped your head to them, a large smile spreading across your face.

“I won the bet!” You said eagerly, reaching out to grab their shoulders and rock them back and forth.

“I won the bet!!” You ignored how they shook you off, turning to your PR Agent instead and grabbing them and lifting them up. They hurriedly tapped your back as you lifted them, as though signaling you to drop them, but you ignored that and started spinning them around.

“I actually can’t believe it, oh my god!” You snapped out of it and dropped your PR Agent, immediately running out of the media pen and back to your driver room, pulling your necklace out of your racesuit and pulling your rings off, placing them back on their correct fingers.

You quickly packed everything up, ignoring the ringing of your phone as your team tried to get you to go to more press conferences and briefings, and you got out of there, on the first plane to Seoul you could book.

When you arrived, after a long plane trip filled with excitement and pictures being taken of you, decked out in your team's merchandise as you sat buzzing in your seat, your phone was completely blowing up, messages from everyone in your contact list and more. You turned it off (you’d deal with it later) after calling an uber to your apartment.

You were jittery the whole ride, hoping that, despite the time of night, Kyungsoo was still awake. When you arrived outside your apartment building, you felt all the tension in your body ease, and you looked up to see the light on in your window. You smiled and took your suitcase handle in hand and ventured into the building, greeting the old lady at the desk.

Riding the lift up to your apartment nearly had you pacing and you almost ran down the hallway towards your door, quickly knocking. You felt the reverberations in the floorboards as Kyungsoo walked over to the door and a sense of euphoria filled you at the familiarity.

The door was barely open before you launched yourself at Kyungsoo, his heavenly laughter filled your ears as he caught you. You quickly found yourself in a kiss before pulling back and peppering kisses all over his face, finding his giggles more lovely than his singing.

You both pulled back just to look in eachothers eyes and you smiled simultaneously.

“I love you.” You muttered, the happiness from the day finally catching up to you.

“I love you too.” He whispered, tilting his head before going in for another kiss.

“You know.” He began later that night, when you were just lying in bed cuddling together. You turned your head from its position on his chest to look at him, his eyes remaining on the roof.

“I think I won in the end.” You immediately reared your head back, prepared to object at the sheer wrongness of his answer. He anticipated this though and dropped his hand from where it was combing through your hair to your mouth. He also dropped his head as to make eye contact.

“You stuck by me through everything. Even though you had to lie almost every day and had to listen to millions of rumours about me with other people, you still stayed with me. You learned a whole other language just to know people who knew me. Nothing I will ever say will ever put into perspective how much I appreciate what you’ve done for me. The way you’ve loved me will be comparable to nothing other than how much I’ve loved you.” His heartfelt speech made your head vibrate and a few tears left your eyes at his words, him kissing each one away.

You whined deep in the back of your throat and he released a laugh at your response.

“You could’ve just said ‘I love you’.” You said quietly.

“That’s true too.” He said, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

ahh it's over! dividers from this post btw, it's 11:59 pm let me sleep.

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sapphire-writes · 2 years ago

Note

Can I request aemond and wife reader?

A/N: Absolutely! Always down for some Aemond drabbles/imagines. Hope you enjoy! 😉💚

Come Into My Castle ~ Aemond x Wife!Reader

word count: 0.9k warnings: drinking, no smut but sensual/teasing masterlist

You had returned to your chambers from spending time with Baela and Rhaena, who were visiting the capital with their grandmother, Princess Rhaenys. You had been elated at the news, desperate for some time with other ladies.

Your father was on the small council, he had began the position when you were a young girl, bringing you to court with him. You had grown close to Princess Helaena, becoming very fond of her. You went very far to protect her from the whispers of court. Besides Helaena, you had few girl friends in the capital. Daemon’s daughters had come to court a few times before when you were small children; you often played with them and Rhaenyra’s children when you could, before they had left King’s Landing.

Baela and Rhaena welcomed you into their companionship with open arms. Though a married woman, you found yourself giggling like a maiden with the sisters, roaming through the gardens and spending late nights chatting and playing games. It was a reclaiming of the girlhood you did not have, and it warmed your heart immensely.

You had just returned to your chambers that you share with your husband at a late hour. Your face is warm from the wine and conversation, a silly grin plastered on your face. Aemond sits in front of the fire when you noisily enter. A smile plays on his lips at the state of you. Aemond could sense your loneliness, and knew it had nothing to do with him. The past fews days watching you with his cousins made him happier than anything else.

Aemond closes the book, rising from his seat, coming to greet you. His eyepatch lays somewhere forgotten, as he rarely wears it around you. He places a sweet kiss on your lips, causing you to giggle.

“They seem to be a terrible influence on you,” Aemond jested, causing you to pout. He reaches to caress your waist.

“I rather enjoy Baela and Rhaena,” you asserted, dancing away from his grabbing hands. The wine in the cup you held sloshed gently at the sides, threatening to spill over. Your eyes narrowed.

“You never played with us as children,” you recalled and Aemond poked the inside of his cheek with his tongue.

“I preferred the library. And your playmates were rather insufferable,” he said, attempting to grab you again. You narrowly evaded him, though you knew he must be enjoying the chase. Aemond could catch you quite quickly if he desired so.

“Helaena was also a playmate,” you reminded him, causing Aemond to huff.

“She was the only tolerable one,” Aemond contended, cornering you next to the bed.

You crawled atop the mattress as he grabbed you by the ankle. You yelped as your chest collided with the bed, sending your goblet of wine tumbling to the floor. You laughed breathlessly, watching the liquid pool on the stone floor, before turning to your husband.

“You’re terrible!” you accused, moving your foot as though to kick his chest playfully. Aemond’s hand caught your leg and he placed a searing kiss on the arch of your foot. You giggled at the action, cheeks heating up as Aemond let his hand slide up your leg, under your dress.

“What games did you play?” he asked, his voice a seductive whisper. His eye followed his hand before looking up at your face.

You felt her breath hitch, your body growing increasingly warm from the wine and sensuality.

“Monsters and maidens was a favorite,” you began, his hand continuing to climb upwards. You wet your lips. “And -uh- there was come into my castle…”

Aemond hummed, his other hand curling around your opposite calf. His sapphire eye appeared to be winking at you as the candle light danced across the gem. His violet eye watched you intently.

“And what did that entail?” he murmured, rubbing his fingers on the soft skin of your thigh.

“Less fun than others, I suppose it teaches courtesy, the friends and enemies of one’s house. Your sister was once very peeved with me as I kept letting in mountain men,” you told him.

Aemond chuckled down at you.

“Unwise, indeed. How does one gain entry into the castle?” he asked.

“By being courteous,” you said, pausing after each word left her mouth. You pushed yourrself up onto your elbows. Aemond’s left hand was resting where your leg met your hip, the other clinging to your thigh. You raised an eyebrow at him.

“You’re acting rather uncourteous, my prince,” you teased, watching his eye darken.

“You would not let me into your castle?” he murmured and you shook your head, biting your lip.

“Never,” you whispered causing Aemond to groan. His grip seemed to tighten on your hip.

“I could make you,” he teased, his lips curving into a wicked grin. Your eyes narrowed, heartbeat ringing in your ears.

“How very villainous of you, husband,” you murmured, bringing your hands to the front of his shirt, pulling him closer, until his lips were inches away from your own. Aemond hummed in response, pressing his body against yours. Keeping one hand under your skirts, he brings the other to cup the back of your neck.

“Or I could beg,” he whispers against your lips, causing your eyes to flutter shut. “Gevie riñnykeā, nyke līs emagon ao” (Beautiful lady, I must have you).

Aemond’s words cause your brows to raise, and a desperate whine to leave your lips. He smiles against your mouth at your reaction to his High Valyrian.

“You know I cannot deny you, when you ask so sweetly,” you groan. Aemond chuckles darkly before pressing his lips to yours in a searing kiss.

#aemond targaryen #aemond x y/n #aemond x you #aemond x reader #aemond x wife #aemond targaryen fanfic #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen x fem!reader #aemond x fem!reader #aemond targaryen x y/n #aemond fic #aemond stannies #sapphire answers #aemond oneshot #aemond fanfiction #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond targaryen fic

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mynicosensesaretingling · 1 year ago

Text

Lost in the moment (part 1)

Nico Rosberg x fem!reader

Summary: Throughout her career as a motorsport journalist, (Y/N) has established a special relationship with Nico. But what happens when unfortunate circumstances keep her from being there for him during the most important moment of his career? (part 1 of 2)

Warnings: Other than some angst there isn't any, female reader

Note: Noticing the lack of Nico fanfiction, I've decided to turn my dreams into an actual story. No worries, there will be a second part!

Part 2: https://www.tumblr.com/mynicosensesaretingling/734355288476565504/lost-in-the-moment-part2

Hope you enjoy it <3

Life as a journalist was not exactly a quiet life, especially for (Y/N), who worked as a reporter live on location for a motorsport journal called Countdown Magazine. Having been a dream job for the young woman since childhood, however, the stress that came with working in the motorsport industry seemed only half as bad to her.

But this year, the atmosphere had changed as the intense rivalry between Nico Rosberg and Lewis Hamilton, known as the “Silver War”, had captivated the world of Formula 1. As a dedicated and well-reputed reporter, (Y/N) had secured herself, what you could call a front-row seat, which allowed her to immerse herself in the high-stakes drama that unfolded throughout the season and enabled her to follow every twist and turn with unwavering dedication.

However, even though the feud between the Mercedes drivers provided great headlines and stories, (Y/N) couldn’t help but feel tense whenever Lewis and Nico had a go at each other.

Having been covering the sport for multiple years now had created a closer bond between her and several of the drivers and none more so than Nico Rosberg. The German Mercedes driver had always struck (Y/N) as a fascinating character.

Over the years, their paths had crossed countless times during press conferences, pit-lane interviews and post-race debriefs. She had covered his journey from the earlier days of his Formula 1 career, watching him develop from a promising talent into a championship contender. His approachability and genuine interest in connecting with those around him were what had set Nico apart from the other drivers. Beyond the professional facade, the driver was a thoughtful guy, cracking jokes, sharing gossip, discussing the intricacies of the sport, the pressures of competition and even personal anecdotes from his life.

Before she knew it, (Y/N) had found herself staying behind after work, searching out any chance to connect with the German. It didn’t take long before he invited her to join him at whatever he was planning on doing next, be it a walk around the track, getting something to eat or simply hanging around the paddock. Each time she accepted his offer the unique bond between them grew stronger, forging a friendship that transcended the typical reporter-athlete dynamic.

"Sometimes I really wonder why you spend so much time with me." the young reporter once mused, resting her chin on her hand as she leaned against the counter. Nico, who was standing next to her at the whirring coffee machine, shrugged his shoulders calmly, "I have to make sure I'm always presented in the best light. After all, we don't want any scandalous headlines or such, do we?." his cheeky laughter was quickly interrupted when (Y/N)'s foot found his shin. "Ouch." the blond man exclaimed overdramatically, pointing at her with his silver spoon in an accusing manner, but his narrowed eyes were sparkling playfully. "I swear one day I'm going to lose my ability to drive because of you. And then we'll both be out of a job." (Y/N) couldn't help but laugh at his antics. "There are plenty of other Formula 1 drivers I could report on." "Mhm." Nico was nodding while picking up his cup from the coffee machine. "But apparently these drivers must be boring as hell, otherwise you wouldn't be spending so much time with me." He winked at her whilst stirring his coffee, getting an eye-roll from (Y/N) in response. "Oh come on, I know you love me." Nico chuckled. "Oh shut up," the young woman laughed, waving her hand in a dismissive manner, purposefully ignoring the way her heart skipped a beat.

One of (Y/N)’s favourite memories, which she had made in her friendship with Nico, was when after a long, rainy qualifying day and countless press conferences, the driver had waited for her in the pitlane, an umbrella in his right hand as he wordlessly motioned for her to join him with his free one. “It’s raining.” she had expressed, pulling her jacket tighter around her body in hesitation, eyes darting to the dark clouds above. “And I have an umbrella.” Nico had simply countered matter-of-factly, shaking the umbrella for emphasis, scrunching his nose as his gesture led cold droplets to land on his face. (Y/N) suppressed a laugh, finding the sight utterly adorable. “I can’t just leave you standing there in the rain, can I?” her voice was filled with amusement, as she mustered the man, before quickly making her way over to Nico. “I mean,” he chuckled, as she ducked under his umbrella “You definitely could, but I’d find it incredibly rude.” (Y/N) huffed a laugh, linking her arm with his. “Well, how kind of me to join you then.” She hummed, eyes fixed onto the moon’s reflection in one of the puddles below. “ What are we doing anyways ?” she raised her brow, looking up at him with curiosity. Nico turned his head, a sparkle in his eyes. “We’ve never walked a track at night before, so I figured we’d make it a first. And now that I am thinking about it, I don’t think we’ve ever walked in the rain before either.” his gaze turned mischievous as he shook the umbrella once again, sprinkling water into both of their faces. A hearty chuckle left his lips as he watched (Y/N) scrunch her nose, just like he had done earlier. “Why did you even bother getting an umbrella?” (Y/N) huffed lightheartedly, as she wiped her face with her sleeve. “Cause I know you wouldn’t have joined me without one.” he grinned down at her before pulling her along with him. That night, as Nico and her had spent several hours walking the moonlit track, sharing an umbrella and conversing about everything and nothing, is when (Y/N) had realized that her feelings for the Mercedes driver went far beyond friendship.

In the current tense situation, moments like these were not lost on the pair, but they were becoming increasingly infrequent. With the championship-deciding race approaching, (Y/N) could feel the pressure on Nico becoming stronger by the minute. Being on the brink of realizing his lifelong dream of becoming a Formula 1 World Champion and stepping into the footsteps of his father had led to several sleepless nights thinking about the sacrifices and the relentless pursuit of excellence that had brought him to this pivotal moment. And on top of that, Nico’s biggest rival was his own teammate and best friend, Lewis Hamilton.

Especially now that the relationship with his childhood friend was slowly but surely coming to an end, Nico found himself drawn to (Y/N)’s presence, even more so than usual. Amongst this utter mess, which he found himself in, she was his lifeline and he clung to it like a desperate sailor lost at sea.

Particularly in the days leading up to the race, Nico was confiding in the woman about his innermost fears and ambitions, trusting her as someone who genuinely understood the intricacies of the sport and its impact on his life. She, in turn, had found herself awaiting his late-night calls, admiring his determination as she listened to him rambling about whatever was occupying his mind, her heart filling with a sense of pride whenever she’d hear a faint chuckle from Nico as she managed to bring some lightheartedness and humour to their conversations.

"You'll be okay," she would say to him in a gentle voice, "you've always managed so far." On the other end of the line, the driver would sigh, "But it's never been like this before." His voice was weary and full of thoughtful despair. "And in the future, it will never be like this again." she would say with a shurg, her empathetic smile practically audible through the phone. "So try to enjoy as many of these moments as you can." There was a pause before Nico gave a breathless chuckle, "Oh man, what would I do without you?"

On the day of the race, as Nico prepared for taking on the track, he couldn't help but think of (Y/N) and how she had supported him over the last few weeks, reassuring him and quite literally keeping him sane as the situation within his team steadily deteriorated.

His blue eyes scanned the area outside of the Mercedes garage. Unable to spot his friend in any of the spots she’d usually be in, Nico approached one of the stewards. “Hey, sorry,” he tried to sound nonchalant “Have you seen the Countdown crew?” his eyes nervously flitted around the paddock, before landing back on the steward. “Countdown Magazine? No, I don’t think I have seen them anywhere on the track today.” the older man answered, a rough hand scratching away at his beard. “Thank you.” Nico shortly nodded, before abruptly turning on his heels and making his way back into the garage with tense shoulders. (Y/N)’s absence from the paddock weighed heavily on his mind. She had promised him to be there today and she’d usually come in amongst the first wave of reporters. Why wasn’t she there yet? Nico combed his fingers through his hair , lost in thought. Shaking his head, he felt his team’s eyes on his form. She’d surely be at the paddock in no time, he thought, deciding that for now, it would do him better to focus on the race and his strategies, in order to secure the championship.

What Nico didn't know, however, was that just mere moments before the gates to the paddock were opened, the boss of Countdown Magazine had abruptly fired (Y/N) at short notice.

With her heartbeat pounding in her ears, the only thing the young journalist had been able to understand through the speaker of her cell phone was that the magazine needed a “breath of fresh air” and therefore had decided to get rid of their motorsport department in the composition in which it had existed until then…or something like that. (Y/N) wasn't entirely sure, as she was overcome with panic as her thoughts flew straight to Nico.

Just the night before, she had promised him on the phone that she would never miss the most important race of his career and now she was sitting in her hotel room, unemployed, with no access to the paddock and no way to get a ticket to the race because the tickets had already sold out weeks ago.

Had a champion of misfortune been crowned that night, she was sure that no one would have been able to deprive her of that victory. Shaky fingers dialled Nico's number, which she by now knew better than she did her own, the cheap wood of the hotel bed creaking as (Y/N)'s leg bobbed up and down in unease. With each ring of the call, her breath caught in her throat. The ex-reporter knew the driver too well by now to have expected him to use his cell phone so close to the race, but what other option did she have? She pressed the phone to her ear for a few more moments, each second more painful than the last, wide eyes staring blankly at the F1 broadcast on her TV screen. It was only when the drivers left their garages to get into formation that she dropped the cell phone from her ear and threw it onto the mattress behind her with a loud "Fuck!", followed by a strangled sob whilst desperate fingers pulled at her hair.

As the race unfolded, the tension in the air was palpable. Nico and Lewis were locked in a fierce battle for the championship and every corner, every lap, seemed to carry the weight of each driver’s dreams. When Nico finally crossed the finish line , securing his victory, he felt a mix of euphoria and disbelief. After this particularly demanding season, he could finally breathe a sigh of relief, having fulfilled his life-long dream of winning a World Driver’s Championship title.

The moment Nico stepped onto the podium to accept the championship trophy, he couldn’t help himself but to scan the crowd of reporters, still hoping to catch a glimpse of (Y/N). She had to be there, after all that’s what she had promised him. Yet, his friend still remained conspicuously absent.

Nico held the coveted trophy high, the cheers of the crowd a deafening roar, as he smiled down at the sea of people. But even with a championship in hand and hundreds of people celebrating his achievement, there was a strange feeling of emptiness within his heart. As the champagne sprayed and the crowd celebrated, Nico's emotions were a turbulent mix of exhilaration and confusion. He couldn't help but wonder why (Y/N) hadn't been there smiling up at him, especially when she had been a constant presence throughout not only the season, but the majority of his career. The absence of his friend was like a splinter in his heart, casting a faint shadow over what should have been the most triumphant moment of his career.

Meanwhile, (Y/N) watched the race unfold from her hotel room, fresh tears welling up in her eyes. The news of her abrupt departure from her reporting career had come as a shock, and she had fought bitterly against it. Her job had been her passion, and Formula 1 was her life. To be denied the opportunity to report on the championship-deciding race, and more importantly to support Nico in his most crucial moment, was a heartbreak she struggled to bear.

As she witnessed Nico celebrating his victory, the realization of her absence was a painful weight on both her shoulders and her mind. She had been forced to watch her friend reach the pinnacle of his career from a distance, unable to share this moment of glory with the man who had unknowingly stolen her heart. The tears she shed were a mixture of pride for her friend and a deep sense of sorrow for her own situation.

Back at the race track, Nico's initial reaction, unaware of the circumstances behind his friend’s absence, was one of betrayal. Finding himself being swarmed by countless reporters fighting for even the smallest of chances to get a word from the freshly crowned champion, he couldn’t help the bitterness he began to feel towards (Y/N). If all of these random journalist could have turned up, then why couldn’t his dearest friend do the same for him. The longer Nico thought about it, the more he questioned his relationship with (Y/N), something which he had valued so highly up until that very moment.

She hadn’t just used him to boost her journalism career, had she? As much as he wanted to shake the thought, the champion couldn’t stop the idea of having been used solely for thrilling stories and eye-catching headlines to consume him, clouding his mind as the pain of having been abandoned by the woman, whom he had opened himself up to, right when he needed her most, sank in.

His heart was clouded by hurt, and the insufferable ache of believing he had been manipulated by someone he had grown to trust and even developed some sort of feelings for was something he didn't know whether he could cope with.

How could a person whom he valued so highly and would give anything for, be so selfish and leave him standing there like that, clutching his fulfilled lifelong dream in his hand and yet still feeling a hole in his heart. Had his feelings really blinded him to such an extent that he hadn't realized (Y/N)'s true nature, or had his heart perhaps never wished to recognize it in the first place ?

“Mr.Rosberg!” the shout of his name pulled the driver out of his thoughts. Blinking, his eyes travelled up the arm currently shoving a microphone into his face, before settling on the face of the reporter, whose red lips were pulled into an impatient smile. “I am sorry, I didn’t quite catch your question.” he mindlessly gestured around with his hand, hoping to come across as if he really hadn't caught the question in the bustling scenery.

He raised his brows, a half-heartedly apologetic smile on his lips as he kept his attentive eyes on the reporter while waiting for her to repeat what she had just asked. The reporter laughed in a put-on fashion and Nico had to wrestle with himself to refrain from rolling his eyes.

"So," the woman thrust the microphone even further into his face, "I'd be really interested to know whether there was anyone who helped you get through this difficult season, or whether it was all down to you?" Almost immediately the driver put on the mask of a cocky smile. "No, all of that was entirely down to me and I dare say I managed pretty darn well." Nico’s hair bobbed as he nodded towards his trophy. His smile grew painful as he was intent on ignoring the extent of the lie he had just told and the pang of pain, that the conscious erasure of his relationship with (Y/N) caused deep within his core.

#f1 x reader #f1 imagine #nico rosberg #f1 fandom #f1 drivers #f1 fanfic #nico rosberg x reader #f1 reader insert #f1 x you #nico rosberg x you #nico rosberg imagine #f1 drivers x reader #f1 grid x reader #f1 x y/n #f1 x female reader #f1 grid

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jeaanmoreau · 1 month ago

Note

jerejean + bracelet

first attempt at writing jeremy skdjfshdf i feel wholly unprepared for this but here we go!!! ty for the prompt! 📚 read it on ao3

“Got you something.”

Jeremy plopped down next to him on the sand close enough that a couple of saltwater beads flew off his hair and onto Jean’s shoulder. They zapped through his overheated skin in a way that might have had more to do with the way Jeremy’s muscles rippled in the evening sun than the coolness of the water.

He was well practised with not letting his gaze linger too long on his teammate’s body, and rested his muted stare on the backpack Jeremy had brought with him, where deft hands were unzipping the small pocket at the front.

“It’s not my birthday,” Jean pointed out, confused and too curious despite himself as he hugged his knees a little closer to his chest.

Jeremy was ignoring him, folded over his backpack as he rummaged through bits and bobs until he found what he was looking for. Eyes lighting up, he pulled his hand out triumphantly and let his other one drop into the sand between them to lean back on it, torso turning towards him. The muscles of his chest flexed with the movement and Jean’s fingers twitched around his legs. He wasn’t a stranger to bare chests, had been used to men in various stages of undress from years in locker rooms, but Jeremy was suntanned in a way that was still new and smelled like sunblock and sea water and it was an entirely different animal. One Jean didn’t have enough practice contending with to school himself as quickly as he wanted to.

Thankfully, Jeremy was holding something up in the air in front of him in a way that excused his looking in that direction, and Jean’s eyes eventually narrowed in on the brown leathery strings dangling from Jeremy’s hand.

“What is this?” he asked, loosening his hold on his knees to reach a hand up to the object and feel the ends with his fingertips.

“Bracelet,” Jeremy answered easily, grasping at the two ends of the braided leather strings and bringing them together to show him how they closed. “See? I made it myself. Same as my anklet.” And he jerked his chin towards the sand where he was tilting his foot to show him the strappy leather he wore there in the same fashion.

The sight of the anklet, as Jeremy had called it, and the matching one in his hands had something sharp tugging at his insides, and Jean held his breath momentarily as he dragged his gaze back up, unsure of what to do. He had never been one to accessorise. There was no such thing as overt individuality in the Ravens; the tattoo on his cheek was the only thing allowed to set him apart from the rest. But it was a mark, not a bit of fashion.

He took too long, because Jeremy’s face fell. Something softening at the corners of his eyes even as a frown line appeared between them. “You don’t have to keep it if you don’t like it,” he started saying a little too quickly, lowering his hand towards the sand.

Jean’s shot out, fingers resting against the side of Jeremy’s palm as he locked eyes with him. The pause stretched out between them for a beat too long, and he felt his pulse spike as he gently took the bracelet from him and pulled his hand back away from the still slightly damp feeling of Jeremy’s skin.

Eventually, he managed to find his voice again. “Thank you,” he said quietly, turning the leather braid over with his hands once before he let it rest on his knee, then placed his left wrist over it and tried to grasp at the ends.

This lasted for barely a second before Jeremy stepped in. “I’ll help you. It’s so much harder to tie them yourself when it’s round your wrist. Can I?” he offered, his expression back to his usual cheery warmth, and his eyes met Jean’s searchingly, hands up between them again.

Jean held his arm out to him in response and Jeremy reached for the bracelet from him, his fingers wrapping it carefully around his wrist with a gentleness that felt like sharp stabs in his gut. It didn’t take long before he’d managed a double knot, and he gave it a soft tap when he was done with a, “Voila!”

Any French from Jeremy always tore him apart on the inside, but Jean allowed it this time as he pulled back his hand to examine what it looked like. It looked foreign. Something Jeremy would wear. Something he could picture him picking up at a shop and excitedly adding it to his repertoire of accessories without a second thought. On him, it was a starker contrast. Though his skin had managed to embrace some of the California sun since he’d arrived, it was still undoubtedly paler, and old scars still peeked out from behind the brown leather. He liked that the bracelet covered some of the more painful ones. It wasn’t about hiding them—Jean had never bothered hiding the evidence of what he’d endured—but about making something good out of a battleground.

“Do you like it?” Jeremy’s voice cut through his thoughts, hesitant behind the small smile he still sported, and Jean met his warm brown eyes and felt a little too much to put into words. There must have been something encouraging in his expression because Jeremy added, “I think it looks great on you.”

If there was anything other than friendliness behind the compliment, Jean couldn’t pick up on it, and he turned his wrist this way and that, feeling the soft weight of his present around it. “It is very Californian,” he commented, voice tight.

“Well, I’m very Californian,” Jeremy laughed good-naturedly, and he reached up to settle a hand on Jean’s shoulder, giving him a small squeeze. It took everything in him not to lean into it. “And you’re my partner, right? Now you have a little piece of me with you.”

There were a hundred things he could have read into that if he wanted to, but Jean knew how this went, and he twisted every urge inside him until he could pretend it away. Jeremy dropped his hand.

A little piece of me with you.

Jean was incapable of responding to that. There was nothing he could say that would put into words what that meant to him. The little pieces he could pick up and keep with him when nothing else would do and it was all he could have. That Jeremy had given him something was as telling as it felt like the horrifying betrayal of his own head and heart that it was.

He swallowed around all that and managed to look over at Jeremy again, as if a look alone could convey half of that. He closed the palm of his other hand around the bracelet and his wrist and held it close to his chest. “Thank you,” he said again, and Jeremy must have seen through the lack of eloquence because his slightly panicked look gave way to a smile that was a little wider.

“Anytime, Jean.”

send me a ship + a prompt/word/emoji

#jerejean #jean moreau #jeremy knox #aftg fanfic #tsc #writing: aftg

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thlayli-ra · 9 days ago

Note

you did ask for la knight whump so... la knight + concussion/exhaustion? 🥺

So Erase, I know that you gave me this lovely prompt expecting Knight to be the one concussed/exhausted but, thing is, I really love squeezing him into the middle of things. Like, say... a severely concussed Scotsman and an exhausted Chicagoan...

Trick - 'Concussion/Exhaustion'

Characters - LA Knight, CM Punk, Drew McIntyre

Rating - Mature

Warning Tags - Smut, Forced Stripping, Cock-Warming, Dub-Con/Non-Con (but Knight is kinda into it)

See, the problem with LA Knight was that he had a bad habit of inserting himself into situations he really had no business being in. Like right now, for instance, not that he was complaining. There were great swathes of the internet who would kill to be in his position at that very moment.

He didn't really mean to end up in this predicament - he hadn't even featured on the card for Bad Blood, but he figured that since he was US Champion, he should probably show face and scout out any potential contenders for his title. But then, walking the backstage area after the PLE, he heard raised voices coming from an open door and stumbled upon what appeared to be a backstage altercation (or at least that's what they called incidents involving CM Punk these days) in progress. To his credit though, Punk wasn't the aggressor, if anything, he looked to be on the brink of collapse. His eyelids were half-closed, he swayed on unsteady legs and may have fallen flat on his face any minute if it hadn't been for Drew McIntyre's hand on his chin, pinning him against the wall.

Drew on the other hand, was all manic aggression. Barking down at Punk with his fingers digging into the older man's jawline, his other balled fist raised. It looked to Knight as if the whole thing was about to descend into violence any second so he bravely - selflessly, some might even say - rushed in to break things up. The last thing either of these dummies needed was yet another suspension.

Thing is, though, that of the three men, he was the shortest (though only by a single inch in Punk's case) and Drew was a big bastard of six foot five and two hundred and seventy-five pounds of solid muscle with the temperament of a supremely stubborn mule so if he didn't want to move, then he would not budge. So in trying to break the two men apart, Knight didn't so much create space as just kinda wedge himself tight between both men's sticky, blood-sweat bodies.

'Come on now guys, that's enough,' he tried to asset his authority but found to his irritation that neither man was listening. Drew wasn't even registering him at all, his only focus being Punk.

'You think I'm done with you?' Drew roared, pushing against Knight who consequently did an excellent job of squashing poor Punk against the brick wall. 'Not a chance! It's only over when I say, it's over.'

'Hey. HEY! Galloway!' Knight snapped his fingers in front of the big man's face to catch his attention. Drew snapped out of his frenzy and went still. Well, not quite still, he too was swaying albeit more gently than Punk. Knight recognised the vacant look in the Scotsman's eyes and realised the guy was completely out of it, concussed out of his skull. Probably something to do with that massive crevice in his head that had been crudely fastened together again with a slew of staples.

Those cloudy eyes stared at Knight's hand, mesmerised and followed it as Knight moved it towards his face, like some giant cat watching a toy on the end of a string, until, at last, their gazes met, blue on blue, and Drew gave a start as if he'd only just realised that Knight was even there.

'There you go,' Knight smiled softly. 'You remember me, don'tcha Galloway? We go way back, right? Back in TNA, when we were The Rising? You remember that?'

Drew's head wobbled, his eyelids slowly and asymmetrically blinking down then opening up again. 'Aye,' he said at last, his words slurring through his clumsy lips. 'Aye, I remember.'

'Yeah, we had some good times back then, didn't we?'

'Aye,' Drew said again, the corner of his mouth curling until he grinned like a merry drunk (not that he drank anything alcoholic these days) then one eye squinted, turning his goofy grin into a filthy leer. Right when Knight believed he was taking control of the situation, it was his chin being grabbed in Drew's large hand. Lifting the self-proclaimed Megastar's face up, Drew looked it all over with his bleary eyes and toothy smirk. 'Really good times.'

Things were getting a little too cosy for Knight's liking so he tried to sprint to the finish line and get the behemoth out of there. 'Uh yeah. So why don't we get you back to the Trainer's Room for a little head injury assessment there and leave Punk here to-' Knight became aware of fingers scuttling over his hips, grasping the bottom of his muscle tee and teasing it up. He quickly grabbed the hem and rammed it back down. 'Hey, hey! You mind, back there? I'm tryna save your ass here, Punk, so the least you can do is keep your damn hands to yourself.'

But then, it was Drew's hands misbehaving, his thumb finding Knight's bottom lip and stroking it back and forth. 'Good times...'

'Yeah, right. Look, I get it, you two are still on a high cause let's face it, you put on one hell of a spectacle out there. Match of the night if you ask me, and probably should have gone on last. You're both sore and you've lost...' he glanced over the crimson mask on Drew's face '..a lot of blood, you're both a bit fired up, but now's really not the time for this kind of-'

'He talks too much' a ragged voice piped up next to Knight's ear. 'Is there some way of shutting him up.'

'Aye, there is.' Both sides of Drew's lips slid up his cheek, making his smile full-on wicked. He sprang forward before Knight could protest and covered the smaller man's mouth with his own, shoving his tongue in to gag him. It took a moment or two for Knight to get over the initial shock but then he started to fight back, pushing against Drew's chest to force him off. Down below, the fingers were at his shirt again, lifting it up and he felt the cool air tickle the skin of his stomach and he had to give up the battle with Drew to grab it back down again.

'Urgh,' Punk's breath puffed in Knight's ear as he groaned moodily. 'Drewww...'

Drew was all too happy to help his nemesis out and without breaking the hold he had on Knight's lips, he dug his fingers into the low collar of the Megastar's muscle tee then tore it clean off his torso as easily and as carelessly as a kid ripping his Christmas presents open. Knight jumped, suddenly naked from the waist up and before things got any worse, he ramped up his efforts to escape. Hooking a forearm under Drew's chin he pushed straight into his windpipe, all while whipping his head from side-to-side to free himself from the Scot's clutches.

Warm breath tickled Knight's ear again. Punk was laughing. 'He's feisty. I see why you like him.'

To Knight's dismay, his struggles didn't work and he soon had Drew coiling his titanic hands around both of his wrists and thrusting them up against the wall on either side of his head (no doubt flattening Punk behind him even more, not that the tattooed man seemed to care). Securely pinned to the wall, Knight could do nothing to stop Drew assaulting his mouth

..and then things only got worse!

With his shirt gone, Punk's fingers down below started pawing at his gym shorts. The Megastar squirmed and bucked to throw him off but he was fighting a losing battle, only delaying the inevitable. He could feel the hands fumble with the knots of his ties and when they held fast, they gave up and instead tried to push the shorts down. After a few weak tugs, another moan huffed in his ear.

'McIntyre...'

It was weird how Drew knew exactly what to do, like he could read Punk's mind. Maybe Knight had got this all wrong, maybe that 'altercation' he had witnessed was just a part of their game and he had walked right in, unwillingly joining in as player number three. Keeping a firm hold of Knight's wrists, Drew guided them down to his waist and transferred them into Punk's care. The Chicagoan's grip was weak from exhaustion and Knight could see a glimpse of light, an opportunity to flee.

However, Drew was less eager to withdraw his control over Knight's lips. The Scot kept swirling his large tongue around Knight's mouth, targeting the older man's tongue and goading it playfully. It was only when Punk cleared his throat impatiently, that Drew reigned himself back in, giving one last pull of Knight's lips and pulled back slowly, leaving a delicate trail of saliva joining them.

Blue eyes met blue. One pair sharp and focused and indignant. The other cloudy and blown and giddy. The latter sank out of sight as Drew got down onto his knees. Grabbing hold of Knight's shorts, he hauled them down his large thighs, over his knees and bunched them around the older man's ankles and in that moment, Knight saw the door, saw it slightly ajar, sweet liberty just beyond the frame. All it would take would be a hard jerk and he would break out of Punk's fatigued grip, a leap over Drew, couple of steps and he would be away, a free man.

'Hey, he has on his smoking boxers,' Drew's voice broke Knight away from his plans. 'Can you see them, Punky?'

The eldest of their party huffed, his warm breath now at the base of Knight's neck. 'Can't see a fucking thing up here, Drew.' Grumpy old man sounded like he needed a nap.

'They're so tight and tiny,' Drew went on, dreamily, 'and such a bonnie shade of blue.'

Knight hitched a breath. Drew had hooked both of his index fingers into the underseam of his briefs and was stroking them all the way back and to the front again, getting dangerously close to his bulge. 'I remember this one day at his place back in Hollywood, the sun was rising outside and I saw him standing on his balcony, leaning on the rail with his cigar in hand, wearing only these and a silver chain around his neck. I wish you could have seen it Punk, he was... beautiful.'

Knight's eyelids fluttered, trying to process the Scot's confession. He looked over to the open door, contemplating his chance to escape. And faltered.

'Yeah, sounds real nice,' Punk just sounded impatient. Or maybe he was feeling a little jealous but that could have been Knight's imagination. 'Hey, Los Angeles Knight here used to do that softcore wrestling porn, didn't he? That BG East shit, right?' The abrupt change in tone was jarring and Knight's head was spinning, especially considering that Drew was still playing with the seams of his briefs, the giant cat entranced with a new plaything. 'You ever seen that shit, Drew?'

Drew didn't even look like he was listening, stroking his fingers back and forth all while humming some unknown tune, like he was in the middle of meditation down there, chanting a mantra.

Focus! The open door, the open door! He could do it, he could get away but he needed to do it now!

'Oh, God!' Knight gasped when Drew buried his face against Knight's bulge and nuzzled it cutely with his nose. His lips began to kiss his sack, sloppy, obscene things that dampened the front of his underwear. There was another sensation too. Something soft and firm prodding into him from behind. Punk's semi-hard boner was gently rutting into the cleft between his ass cheeks with only the paper-thin fabric of Knight's briefs and Punk's trunks holding him back.

'Ok, fellas, that's... this is really not what, I...' Knight stopped to consider that maybe, possibly, perhaps, he didn't want to escape. After all, he was just the poor, blue-eyed babyface in peril, outnumbered by two sadistic heels in a handicap match. So he put on his most pathetic, beaten-down face and gave a couple of feeble tugs on his snared wrists to emulate a struggle from his terrible predicament.

Punk replied by squeezing his wrists tighter. 'Oh, he doesn't like that, Drew,' he sneered, and Knight couldn't tell if he had clocked the game and was playing along or was being deadly serious, but then, blurring that line had always been Punk's schtick. 'Keep it up.'

The Scot obeyed, opening his mouth up wide, almost swallowing Knight's entire bulge in and held it there, nothing more, just keeping his dick and balls nice and warm and moist while Punk continued to thrust his hips, humping him from behind. Damn, it felt so good. Knight's body was shuddering into life, starting to react and grow but all of this was only foreplay, a bit of teasing. He needed something more. He needed Drew to start sucking him, or licking him, pull his dick out and slurp on it like a lolly pop, fucking bite him! Anything! Anything but this torturous cock-warming.

He bucked his hips forward, tried to push himself further into Drew's mouth but he still didn't do anything and the fabric of Knight's boxers were now sopping wet and clinging to his growing dick and it felt delicious but he needed so much more. Letting out a grunt of frustration, Knight tried to appeal to his captors. 'Look, you've both got me, great, now just do something with me.'

Punk's voice tutted in his ear and pulled back on his wrists. 'Tsk tsk, the greenhorn is trying to call the shots.'

Knight bristled at the moniker. 'Hey, look, I know I was only called up a couple years back but I aint no greenhorn-'

Punk yanked on his wrists again, cutting him off. 'Guess we've gotta remind this rookie how things are done around here.'

'Go ahead! You talk the big talk now walk the big walk and show me! YEAH! Or do neither of you have enough tingle in your loins to tangle with the Megastar.'

'Urgh,' Punk groaned, 'he's doing his own catchphrases now. Drew...'

It was like honestly like magic, or conditioning or something because Drew instantly understood his instructions and followed them, taking back ownership of Knight's wrists to free Punk's hands. One (unsurprisingly) clamped over his mouth, while the other (a little surprisingly) snaked its way around Knight's ribs to cup a feel of his ample pec. In spite of himself, Knight arched up his bushy brows, letting out a needy groan for some friction at last.

'That's more like it,' Punk sighed, slumping further down the wall, inadvertently pulling Knight with him until his knees were bent and his hips jutted out at an awkward angle. 'I prefer when he makes these kind of noises. Should I make him whimper again, Drew?'

Drew said nothing, his mouth still hanging open over Knight's cock and balls. For a moment, Knight panicked, thinking Drew had passed out from his head injury and needed urgent medical attention but when he tried to jerk his wrists free, the Scotsman tightened his grip, reassuring him that he was ok.

With one predicament over, another immediately presented itself. Behind him, Punk was still dry-humping his clothed ass-crack like an automaton that was on the last of its dying batteries. With his arm around Knight's chest to keep him in place as he ground against him, his prick was growing so stiff that he surely had to be getting uncomfortable in those skimpy trunks. He was starting to grunt now, every thrust getting more deliberate and rough. His hand fondling Knight's pec like he would a woman's breast, squeezing and kneading the muscle while his long middle finger circled Knight's rock hard nipple. The Chicagoan got his wish and Knight whined behind Punk's palm like he'd just been kicked in the stomach.

Poor, little babyface!

At last, Punk broke and shoved his trunks down to pull himself free. Knight expected his briefs to follow suite but to his dismay they did not, instead, Punk inserted himself into the small gap between the top of the Megastar's thick thighs and began fucking into the cavity sloppily. Knight could feel every inch of Punk's (admittedly modest) cock rubbing against his taint, prodding the bottom of his pouch and peeking out from under it like some Moray Eel sticking its ugly head out of its hole before retreating back in again. He could feel the clamminess of Drew's hot breath and saliva on his bulge and when Punk's forefinger and thumb pinched his bruised nipple and began to twist it, Knight's overloaded senses lost complete control.

It was the throbbing in his cock! It was so painful that Knight was close to tears. He just needed one proper touch, that was all. He just needed one of them to fist his dick or grab his ballsack and squeeze. Hell they could pull it, they could perform goddamn cock and ball torture on him, he'd take anything to fill this aching void!

'I'm ready,' Punk's hoarse voice breathed in Knight's ear and Drew once again worked like a machine following an old, trialled cycle. With a final, sweet kiss to Knight's sopping wet pouch, he let go and Knight wailed at the sudden abandonment. His sobs were ignored, however as Drew staggered up to his feet, bringing Knight's wrists with him and crossed them above his head, the Scotsman binding them tight with one of his titanic hands. The other went to Knight's collar bone, trailed down his naked chest, a soft, feathery caress that barely even skimmed Knight's chest hair but made his whole spine convulse with want. He pleaded with the Scot, begged for him to abuse him like he used to, but every single one of his words were muffled by Punk's palm.

Drew's touch was low now, edging closer down his V-muscles to his bulge that he was certain was turning a dark shade of blue from neglect and there it hovered, as if considering its next move. Knight bucked his hips, tried to thrust his bulge into the cup of Drew's palm but it missed, the hand sliding right underneath him, missing him completely.

But finding Punk!

Oh, you vicious bastards!

With Drew's meaty arm beneath him, Knight was forced up onto the tips of his toes, straddling it like a fence post. Made to endure the Scot's hand pumping to and fro as he jerked Punk off to his climax. So painfully intimate, Knight experiencing every tug and pull yet was refused a single splinter of respite in return. He couldn't even interfere, teetering precariously up on the balls of his feet, he was too busy trying not to lose his balance that he couldn't consider repositioning himself into Drew's line of fire. So he just... hung there. Like some pretty picture for them to look at. Or maybe, he was the equivalent of a porno on the tv, something filthy and sultry to ogle while they both fucked.

Punk grunted loudly in Knight's ear and a gush of sticky goop dribbled down the inside of his thighs. Nice, real classy guys! The pumping stopped and Drew's arm just stayed there, while both of Punk's fell like two cut strings, the pair going as still as a fairground ride coming to an end. Seeing the lights being turned off and the funfair closing, Knight rushed for one last turn and rocked himself back and forth on the balls of his feet, scrubbing his ballooning bulge against Drew's forearm.

'Fuck, he's needy,' Punk's voice was so ragged, it was like a whisper. 'How are you doing, Big Guy?'

Drew grimaced, his sweaty forehead pressed against Knight's brow while the pair of them spoke right over him. 'I'm so close,' he admitted.

'You want him?'

Knight's heart lurched. 'Wait, what? Do you mean-?'

'But I want you!' Drew returned.

'I'm right here,' Punk reassured him. 'Just keep looking at me.'

'The hell are you two- WOAH!' Knight was grabbed by the back of his knees and his legs were lifted clean off the floor. Shoving him up against the wall, fully crushing Punk behind him Drew inserted his great bulk between Knight's thighs. Before the Megastar could even process what the hell was happening, his back of his briefs were snagged in Drew's fingers and pulled down exposing his perfectly defined ass-cheeks. Knight let out a yelp, his instincts kicking in and telling him to struggle, get away, but he forced it down. This is what he had been hoping for after all, what he wanted. Even if he knew it was gonna hurt like hell.

Lapping up a generous dollap of Punk's cum with two of his chunky fingers, Drew slid them up Knight's taint until they found his hole. Flinching at the sudden cold wetness on his anus, Knight jerked even worse when one of those huge fingers pushed itself in and began drilling into him. Quick and rough. Drew must be dangerously close to coming and couldn't afford to waste too much time with the prep.

'AGH! Easy there, Galloway, I'm not- URGH!'

Drew shushed him, sticking his second finger in. Knight gave a sharp cry as his hole was brutally stretched over the thick digits, the pair of them now pumping into him with loud, vulgar slurps.

'Come on Drew, get this over with,' Punk complained. 'I'm getting a headache.'

The sloppy preparations complete, Drew furled down his own trunks, coated his dick in the remains of Punk's cum then hooked his hand back under Knight's thigh. Holding his breath as the behemoth moved in, Knight grimaced at the feel of the Scot's massive head settling against his hole. It was hard to forget how big Drew was but he didn't remember him being this big and when he started pushing in, it immediately put the thickness of his fingers to shame. Knight closed his eyes and ground his teeth tight together, but they did nothing to muffle the curses tearing from his throat as he was ruthlessly entered.

'Poor Greenhorn,' Punk lamented but Knight could hear his smile in every word. 'Think he needs something to take his mind off of it.' Heavy hands found Knight's nipples again - both of them this time - and played with them lazily, twisting them like they were tuning an old radio. Loathe as he was to admit it, it actually helped Knight move his focus away from the agony in his rear until he acclimatised to the intrusion.

Once he'd buried himself all the way in, Drew began to move. Strong, powerful thrusts, like he was repeatedly stabbing Knight with that ridiculous sword of his. Whether it was the imminent rushing of blood to his dick or the effects of the concussion, it was clear that Drew was not truly in charge of his own faculties at that moment, merely working on basic urges and desires and an all-encompassing need to fulfil them. Craving connection, craving intimacy, craving a warm hole to fuck.

And from the look of it, Knight's hole was filling that void perfectly. Or was it the other way around? Now that he'd relaxed and the muscles of his passage had slackened, it was starting to feel good, really good and the cries of pain were rapidly descending into juicy groans, loud and unashamed (see, that's another thing about LA Knight, whether it was in or out of the ring, he was always loud!)

Drew's fingers dug into the pit of Knight's knees, opening his legs wider, pressing himself in tighter, ramming in deeper, both men reduced to sounds only wild beasts would make as they mated in the woods. That damn open door probably meant that every man, woman or otherwise was listening in, a crowd of involuntary peeping toms (well, mostly involuntary. Damn, he hoped nobody had the bright idea of filming this - the wrestling community on Reddit and Tumblr would probably implode in on itself).

With a gasp, Drew pulled his head back and Knight glanced up, their eyes meeting. Blue on blue. By now both sets were cloudy and blown and giddy. But then one slid away. Drew moved his focus, just off to the side, looking right past Knight at the man behind him, the one he was mashing against the wall with every mighty thrust.

Knight fought that sickly feeling in the pit of his stomach. Mentally reminding himself that he was not a permanent fixture of this relationship. You're just a one-off, kid. Single use. Like a condom to be used, filled with cum then discarded. But why did that make him feel so bitter? Why did it hurt him? It's not like he even liked either of these idiots!

(At least... he didn't think he did...)

Maybe, if he was really looking inwardly, cutting down the tough guy facade and the big mouth and the swagger and the catchphrases, then maybe, just maybe, he'd admit it was because he wanted somebody to look at him the way Drew looked at Punk. With all that love and affection... and devotion.

For two decades now he had been on this road and he still walked it alone.

Knight's mood took a turn for the melancholic and he didn't even notice Drew coming inside of him. However, he'd learnt by now to live in the moment and not think too hard - thinking for a guy like him was never a good idea - so he shook off the dismay and returned to the present just in time to catch himself as Drew let go of his legs. They flopped out from underneath him, numb as two planks, and he would have crumpled to the floor if not for a pair of strong arms wrapped around his torso keeping him up.

Punk pulled him in tight to his sweaty chest. He was stronger than he looked, and had possibly been over-playing how exhausted he was. Keeping one arm around Knight, the eldest of their party reached out to cup the back of Drew's head and coaxed him into the embrace too. Knight found himself surrounded on all sides by clammy body parts and sank into the warmth like he would a hot, steamy bath after a gruelling match.

'Hate to admit it,' Punk muttered behind him, 'but you were right about this one, McIntyre.'

'Told ye,' Drew gloated, nuzzling into Knight's neck. 'Didn't he do well?'

Punk placed his lips on the other side of Knight's neck, kissing along his trapezium. 'Pretty good for his first time. He's a keeper, alright!'

Knight's eyes shot open. Had he just heard that right?

'Should we invite him back for some more fun another time?' Drew asked, peppering kisses along Knight's jawline.

Punk, however, only hummed, taking a long pause. His hand skimmed into the front of Knight's briefs, the sudden movement making Knight jolt, and when his inked hand cupped his painfully swollen cock and balls, his smile grew so wide that Knight could actually feel on his bare skin.

'Definitely a keeper!' His hand began to pump and Knight entire frame shuddered at the glorious relief he'd been craving this entire time. 'Come on, Greenhorn, you can cum now.'

Some time later, Knight left that locker room, shirtless and with three different men's three different cum drying on his thighs. He felt cold and sticky and violated.

And he couldn't wait to do it again!

#Thlayli's Trick or Treat #Thlayli-writes #la knight #cm punk #drew mcintyre #(MWAH-HAHAHA! PUNKNIGHTYRE BE UPON YE!)#punknightyre #wrestling fanfiction #wwe fan fiction #fic request #cw smut #cw noncon #punkintyre #drewpunk

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minecraftbookshelf · 1 year ago

Text

Life Series Scarring Headcanons: Part 2

All the disclaimers and explanations are on Part 1, so if you haven't seen that one yet, I recommend hopping over there real quick.

Some of these do get a bit...graphic? Specific? Something along those lines. I kind of split the middle ground between Video Game and more realistic injuries. (Did I spend way to long thinking about specifics of murder and death for this? I plead the fifth.)

This one is Grian, ImpulseSV, InTheLittleWood, and LDShadowLady

Lessgo!

Grian

Third Life: In my mind's eye Grian has always turned to look at the sky after his leap from the cactus ring, so the death blow was to the back of his head.

Last Life: Scott killed him when the late-game reds banded together to hunt down Grian and Joel. The other members of the alliance dealt damage, but Scott got the final hit in. Grian was fleeing at the time, so the scar is on his back, above his wings.

Double Life: Because sonic booms don't leave external evidence so much as they remove your insides from anything vaguely approaching a solid state, there isn't a scar as such from this death. There is a mark though, mid-mass. (it is not concentric circles, that's just what I put on the diagram to mark the location)

Limited Life: Fall damage again, based off the "camera angle" the general vibe I got was that Grian could have tried to catch himself on his hands as he fell. From that height, it was futile and there are faint marks on his wrists where the bone poked through as well as the actual death blow to the side of his forehead. Bird Man needs to stop falling off things fr.

Impulse

Third Life: Bdubs shot him after Scar gave him a clock in the most infamous backstabbing in the series to date. Usually when Bdubs shot someone I place the mark a bit lower, but they were on a bit of a hill at the time.

Last Life: In what was something of the fashion on the Last Life server, Scott shot him. He was trying to flee when he was shot, so I placed the mark at the base of his skull. (If only they were able to wear helmets)

Double Life: Pearl killed Bdubs with a blow to the front, so Impulse has a fainter scar from that death.

Limited Life: In the new contender for most infamous backstabbing in the series (poor Impulse has some rotten luck here) Martyn pretended to go along with the "disarm and fight it out" plan only to turn on them and seize the victory. Impulse wasn't wearing his armor, so the final blow was a sword through his torso that severed his spine.

Martyn

Third Life: Martyn died in the Battle of Dogwarts, to an arrow from Scar. Due to how helter skelter the melee was, I opted to have it be an off-center shot that tore the side of his neck, so it is not a clean mark. (It mirrors Ren's on the opposite side)

Last Life: He was blown up by his own end crystal, (probably triggered by a potion Scott threw) which was placed level with the top half of his body and he was literally right next to it facing it. He didn't even have time to try and shield himself with his arms.

Double Life: He died when Cleo took fall damage while fleeing from Pearl and her dogs. This is one where I took some creative liberties and opted to have the fall damage interpret as a tree branch that Cleo landed on with the full force of their own body weight, impaling herself by accident.

Limited Life: Whether going with his time ran out or Grian smote him, either way it is a death by lightning and the scars are lichtenberg figures down his chest and arm and a little bit his back. The smitey-lightning always goes for the heart, so he and Scott match now. (it also leaves a mark on the sole of the foot when it exits the body and enters the ground, but that doesn't show on the diagram.)

Lizzie

She has only perma-died in one season, even though she has technically been in two. In Last Life she ultimately died to fall damage while trying to fight back and escape from BDubs when he betrayed the other reds. Her scar is hidden by her hair.

Part 1

Part 3

#trafficblr #life series #third life smp #last life smp #double life smp #limited life smp #grian #impulsesv #inthelittlewood #ldshadowlady #rain rambles #life series headcanons #traffic life scars

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cosmichorrorsarestillnicerthanme · 5 months ago

Text

Enjoy The Ride-Noel Vermillion X Reader

A little idea that popped in my head while thinking on another ask.

Noel nervously fidgeted as the train rattled along the tracks.

“Take a breath Second Lieutenant Vermillion.” you muttered as you flipped through the magazine that was on the table.

“But… First Lieutenant-” Noel began to speak before she was cut off.

“There are fifty N.O.L. Operatives on this train, none of which are below the rank of Sergeant. Of those fifty, five are first lieutenants, Yayoi and myself included, ten are second lieutenants like yourself, and there is also Major Kisaragi on board as well. The likelihood of them even getting this far is slim, getting past us is even slimmer, and even if they do manage that they’ll have the Major to contend with.” you stated before setting the magazine on the table and reaching down for the glass of water on the table.

“In other words, enjoy the free first class ride.” you stated before taking a sip out of your glass and looking out the window.

Said window was promptly smashed through by a Ninja Of Ikaruga.

“Not. A. Word. Vermillion.” you told the blonde who had thrown her arms in front of her face to protect herself whilst you glared at the shards of glass that was now in your water.

You then stood up and faced the Ninja as you poured the water out of your glass and onto the floor.

You tossed the glass to the Ninja who easily caught it and looked at the glass in confusion.

Using his distraction to your advantage, you spun around and kicked the glass out of his hand with the heel of your foot and into his face, shattering it and blinding him in one fell swoop.

“I CAN’T SEE!!!” The Ninja shouted before you grabbed him by the back of the head and slammed his head into one of the tables and grabbed an ashtray with your other hand.

Next, you pulled him upright and then smashed him across the face with the ashtray, shattering it before grabbing him by the collar and swinging him around, tossing him out of the window he came in from and into a tree that caused a sickening crunch to ring out before both him and the tree disappeared in a blur.

Then, the rest of the windows on the train car shattered, Ninja’s coming in through each one.

“Sigh and I was hoping to have a nice relaxing trip with my crush.” you thought to yourself as you grabbed a glass bottle from off one of the tables and approached the Ninja’s whilst Noel began to scramble to her feet, Bolverk already in her hands.

“Right then Vermillion, I’ll handle the ones in front of me. You handle the ones behind me.” you told Noel as you walked forwards, and past her.

“Loud and clear, First Lieutenant.” Noel responded as she walked forwards and past you.

You approached the group of Ninja’s, tossing the glass into the air and catching it by the spout, holding it like a club as the sharp retort of gunfire sounded through the carriage.

“So, who’s first?” you asked with a grin.

In an instant, the first one was upon you, his knife ready to cut into you.

You stepped past the knife, smashing the bottle over his head, disorienting him before you grabbed him by the head, pulled him into the air and then slammed him down, causing the wooden floor to snap and buckle from the force. You then picked him up by the collar and threw him back into the group.

“Next.” was all you said as you began to walk forward.

This time, two of their numbers came at you.

Like the first, they were dealt with quickly.

The second had several of his tendons cut by a broken glass bottle, his head slammed through a table, cracking his skull and breaking his nose, occipital bone, jaw, and several teeth.

The third had his jaw shattered, ribs cracked, and knee kicked in before being thrown into the wall of the train.

You continued forward, undeterred,

The fourth rushed in with the fifth, sixth, and seventh.

The fourth had his forearm snapped like a twig followed by an elbow to the temple.

The fifth was sent into the sixth with a kick to the chest followed by a left hook across the face, a right hook, a left, and then being grabbed by the head with both hands and having your knee slammed into his face before being tossed to the side.

Next the sixth who was still off balance from having the fifth kicked into him.

You capitalized on this by grabbing him by the collar and hitting him with a powerful strike to the face, sending him back from the force before you pulled him back towards yourself and punched him again.

And again.

Finally, you sent him flying with one last blow, leaving only the seventh standing, sword in hand.

He looked to be the leader.

He pointed the blade at you, ready to attack, only looking for an opening.

You continued to move towards him.

He continued to move back.

Then, with a flash of seither and in the blink of an eye, you had him by the throat. His sword arm broken, ribs shattered, leg destroyed, and jaw fractured in half a dozen different places.

You then unceremoniously dropped him on the ground as Noel fired her last shot, subduing the enemy in this car.

“Now then, back to enjoying the ride.” You declared as you turned on your heel to return to your seat.

“But First Lieutenant-” Noel began to exclaim before the temperature dropped to frigid levels and light began to explode out of the car behind the one you were in.

“Trust me, Major Kisaragi and First Lieutenant Yayoi have it covered.” you answered the question Noel was unable to finish as you sat down before gesturing to the seat across from you while you swiped the glass off the table and into the floor.

Noel sat down in her seat, clearly not quite used to all of this.

“Now then, seeing as your time in first class was ruined, how about the next time you are off I’ll take you on a First Class ride, free of charge?” You offered with a smile as you picked the magazine back up.

“…First Lieutenant, are you asking me out?” Noel asked, confused.

“Why of course. I happen to find you quite interesting Miss Vermillion.” you answered without a hint of embarrassment in your voice and a slight grin on your face.

#noel vermillion #noel vermillion x reader #blazblue #blazblue x reader

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camisoledadparis · 9 days ago

Text

THIS DAY IN GAY HISTORY

based on: The White Crane Institute's 'Gay Wisdom', Gay Birthdays, Gay For Today, Famous GLBT, glbt-Gay Encylopedia, Today in Gay History, Wikipedia, and more … November 16

42 BC – Tiberius, Roman emperor, born (d.37 AD); second Roman Emperor, from the death of Augustus in CE 14 until his own death in 37 AD. Tiberius was by birth a Claudian, son of Tiberius Claudius Nero and Livia Drusilla. His mother divorced his father and was remarried to Octavian Augustus in 39 BC. Tiberius would later marry Augustus' daughter Julia the Elder (from an earlier marriage) and even later be adopted by Augustus and by this act he became a Julian. The subsequent emperors after Tiberius would continue this blended dynasty of both families for the next forty years; historians have named it the Julio-Claudian dynasty.

Tiberius was the predecessor to Caligula and he was certainly the appropriate curtain-raiser. His sexual excesses were widely known, especially when he "retired" to Capri, governing Rome via correspondence, and becoming the patron saint of that future gay mecca. Suetonius reported that Tiberius trained young boys, whom he called his "minnows," to stay between his legs while he was swimming so they could lick and nibble him until he came. Suetonius reports that Tiberius can be credited with the "daisy chain" or spintriae - a conga line of people joined front and back in sexual congress.

1502 – Sandro Botticelli (c.1445- 1510) is accused of sodomy but the charges were dropped. The summary of the charge reads: "Botticelli keeps a boy." Botticelli was an Italian painter of the Early Renaissance. He belonged to the Florentine School under the patronage of Lorenzo de Medici. Botticelli’s posthumous reputation suffered until the late 19th century; since then, his work has been seen to represent the linear grace of Early Renaissance painting.

1942 – Barton Lidice Beneš, born in Hackensack, New Jersey (d.2012), was an artist who lived and worked in New York City. He studied at Pratt Institute, Brooklyn, New York and Beaux-Arts, Avignon, France.

His father, the son of Czech immigrants gave him his middle name in memory of Lidice, the Czech town destroyed by the Nazis that year. He grew up in Queens with Czech-born grandparents, who instilled in him a dedication to the Roman Catholic traditions of reliquaries and memorials to the dead.

Barton Beneš' art incorporated shadow boxes filled with bits and pieces that revealed the myths and ironies of life. The fragments in Beneš' work often involved famous people and events, from a piece of Elizabeth Taylor's shoe to a crumb from the wedding cake of the Prince of Wales. His travelling exhibition series about AIDS, "Lethal Weapons," was the focus of an independent documentary film released in 1997. "Lethal Weapons" consisted of 30 vessels such as a water pistol, an atomizer, and hollow darts, all filled with the artist's or other people's HIV-infected blood.

Another work, "Brenda," was a wall relief carpeted with red AIDS-awareness ribbons and slathered with a coat of gray paste made from the cremated remains of a woman who had died of AIDS. "I absolutely hate those [AIDS] ribbons," he said, contending that wearing them did nothing more than assuage people's consciences.

Although galleries and museums refused to show this work, they were displayed without incident at the North Dakota Museum of Art in 1993. Beneš did not forget the courage and commitment to art of this prairie institution. When he died he left instructions to be cremated and have his remains placed in a pillowcase on his bed. The bed was the central part Beneš last completed and most personal work, his 850-square-foot home in Greenwich Village containing thousands of objects including masks and religious relics and the mementoes and remains of his loved ones. This enormous piece with its thousands of contents will be moved to Grand Forks, North Dakota, where they will be exhibited in a replica of the apartment

Among the museums that have acquired his works are the Chicago Art Institute, the National Museum of American Art, the National Gallery of Australia, and most importantly the North Dakota Museum of Art.

Scott Wittman (L) with Marc Shaiman

1955 – Born: Lyricist and director Scott Wittman, who, with composer Marc Shaiman, his partner in life and collaborator in theater, film, and television projects, has a long list of credits in the entertainment industry. Their work on the musical version of John Waters' Hairspray earned Tony and Grammy awards in 2003.

Both Shaiman and Wittman grew up in the vicinity of New York City, the former in Scotch Plains, New Jersey, and the latter in Nyack, New York. Both were fascinated with musical theater from an early age and dreamed of careers on Broadway. Shaiman played piano with local community theater groups from the time that he was twelve, and Wittman apprenticed in summer stock in his hometown. Such was their love for the stage that they both cut high school classes to travel into New York for matinees.

Wittman attended Emerson College in Boston but left after two years to pursue a career as a writer and director in musical theater in New York. In the city's East Village he crossed paths with Shaiman, who had quit high school at sixteen to join the New York musical scene. Wittman was directing a show at a club in Greenwich Village when Shaiman came in and started playing the piano. Wittman promptly hired him. They subsequently fell in love and have been a couple since 1979.

The two soon began collaborating professionally, writing songs that Shaiman describes as "full of anarchy and joy."

Since 1997 Shaiman and Wittman have contributed and directed music for the Academy Awards presentation show. At the same time Wittman, who humorously calls himself "a great diva wrangler," has directed concerts. In addition to working with Bette Midler, he has had a long association with Patti LuPone and has worked with Christine Ebersole, Raquel Welch, Dame Edna Everage (Barry Humphries), and Lypsinka among many others.

Shaiman and Wittman's greatest triumph thus far is Hairspray, an adaptation of the 1988 John Waters movie for the musical stage. Shaiman and Wittman wrote the music, and Mark O'Donnell and Thomas Meehan the book for the play.

The show dominated the 2003 Tony Awards, winning eight, including best musical and best score. At the end of their acceptance speeches Shaiman declared to Wittman, "I love you, and I'd like to spend the rest of my life with you." The couple then embraced and shared a long and tender kiss. News outlets around the world took note of this affecting moment.

1964 – Waheed Alli, Baron Alli is a British multimillionaire media entrepreneur and politician. He was co-founder and managing director of Planet 24, a TV production company, and managing director at Carlton Television Productions. He was, until November 2012, chairman of ASOS.com. He is the chairman of Silvergate Media, which purchased two of the media rights previously held by Chorion Ltd, where Alli was former chairman. He is a Labour life peer and is described as one of only a few openly gay Muslim politicians in the world.

In British political terms he is considered Asian, though both of his parents are from the Caribbean. His mother, a nurse, is from Trinidad, and his estranged father, a mechanic, is from British Guiana (now Guyana). His mother was Hindu and his father Muslim; he has two brothers, one of each faith. He was named one of the 20 most important Asians in British media in 2005. At the same time, he maintains ties with his Caribbean roots, both with other British-Guyanese politicians such as Valerie Amos and Trevor Phillips, and with President Bharrat Jagdeo.

Alli joined the Labour Party at the persuasion of his neighbour Emily Thornberry, to whom he remains close. He is also close to Anji Hunter, Director of Government Relations in Tony Blair's first government. Prime Minister Blair used him for years as a means to help him reach out to a younger generation (aka "yoof culture"), and as such he is considered one of "Tony's Cronies". He was made a life peer as Baron Alli, of Norbury in the London Borough of Croydon, on 18 July 1998 at the age of 34, becoming the youngest and the first openly gay peer in Parliament. He sits on the Labour benches in the House of Lords. The BBC summarised his appointment as "the antithesis of the stereotypical 'establishment' peer – young, Asian and from the world of media and entertainment".

Alli has used his political position to argue for gay rights. He spearheaded the campaign to repeal Section 28. He advocated lowering the age of consent for homosexuals from 18 to 16, equal to heterosexuals; this eventually became law as the Sexual Offences (Amendment) Act 2000. It was during a heated exchange with conservative opponents, led by Baroness Young, that he informed his fellow peers that he was gay. In April 1999, he said in a speech, "I have never been confused about my sexuality. I have been confused about the way I am treated as a result of it. The only confusion lies in the prejudice shown, some of it tonight [i.e. in the House], and much of it enshrined in the law."

In 2009, he spearheaded an effort to repeal clauses in the Civil Partnership Act 2004 which prohibited religious institutions from conducting the ceremonies on their premises. This campaign culminated in a bipartisan amendment, which became part of the Equality Act 2010.

2007 – Breakfast With Scot - In 2006, straight Canadian actor Tom Cavanagh began filming Breakfast with Scot, in which he plays a gay retired hockey player who becomes an adoptive father to a young boy. The film, released on this day in 2007, drew attention as the first gay-themed film ever to win approval from a major league sports franchise to use its real name and logo; Cavanagh's character formerly played for the Toronto Maple Leafs.

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my-maas-murdered-heart · 2 years ago

Text

The Valley Vet pt. 2

Azriel x Veterinarian!Reader

Modern AU Fic

Part 1

Summary: A slow burn romance. The reader just moved to town and is starting a new job at a new veterinary clinic. Her little sister said there is a man there she’s going to love. Will that be the case?

Warnings: None for now.

Word Count: 1,760

Notes: I did not expect Part 1 to get so many notes! Thank you guys so much. I hope you enjoy part 2 and the rest to come!

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It had been a long first week. There were surgeries, patients, difficult owners, and Dr. Azriel to contend with. He had seemed to follow your every move; he would pick apart your treatments, diagnoses, and even your suture technique. It was starting to look like he would “hate” you after all. Luckily, he mainly stayed in surgery while you took rooms which was fine. There were plenty of surgeries that were interesting, but wound cares were your favorite. He could keep all the spays and castrations. Rooms kept things interesting and you got to move throughout the building, not just stay stuck in one room. Although, surgery had music.

You sat on a stool in the technician room with a sigh and rubbed your temples. Even though it was finally lunch, now was the only time you had to input your patient notes. Technically, the technicians could do it, but for now you would attempt to maintain them yourself until you got to know the techs better. You entered your code and pulled up the patient’s file. It was a 1-year-old female bulldog with severe skin allergies and a yeast infection in her face folds to boot; even better was they planned to breed this genetic nightmare. Poor thing. You pulled her chart from the pile and began to translate it into the computer along with your treatment plan.

As you were finishing up a fourth chart, Alice, one of the technicians walked in. Her hair was half black, and the bottom half a bright red. She had a bottom lip piercing, one on her cupids bow, and one in her nose, with a full tattoo sleeve on her right arm. You had really taken a liking to Alice, as you were both about the same age. She had a total punk rock/Addams family vibe to her that you found quite refreshing.

“Are you coming Cacy’s going away BBQ tonight?” She asked, jumping up onto a treatment table. There were two stainless steel tables in the tech room you had decided to work in. It had wood cabinets all along the back wall that held everything the clinic needed to do surgeries, treat wounds, medications, bandages, and a dozen other different materials. An adjacent wall held a sink and counter space with a set of shelves for anesthetics and other injectables. “Hello… Y/n?”

“Uh, yeah, no I don’t think so Alice. I barely know Cacy, or any of you guys. I feel it would be an intrusion.”

“Girl, it’s not. Everyone in the clinic is going, even your sister.” Speaking of Annie, she waltzed right in with a tiny fat chihuahua right at that moment.

“Can one of y’all give me a hand? They want a nail trim, but they said she can bite.” Annie began wrapping the little thing in a towel, covering its head, and leaving tiny paws exposed. You got up and grabbed the nail clippers from a drawer under the table. As soon as you grabbed a paw, the dog began to growl and scream as if you were sawing its foot off.

“You good?” You said, looking at Annie. The small ones were always the hardest to hold; they could wriggle out of a steel trap if they needed to.

“Yeah, go ahead.” You made quick work of it, trying to avoid cutting to the quick.

“You’re coming to the BBQ tonight, right?” Annie asked.

“I don’t know Annie; I don’t know everybody well enough.”

“Oh whatever. You’re coming.” You guessed that was that. Alice began to exclaim from her perch opposite of you.

“There will be plenty of beer to go around Y/n. Plus, Holly’s husband is great with the grill. Its free food!”

“Fine. But I doubt I’ll stay for long.” Alice hopped up and took the chihuahua from Annie.

“Here I’ll take her up front.” As she left, Annie turned to you.

“Dr. Azriel will be there you know.” Annie whispered, waggling her eyebrows. She gave you a smirk. You could not deny he was extremely handsome. He was tall with broad shoulders, dark hazel eyes and deep brown skin. It hadn’t escaped your notice though, that his hands were terribly scarred. You had noticed as he scrubbed in for a spay earlier this week. You had been openly staring as he began to dry them off. He gave you a slight scowl before turning away. If the earth had opened to swallow you whole right then, you’d have been forever grateful. But it hadn’t.

“Do you know what happened to his hands?”

“Not really. He keeps to himself about that stuff. Only thing I really know about him is he has two younger brothers, Rhys, and Cass. He’ll tell stories about them on occasion. Or his latest womanly conquest.” Annie snorted. Your heart fell a little bit at that. You weren’t a fan of players. Annie seemed to watch you closely. “Don’t worry about it, Y/n. You’re too good for him anyway.” Now it was your turn to snort. You doubted being “too good” was the case, but you definitely weren’t in the mood to have your heartbroken again. Love was for the birds.

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Later that evening, you got dressed in your favorite worn pair of jeans and a simple short sleeve. You pretended there was no reason that the shirt you chose showed a little bit of cleavage. You left your hair down but brought a hair tie just in case it got too hot, which you noticed it tended to do down here. Feeling satisfied with your outfit and makeup, you grabbed your keys and headed for the door. “You be a good girl Freyja. I’ll be back soon.” You gave her a kiss and a scratch behind the ears then went out and locked the door behind you.

It didn’t take long to get to Holly’s house. It seemed nowhere took any longer than 10 to 15 minutes to get to around here. It was a relief after the clogged Austin traffic. Holly’s house was a nice place. A cute little white house with a manicured lawn and a big white tin barn in the back. You pulled next to the other cars and got out, following the voices around the corner of the barn. There was a nice open space with a firepit in the center and a massive grill and smoker to the left. An older white guy was flipping burgers and wings. There was a white table off to the side that had various sides like fresh salsa, chips, guacamole, potato salad, coleslaw, and plates and cups.

Alice didn’t seem to be around but you spotted Annie off in a corner talking to Cacy and a few others. She looked up and waved you over.

“Hey Y/n!” She exclaimed. She gave you a hug and then went back to their conversation. It was her way of trying to get you involved, but it felt more like being ignored. Cacy, you realized, was leaving for vet school. You hadn’t really asked before. As they continued to chat, you were feeling extremely awkward, wishing you had stayed at home curled on the couch with Freyja and a good book. Suddenly you felt a presence at your back and you whipped around to see Azriel standing right behind you.

“Would you like a beer?” he asked. He was dressed in a black t-shirt and jeans looking devilishly handsome. He held a beer in his hands already, looking more relaxed here than he did at the clinic.

“Uh, yeah, sure.” You stammered. He gestured to a large white cooler behind him. It took every effort not to lunge at it, just to have something in your hand to make you look and feel less out of place. You grabbed the first thing that was at the top, a Bud Light. Not your favorite, but you were past the point of caring. You popped it open a took a sip and noticed Azriel watching you intently.

“What?” you asked, narrowing your eyes. He had not been outright rude to you, but he definitely hadn’t been pleasant either this first week.

“Nothing. Glad I could help.” he gave a small smirk.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“You were looking uncomfortable. Thought you could use a drink.” His voice was low and smooth. You fought the urge to be attracted to it, to him. There was something about his energy, even with his brooding that seemed to draw you in. Something you did not need.

“Yeah well, thanks.”

“How are you liking it so far?” You eyed him curiously. He was being much more friendly than you anticipated and it was unsettling. Though it could be the alcohol.

“It’s good. I like the variety.” He nodded. “To be honest, you’ve been the most difficult part for me.” Azriel raised an eyebrow at that.

“How so?”

“You have literally second guessed and questioned everything I have done this week. I graduated vet school, same as you.” Azriel’s eyes seemed to bore into yours, but his expression was unreadable.

“Look, you’re new. I don’t know you. You sweep in from a big city with your know-it-all attitude and expect me to hand you the reins? No, sweetheart. These are my techs, my people. Family. And I am gonna make damn sure they’re taken care of.” He’d gotten very close, it would take only a deep breath to touch. You were not going to back down to this man. You were tired, and uncomfortable and he was not going to make it worse.

“I may be new here, you may even have a few years on me, but I know what I am doing. I don’t need you to hand me the reins. I’ll take them for myself.” You wanted to be angry, but you could not blame him for wanting to protect his people. You, in his place, would do the same. Truly, you never had liked outsiders, people who disrupted the flow and established patterns. He hummed and backed away. “Plus, you’re not my boss. Dr. Gary is.”

“Enjoy the party Y/n.” With that he walked away to join some of the other guys.

As the evening wore on, you began to feel more comfortable. You were sad that you had just started to get to know Cacy and she was leaving. She was quiet but really kind. You tried to not look at Azriel the rest of the evening but it wasn’t easy. Occasionally, you would look over and hear a dark cool laugh, felt it down to your bones. Once you even noticed him looking at you from across the fire, but he quickly looked away. Finally, it seemed to be time for everyone to head off. You looked around, you wanted to thank Azriel for the beer, even if he was a territorial twat; but he was nowhere to be found. It saddened you but you pushed the feeling down, said goodbye and good luck to Cacy, and left for home.

#acotar #acotar fanfiction #azriel shadowsinger #azriel acotar #azriel x reader #azriel x oc #sarah j maas #sjm fandom #fanfiction #acowar #acomaf #acofas

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allthatisleftinthedark · 7 months ago

Note

"Your hand fits perfectly in mine." (Makoto and Mai)

Saying "I Love You" In Other Ways Sentence Memes | accepting | @offrozenmemoirs

Despite the less-than-serene circumstances, a gnome can make do with what little she has. Maisie manages to contend in the cramped confines of the wagon's rear in the limited space. The bumpy road that jolts the wagon threatens to send her sprawling, but stationary, she remains steadfast. Her surroundings threatened to engulf her entirely, and though the discomfort would leave her neck aching for weeks, this was accommodating! After all, cramped enclosed spaces by herself triumph to being cornered in a space with shadows belonging to physical blockades.

In these cramped confines, she could retain her sanity. She kept a distance from work; solo work was more of her usual, not quite to her liking, but it was the standard.

Amidst towering crates that loomed like monoliths, Maisie finds a spot to make herself as comfortable as possible. Comfort, however, is a relative term in such a space.

The air was thick with the pungent scent of spices, the gritty taste of dust, and the aged aroma of wood. The sound of bumping crates and the wagon's rattling wheels filled her ears. She lay on a meager bed of hay intended for the horse, her head slightly bent and supported by the crate behind her. Her knees were pressed together. The ornate navy tome rested against her closed legs as she squinted, her eyes adjusting to the dim light of the wagon.

With fresh ink on the quill, Maisie's movements become a flurry, the quill's plumage dancing in a deliberate, fast-paced rhythm across the page. Her lips part in a silent murmur, adding to the cadence of her work. Her foot arches, tapping against the crate as if working the pedal of a potter's wheel.

Midst her writings, the brushing of canvas covers catches her attention. A glacial blue eye peers in before a man with skin darker than dampened earth enters. His horns nearly poke a hole in the wagon's roof, yet he navigates carefully, settling himself upon a nearby crate.

"'Koto," she greets him, her eyes momentarily flickering from her writing.

Muffled sounds come here and there as Makoto moves deeper into the wagon, settling himself upon the crate Maisie uses as a headrest.

The one looming above her, perched on the crate, raises a brow. With his draconic heritage, Makoto seems to have flawless sight, catching every curve and slant in her writing. Whether or not he could decipher her penmanship was another story.

A long-clawed hand greets her from the corner of her periphery. His hand hovers slightly above, and his fingers curl inward; little effort is needed for him to reach her. However, his hand is without desire, unmoving as it hovers slightly above her left hand.

A simple comment escapes his lips, drawing attention to the size difference between their hands. Golden eyes regard him. Unable to see his whole expression, she wrinkles her nose.

Maisie's leathered glove hisses as she closes it into a fist, then relax it. Raising it, her thumb brushes against Makoto's thumb as she holds it up for comparison.

By the length of her thumb, her eyes lurk forward over his hand's bow. Thrice over her thumb makes up the size of his hand. She imagines it would be more for her palm to fill his.

A little airy giggle comes from the front of the carriage. Her ears note the familiarity, the harped amusement from the viridescent witch. Between the click-clack of sturdy wheels meeting the ground, only now did she hear the unintelligible and quiet conversation at the front.

Yet the longer she stares at her hand, the more a thought comes to her. A pity, a shame, an interesting sight!

'Oh, a pity, winicë! Those are far too big for you. Those aren't for you; we have something easier for you to use. One of my grandson's training quills will do; he will outgrow them soon, but someone like you will need it.' Her chest grows heavy.

A quiet blink, a second not spent thinking more. "Actually, Orchidus' hand would fit yours better." She withdraws her hand, pressing it against the book. "Severia's too."

Not once did her eyes meet up with his again. Finality hangs over her last word before she returns to focusing on her writing. Only a striking silence remains.

No sooner did he leave from the wagon's back than all the sounds of the world around resumed. Maisie could hear the rhythmic clatter of wheels and the distant murmur of conversation from the front of the carriage, all while feeling cramped and uncomfortable in her circumstances.

#⋆ * exchanges with the emissary ; maisie doscedar‚ ic * ⋆#⋆ * correspondences acknowledged and responded ; maisie doscedar‚ asks * ⋆#offrozenmemoirs #[ ooc: tyyyy luuuuca~ ]

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makibeni · 2 years ago

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Ch. 34- Fear and Yearning

The train doors slid closed as the announcer muttered off the upcoming stops to the near empty compartment. Away from the bustling late night crowds they were finally alone.

"I-I had a l-lot of fun tonight"

Kobeni had been holding in her words, stalling for what felt like the right moment, finally finding one after Makima had patiently stared at her for long enough that she felt like saying something felt expected of her.

"It was a treat, thank you for bringing me"

She made sure to remind Kobeni that this was a date she had taken Makima on. She could tell the girl yearned to take some semblance of pride in herself even if she often overlooked opportunities to do so.

"R-Right! I uh... I'm g-glad... you had fun"

Kobeni played with her hands, bringing them together and tracing circles with her thumb.

"I'm really happy... I got to spend the day with you"

She slumped as she spoke, though her words weren't carried on a somber tone, she almost sounded giddy, as if readying herself for something.

"I... just wish it could last... a little longer"

She mumbled sheepishly, her head tilted towards the floor with her eyes expectantly glancing at Makima's direction.

"It doesn't have to end yet if you don't want it to"

The girl wasn't particularly good at disguising her desires in front of Makima, and Makima was very good at dissecting people's words. She indulged her these antics, presuming Kobeni thought they were expected of her, or perhaps she simply found it easier than being direct. She could see the tingle of anticipation surging inside of Kobeni, she wanted this, enough to fight for it, a good opportunity to let her assert herself.

Makima leaned in closer, but hesitated. She had her own urges to contend with, this girl was after all the object of her affection, but this was an important step for Kobeni, and one she wasn't going to take away from her out of a simple lust. Kobeni for her part was still yet to find her footing, content to wait bashfully as Makima's little treats were brought to her, she wasn't quite sure of what to do when faced with such a prompt. They'd done this dance before, Makima had always taken the lead but the steps were all the same, she had a semblance of what to do. Slow and steady with an awkward and staggered approach she closed the distance, darting her eyes frantically across Makima's expression to confirm she hadn't gone off track before finally pressing her hand to the woman's pale cheek and kissing her.

For a moment the two were entwined in darkness, a warm intoxicating void filled with nothing but the feeling of each other. Kobeni finally opened her eyes, slowly at first, gazing into Makima's golden gaze like awakening to a sunrise. She smirked sheepishly, searching across her partner's face for approval before allowing the pride that welled inside her to spill forth. Then she jolted forward as the movement of the train took away her balance. Her brain waited patiently as reflex and Makima settled her footing before gently nudging realization into her field of view.

"W-WAIT! Y-YOU MISSED YOUR STOP!!"

She exclaimed as panic began to settle in, tempered only by her confusion at Makima's nonchalant reaction.

"Huh, I suppose so, it's no bother, I'll just walk a little further to get home tonight"

The redhead slowly turned her head with a shrug, seemingly more interested in enjoying the extra time she was given to spend with Kobeni than about how she was going to get home.

"U-um..."

The adrenaline hadn't quite worn off yet and Kobeni wanted to extend this streak of boldness as far as she could while she still had it in her. She pursed her lips, silently mouthing the words to herself before speaking.

"I-I don't think... you should be walking around alone at night... w-what if I w-walk you home?"

Makima put her thumb to her cheek and thoughtfully pondered the suggestion.

"Hmmm... but won't you have to walk back home by yourself then?"

Kobeni's plan hadn't extended beyond playing the hero for her beloved and saving her from this mild inconvenience, she wanted to rebut with some stoic phrase about being able to brave the night without issue though in truth the prospect was growing less and less appealing with every moment she spent thinking about it. She readied herself to slump back down in penance for her inadequate suggestion before swallowing the lump in her throat and deciding to try for one last burst of defiance before angst crumbled away the last of her resolve.

"T-then... um..."

Her heart rate hadn't had a chance to recover for some time now and it was starting to take it's toll as beads of sweat began to slowly roll down her face. She clenched her shaking hands into balled up fists to try and stem the tremors and push through.

"H-how about y-you... stay over... a~at my place... t-tonight?"

Kobeni tucked herself into the collar of her shirt, doing her best to avoid eye contact, still reflexively avoiding looking into Makima's eyes when she played with uncertainty. Her body trembled as a rush of energy coursed through her, fueled by hope and desire. The want to see her request fulfilled spiked with expectation. It was a ritual to her, to act within the confines of her own anxiety while allowing herself to imbibe the confidence that came with self assurance. But her wellspring only held so much, a moment passed, then another, with no response from Makima. Restless frustration now guiding her, she turned her head slowly, seeing what prompted the hesitation. Makima simply smiled at her, resting her chin in her hand before brushing a lock of hair from Kobeni's face.

"I wouldn't want to impose"

She wanted the girl to be assertive, to push and prod her gently where she knew the outcome and would need only nudge her along the path. With a proud grin she watched as her girl did just so.

"I-It's no trouble... I... um..."

Makima placed her hands over top Kobeni's balled up fists, blanketing them with a reassuring comfort. That's it, almost there, just a little bit more.

"I w~w-want you.. to stay over... please?"

She leaned in, pressing her lips to the girl's cheek. The kiss was salty, stained by the accumulated perspiration. She could taste the pent up angst, the stress it took to get this far, the fear and yearning at her core, and she loved every bit of it. Makima had known these feelings from others, there was no particular novelty to them, but it was what they represented. Every thumping heartbeat, every shallow breath, every bead of sweat, every tremble of her hands, it was all a testament to her dedication, her desire, her want to be with Makima, all in spite of herself, persisting, and forging on in pursuance of her need. It was love.

"I love you"

Kobeni's eyes went wide, taken aback almost more by Makima's words than her actions. Kisses she'd grown use to, the moment and the spontaneity kept her on edge but it was something she could deal with, but this...

"I mean... I'd love to"

Makima found herself flustered, for the first time she'd ever known, tripping over her own words. She tried as best she could to regain composure, straightening her back and taking a deep breath, but a stray glance back at Kobeni stopped her in her tracks. The girl was positively beaming, a radiant glow bursting forth from eyes that sparkled like they'd just seen sunlight for the first time. Her mouth rested slightly agape as she sat there, frozen in place, exhaling long and placid breaths.

"No one's... ever said that to me before"

She drooped her head back down, her breaths turned into staggered sobs as glistening pearls rolled down her cheeks and stained the ground below her feet.

"Kobeni... I'm sorry I hadn't said it sooner"

Makima reached out a hand, placing it gently on the girl's back with a gloomy look upon her face. She'd been so thoughtless and neglectful, pulling her little strings like she always had, and once again her beloved Kobeni was paying the price.

"N-no I'm..."

She perked up at the girl's words, thinking of nothing else but how to soothe her, to dry her tears and return her smile.

"I'm happy, I'm so happy to hear you say those words..."

Kobeni looked up at her, tears still streaming down her face, but her eyes shun like starlight on a midnight sky, grinning ear to ear.

"I'm so thankful it was you"

#makima x kobeni #makima #kobeni #chainsaw man

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alphaman99 · 1 year ago

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The Villainy of the Van Buren Sisters (1916)

In 1916, Augusta and Adeline Van Buren completed a 5,500 mile (8,851km) journey across the continental United States on separate motorcycles. They were also arrested multiple times for their villainous perfidy.

They had to contend with appalling roads, sometimes mountainous terrain, some remarkably unseasonal bad weather, and plenty of other issues... but they completed the trip, making them the second and third women respectively to cross the continental United States on motorcycles.

They were also the first women to reach 14,109-foot summit of Colorado's Pikes Peak by any motor vehicle.

(Which seems like cheating, but for all I know it might be harder on a motorcycle. A helicopter would definitely be cheating. Nevertheless, having done nothing more constructive on a motorcycle than fall off it, I'm still in awe.)

But they were, nevertheless, villains. Why was this?

Had they stolen the motorcycles?

Imagine the scene... a pair of hellions in suspicious hats hotwiring a couple of motorcycles, with naught but villainy in their eyes, and untrammeled mischief on their minds...

No. Their twin 1,000cc Indian Power Plus motorcycles (equipped with gas headlights) were legitimately purchased from the Indian Motorcycle Company. Back in 1916, these were the motorcycles to have, and they ran to an exorbitant US$275 each in the day. That's roughly US$7,000 in today's money.

The sisters were not short of a dollar or two, as they were descendants of a former US President, and came from a wealthy family.

Did they cause mayhem along the route?

It's hard to commit a ram-raid with a motorcycle, I'm sure... so were they the first women to do so on motorcycles in the United States?

Oddly, no. Not this either.

They certainly attracted attention, and they certainly committed crimes... but not in the way that you might think. There was no mayhem in the traditional sense. No bank robberies, no drive-by shootings, no burn-outs outside the Police station.

They did have to be rescued once, after becoming lost in the desert, but that involved one chap who was able to guide them back to a road... not a huge call-out on the tax-payer's dime.

Were they trying to promote anarchy or rebellion?

The first all-female motorcycle gang members, heading across the country on a recruitment drive? Trying to foment discord and thrust the United States into an era of calumny and woe?

No. There were no anti-government slogans, no "What are you rebelling against? What've you got?" showdowns. In fact, if anything, they were trying to be especially patriotic.

They were part of a 'preparedness' organisation, and wanted to show that women could be a productive part of the US war effort - as the US was steaming quickly towards entering World War I - and demonstrate that women could help to shoulder the burden of sacrifice for their country, even if they weren't allowed to fight.

Specifically, they wanted to show that women could become dispatch riders on the front-lines, able to travel long distances quickly and efficiently.

So, why were they constantly being arrested?

They were wearing trousers.

I don't mean that they should have been riding around with no pants on, as such... because that would have been chilly, and nobody wants flying bugs up their bits... but that even as late as 1916 there were expected dress codes, and women could be arrested for wearing men's clothes.

As the Van Buren sisters were wearing leather riding gear - including trousers and jackets - this was considered a ghastly breach of etiquette, not to mention the law, and couldn't be overlooked by... well, by the less-evolved members of society.

Technically, they should have been crossing the continental United States wearing dresses or skirts, and (probably) riding side-saddle... and according to media of the day, they were "using the national preparedness issue as an excellent excuse to escape their roles as housewives."

Ultimately the sister's petition to be allowed to be come dispatch riders was denied.

They each had successful later lives, however. Augusta went on to become a pilot, and Adeline became a lawyer.

In 2002, the sisters were inducted into the American Motorcyclist Association's Motorcycle Hall of Fame... but their epic journey - which would almost be a doddle with today's technology - and the ridiculous social barriers that they faced certainly deserves a wider audience.

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itsclydebitches · 2 years ago

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Fandom: Ted Lasso

Pairing: Ted/Trent (more pairings likely as the story develops)

Rating: Teen and Up

Current Word Count: 1,712

Summary:

In a desperate attempt to save his failing marriage, multi-millionaire entrepreneur Ted Lasso moves his family to Richmond, England, the well-to-do countryside where the locals say things like "indubitably" and parties are conducted with too many, tiny forks. Ted thinks that Michelle's growing distance and his own lack of etiquette are enough to contend with, thanks, but then Henry starts talking about ghosts in their new home... Good thing his handsome writer neighbor knows what's what! Unfortunately for Trent, he was expecting Ted to run off once he realized the hauntings were real, not learn to love his ghosts. ... or him.

Chapter also below the cut!

“Boy howdy. I don’t think a thousand words is enough for that picture.”

Must be the American, Trent thought. It was no great leap in logic considering he’d never heard a drawl that thick before, not on his side of the pond and certainly not out here in the countryside. As his mother used to say, each word of the gentry should be polished like silver, with none of the three S’s working their way into a gentleman’s speech: Slurring, Slang, or Swears. Trent was pretty sure that ‘Boy howdy’ fell somewhere within tarnished territory. If his mother had ever heard that coming out of a neighbor’s mouth she would have expired on the spot, long before the cancer deigned to take her.

Imagining her horror brought a small smile to Trent’s face.

Maintaining his faux interest in the flowerbed, Trent snuck a glance at the man, one eyebrow creeping into his hair when he put a face to the voice. White, brown hair, a truly appalling mustache... though well-muscled, Trent had to admit. Put him in something other than khakis and he might actually pass for a civilized member of society, albeit one out of the American seventies. He was standing partway out of his van that he'd pulled to the side of the road, balanced on the door, using the vantage point to gaze out at their town and into the hills beyond. Trent felt a sudden, sharp pang at the look of wonder on his face. Their little pocket of the world was beautiful.

Snooty, backstabbing, and utterly cursed, but beautiful.

Ah, but he’d stared too long.

“Hey there, pal!”

The American had spotted him, waving enthusiastically despite being just a few yards away. Rather hoping there was no one else to witness this, Trent inclined his head the merest centimeter, not willing to risk his already shaky social status with anything warmer.

“Theodore Lasso,” he said, tone cool.

There was something morbidly fascinating about watching the man’s jaw unhinge, mouth gaping wide enough to catch flies. It was fascinating in the way seeing Ms. Jones’ dress tear at last year’s polo match had been fascinating, or observing Mr. Tartt get drunk enough to spill soup down his front was fascinating - banal, socially stigmatized events that induced emotion only insofar as they made you grateful you weren’t in their place. Watching the man make such a fool of himself on so little, Trent revised his assessment. No idiot could ever truly appreciate his home.

Lasso finally closed his mouth, dipping inside the van to say something to the woman beside him, a vague, child-like shape moving in the back. A second later he was bounding forward and Trent flinched slightly, keeping a hefty distance between them. If Lasso picked up on his reticence, he didn’t show it. The fool was smiling wide enough to blind a man.

“Well now, you’ve got me at a disadvantage, sir.” When Lasso looked him up and down Trent bristled. He resisted the urge to take off his glasses to fiddle with - only to realize a second later that they were still in his pocket. “I feel all wrong-footed, like a baby giraffe trying to dance the polka. I’ve heard talk of ghosts around these parts, but not psychics. Gotta admit, you’ve got the look for it.”

Trent blinked. Was that an insult? He’d heard his fair share of “ruffian”s and “degenerate”s over the years, particularly after he grew his hair out, but “psychic” was a new one. And yet... no. Lasso seemed to consider it a compliment, for what little that was worth.

“No psychic,” Trent said. He ignored the hand Lasso held out until it dropped back to his side. “Trent Crimm, novelist, and I’m far from the only person who knows your name, Mr. Lasso. Your move has been the talk of Richmond ever since the sale went through.”

“Aw, none of that now. Call em Ted!” Absolutely not. “Truth be told, only my mamma calls me ‘Mr. Lasso’ and that’s usually when I’m in some real deep trouble. Deep as the Grand Canyon. Or the Mariana Trench. I don’t actually know which of those is deeper, but I figure if you pile one on top of the other, you’ll roughly get the hole I dug after lying about my report card in the fourth grade. Metaphorical hole, I mean.” Lasso grinned. “But hey, what am I doing lecturing a real, bonafide write about metaphors, eh?”

He leaned forward to give Trent a light punch on the arm, briefly short-circuiting his thought process because the last time someone had done that was... never. Worse, the last time someone - a non-three year-old someone - had touched him was a memory so hazy that Trent feared he wouldn’t be able to summon if back if he tried. He grit his teeth against the cutting remark he wanted to let fly. His mother might not have managed much with him, but she’d instilled enough manners to keep Trent alive in these parts. Seriously though.

Was this a fucking joke?

“Indeed,” he settled on and was horrified to note that Lasso’s smile didn’t dim an iota in the face of his dismissal.

At that moment a woman stuck her head out the van window, hollering Lasso’s name. The wife, Trent presumed. The shape in the back morphed into a young boy with sandy hair, tugging impatiently on his mother’s arm. Perfect American with his perfect spouse and their perfect child, perhaps even with the other 1.5 along the way. The picture sent something curdling deep down in Trent’s stomach. Not that he expected anything else from... wherever exactly Lasso was from.

“Shoot,” Lasso said. “I’ve gotta skeedaddle. That’s Michelle,” he pointed, rather too exuberantly, “and Henry, and I’m sure they’re both eager as beavers to settle in after the trip we’ve had. You know, naps to take, snacks to eat--”

“Ghosts to meet,” Trent finished. He paused at the look on Lasso's face. “...you do believe in ghosts, don’t you?”

Once, back during his university days, Trent had stunned a group of his peers by admitting freely - and with no few snide remarks - that yes, he believed in ghosts, and yes, he had seen them, and no, this wasn’t an elaborate prank, not that he’d have ever pulled one. Something about his intellect and overall vibe seemed to suggest that he was above such fanciful nonsense. Maybe some version of Trent Crimm might have been, but what everyone seemed to forget was that he was a man enamored with research, experience, proof. Nothing was worth more to him than what he’d seen with his own eyes and you didn’t grow up in Richmond without seeing a whole hell of a lot.

Lasso didn’t look at him like Trent had gone off his rocker, so that was a mild point in the man’s favor.

“Well,” Lasso scratched at the back of his head, warm threads of gold catching the light. “I sure do believe that they should believe in themselves. But did I heed the warnings of our lovely realtor who tried to dissuade us from buying a swanky and shockingly cheap mansion because it was haunted?” He grinned. “No, sir, I did not. If any ghosts are roaming the old place, well, I figure they got there first and as the interloper, I’ll just have to learn to share. Like swimmin’ with sharks, you know? That’s their backyard.”

“You need to take this more seriously.”

Why he was attempting to warn the man off? Not only had Lasso done little to engross himself in Trent’s good graces, but allowing him to stumble into his new home unprepared would no doubt go a long way towards softening Trent’s own status in the community. His neighbors would care little about the single father recluse with a traumatized American bumbling about. Letting Lasso enter the Mannion mansion in ignorance could only serve him, surely.

However, his intentions mattered little when a pissed-off wife started striking the horn. Trent flinched at the noise and Lasso did a strange little jig, waving both hands at the van.

“Ah shoot, I’ve really stepped in it now,” he said. “But it was a real pleasure meeting you, Trent Crimm, not a psychic.”

Trent swallowed. “A pleasure... you mean that, don’t you?”

“‘Course I do. Why would I go sayin’ something if I didn’t mean it?”

Oh god. Richmond was going to eat him alive.

With a twiddle of his fingers more suited to a toddler, Lasso jogged until he was close enough to kiss Michelle on the cheek, her annoyance melting into fond exasperation. The boy, Henry, squirmed between them and started chattering about whatever boys his age were concerned with. The three made such an outlandishly perfect picture that Trent had to look away, swallowing compulsively.

Lasso wouldn’t last. Nothing bright like him lasted in Richmond. They didn’t need ghosts to see to that.

As they drove off, Lasso waving through the window, Trent let his imagination spool out in a wave. The Lassos would head straight to the Mannion Mansion where they’d find a decrepit building tinged in loneliness, a literal blanket of emotion that would turn their tidy, picture-perfect world upside down. Not, notably, for the better. After suffering the night in the company of Rupert Mannion, they’d welcome the dawn and attempt to rationalize whatever horrors had occurred. If they lasted the second night they’d no doubt start seeking solace in their neighbors. Too bad they were sandwiched between the Kents and the Tartts. In all honesty, Trent would rather deal with the ghosts.

Three days, maybe four, and then they’d be packing their bags again, unaware that they were the lucky ones, capable of escape.

With a sigh Trent started his own trudge up the hill, heading towards another afternoon of staring down at the blank page, trying to cobble together even one, readable paragraph. There were characters lurking in the back of Trent’s mind, shadowy and undefined, refusing to surface because they knew, like him, that Richmond was no place to be born to.

Oddly though, that day all his characters had the same thick accent, whispering odd turns of phrase in his ear.

#Ted Lasso #Trent Crimm #Tedependent #TedTrent #Ted Lasso fic #finally caved and decided to post what I have for this so far!

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