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harrysfolklore · 11 months ago

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the honorary WAG - cl16

summary: yn has always been known as 'the honorary wag', since she's kika's best friend and adored by all the other wags, but what happens when the girls want her to become an official wag? a bet to get her and charles together before kika and pierre's wedding sounds like a plan.

word count: 6.9k + social media posts

folkie radio: i saw that video of alex and charles dancing at a wedding and i felt like i NEEDED to write something that involved charles and weddings, this was the result ! i really hope you like it (if you do please leave a reblog)

MASTERLIST | MY PATREON

liked by charles_leclerc, yourinstagram and 2,037,465 others

pierregasly Last night I proposed to the love of my life and she said yes. @/francisca.cgomes I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with you, I love you ❤️

view all 54,268 comments

username1 OMFG

username2 NO WAAAAYYYYYYY

lilymhe CRYING RIGHT NOW 😭😭🥺💗

↳ username1 AHHH THE WAGS NEED TO BE BRIDESMAIDS

alex_albon Amazing news ❤️ ♥︎ by author

charles_leclerc Wow I can’t believe my childhood best friend is getting married, you both deserve all the happiness in the world and I’m so happy for you ❤️ ♥︎ by author

↳ username2 CRYING AGAIN

↳ username3 he needs to be the best man idc

username3 this wedding is going to be out of this world

francisca.cgomes IM STILL OVER THE MOON. I LOVE YOU SO MUCH ♥︎ by author

↳ username5 KIKA IS GOING TO BE THE MOST BEAUTIFUL BRIDE EVER

landonorris YOO I CANT WAIT FOR THIS PARTY ♥︎ by author, francisca.cgomes, yourinstagram, lewishamilton, iamrebeccad, oscarpiastri

↳ username1 LANDOOOO PLEASE

↳ username2 and i can’t wait to see him absolutely wasted

yourinstagram MY BEST FRIEND IS GETTING MARRIED 🥹🥹🥹🥹 IM CRYING AGAIN ♥︎ by author, francisca.cgomes

↳ username3 yn and kika are the it girls

↳ username4 she’s probably going to be the maid of honor im crying over people who don’t know me

liked by francisca.cgomes, lilyzneimer and 65,826 others

yourinstagram MY BEST FRIEND IN THE ENTIRE WORLD IS GETTING MARRIED 🥺 im so happy for you both @/francisca.cgomes @/pierregasly (even if that means that you finally stole her from me) let the wedding planning begin 🕺

view all 3,237 comments

username1 congrats kika and pierre !!

username2 it girls ❤️‍🔥

carmenmmundt This wedding will be the best thing ever ♥︎ by author, francisca.cgomes, lilyzneimer, lilymhe, iamrebeccad

↳ lilymhe I KNOW

↳ username3 i love that yn is not a wag but she’s loved among the wags anyway

username4 oh to be a guest at this wedding

landonorris Can I be a bridesmaid too?

↳ pierregasly No

↳ francisca.cgomes No

↳ username1 HEEEELP poor little lando norris 😭

francisca.cgomes I LOVE YOU SO MUCH SISSY 🥺 you’ll always be my wifey even if i’m married to someone else ♥︎ by author

↳ pierregasly That hurt

↳ yourinstagram OOPS

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

gasly - gomes wedding 💍💍 groupchat

the bridesmaids 👯‍♀️ groupchat

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

INSTAGRAM

liked by username1, username2 and 54,837 others

womenofthepaddock Kika Gomes (soon to be Mrs. Gasly), Carmen Montero (Spain’s national treasure) and YN (the honorary WAG) have arrived to the Paddock #SpainGP

view all 5,048 comments

username1 SLAYYY

username2 they’re all so stunning omg

username3 oh to be one of them

username4 i love how yn is really the honorary wag

↳ username1 she should just date someone from the grid atp ♥︎ by lilyzneimer, carmenmmundt, francisca.cgomes, lilymhe, iamrebeccad

↳ username2 ALL THE WAGS LIKING THIS COMMENT 😭

username5 i NEED yn’s outfit

username6 get yourself a bestfriend like kika gomes who takes you to formula one races

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

📍BARCELONA, SPAIN.

Every time you agreed to join Kika for her boyfriend's (and now, fiancé) races, the same question came to your mind: "Why is the paddock so confusing?"

You were currently trying to make your way back to Alpine hospitality, where you're supposed to watch the race from, but you kept getting lost. The maze of motorhomes, garages, and bustling activity was overwhelming. The constant hum of mechanics working, team members rushing around, and fans hoping for a glimpse of their favorite driver made it all more chaotic.

"YN, hey!" you heard a voice call out for you, turning around, you saw Rebecca and Carlos walking your way.

"Hey guys," you greeted them with a small hug once they approached you.

"Got lost again?" Carlos asked, and you remembered the time he found you in the same situation a couple of years ago.

"Yeah, this place is like a labyrinth. I have no idea how you guys navigate it so easily."

"Years of practice," Carlos chuckled, "Come on, We'll walk you to Alpine. It's not too far from here."

"Wait," Rebecca said before you could even start walking, "Why don't you come to Ferrari with us a bit, I'm sure Kika and Pierre won't mind."

Your eyebrows immediately raised at Rebecca's suggestion, noticing the teasing smirk on her face. She wanted to carry on with her (and the girl's) plan of making you like Charles.

Charles Leclerc, loved by millions, but you weren't quite one of them.

It's not that you actively disliked him, but there was something about him that didn't sit right with you.

Maybe it was the fact that every single time you've interacted with him ever since you started joining Kika for F1 stuff, he was somehow rude to you.

The last thing you wanted was to have an awkward interaction with him at the Ferrari garage, but you knew Rebecca wouldn't let you go that easily.

"Okay, fine," you sighed, "I'll come with you guys.

"Great! Let's go then." Rebecca's face lit up with a smile.

The three of you walked towards the Ferrari garage, the race wasn't starting for another few hours so you knew you were inevitably running into Charles once you got there.

"This is the perfect opportunity to clear the air between you and Charles," Rebecca elbowed you, almost making you roll your eyes, "Who knows? Maybe you have more in common that you realize."

"You and Charles don't like each other?" Carlos asked you, reaching out to hold his girlfriend's hand.

"Stop, It's not like that," you said, almost throwing your head back in frustration, "Every time we've interacted, he's been... dismissive. Rude, even. I don't know if it's just me or if he's like that with everyone."

"Charles can be a bit intense sometimes, especially on race weekends," Carlos pointed out, "But he's a good guy. Maybe you two just got off on the wrong foot."

"Maybe," you muttered, not entirely convinced.

You eventually reached the Ferrari garage, Rebecca and Carlos led the way, weaving through the throngs of people with ease. You tried to keep up, feeling a bit like a fish out of water in the sea of red uniforms.

You spotted Charles almost immediately, deep in conversation with one of his engineers and not even noticing that the three of you entered the room.

"Charles, hey!" Rebecca called out for him, you really admired her determination on the matter.

"Hey guys," Charles approached you, and you couldn't help but get a good look at him.

He might not be your favorite on the grid, but you couldn't deny that he was really handsome.

"You remember YN, right?" Rebecca asked with a hint of mischief in her eyes.

"Of course," Charles replied, a small smirk playing on his lips, "You're going to be Kika's maid of honor, right?"

"That's right," you nodded, a bit surprised he remembered.

Rebecca and Carlos exchanged a knowing glance before Carlos spoke up, "We need to go check on something. You two, catch up."

You shot them a look of disbelief, but they were already walking away, leaving you and Charles alone.

"So, what have you been up to?" Charles asked, leaning casually against the wall. "It's been a while since I've seen you around."

"Yeah, I haven't really been able to come to any races, I'm moving to Monaco, so that has been keeping me busy," you said, trying to keep the conversation light.

"Really? Which area?" he asked, a hint of genuine curiosity in his voice.

You told him the name of the neighborhood, and his eyebrows shot up in surprise. "No way. I live there too. Are you the one who's been making all those moving noises two houses away from mine?"

"I fear that would be me," you laughed, feeling some of the awkwardness melt away, "I didn't know you lived there."

"Small world, huh?" he chuckled, and for the first time, you saw a glimpse of the Charles that everyone else seemed to adore.

"Yeah, it is," you agreed, still a bit cautious but warming up to him. "Guess we'll be seeing more of each other."

"Looks like it," he said with a smile, "I mean, at least you'll have someone you can ask for a cup of milk when you run out."

As you continued to chat with Charles, you found yourself genuinely enjoying the conversation. It was a stark contrast to your previous encounters with him, and it made you question your initial judgment. His smile was warm, his laugh infectious, and the more you talked, the more you realized how much you had in common.

From the corner of your eye, you saw Rebecca and Carlos across the garage, watching the two of you with satisfied smiles and you had to stop yourself from rolling your eyes at them. You were already expecting the girls groupchat to explode with messages about you and Charles.

"Looks like your plan is working," Carlos said to Rebecca, wrapping his arm around her shoulder.

"Told you it would," Rebecca grinned, "The rest of the girls and I even made a bet."

"A bet?" Carlos raised an eyebrow, intrigued.

"Yep," Rebecca confirmed, a playful glint in her eyes. "We bet on getting them together before Pierre and Kika's wedding. We all agree they'd make a great match."

"You and your schemes, amor," Carlos chuckled, shaking his head, "But I have to admit, you might be onto something."

Rebecca leaned her head on Carlos's shoulder, watching you and Charles laugh together. "Trust me, Carlos. Sometimes people just need a little nudge in the right direction."

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

INSTAGTAM

liked by francisca.cgomes, charles_leclerc and 70,002 others

yourinstagram back on the f1 gig and reunited with my girls 🤍 the last slide shows how much the soon to be married couple loves each other

tagged: francisca.cgomes, pierregasly, lilyzneimer, lilymhe, carmenmmundt and iamrebeccad

view all 3,987 comments

username1 SLAYYY

username2 the honorary WAG for real

carmenmmundt I missed you so much 🫶 ♥︎ by author

↳ yourinstagram same here 🥲

f1gossip We love the WAGS (and yn) being besties

↳ username1 they need a masterplan to make yn a wag ♥︎ by iamrebeccad, lilyzneimer, francisca.cgomes

pierregasly My fiancée loves me 🥰

↳ francisca.cgomes more like tolerates

↳ yourinstagram she’ll always love me more

lilymhe bridesmaids gang 👯‍♀️ ♥︎ by author

↳ landonorris Am I still not allowed in the gc?

↳ francisca.cgomes exactly

↳ username2 HEEEEEELP

charles_leclerc Lovely to catch up. See you around in Monaco 😉 ♥︎ by author

↳ yourinstagram likewise 😊

↳ username1 HELLOOOO???

↳ username2 SOMEONE DECODE THIS

↳ username3 i think this is the first time i see charles and yn interact 😭😭

iamrebeccad My job here is done

↳ carlossainz55 😂😂😂

↳ yourinstagram never trust the sainz-donaldson couple…

↳ username1 WHATS GOING ON HERE

↳ username2 lord i’m so nosy i need to be part of their friendgroup

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

📍MONTE CARLO, MONACO

Living alone it's all fun and games until you get locked out of your house after a quick run to the store for some late night snacks.

You stood there, staring at your sophisticated security system installed in all the houses in your upscale Monaco neighborhood —one that was definitely too expensive for you, but you were grateful the company you worked for paid for your rent — feeling utterly defeated.

The high-tech lock had its advantages, but it also meant that once you were locked out, getting back in without a key was next to impossible.

Sighing, you pulled out your phone and texted Kika, hoping she might be able to help.

You frowned at the suggestion. Asking Charles for help wasn’t your first choice, especially given your rocky interactions in the past. And yes, maybe you had a great conversation in Barcelona but that didn't mean that he suddenly liked you and would be willing to help you.

What if he's busy? Or thinks you're stupid for locking yourself out of your own house? What if this is all part of the girl's plan of setting you up with a driver?

Were some thoughts that ran through your head as you stood in your porch. But with no other options, you pushed them away and sent him a message.

You sighed, feeling a mix of relief and nervousness. Asking Charles, someone who you disliked from time to time and thought he hated you just a few weeks ago for help wasn't on your bingo card, but there you were waiting for him to show up.

True to his word, Charles arrived shortly, wearing a casual outfit that made him look really comfy, and you prayed that you didn't disturb him too much with your antics.

"Locked out, huh?" he said with a grin.

"Yeah, stupid me forgot the keys inside," you replied, feeling a bit embarrassed.

"No worries, happens to the best of us," he said, pulling out a set of keys from his pocket. "I actually learned a trick for these locks. All the houses here have the same system, and I’ve had my fair share of lockouts."

You watched as he worked with the keys and the lock, not sure of what he was doing but trusting his word that he knew how to unlock it. After what it seemed like a minute, your door unlocked with ease.

"Thank you so much, Charles. You saved me," you said, letting out a sigh of relief, "And I'm really sorry that I bothered you, you must've been busy or just resting and I made you get out of the house."

"Hey, It's okay," he said, flashing you a warm smile, "Told you could shout if you needed a spare cup of milk, or in this case, a way into your house."

"Thank you a lot, really."

You smiled softly as you both stood on your porch, and he mirrored your gesture. You looked at his features for a moment, his eyes were soft and a beautiful shade of green and blue, he looked extremely cozy clad in his hoodie and joggers.

Ugh why are you even thinking about Charles Leclerc like that? The voice inside your head came out again. And you didn't have an answer for it, but you pushed the thought away and focused on the present moment.

"So, how's the unpacking going?" Charles said after a minute of silence.

"It's getting there. Still a lot to do," you shrugged.

"Well, if you need any help, just let me know," he offered. "I'm pretty handy with setting up furniture and stuff."

"I might take you up on that," you said, and you fell into silence again.

And that's when you realized that for some reason, you didn't want the interaction to end, and something about the way he looked at you made you feel like he didn't want it either.

"How about you come in for a cup of tea?" you suggested without even taking a spare second to think about it, "As a thank you for helping me out, I mean."

He looked pleasantly surprised. "I'd really like that. Thanks."

You led him inside, quickly tidying up a few stray boxes before boiling water for tea. Once it was ready, you both sat down with steaming cups of tea, and you started talking about the topic that was inevitable among the grid and friends: Pierre and Kika's upcoming wedding.

"Can you believe they're getting married?" you asked, stirring your tea.

"I know, right?" Charles replied with a chuckle. "Pierre's been so excited. He talks about it all the time."

"They're such a great couple," you said, smiling. "Kika has been my best friend for years. I couldn't be happier for her."

"Yeah, Pierre is like a brother to me," Charles added, his expression softening. "He deserves all the happiness in the world."

You took a sip of your tea, feeling the warmth spread through you, "They deserve each other."

"By the way," Charles said, setting down his cup, "have you thought about what you’re going to wear?"

"I’ve been stressing over it," you laughed, "I want to find something perfect, and I feel like I'm running out of time."

"I’m sure whatever you choose will be great," he said reassuringly. "You have good taste."

"Thanks," you said, feeling a bit flustered by the compliment. "What about you? Got your outfit ready?"

"Not at all," he replied with a grin. "You know, since you're the maid of honor and I'm the best man, we should coordinate our outfits," he suggested with a playful smile. "Imagine how great we'll look standing next to Pierre and Kika if we match."

You laughed at the idea. "Maybe we should. It would make for some great photos."

"I can already see it now," Charles chuckled, "The perfect duo."

The conversation flowed easily, and you found yourself genuinely enjoying Charles's company. He was funny, engaging, and far from the dismissive person you initially thought he was. You talked about everything from the wedding to your favorite places in Monaco, your work, his feelings about the F1 season so far and you couldn't help but think about how much the girls would freak out if they saw you talking and engaging the way you were.

Maybe they were right about you and Charles getting along well, but they're wrong about you possibly dating him, because you weren't looking for that, you thought to yourself again.

As the night drew to a close, Charles stood up to leave. "Thanks for the tea and the company, YN. I’m surprised we never got to talk like this before."

"Me too," you admitted, feeling a pang of guilt for your previous judgments about him. "I'm glad we did, though. And thank you again for helping me tonight, you were kind of my savior."

"Stop thanking me, you already did it like ten times," he said as you both walked to the door. "Are you going to the race in Austria this weekend?"

"I wasn’t planning on it," you said, "Kika's not going, and I usually go with her."

"Well, you could be my guest this time," he offered, a hopeful look in his eyes. "It could be fun."

You blinked, taken aback by his offer. "Are you serious?" you asked, needing to be sure you heard him right.

"Absolutely," Charles said, his tone sincere, "I know you're good friends with the girls and you love hanging out with them. It would be fun, and I'd love to have you there."

Your mind raced. When you left your house a few hours ago you never expected to get locked out which would lead to end your night with an invitation from Charles Leclerc to the Austrian Grand Prix, offering you a chance to spend time together at a race.

The wheels in your brain turned, making you unsure of your answer, when deep down you knew you wanted to take on his offer and go to Austria. You loved attending races and being around everyone in the F1 world, at first it was just something you did with Kika because of her boyfriend, but now it was something you enjoyed a lot.

Plus, you had to admit, the idea of spending more time with Charles was becoming increasingly appealing.

On the other hand, you couldn't shake the nagging doubt in the back of your mind. Was this just Charles being nice? Or what if the girls had put him up to this in another attempt to set you two up? You didn't want to complicate things somehow, especially with Pierre and Kika's wedding on the horizon.

Realizing you had been silent for a moment too long, you looked at Charles, your expression a mix of surprise and hesitation, and maybe you were crazy, but something in his face told you that he wanted you to say yes.

"That sounds amazing, Charles," you said, a small smile playing on your lips, "But… can I think about it? It sounds fun but I want to make sure I can make it work with my schedule."

"Of course," he replied with a nod, not pushing you for an immediate answer, "Just let me know soon so I can make the arrangements if you decide to come. I'd really like to have you there."

"Thanks, Charles," you said, feeling a warmth in your chest at his genuine interest. "I'll let you know soon."

"Great," he said, giving you a smile that made your heart flutter a little. "Goodnight, YN."

"Goodnight, Charles," you replied, watching as he walked away.

As you closed the door, you had one thought running through your head: the bridesmaids groupchat is about to go crazy

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

the bridesmaids 👯‍♀️ groupchat

charles and yn texts

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

📍SPIELBERG, AUSTRIA

The Austrian GP weekend had been eventful so far to say the least. When you arrived on friday, you expected to catch an Uber to your hotel, or for someone sent by Charles to pick you up.

But turns out, Charles himself was standing there as you walked through the gates, waiting for you with a warm smile.

None of the girls ended up attending the GP, so you spent most of your time with Charles. It felt strange at first, since you had never spent much time interacting with him before, but you'd be lying if you said that you didn't enjoy it.

Despite the friendly atmosphere off the track, it was a tough weekend for Charles competitively. His car had plenty of complications, from engine issues to problematic tires, which led him to a bad result on Sunday.

With that excuse, you suggested buying him dinner. You thought it would be a good way to cheer him up and to thank him for the weekend. It was friendly and casual.

You decided to have room service in his hotel room, neither of you in the mood to go outside, so you ordered a couple of pizzas, a bottle of wine and desert.

As the room service cart rolled in, you both laughed at how much food you had ordered. "I think our eyes were bigger than our stomachs," Charles said, eyeing the spread.

"Well, we have all night to work through it," you replied with a grin.

You both settled on the couch, the boxes of pizza open in front of you and glasses of wine in hand. If someone had told you a few months ago that you would be in this context with Charles Leclerc you'd laughed at them.

You knew the girls would have a field day when they found out.

"I'm really glad you came this weekend," Charles said after chewing on his slice of pizza, "It's been nice having you around."

"I'm glad I came too," you said, smiling back. "I didn't realize how much fun it would be. I always come to the races with Kika so this was different. Thank you again for asking me."

"I have to admit, I was a bit nervous about asking you," Charles took a sip of his wine, "I wasn't sure if you'd want to spend time with me."

You almost tensed at his words. All this time, you had assumed he disliked you because he had been rude or dismissive in your past interactions. But maybe it had all been a misunderstanding, like Kika had told you multiple times.

Damn you hated when she was right.

"Why wouldn't I?" you partially knew the answer, but you still wanted to hear what he had to say.

"I don't know. I guess I always thought you didn't like me much," he shrugged, looking slightly embarrassed.

"I thought the same thing about you," you laughed softly, "I figured you were being rude because you didn't like me."

"I never meant to be rude to you, at least not intentionally," Charles shook his head, "I'm really sorry if I ever was."

You looked at him, seeing the sincerity in his eyes. "It's okay, Charles. I guess we both just misunderstood each other."

"I'm glad we cleared that up," Charles gave a relieved smile, "It feels good to finally talk about it. Honestly, with the wedding coming up and the roles we're playing in it, I was nervous about the entire thing being awkward."

"We're good now," you said, feeling a genuine warmth spread through you. "And now I can join you in suit shopping without it being awkward."

Charles laughed, a sound that was starting to become one of your favorites. "Oh yeah, we still have to do that. We're definitely matching."

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

INSTAGTAM

liked by charles_leclerc, francisca.gomes and 102,268 others

yourinstagram lots of red and lots of room service ❤️

tagged: charles_leclerc

view all 4,026 comments

username1 SLAYYYY

username2 CHARLES AND YN???

lilymhe The one time we all decide to skip the GP… ♥︎ by francisca.cgomes, carmenmmundt

↳ lilyzneimer literally

↳ iamrebeccad 😭

↳ username1 WHAT ARE THEY TALKING ABOUT LET ME INNNNNNNNNN

pierregasly I guess you don’t need me for paddock passes anymore ♥︎ by author

↳ yourinstagram i’ve never needed you that was always kika

username3 wait are her and charles together ??

↳ username4 they could be friends chill

username5 yn finally becoming a wag??? the masterplan worked ♥︎ by iamrebeccad, lilyzneimer, francisca.cgomes, lilymhe

↳ username1 ALL OF THE WAGS HERE AGAIN 😭

charles_leclerc Always a pleasure 🤍 ♥︎ by author

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

gasly - gomes wedding 💍💍 groupchat

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

📍MONTE CARLO, MONACO

"Charles you literally just passed me."

"Did I? Oh, I see you now," Charles said as he spotted you walking towards his car, hanging up the phone and parking so you could get in.

You got into the passenger seat, clicking your seat belt and dropping your hands to your lap, "Hello there."

"Hi love," Charles leaned in to peck your cheek, "How was work?"

This was routine by now. After your time alone in Austria, you and Charles couldn't stop hanging out. He picked you up from work, you cooked dinner for both of you, you had sitcom marathons together and so on.

It felt nice.

"It was meh," you shrugged, "My day is about to get interesting, though, isn't it?"

"If you find looking at ties and shirts for hours any amusing, then yes it is."

Today was the day you and Charles had been talking about for so long, you'd get his outfit for the Gasly-Gomes wedding.

You got your dress already, it was a beautiful satin green dress you absolutely loved. Since Charles was away racing when you bought it, you showed it to him through FaceTime and he insisted he needed to get the perfect suit to match it.

"It's going to be fun," you poked his side as he drove, "But we do need to find the perfect fit, Kika is going to kill us if we ruin her pictures."

"I mean you're going to look stunning so I just need to stand next to you and hope it rubs on me," he shrugged, and you felt your cheeks burn.

Charles made a habit out of complimenting you at this point, and even though you didn't want to think too much about it, you found yourself melting every single time.

"Feeding my ego again, Leclerc?" you teased.

"Just stating the obvious."

You engaged in small conversation as he drove to the boutique you've previously picked as your first option. One of the things about your unexpected friendship with Charles that you loved the most was how easy it is to talk to him about anything. It was easy, comfortable, and it made you realize just how much you enjoyed his company.

When you arrived at the boutique, Charles opened the door for you, a small gesture that always made you smile.

Inside, the boutique was filled with racks of elegant suits and dresses. A sales assistant approached you, and you explained what you were looking for. She guided you to a section with suits that could match what you needed.

Charles began browsing through the racks, holding up different jackets and shirts for you to see. After some deliberation, Charles found a suit that caught his eye.

"Try it on," you urged him, eyes sparkling with excitement.

Charles disappeared into the fitting room, and you waited eagerly. When he emerged, your breath caught in your throat. The suit fit him perfectly, making him look even more handsome than usual.

Since when were you this down for this man?

"What do you think?" he asked, turning to look at himself in the mirror.

"It's perfect," you said, "You look amazing, Charles."

He grinned, clearly pleased with your approval, "You think I look amazing, huh?"

"Don't let it go to your head, Leclerc," you replied, rolling your eyes but unable to hide your smile.

With the suit sorted, you moved on to finding the perfect tie. After a bit of searching, you found one that matched your dress perfectly. You held it up for Charles to see, and he nodded in approval.

"Looks great. Now, help me put it on?" he asked, a hint of playfulness in his eyes.

"Sure," you said, stepping closer to him.

As you worked on his tie, you realized just how close you were standing. Your hands moved deftly, but your heart raced with the proximity. You could feel Charles's breath on your face, and you couldn't help but glance at his lips every now and then. His eyes were fixed on you, a soft intensity in them that made your knees feel weak.

"There," you said, your voice barely above a whisper, "all done."

But neither of you moved. Your faces were inches apart, and the air between you seemed to crackle with electricity. You noticed Charles glancing at your lips, and you wondered if he could hear your heart pounding in your chest.

"Shame on Kika and Pierre," Charles said softly, a smile tugging at his lips. "We'll definitely be the best-looking pair at the wedding."

You laughed lightly, the tension easing just a bit. "Absolutely. They'll have to step up their game."

Charles's hand came up to gently tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. The gesture was so tender it made your heart flutter even more. "Thanks for helping me with this," he said, his voice sincere.

"Anytime," you replied, your voice equally soft.

You lingered a moment longer. It was just you and Charles, standing so close, sharing a moment that felt incredibly intimate. Eventually, you both stepped back, a silent understanding passing between you.

You really wanted him to kiss you

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

INSTAGRAM

liked by charles_leclerc, lilymhe and 107,635 others

yourinstagram two weeks away from the gasly-gomes wedding: the happy couple, suit picking, speech writing and last girls trip as single ladies 🥲

tagged: fracisca.cgomes, pierregasly, charles_leclerc, lilymhe, lilyzneimer, carmenmmundt

view all 4,103 comments

username1 THE WEDDING IS SO SOOOOON

username2 BOYFRIEND CHARLES CONTENT JUST DROPPED

↳ username1 omfg are they together ???

iamrebeccad 🤍🤍🤍🤍

lilymhe “last girls trip as single ladies” and you’re the only one who’s actually single (not for long tho) ♥︎ by francisca.cgomes, lilyzneimer, carmenmmundt, iamrebeccad

↳ username1 LILY😭

↳ yourinstagram 🙄🙄🙄🙄

username3 we love the honorary wag

username4 charles in a suit i’m going insane

landonorris Can’t wait for the most alcoholic weekend of the year ♥︎ by danielricciardo, carlossainz55, lancestroll

↳ pierregasly I’m terrified already

charles_leclerc Best man and maid of honor, match made in heaven ♥︎ by author

↳ username1 CHARLESSSSS

↳ francisca.cgomes you’re welcome

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

the bridesmaids 👯‍♀️ groupchat

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

📍PORTOFINO, ITALY

The most awaited weekend of the year was finally here, the Gasly-Gomes wedding bound was in full swing. Guests arrived to Portofino from all over, their excitement palpable as they gathered to celebrate the love between Pierre and Kika.

Despite Charles' attempts to convince you to fly with him, you were firm on your decision of flying with Kika, you knew how nervous she felt and you wanted to be by your best friend's side for the most important moment of her life.

However, you were attending the rehearsal dinner together. Which had caused a commotion with the girls earlier in the week.

Their so called plan of getting me a boyfriend from the grid won't work, you thought to yourself, I'm not even looking for a boyfriend, Charles is my friend.

The rehearsal dinner was set in a beautiful, intimate restaurant overlooking the sea, and you were waiting for Charles at the hotel's reception to leave together. You smoothed out your dress, glancing at the grand clock on the wall, you felt a bit nervous, which only made you think about Kika and the fact that she was probably a million times more anxious.

"Hey there," Charles's voice broke through your thoughts. You turned to see him approaching, looking effortlessly handsome in a tailored suit, "Mon Dieu, you look insanely gorgeous."

You felt your cheeks warm at his words. "Thank you, Charles. You clean up pretty well yourself."

He grinned, offering his arm. "Shall we?"

You linked your arm with his, and together you made your way to the car waiting outside. The drive to the restaurant was filled with light conversation and laughter. Charles had a way of making you feel at ease, and tonight was no different.

As you arrived at the venue, the soft glow of candles and string lights illuminated the setup. Tables were adorned with flowers, and the sound of the waves provided a soothing backdrop. You could see Pierre and Kika at the entrance, greeting guests with radiant smiles.

You were really happy for them.

"Let's go say hi," Charles suggested, leading you towards the happy couple.

"You both look amazing!" Kika exclaimed once you approached them, hugging you tightly. "Thank you for being here."

Pierre soon joined, greeting both you and Charles with a warm smile. "Thanks for keeping her sane on the flight here," he joked, giving Kika a playful nudge.

"It's the least I can do, you already stole her from me ," you said with a grin.

"I promise to share her from time to time." Pierre joked, making all of you laugh.

The four of you exchanged a few more words before making your way into the venue. The atmosphere inside was magical, the soft hum of conversation and laughter filled the air.

You really could feel the love and excitement radiating from everyone present.

You made your way towards the table, noticing Lando by the bar already. You couldn't help but giggle, he was dead serious about going all out with the alcohol this weekend.

You settled into your seats, Charles opening your chair for you before sitting down. You were at a big table where most drivers and their partners were already settled, Carmen and George next to you and Max and Kelly on Charles' side.

Damn, you were really the honorary WAG

"What?" you said, noticing Carmen's teasing smile as she glanced at you and Charles.

"Oh nothing," she shrugged, "You guys look really cute together."

You had to stop yourself from rolling your eyes. "Thanks, Carmen," you replied, trying to brush off her comment. "We're here as friends."

"Sure, sure," Carmen said with a wink, and you couldn't help but chuckle at her persistence.

The evening flowed smoothly, the conversations lively and the laughter contagious. As you sipped on your champagne, you couldn't help but steal glances at Charles. He seemed so at ease, laughing and joking with the others, his eyes occasionally meeting yours with a warmth that made your heart flutter.

Dinner was served, a spread of Italian cuisine that had everyone praising the chefs. You and Charles shared bites of each other's dishes, a habit that had become second nature.

After dinner, it was time for the speeches. Since you were best man and maid of honor, you came up with the idea of surprising Kika and Pierre with heartfelt messages, which lead you to nights of takeout at his place to help each other write your speeches.

Charles was the first to stand, his presence commanding attention as he held up his glass.

"Bonsoir, everyone," he began, his voice clear and confident, "For those of you who don't know me, I'm Charles,"

"No one knows you! You're not world champion," Max yelled from his place, making everyone laugh.

"Somebody's jealous because he's not best man, I see," Charles teased, causing laughter again, "Anyway, I have known Pierre for many years now, and I can honestly say he is one of the best friends I could ever ask for. And Kika, you have brought out the best in him. Your love story is truly inspiring, and I am so honored to stand here today as your best man."

His words were heartfelt and genuine, and you could see Pierre and Kika's eyes shining with emotion. Charles continued with anecdotes about him and Pierre's karting days and well-wishes, his speech met with applause and cheers by the end.

It was your turn now, you were nervous but Charles sent a wink your way as he passed you the microphone that made you relax.

"Kika and I have been best friends for as long as I can remember," you began, your voice steady. "We have shared so many incredible moments together, and seeing her find someone who makes her so happy is truly a blessing. Pierre, you have brought so much joy into her life, and I am beyond thrilled to see you both start this new chapter together."

Your speech was filled with love and appreciation, and by the time you finished, there were a few more teary eyes around the room. Kika hugged you tightly, whispering her thanks in your ear.

After the speeches, the lights dimmed, and music began to play. Everyone gathered around the dance floor, and Charles turned to you with a mischievous smile. "Care to dance?"

"Sure," you replied, taking his hand as he led you to the center of the dance floor. The music was slow, and Charles pulled you close, his hand resting on the small of your back.

You danced together, your bodies moving in sync. You felt his breath on your cheek, and the warmth of his touch sent shivers down your spine. You looked up at him, your faces inches apart, and for a moment, it felt like the rest of the world disappeared.

From across the room, Lily and Rebecca watched with satisfied smiles. Alex joined them, raising an eyebrow. "So, you think your plan worked?" he asked, amusement in his voice.

"Definitely," Lily said, her eyes twinkling. "Look at them. They're practically made for each other."

Rebecca nodded in agreement. "We've been planning this for months, and it looks like it's finally happening."

"Well, I have to admit, you girls make a pretty good matchmaking team," Alex chuckled, wrapping an arm around his girlfriend.

"We just knew they needed a little push," Lily grinned, "And now, look at them. They can't take their eyes off each other."

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

TWITTER

INSTAGRAM

liked by iamrebeccad, charles_leclerc and 254,378 others

yourinstagram MY BEST FRIEND JUST GOT MARRIED 🥲🥲🥲 brb i’ll be dancing and weeping all night

tagged: pierregasly, francisca.cgomes

view all 5,106 comments

username1 OMFG KIKA LOOKS STUNNING

username2 AHHHH THIS CONTENT

lilymhe same over here 😩😩 ♥︎ by author

username3 god i’d give up my first born yo be at that wedding right now

yukitsunoda0511 yukierre is for life ♥︎ by author

↳ yourinstagram so is kikayn

↳ username1 I LOVE THEM 😭😭

↳ username2 ooohhh yuki and yn should get together so she’s finally an official wag

↳ username3 NOOO WE NEED CHARLESYN

francisca.cgomes I LOVE YOU JUST GRABBED MY PHONE TO COMMENT ON THIS ❤️❤️ now back to my wedding lol ♥︎ by author

↳ username1 she’s too iconic

liked by username1, username2 and 25,926 others

f1gossip Charles Leclerc getting cozy with one of the bridesmaids at the Gasly-Gomes wedding 😳

view all 2,004 comments

username1 OMFG

username2 LOOORD

username3 ISNT THAT YN 😭😭

↳ username1 YEAH

username4 oh god lando really exposed them, someone take his phone from him

username5 WHAT DOES THIS MEANNNN

username6 oh to be at that wedding right now

username7 YN HONORARY WAG IS NO MORE ITS TIME FOR YN REAL WAG ERA

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📍PORTOFINO, ITALY

Kika Gomes and Pierre Gasly were finally married.

The ceremony was held at a charming seaside chapel, adorned with white flowers and delicate ribbons. Guests filled the pews, their faces reflecting the joy and love of the occasion.

You stood beside Kika as her maid of honor, heart swelling with pride and happiness as she exchanged vows with Pierre. Charles, standing beside Pierre as the best man, caught your eye several times, his gaze warm and reassuring. The ceremony was beautiful, filled with heartfelt words, laughter, and a few tears of joy.

Charles made sure to compliment you from the moment he first saw you, and everyone was gushing over the two of you being color coordinated, just like you thought they would be.

After the vows were exchanged and the couple was pronounced husband and wife, it was time for the reception, or as Lando Norris would like to call it, the time to get absolutely wasted.

The party was held at a stunning villa overlooking the sea. The evening was filled with delicious food, heartfelt toasts, and lively dancing.

Just like the rehearsal dinner two days earlier, you and Charles were together all the time. Sitting beside each other at the table, Charles grabbing the train of your dress for you when you needed it, keeping at least a hand on each other all the time. You knew that wasn't "we're just friends" behavior, but you were too happy to mind.

As the night progressed, the drinks kept flowing, and everyone was in high spirits. Lando, true to his word, was leading the charge in getting everyone to the dance floor. You and Charles danced together, his hands on your shoulders as you swayed to the music, his breath on your neck as he whispered to your ear.

You knew some prying eyes were on both of you — and by that, you mean Rebecca, Lily and their respective boyfriends—, but once again, you were too happy and tipsy to mind.

After hours of dancing and celebrating, you finally took a break and sat down with your friends at one of the tables near the dance floor.

“You two were adorable on the dance floor,” Lily teased, giving you a playful nudge.

“Oh, stop,” you said, feeling your cheeks warm. “We’re just having fun.”

“Yeah, right. Just friends, huh?” Rebecca smirked.

Before you could respond, Charles appeared at the edge of the table, looking as handsome as ever, his suit jacket long forgotten and a few buttons of his shirt undone.

You were really down bad for him.

“Mind if I steal YN for a bit?” he asked, his eyes twinkling from the alcohol.

"Let the girl breathe mate! She's probably tired of you," Carlos teased, earning a round of laughter from the table.

You rolled your eyes playfully. "I think I can manage a bit more of Charles," you said, standing up and taking his offered hand.

"Of course you can," Rebecca said with a smirk. "Go meet your boyfriend."

You rolled your eyes again, but couldn’t suppress the smile spreading across your face. “He’s not my boyfriend,” you protested weakly, standing up from the table.

“Not yet, anyway.” Lily laughed.

You ignored her comment, though your heart did skip a beat. You don't know if Charles had heard any of it, but you let him lead you out to the terrace, your hand wrapped around his. From the corner of you eye, you saw Kika looking at you, nudging her husband and pointing at you both, teasing smiles on their faces.

They just got married so you'll let it slide.

“Nice to get a break from all the noise,” you said once you reached the terrace, leaning against the railing and looking out at the sea.

“Definitely,” Charles agreed, standing close beside you. “It’s been a perfect night, though.”

"I know," you smiled softly, "I'm so happy for Kika and Pierre, they deserve this so much."

"They really do. It's been a beautiful day," Charles nodded, his eyes fixed on you, "Just as beautiful as you."

He stepped closer, wrapping a hand around your waist, pulling you gently against him. Your heart raced at his touch, and you couldn't help but glance at his lips, wondering what it would feel like to kiss him. You'd thought about it more times than you'd like to admit, and the way he glanced at yours told you he did too.

“Charles,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper, “what are you trying to do?”

He smiled, his eyes never leaving yours. “I’m trying to charm the pretty bridesmaid,” he replied softly, his thumb tracing small circles on your waist.

You laughed, feeling a flutter in your stomach. “And how’s that working out for you?”

“Let’s find out,” he said, leaning in slowly.

He closed the distance between you, capturing his lips with yours. The kiss was everything you’d imagined and more, slow and sweet, filled with a longing that had been building for months. His hands slid up to cup your face, deepening the kiss, and you melted into him, losing yourself in the moment.

When you finally pulled away, you were both breathless, your foreheads resting against each other.

“Definitely working,” you whispered, making him chuckle.

He brushed a strand of hair behind your ear, his eyes full of affection. “Good to know,” he said, his voice low and full of warmth.

You spent a few more moments on the terrace, talking and laughing, sharing more kisses and wrapped around each other.

You were not sure what this meant for your friendship, but you were too happy to care. The night felt magical, like a dream you never wanted to end. It was a night of new beginnings, not just for Kika and Pierre, but maybe for you as well.

As you both made your way back inside, hand in hand, you noticed a few knowing smiles and exchanged glances among your friends. Kika and Pierre were still on the dance floor, looking blissfully happy, and you couldn't help but feel a surge of joy for them.

“Look who’s back!” Lando called out, a wide grin on his face.

“What’s going on?” you asked, narrowing your eyes at their suspicious behavior.

Kika abruptly approached the group, dragging Pierre by the hand a mischievous smile playing on her lips. “Everybody pay up,” she said, holding out her hand.

Charles and you exchanged confused looks. “What are you talking about?” he asked.

“We had a bet going,” Kika explained, clearly enjoying this. “We bet that we could get you two together before the wedding. And technically, we did.”

“Damn, I didn't think you girls would actually make it happen,” George handed over some money with a laugh.

“Wait, you all really bet on us? The infamous masterplan was actually a real thing?” you asked, still processing the revelation.

“Of course it was,” Rebecca said with a grin. “It was obvious to everyone except you two.”

"I can't believe you guys," you said, shaking your head but unable to suppress a smile, covering your face with your hands, Charles pecked your temple gently.

"To be fair, the girls started it, we just joined in later," Oscar said, trying to deflect the blame.

“I can’t believe it took a wedding and a bet to get us here," Charles chuckled, wrapping an arm around your shoulders, "I guess we owe you all a thank you,"

"No need to thank us. Just be happy," Carmen sent a wink your way, making you smile.

"Alrighty, a toast now," Lando said, climbing on top of a chair. Everyone knew he was too drunk to be stopped so you just let him, "To Kika and Pierre the happiest and most beautiful couple in the world!"

"Hear, hear!" echoed through the crowd as glasses clinked together, laughter and cheers filling the air.

"And to YN finally becoming an official WAG!" Kika chimed in, her eyes twinkling with mischief, making the girls cheer.

"Official, huh?" Charles murmured, leaning in closer.

"We'll talk about that later, Leclerc," you replied, your voice barely above a whisper.

The rest of the night was a whirlwind of dancing, laughter, champagne and celebration. Charles never left your side as you enjoyed with your friends.

As the party continued, you found yourselves on the dance floor once more, swaying to a slow song. Charles held you close, his arms wrapped securely around you. "So, how does it feel to be an official WAG?" he asked, his breath warm against your ear.

"As far as I'm concerned, you haven't asked anything, mister," you teased raising your eyebrows.

"Well then, consider this me asking," he murmured, his voice playful yet sincere.

"In that case," you began, teasing him further, "I suppose it feels pretty good."

He grinned, his eyes sparkling with affection. "Good to hear," he replied softly, brushing his lips against your temple.

Being an official wag was amazing

read some extra scenes here !

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bunnyfacedbaby · 5 months ago

Note

rodrick bf headcanons? 💗🤗

࣪⠀⠀𓏵⠀⠀ ׅ　 Teenage dirtbag ⠀⠀ྀི

Bf!Rodrick Heffley x Reader headcanons˚ ⠀ 𓈒

⠀⠀♱⠀⠀ ׅ summary: Some fluffy little headcanons of Rodrick Heffley being your beloved loser teenage dirtbag boyfriend ♡

◟ ͜ ᛝ warning ! ⸝⸝ tooth-rotting fluff, mentions of disagreements but nothing too bad .ᐣ

◟ ͜ ᛝ 𝒢o back ? .ᐣ

⸝⸝ ﹒ ˖ ⁺ ༝ ۫　ℬefore you guys started to date:

You and Rodrick were classmates before you guys had gotten together.

Of course, Rodrick was drawn to you and your kind nature, but the poor boy was too nervous to actually go up and talk to you!

So most of the school-year he'd spend classtime watching you from his seat— Lovesick eyes intently locked on your form as all Rodrick would do was daydream about taking you out.

But the first time you guys actually talked was when the teacher was assigning partners for a project, and thus ending with the two of you being assigned together.

Rodrick was over the moon after finding out his partner was you, but he couldn't help but feel nervous about— well, everything.

You were just so perfect in his eyes, and he knew he couldn't blow it!

Gradually, you and Rodrick got to know eachother— Ultimately becoming the best of friends once he found out that you two shared the same love for music.

You two would be attached to the hip as the both of you would practically go everywhere together!

Rodrick would always invite you to his house, or some of the gigs him and his band did at local bars, he loved seeing your face everywhere he went !!<33

⸝⸝ ﹒ ˖ ⁺ ༝ ۫　𝒟ating:

Honestly when you guys started dating I feel like Rodrick wouldn't know what to do now that he's with you, he'd ask his mom for advice on what girls want.

" Mom? What do girls like? "

I feel like Rodrick would try to be the best boyfriend for you its sosososoooo cute :((

He'd try to take you out often or spend time with you, most of your dates were at the gas station, or napping on his bed.

Poor boy would feel so bad that he can't take you out anywhere fancy and expensive, please reassure him and tell him you love him!!<33

Rodrick would be the type of boyfriend that would show you off to everyone, whether it be his band-mates or his family— Especially Greg,

" Yeah, she's my girlfriend. You jealous or something? "

His mom would ADORE you, his father would be worried whenever Rodrick would do something stupid.

Rodrick would make sure to shower more often, and wash his band shirts with his mom's lavender scented laundey detergent instead of leaving them to rot on his bed.

Soft moments like cuddling on his bed while you comb through knots on his messy mop of hair makes him feel so warm and gushy.

Please remind this man to wash off his eyeliner because HE WILL go to bed looking like a panda.

He loves you so much that he'd have a hard time saying no to you.

If you guys ever get into a fight, be expected to hear tire screeches on your driveway and frantic knocking.

Rodrick would stand out on your porch with a plastic wrapped bouqet of flowers from the super market, a bag of your favorite snacks, and a burned CD of your favorite songs as an apology.

" Uh, here— And i'm.. Um, sorry. "

He just loves you sososososoooooooo much!! Hug him and tell him you love him aaa :((

#rodrick x reader #rodrick heffley x reader #rodrick x y/n #doawk rodrick #rodrick heffley #rodrick rules #devon bostick #devon bostick x reader #fluff #diary of a wimpy kid #rodrick heffley headcanons #rodrick heffley x y/n

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gghostwriter · 10 months ago

Text

Wanted: A Gentleman

Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Part 2 || Future take Summary: Your lovely group of friends, Penelope, JJ, and Emily, set you up with your perfect match Trope: Fluff! Just fluff! w.c: 1.3k a/n: Back at it again with something miss Sabrina Carpenter inspired. The fluff idea has finally struck and I love how this ended up, even without any editing! Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated! 💗 masterlist

“I’m serious!” You clarified, wiggling to get comfy on Penelope’s sofa. “It was the worst date I’ve ever been on!”

All the three girls laughed. It was Friday night, girl’s night, and you found yourself surrounded by the baddest girls Virginia could ever offer. The Powerpuff girls of the BAU as you once jokingly dubbed them—JJ being Blossom, Penelope being Bubbles, and Emily being Buttercup. Witty thinking on your part, if you say so yourself.

Having just moved into the state just a few months ago, you were grateful for the ray of sunshine that Penelope was for taking you under her wing and introducing you to a great set of girlfriends.

“It can’t be that bad—” JJ giggled as she took a sip of her newly refilled glass wine. “Can it?”

Bringing out your phone, you swiped to the screenshot Bumble profile of your date the night before. He wasn’t bad looking, not at all. He was cute in a very American boy next door type of way but then again, his profile being filled with gym pictures should have clued you in.

“We had dinner at that newly opened restaurant, Palm & Pine, which is a great place by the way, but all he ever did was talk about himself—”

Emily nodded along. “Typical macho male behavior.”

“—that wasn’t even the worst part! He brought out a scale, a portable weighing scale, to log his macro calories in a fitness app!”

Penelope chose the wrong time to take a sip of her drink causing her cough violently while the two remaining girls threw back their heads and laughed hysterically. All you could hear were gasps of weighing scale and calories between them.

“I’m all for being healthy but really? On a first date?” You crossed your arms to your chest. “At this point, I might as well get a cat or two to keep me company.”

Penelope snatched your phone and clicked to open the dating app. “Oh no no, sweetheart. You’re too beautiful and nice to end up alone. We can find you a perfect man to love and take home with!”

“Yeah, we’re profilers. Trust us to pick for you,” Emily slyly added as she peeked behind Garcia’s shoulder.

Reaching out for the opened bottle of alcohol, you sighed in defeat and let the girls do their thing. “I’m going to need copious amounts of alcohol in my system for this.”

———

It was bad. Based on all their comments and numerous swipes to the left, the dating pool was atrocious, hell on earth.

“He looks cute—” Penelope continue to scroll on his profile before making a face. “Never mind, look at that horrible grammar.”

JJ leaned in and read the poor man’s bio. “Theirs a million reasons why I’m your future boyfriend—Jesus, it’s really hard out there, huh?”

“I’d take any man who’s nice and breathes,” you laugh in despair.

Emily’s eyes twinkle from a sudden idea. Everyone had been drinking continuously and the filter had been turned off by the time the third bottle was opened. Any thought made beyond just screamed bad idea. “You know, we could just set you up with Reid.”

“Reid?” you tilted your head to the side. What kind of a name is that? Its very…unique. “You have a co-worker named Reid? As in that’s his first name?”

“No, no, no. His name is Spencer, Reid is just his last name,” JJ clarified, leaning forward with a sweet smile on her face. Oh no, you knew that look. She was very much into this.

Penelope slides your phone to you and promptly claps her hands in glee. “You’re so right! Why didn’t I think of that!”

“Right,” Emily turned to face the other two. “They’d be great for each other. Now we just have to get him to agree. JJ—” the blonde raised her eyebrows. “—can you talk to Reid about it?”

She shrugged. “I could but you know how stubborn he is.”

“I’ll blackmail him if I have to,” Penelope interjected. “Boy genius needs to meet our own girl genius. They’ll be perfect for each other, he just doesn’t know it.”

Your eyes volleyed in between the three. “Don’t I have a say in this?”

Emily tsk’ed as she turned her inquisitive dark eyes on you. “I’ll cash in on that prize I won last time.”

“No,” you breathed out, remembering how you badly lost last poker night and vowed to do any dare the winner would tell you to do.

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Yes,” her smile growing wider and wider with each denial.

Your shoulders slumped forward. “Fine but he better be the love of my life or you owe me big time.”

“Don’t worry your pretty head. He will be,” Penelope laughed, pouring more wine in all of the glasses. “Cheers!”

———

It took three weeks before the girls were finally able to wear the mysterious Dr. Spencer Reid down and in the midst of waiting (and stubbornly hoping that he would never give in), you learned more about the boy genius than you ever wished for. How he has an IQ of 187, graduated high school at the age of 12, has 3 PhDs under his belt, and an avid reader—like yourself.

You begrudgingly admitted that he spiked your interest and having someone to talk to about books would be lovely but beyond that, you were slightly intimidated by his background which made yours, a literature degree graduate and publishing editor, seem insignificant. Penelope tried to squash that negative thought once you aired it out in the open by saying that Spencer wasn’t the type to judge anyone based on their societal standing. If anything, he’d find you interesting, she urged.

But there was one information you weren’t privy to, how he looks like. The girls didn’t want to show any photos, stating it’s best to see him face to face rather than through an image, which in turn made you imagine the worst.

You looked around, standing on the second step of the museum as you try to spot any curly, hazel haired man walking your way. He wasn’t late, you were just too anxious to be fashionably late.

Someone stopped in front of you at the bottom of the steps.

“Are you—” the doe eyed stranger cleared his throat. “Y/N? Penelope’s friend?”

Oh damn. He was beautiful.

“Yes, are you Dr. Spencer Reid?” You squeaked.

He smiled, stunning you into even more into awe. “Hi, yes. Yes, Spencer is fine.”

“Should we go inside?” You breathed out as you watched his cheeks reddened, no doubt matching the color of your own.

He nodded before slightly touching your arm to stop you in place and bending down like he was some kind of knight and shining armor and for all you knew, he could be. “Your shoelace is undone. Did you know that there’s more than 1,000 cases related to loss of footing each year and 67% of these falls were attribute to untied shoelaces?”

“We wouldn’t want to contribute to that, do we?” You quipped back as you studied how the sunlight hit his wavy locks, turning some into gold, and his doe expressive eyes with specs of green in them. Your favorite color as of today.

He laughed, his high pitched chuckle further capturing your heart. “Shall we?”

“We shall.”

Your thoughts thanking the three women for setting you up with what seemed to be a perfect gentleman.

Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated!

#spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid one shot #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #dr spencer reid #Spotify

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pierregazly · 1 year ago

Text

but mama, i love him ꨄ oscar piastri smau

oscar piastri x leclerc!reader

the one where oscar's girlfriend has been soft launching their relationship for ages. and he's okay with it, especially if it means he can keep hiding in plain sight from her three overprotective brothers.

ynleclerc

tagged charles_leclerc

liked by charles_leclerc, arthur_leclerc, oscarpiastri, and others

ynleclerc omg omg omg... charles leclerc signed my hat? should i add it to the shrine? give them something to sacrifice?

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username any non-f1 fan would automatically assume ynleclerc is a crazy fan page for charles

username or a charles leclerc hate page... all she does it make fun of her brothers here

username she's offering her signed hat for the tifosi to sacrifice for a CL16 win??? that seems like pure love all around

arthur_leclerc i also signed your hat?

ynleclerc i also do not care? will a hat signed by you get me millions if i sell it for sacrificial purposes?

charles_leclerc what's next? my personal belongings?

ynleclerc is that an offer? if so, oui. i will take what i think will make me the most money next time i'm there, merci <3

scuderiaferrari if it gets us a 1-2 finish, sacrifice everything ynleclerc... please 🙏

username being a Ferrari fan is so satisfying when you remember ynleclerc is an automatic inclusion in everything and anything charles does

username the things i would do to have her as a McLaren fan... she's too beautiful for Ferrari 😭

oscarpiastri a piastri hat will get you good money in straya btw

username oscar??

oscarpiastri

liked by logansargeant, landonorris, mclaren, and others

oscarpiastri 'stop hitting me with the ball on purpose you jerk' was said more times than it should've been, by someone who really just sucks at tennis. had an awesome week back home, time to get back to it 💪

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logansargeant no wonder you're so worried about getting run over

username the coordinating outfits?? i'm gonna scream, who is she!!!

username what does logan know, tell us your secrets girl logansargeant

username oscar is gonna soft launch this relationship until the end of time. show us her face, you coward!!

ynleclerc did you pay her for all the bruises that tennis ball left?? poor girl

oscarpiastri it's not my fault she's a terrible tennis player, we all know i've offered to pay for a trainer

landonorris so this is why you couldn't come to bali with me 🤨

username lando really said i'm the third wheel??

username to be fair i'd probably pick oscar's girlfriend over lando for a week away too

username girly you don't even know who she is!!! she could be the devil

username i wanna be included in oscar's post week home photo dump :(

ynleclerc has posted a story

liked by oscarpiastri, logansargeant, pascale.leclerc.355, and others

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oscarpiastri you can call me pookie whenever you want if you're gonna post things like this

ynleclerc i'd call you pookie with or without your permission, mon amour

charles_leclerc who is this

charles_leclerc why won't you tell us who you're dating

charles_leclerc we won't hurt him

charles_leclerc answer my texts

ynleclerc

liked by oscarpiastri, pascale.leclerc.355, arthur_leclerc, and others

ynleclerc get you a man who can do both, luckiest woman in the world whenever you're around. mon amour 🤍

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username people involved in formula 1 and their obsession with soft launching everything NEEDS to be studied

username at least she posts her boyfriend and he isn't just a small figure in the background of every post (charles this is a direct hate comment)

arthur_leclerc this would have been very lovely if it weren't for the last photo

liked by charles_leclerc and lorenzotl

ynleclerc suppose it's a good thing you could easily ignore it. cheers :)

pascale.leclerc.355 trés belle, ma fille 💗

charles_leclerc maman?

username could you IMAGINE if ynleclerc told pascale but obviously hasn't told her brothers? i can FEEL the outrage

username starting to think this may be a driver, ynleclerc is at every race weekend and ALWAYS makes a post with her mystery man at some point during the week after...

username okay ms sleuth (i think it's lando)

username i'm like 65% sure it's oscar, and 35% positive it's someone that looks a lot like oscar

ynleclerc

tagged oscarpiastri

liked by oscarpiastri, logansargeant, landonorris, and others

ynleclerc someone exposed us on twitter, so i had to expose us on instagram 😮‍💨

comments on this post have been limited

oscarpiastri love you <3

oscarpiastri i will love you even when a ferrari has run me over, of course.

arthur_leclerc is this your way of telling me i was right, without texting me back?

charles_leclerc this must be a joke, non?

pascale.leclerc.355 so very excited to finally be able to invite the both of you for dinner. trés belle 🤍

charles_leclerc maman, you knew?

ynleclerc oscar and i will see you for sunday dinner, maman! <3

tresbelleleclercspam

liked by logansargeant, charles_leclerc, alexandrasaintmleux, and others

ynleclerc live feed of oscar running away from charles in the paddock when he said he 'just wanted to talk, mate'

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charles_leclerc i truly just wanted to talk about the race

charles_leclerc i did not have a speech planned, non

arthur_leclerc i did have a speech planned

lorenzotl i just wanted to welcome him to the family, as a good big brother should

oscarpiastri my apple watch warned me of an overactive heart rate 5 times today. why did you do this to me. why couldn't you have three sisters???

ynleclerc so very sorry, in our next life i'll try to make sure you only have to worry about sisters and not three overprotective brothers

oscarpiastri as long as i get to spend every lifetime with you <3

i actually got a request for something like this ages ago, and finally got around to finishing it. i so hope you all loved it as much as i loved writing it. thank you for all the support!!

i'm not currently taking requests, but if anyone has lil suggestions or prompts please feel free to send them.

#oscar piastri #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri imagine #f1 x reader #f1 x you #oscar piastri fanfic #oscar piastri smau #f1 smau #f1 one shot #f1 imagine #f1 fluff #oscar piastri fluff #f1 #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 imagine #oscar piastri x you #my writing #smau

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fireinmoonshot · 4 months ago

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about love | joaquin torres x fem!reader

Pairing: Joaquin Torres x Fem!Reader Summary: Joaquin thinks taking the engagement ring he's bought for you on a mission with him is a good idea – it's definitely safer with him than it is anywhere else, right? Well... until he loses it. Warnings: Mentions of minor injuries (a bump on the head) Word Count: 4k A/N: Had this idea at work yesterday and thought it was so Joaquin so I had to write it. I'm so happy with how it turned out. Thank you for all the love on my Joaquin fics so far – I have more coming for sure, I have so many ideas in a note on my phone, as well as the requests you guys have sent in! 💗

“Woohoo! That was awesome!” Joaquin yells, his feet finally hitting the ground after being airborne for what feels like hours. He misses the feeling of flying already. “Did you see me?” He asks Sam, walking towards him.

Sam has just landed not too far away from him and is already sighing at the sound of Joaquin’s voice. “See what?”

“When I did the thing with the thing! And then I did the other thing and bam! He was falling out of the sky! I saw him land in the water and it did not look like a nice landing!” Joaquin explains, in probably the poorest possible terms.

For a second, Sam just stares at Joaquin. How is this the man that he’s basically picked to be the Falcon to his Cap? “Nothing about what you just said makes sense, bro.”

“Yeah, it does!” Joaquin insists. “I did the thing!”

Sam and Joaquin had been expecting this mission for weeks. Everything pointed towards things turning into a fight, but the location and time had been left to chance and eventually, things had turned out just as they’d expected. They hadn’t expected having to fight over the water, though. Sam was just glad things hadn’t turned out the way that they had the last time they’d fought over the top of the ocean.

“Just… go and get checked out by a medic,” Sam orders – the Air Force had been standing by, ready to help if Sam and Joaquin needed it. They luckily hadn’t. “You almost got hit out there. Don’t forget that I saw that.”

Joaquin grins to himself as he watches Sam walk off, holding his shield by his side. “Come on, that was awesome, bro! And it was an almost hit – they didn’t even graze me!”

“Tell that to your girlfriend!” Sam yells in reply.

At the reminder of you, Joaquin pauses. The ring. His hands move to the pocket where he’d placed the ring box before the mission and his heart drops into his stomach when he finds it empty.

“No, no, no, no…”

Joaquin checks every other pocket in his suit, trying to keep hopeful for as long as possible, but it becomes clear very quickly that the ring box is no longer in his suit or even on his body at all anymore. This was not good… if it fell out during the mission… over the ocean… there was no way he was getting it back. Oh, he's so screwed.

He’d been planning to propose to you for over a month now but it had taken him a while to find the perfect ring. He’d scoured the internet and just about every jewellery shop in the city to find one he knew you’d love. When he and Sam left for the mission, he knew he had to take it with him. There was no other choice. What if his apartment was broken into while he was away and they stole the ring? Or worse, what if you came over to his place to get something of yours that you’d left behind and found it? It’d ruin the surprise.

In hindsight, Joaquin realises that maybe the ring would’ve been safer at home… instead of where it likely is now, sitting on the bottom of the ocean or… swallowed by a whale or something… poor whale…

The excitement at the success of the mission is long gone by the time he trudges his way to the medic, who is waiting to see him. He removes his suit slowly and carefully, all the while hoping that the ring will suddenly appear in one of the pockets, but it never does.

Later, as Joaquin sits in his hotel room, he can’t tear his eyes away from the confirmation email he’d received when he’d ordered your ring. It’d ended up being one he found online, but with a few custom alterations to make it more you. The ring was one of a kind, like he’d intended for it to be, because so were you. It made him even more disappointed that he’d never end up getting to give it to you. And now he had to fork out even more money to find a replacement. He knows nothing would ever live up to the original, even if you loved it.

His phone buzzes in his hands and your contact photo pops up on the screen, one he’d taken of you when you hadn’t been looking at him. He’s quick to accept the call, already feeling comforted by your voice the second you say hello.

“How did it go!?” You ask, voice full of joy. “I saw some footage on the TV. You guys looked so awesome out there. It’ll never get old, seeing you flying in that suit, even if it kinda fills me with dread that something might happen to you.”

Joaquin laughs softly. “Thanks, angel. It was good. We won.”

Just by his short reply you can tell that something is wrong. Even though you’re in an entirely different state and you can’t see his face, the fact that he’d not excitedly recounting every single detail of the battle to you says more than his words ever could.

“Joaquin, what’s wrong?” You’re not one to beat around the bush.

“Huh? Nothing’s wrong, angel. I’m just tired.”

“You’re usually so excited after a successful mission and today you sound the complete opposite. Did something happen?” A thought enters your mind. “Wait, did you get hurt? Are you in the hospital?” He hears shuffling on the other end of the line. “Have they got you hopped up on some kind of painkillers?”

Joaquin can’t help but smile a little. “Angel, stop trying to put your shoes on and pack a bag at the same time. I’m not in the hospital, I’m in my hotel room. And I’m not on any painkillers. The medics checked me after the mission and gave me the all clear.”

You pause. “How did you know I was trying to put my shoes on and pack a bag?”

“Cause I know you, that’s how,” he smiles to himself. “You get the thought in your head that I’m hurt and you’re already looking up flights. I’d be the same way if things were reversed, believe me.”

Back in your apartment, you kick off the one shoe you’d managed to get on and sit back down on the couch. “So why won’t you tell me what’s wrong?”

Joaquin sighs. How can he tell you what’s wrong? That he’s actually devastated cause he lost the ring he was planning on proposing to you with? He can’t. He hates lying, especially when it comes to you, and now he’s being forced to lie to you because of his own mistake.

“I promise nothing is wrong, angel,” Joaquin tries to make his voice sound less sad. “I really am just tired. It takes a lot out of you, fighting in a battle like that. It’s one thing to be flying in a plane but to actually be the one flying… it’s a lot. I’ve still got a lot to get used to. I’m just ready for a solid twelve hour sleep.”

“Oh.” You’re not really convinced but for Joaquin’s sake, you decide to drop it. You can already tell that you’re not going to get anything else out of him. “Well, I suppose I’ll let you get your rest then if you’re that tired. You’re flying home tomorrow, right?”

Joaquin nods. “Yeah, my flight leaves at… four? Six? Something around then. Thank you for calling though, angel. Really. I always love getting to hear your voice before I fall asleep.”

You smile at the way you can audibly hear the happiness in his voice. “Any time, Joaquin. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay? You get a good night sleep and I’ll text you in the morning. I love you.”

“Love you too, angel.”

With that, you end the call and Joaquin groans, letting his phone fall onto the bed and his head back onto the pillow behind him. Instead, though, his head bashes rather hard onto the wall behind the bed. He grunts in pain, a hand going to the back of his head to rub the sore spot. Yeah… that’s gonna leave a bump for sure… he probably deserves it…

It’s a few hours later and Joaquin is finally about to give up on staying awake and finally try and get some sleep when he hears a knock on the door of his room. It takes a tremendous amount of effort to pull himself up from the bed, his whole body aching from the activity of the day. When he pulls open his door, he’s more than surprised to see Sam on the other side.

“Listen, bro, I’m way too tired to have a post-mission debrief and drinks or something, so can we just do this in the morning?” Joaquin asks, already knowing Sam would prefer it.

“That’s not why I’m here,” Sam says. “Can I come in?”

Joaquin stifles a yawn and steps aside to let Sam into the room, closing the door behind him. Sam takes a seat at the small table and chairs over by the window and Joaquin takes the seat opposite him, not wanting to be disrespectful by sitting on the bed like he would much prefer to do – the chairs are not padded and not comfortable in the slightest.

“What’s up, Sam?” Joaquin questions, leaning back against the chair and crossing his arms over his chest.

Sam shoves a hand into the pocket of his jacket and removes a small blue velvet box and slides it across the table towards Joaquin. He almost jumps out of his seat at the sight of it, instantly snatching it up and opening it. He sighs in relief as he sees the ring, safely inside the box, completely unharmed.

“Bro, what the hell!?” Any of the exhaustion that was in Joaquin’s body is gone as he looks across the table at Sam. “Did you send someone to retrieve this or something? A dive team? How did you even know that I’d lost it?”

Sam smiles a little at the younger boys excitement. “Maybe this might teach you to secure your valuables a little better, hey?” He shakes his head. “It didn’t even make it to the ocean, Joaquin. It fell out of your pocket before we were even in the air. I saw it, picked it up. Decided to keep it safe.”

He knew that if he’d given it back to Joaquin then that it would be all he’d focus on for the mission. He’d be berating himself so strongly that he’d almost lost the ring that he wouldn’t be able to give his full attention to the mission. Sam had watched Joaquin get hurt before and if he had his way, he’d never see it again.

“And it took you this long to give it back to me!? Bro, do you realise what this is? How important this is? How could you keep this from me?” Joaquin’s voice is raised but he isn’t angry – he’s still angry at himself for losing it in the first place. He’s more than grateful to Sam for keeping it safe, but now that he’d lied to you over the phone about it… all of that could have been avoided if Sam had given it to him sooner.

Sam sighs and leans back in his chair. “Damn, these things are uncomfortable,” he mutters. “Listen, your girl sent me a text like an hour ago. She was asking if you were okay or if you were hurt, if anything went badly in the mission, cause she said she called you and you were acting all weird. I only remembered then that I even had it. I put it in my suit to keep it safe during the mission. I realised that the reason you must’ve been acting weird was cause you realised that you’d lost it.”

“And it took you an hour to come down two floors to give it back?”

“Nah, it took me an hour of thinking to decide whether to give it back to you tonight or give it back to you in the morning, Joaquin,” Sam admits. “This… this is a serious thing you’re planning on doing. You know that, right? I know it’s not my place but I just… I just wanted to make sure you know what you’re doing.”

Joaquin furrows his eyebrows. “Of course I know what I’m doing, Sam.”

“That came out wrong,” Sam huffs, then tries again. “I’m sure you have thought this out, but I just wanted to check in. You’re a public figure now. People know you’re the Falcon, they see you coming out on missions with me. People might target you now in an attempt to get to me. Your life is in more danger than it ever has been before. Even when you were serving in the Air Force full time. You sure your girl knows that too?”

One thing that Joaquin has always been confident about with you is that you knew the risks of dating him. You’d started dating him back when he was in the Air Force, long before he became Falcon. Throughout it all, you’d stuck by his side, even when he wondered if you wouldn’t. When people started commenting on his Instagram photos saying rather unsavoury things, or leaving rude comments about you, he wondered if it would scare you away from him. But it never did. You were completely loyal to him and he knew it. If you were affected by his job as the Falcon that much, you would’ve ended things long ago.

But you didn’t. You’d started making plans to move in with him instead, as soon as the lease on your apartment was up in two months time. You’d come over more often, spent more nights at his apartment. You’d made changes to your own life to accommodate his ever changing schedule. You were in this for real.

“She knows,” Joaquin nods. “I wouldn’t be asking her to marry me if she didn’t.”

Sam lets out a breath. “Okay, well… good. I just… I wanted to check. Make sure you weren’t rushing into things or asking her for some reason other than love.”

Joaquin smiles a little. He’s known for a long time that Sam is full of heart but this has reminded him. Despite all the sarcastic comments and jokes they make, Sam probably has a bigger heart than Joaquin himself.

“Everything I do when it comes to her is about love, Sam, I promise you that.”

Not long after, Sam excuses himself and leaves the room, leaving Joaquin alone with the ring. The one he thought he’d lost forever, now sitting here on the table in front of him. Not a scratch or a lick of damage anywhere on it. Sam had done a good job taking care of it.

He crosses the room to grab his phone, still sitting on the bed where he’d left it, and sends you a quick text. Angel, you still awake?

Your reply comes almost instantly. You okay?

Joaquin sits down on the edge of his bed, eyes resting on the ring box on the table, and smiles. You got a spare thirty minutes to call so I can tell you all about how badass I was in the mission today?

During the plane journey home, Joaquin decides that he needs to propose sooner rather than later. He doesn’t want to risk losing the ring again or something else happening to it. It’s why, when he gets back to his apartment, he calls you and asks if he can come over to your apartment the next night – he’ll bring some takeout for dinner. He’s more than relieved when you say yes, telling him you can’t wait.

But then the night comes and Joaquin is sitting beside you on your couch, your now empty takeout containers sitting on the coffee table in the centre of the room. He feels like his heart might beat right out of his chest with how nervous he is, but he thinks he’s doing a pretty good job at holding it together.

Joaquín takes a deep breath and turns to face you, clasping his hands together in his lap to force himself not to prematurely reach for the ring box in his jacket pocket. “So, I think I owe you an explanation for why I was weird on that phone call two days ago.”

You look at him, eyebrows raised. “Do you? I thought you were just tired. You ended up calling me back and talking about the mission with me so I thought it was all sorted.”

“It is sorted, but… well, I kind of lied to you in the first call,” he winces a little, hating to have to admit it to you even though he knows you’re not going to care once he explains everything properly. “Something happened after the mission and it really messed with my head but I couldn’t tell you about it then.”

He can see by the look on your face that you’re concerned about what he’s going to say. He hates worrying you like this and he doesn’t mean to drag it out so much but he’s also so nervous about what he’s about to do that he can’t help but stall.

“Joaquin, just tell me. Please.”

Your voice is small, full of a sudden fear, and just the simple act of hearing that is the encouragement that Joaquin needs to push him forward to do this, to tell you the truth and pull the ring box out of his pocket with a long, deep breath.

“I took this with me on the mission to make sure nothing happened to it, but after the mission I realised that it had fallen out of my suit and I’d lost it,” Joaquin starts. His heart is in his throat at admitting all this to you and thinking about what is coming. “Turns out Sam had actually picked it up when it fell out prior to the mission. He came and gave it back to me after you texted him that you were worried about me.”

At seeing the ring box in his hands, tears immediately come to your eyes. This was what you were so worried about? You were so scared about what Joaquin was about to say, worried that some of your deep fears might be coming true, but instead it was your dreams that were coming true.

You watch as Joaquin slowly moves from sitting on the edge of the couch to kneeling on the floor in front of you. He flips the ring box open, finally letting you lay eyes on the ring inside of it, and a sob erupts from you.

“I was gonna try and do this in a better way,” Joaquin chuckles. “I had all these ideas for plans of things to do, but in the end I decided that I just wanted it to be between us. I didn’t want anyones eyes on us while I did this, cause this is our moment.” He’d almost booked several restaurants, even almost booked flights to Paris to propose in front of the Eiffel Tower, but this was better than any of the plans he could’ve come up with.

“I told Sam when he came to talk to me after you texted him that everything I do when it comes to you is about love,” he continues with a shaky breath. “You are the love of my life, angel. You have been ever since I first met you and I intend on loving you for the rest of my life if you’ll let me.” The words, which Joaquin had expected to be difficult to say when the time came, flow out of him with so much ease it surprises him. “So, I suppose what I should finally ask, since I know you’re thinking about how much you wish I would just ask the question and stop talking about everything else… is… will you marry me?”

You’re on the floor in front of him before Joaquin can even blink and in his next breath, your arms are wrapped around him, pressing your body to his. He laughs, a little shocked, as he wraps one of his arms around you, still holding the ring in the other hand. He can tell that you’re crying but he already knows they’re happy tears without having to see them.

“So… is that a yes?” He asks, grinning.

“Of course it’s a yes!” You exclaim, pulling away from him. The look on his face makes you fall in love with him all over again. The way he’s smiling at you sets butterflies off in your stomach. “Will you put the ring on me?”

You extend your hand and Joaquin wastes no time in removing the ring from the box and sliding it onto your ring finger. He can’t keep smiling and his face is starting to hurt but he doesn’t care. He’ll deal with a sore face from smiling forever if it means seeing you this happy. The fact that he is the reason behind this smile makes him smile even harder.

“It’s so beautiful, Joaquin,” you marvel, unable to take your eyes off of it.

“Just like the woman wearing it,” he says, unable to help himself. “I’m just glad I didn’t actually lose it in the middle of the ocean. I was just about ready to start a dive team to find it before Sam gave it back.”

You meet his eyes and laugh, shaking your head. “You’re an idiot, Joaquin Torres.”

“I might be, but at least I’m your idiot,” he grins.

With a smile, you lean forward and press your lips to his, wrapping one of your hands around the back of his neck. He kisses you back instantly, arms wrapping around you to hold you close. When your fingers make their way into his hair, though, he grunts a little in pain as they brush against the bump on the back of his head. He’d forgotten about that.

You pull away, eyes concerned. “Are you hurt? Did you get hurt on the mission?”

Joaquin is quick to confirm that he isn’t. “I hit my head when I was in the hotel… this is so embarrassing to admit,” he laughs softly. “When I was still sad cause I thought I’d lost the ring, I leant back and hit the wall… a little harder than I intended to. I guess it left a bump… but it doesn’t mean you have to stop kissing me, y’know…”

Thankfully, you accept his poor reasoning for his sore head and kiss him again, your fingers moving out of his hair and instead resting on his shoulders. He’s already counting down the days till his head is fully healed – he loves the feeling of your fingers in his hair.

After that, you only break apart for air when you really need to.

“So… this means I can call you my fiancée now…” Joaquin mutters against your lips.

“Oh, that’s true… fiancé… I like how that sounds,” you hum in reply.

“I’m one step closer to being able to call you my wife now,” he says, smiling.

“Hold your horses, Joaquin,” you laugh, pulling away from him despite your desire to stay as close to him as humanly possible. “Let me be a fiancée for a while, okay? Now,” you lean back against the couch. “Tell me all about how you lost this beautiful ring of mine and how it happened to come into Sam’s possession… and then we’re gonna call him and thank him for keeping it safe when my fiancé couldn’t.”

Joaquin laughs, leaning against the couch beside you and reaching down to take your hand in his, his fingers spinning the new ring around on your finger. “You’re never gonna let me live it down, are you?”

“Oh, baby, even our great-great-grandchildren will know about this.”

#joaquin torres #joaquin torres x reader #marvel #marvel x reader #captain america #captain america brave new world #joaquin torres x you #falcon #falcon x reader

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uhbasicallyjustmilex · 2 years ago

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if i had a nickel for every time alex turner told all of glastonbury he shares a bed with miles kane, i’d have two nickels. which isn't a lot, but it's still weird that it’s happened twice…

#“we don't. we dOnT. WE DON'T”#oh alex #methinks the lady doth protest too much #maybe he was just overcompensating that second time because he was like 'SHIT i can't believe i've done it again'#poor silly little man 💗#miles's companionable 'we don't' right at the end too 🥺#they don't help themselves #milex #milex vid #tlsp #the last shadow puppets #miles kane #alex turner #arctic monkeys #lulu posts

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iboozi · 20 days ago

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Songs of Us | Everybody Here Wants You | jjk

↺ pairing: jeongguk / reader (somewhat strangers to lovers)

↺ summary: Everybody wants you, but you only want him

↺ warnings: smut (in a bathroom sorry), unprotected sex (stay safe), oral (f. receiving),

↺ w/c: 8.5k

A/N: Hello... uh... welcome to the second instalment of the Songs of Us series!!! This took 3 weeks to write because I had to keep changing so much, but here it is! My poor wrists are cramped up writing this. And I finally figured out how to do the em dash on mac 😼 so it's over for everyone (jk). I do have other song ideas but I'm always welcome to more! Pls! Enjoy! And I listened to Everybody here wants you by Jeff Buckley on REPEAT whilst editing so this song is stuck in my head. Also I wanted to make this enemies to lovers but something about a lover boy just gets me everytime. I'm drawn to needy guys (not really irl) ! I'll try it again next time 😔

p.s thankyouthankyou to @tranquilreign for encouraging me to keep going!💗 you got this as well!!!

-Zoobi out 🪩

masterlist

Everybody here wants you

Jeon Jeongguk was seething.

Well — not exactly seething. More like… mildly agitated. The moment just before water reaches boiling point. The kind of emotional turmoil that wouldn’t result in a few holes punched into drywall but did warrant a deep sigh and a stare out the window that would have others questioning his behaviour.

It wasn’t common for him to feel such freakishly intense emotions – on a Friday night, no less – but alas, he was a growing boy (pushing 30) who was yet to have a hold on his emotions.

In all honesty, he was a well-regulated person. He was said to be a man of structure (Jimin’s words, not his) and often showed high levels of self-restraint. He did his morning exercise, ate balanced meals nine times out of ten, and even spared time to read self-help books every evening. But tonight? All of that had been thrown right out the window and stuffed down the garbage chute.

Why?

Because of a girl.

And no, he wasn’t rejected by her. Quite the opposite actually. She was too nice. Painfully, bewilderingly, disarmingly nice.

You see, upon meeting this girl, Jeongguk had been confoundingly starstruck. No, really — his mouth had literally fallen open.

He had tried to say something – anything – but all he could let out was a sound that was vaguely similar to the sputtering of a dying car engine. You, of course, had smiled. Not with pity and certainly no mockery either. You gave a smile that radiated warmth and signalled that Jeongguk hadn’t actually embarrassed himself.

But a nudge and a snicker from Jimin beside him snapped him back to the reality that they were being watched by a few friends, and that he, in fact, did lose some composure in that moment. He couldn’t do anything but flush a soft pink and scratch the back of his head as he muttered a quiet,

“Uh-hey… nice to meet you,” as if the universe were witnessing his struggle and had decided to put him in a far more awkward situation.

The universe, in that case, seemed to be Jimin who found Jeongguk tripping over his words much more comical than his mouth falling open. His laughter echoed throughout the bar, much louder than necessary, drawing the attention of a few nearby onlookers who most definitely didn’t need to see Jeongguk socially run himself into the ground. He could’ve sworn he heard someone whisper, “Is that Jeongguk? Didn’t he sing karaoke here the other day? With like a hundred people?”

Jimin — the absolute traitor — was no help whatsoever. He was too busy trying not to keel over onto the ground, an apparent sign that he loved to see Jeongguk suffer. If anything was better than getting under Jeongguk’s skin, it was seeing him fumble and trip over his words in front of a girl. At least Jimin was a true friend.

But that wasn’t all.

The worst part was that Jimin was holding onto your arm as he tried to keep his balance. His arm was curled gently around your forearm, and you, being the kind-hearted person you were, your free hand was gripping onto his bicep to keep him steady.

And even though Jimin was holding onto you for support, there was a level of intimacy behind his hold.

Jeongguk wasn’t sure whether he wanted to strangle his best friend or sprint out the door without looking back.

He couldn’t help it - his gaze kept drifting back to you. Your focus wasn’t on Jeongguk anymore – no it was now on Jimin. Jimin, whom you were looking at like he was some kind of circus act.

Your hand was still wrapped loosely around his arm, fingers brushing Jimin’s hidden tattoos, but Jeongguk swore that he could feel the heat from your touch like it was something tangible. It certainly didn’t help that you were laughing along with Jimin, making Jeongguk feel like an outsider in his own group of friends.

Even Namjoon at the back was stifling his laughter – a man notoriously known for fumbling things. The goddamn audacity of Jimin, ruining Jeongguk’s chance at normality, whilst simultaneously sweeping in and bonding with you like old pals – which, Jeongguk supposed, you were.

“Jimin,” Jeongguk had muttered beneath his breath, voice laced with frustration, “you’re making it worse.”

But of course, Jimin didn’t hear. He didn’t really acknowledge Jeongguk’s visible awkwardness, as he knew Jeongguk would eventually warm up with a few drinks — or at least thought Jeongguk was grown enough to do so.

As a matter of fact, Jeongguk hadn’t warmed up with a few drinks.

Instead, his beer sat untouched in front of him, condensation dripping slowly down the side, as if it were taunting him.

You were still talking to Jimin. Still laughing. And still pulling the attention of everyone in the room without meaning to. Jeongguk had caught at least four guys taking a double take as you waltzed past everyone to the restroom.

And Jeongguk? He was just there. Stuck in his own head. Watching the way you floated through the room with such grace that it felt illegal to look at you for too long.

And yeah, maybe it was a bit — no, it was very — stupid of him as he just sat in the corner of the booth, fidgeting with the bracelets on his wrist,a storm brewing behind his eyes.

But as if the universe were playing some big cruel joke on him, a song he knew too well started playing from the speakers behind him.

“Twenty-nine pearls in your kiss

A singing smile,

Coffee smell and lilac skin

Your flame in me…”

Jeongguk was frozen. He knew that song. Of course he did. His scratched-up vinyl was somewhere under his bed, tucked away with the rest of his albums he liked to pull out on nights when his emotions got the best of him. If anyone were to find his collection, Jeongguk would just laugh and offer to put one on. But this specific song was a bit more worn, corners a bit more frayed, because Jeongguk had simply used the vinyl so much that it was begging to be put back and given rest.

Now, like a memory brandished in front of him, it was playing in public, in real time. The words reverberated in his skull as you threw your head back to laugh at something Jimin said. The delicate curve of your neck matched the lift of your smile, pulling at something deep in Jeongguk’s chest. It hit Jeongguk – this wasn’t a crush. It couldn’t be classified as infatuation.

Because this was a full-body ache.

Years of hearing about you and your travels across the world, what jobs you had bounced between, the languages you spoke like they were your mother tongue. The little anecdotes Jimin would filter into every conversation added up over the years – like the time you roamed the streets of Prague lost in the city lights with nothing but a dying phone battery in one hand and heels in the other. Or when you somehow managed to charm a cranky police officer in Tokyo, speaking perfect Japanese without hesitation. All these stories, all these mentions of you over the years had turned you into a slowly building myth in Jeongguk’s mind. You were a legend in his group.

A soft, golden legend. Who was now sitting in front of him, laughing. Just existing in the same vicinity as him. So real and so devastatingly beautiful.

Jeongguk didn’t even know what to focus on, his gaze hyper- fixated on your figure. Your dress, delicate straps sloping down your shoulders. Your necklace, sitting perfectly in the hollow of your neck. Every detail was so meticulously curated, from your hair down to your nails, that all Jeongguk could do was stare. He smiled when you smiled. Laughed when you made jokes. Offered to refill your drink, which you kindly accepted. Even Namjoon had noticed Jeongguk’s attention solely directed to you, but a few nudges from him wouldn’t even deter Jeongguk from continuing to shine the spotlight on you.

“I’ll be waiting right here to show you

How our love will blow it all away…”

The lyrics hit too close to home. God had a sick sense of humour.

Frankly speaking, Jeongguk hadn’t expected to be put in this situation. Hadn’t expected to be looked at the way you did – not when Jimin showed your pictures and certainly not when he mentioned you were tagging along for the night.

You were Jimin’s friend. Jimin’s closest friend. The kind who whispered secrets under the covers. The kind who knew what each other was thinking before anything was verbalised. The kind that walked into the room and became the air that everyone breathed. And the kind that never lingered for too long, always hooking the attention of people, leading them in a trail of passports and postcards and “Goodbye don’t miss me!” notes.

And even though Jeongguk knew this when you looked at him – before the embarrassment, and before Jimin began his normal routine of making jokes at Jeongguk – it wasn’t dismissive. There was curiosity in your gaze. A sort of gentleness that Jeongguk hadn’t had the opportunity to really see. Ever.

And call it cliché, but he felt seen. Not in the normal performative way that others viewed him in — the golden boy title — but something more subdued. Like the world had halted and you had suddenly found yourself at the same frequency he was vibrating on.

That was the part that hurt.

He couldn’t even decide if there was more jealousy to be channelled towards Jimin – for grasping and attaining your attention so easily – or himself, for knowing how you could look at him.

And God, the way the song resounded through the bar.

“I know everybody here wants you,

I know everybody here thinks he needs you…”

Everyone did want you. Jeongguk could sense it in the way people's eyes lingered on you from across the room like you were some kind of celestial being. The way their eyes lit up as you voiced conversations. He was insane for thinking that he even had a sliver of a chance with you – he was too structured, too soft-spoken, and had a deep fear of too much.

So he sat there, quietly tracing the rim of his glass, unnoticed by the rest, while the music filled the void of what he wanted to say and what he inevitably never would.

And as your winding, overly animated exchange with Jimin came to an end, your eyes scanned the booth before landing on Jeongguk. You tentatively offered him a small smile, and Jeongguk’s heart flipped in his chest – a sharp, stabbing pain that he would gladly experience a hundred more times, just for you to give that tender smile of yours to him.

“Everything okay?” you asked calmly, cheeks flushed from the combination of the hot air and alcohol.

The question wasn’t for others to hear. Wasn’t dramatic and wasn’t loud.

And Jeongguk - poor, deteriorating Jeongguk - nodded frantically.

“Yeah. Just, uh… you know… thinking.”

You tilted your head to the side, bangs untucking from behind your ears and falling ever so carefully down your forehead.

“Dangerous pastime, I’ve heard. Don’t hurt yourself.”

He gave a breathy laugh.

“Are—“

Jimin stood up abruptly, thighs knocking into the table, causing Jeongguk’s drink to slosh over its rim.

“Jeonggukie. We gotta go, dude. She’s blowing up my phone again.”

Jimin was already halfway to the door, coat in hand, and evidently in his own world. Jeongguk didn’t move, fingers still absentmindedly circling the glass’ rim. Only when Jimin interrupted with a loud “Jeongguk!” did he jolt out of his daydream — nightdream? It was well past the hours he would be awake, and Jeongguk was feeling the effects of it.

“I swear to God, Jimin,” he muttered, running a hand down his face, his words drowned out by Jimin’s boisterous antics. The said person was already making his way back over to the booth to pull Jeongguk up, barely giving him a moment to recover.

Jimin looked at you, a sheepish grin plastered on his face, and laughed out,

“Sorry, Jeongguk’s just a little—” He gestured his hand vaguely to Jeongguk and the pure awkwardness radiating off him. “Well, I’m sure you can figure it out.”

Jimin winked at him, who could only glare in return and yank his arm out of Jimin’s hold.

Jeongguk wasn’t sure if it was the alcohol or the way the entire bar seemed to blur around you, but as he reached down for his jacket, the weight of his emotions was heavier than ever. His body was stiff, the physical manifestation of every feeling he couldn’t quite place. But you?

You were just there — your warmth, your presence, the way your gaze lingered on him with that unspoken curiosity, and Jeongguk found himself paralysed.

The moment you were so close to sharing was gone, dissipated in the door Jimin had left open.

And the perpetrator was already at the door again, texting away like he had zero notion for the turmoil his best friend was experiencing. It was a good thing that Jeongguk had learned over many torturous years how to silently communicate his frustration to Jimin, because right now it was at an all-time high.

Jeongguk wanted to say something to you – anything - but, like always, his words failed him when he needed them the most.

So when he looked back at you to catch one last glance, he found you staring at him – not Namjoon, who was engaging in conversation with you – the smile from earlier lingering on your face. Jeongguk grinned back but couldn’t quite place what your smile meant. Pity? Or… something else? And that goddamn ridiculous song followed him out the door, mocking him for the predicament he was in.

He had barely taken two steps toward his bike, which Jimin was resting against when he heard the unmistakable whisper of your voice. It travelled through the air and struck a chord, freezing him, breath caught in his throat and the tension that was slowly leaving came back in full force.

He turned around, eyes scanning the street barely lit by the overhead lamps. His gaze found yours — heart skipping a beat as he saw you standing there, a few feet away, shuffling in the cold.

You were staring at him — so calmly, so composed — but there was something in the way you looked at him that hadn’t been there before. Maybe it was your drawn-out gaze that lasted just a few seconds too long, or the soft tilt of your head. It was different… but a good different.

“Jeongguk,” you said again, softer this time, like you were testing the air between you. “You left your phone behind.”

His first instinct was to pat the pockets of his jeans, then his jacket. Then he looked up at you, eyes wide with surprise. He smiled that awkward smile of his, like he’d just been caught cheating in an exam and walked over to you. Your gaze, full of amusement, was locked onto Jeongguk’s figure as he made his way over to you, and he swore he felt you look him up and down — but he didn’t want to feed into the delusion.

He muttered a small thanks as you handed his phone back to him, but his eyes never left yours. The streetlights shining overhead seemed to illuminate you — a visage kissed by light, highlighting the gentle features of your face: your delicately sloping nose, the little freckles on your cheeks and the way your hair cascaded over your shoulder like a scarf, woven from midnight and dreams. In Jeongguk’s eyes, you were oneiric, someone spoken of only in myths and tales.

You took a few steps closer, feet directly opposite Jeongguk’s, a smile playing on your lips — mischief mingled with something else. Something caring.

“You looked like you were overwhelmed in there,” you teased, voice but tinged with a softness that made Jeongguk’s chest tighten.

He let out something between a laugh and a cough, surprised to be caught. Usually he was able to place an impressive façade, but maybe it just wasn’t as good as he thought it was. He fiddled with his jacket, pulling the sleeves over his hands, pretending his skin wasn’t warm to the touch — feverishly red.

“Yeah…I-I’m fine,” he said, but the words felt foreign on his tongue. He was anything but fine.

You watched him with a steady gaze and hummed softly, as if trying to figure him out.

“Are you sure?” you asked, stepping closer. “I don’t want to assume, but it… it didn’t seem like that.”

Jeongguk’s heart thudded against his ribcage — from panic, but something he was yet to identify. How could you have such an impact on him after only just meeting?

"I…" He paused, swallowing the build-up of spit in his throat "I don’t know. I’ve just—" He let out a small, frustrated sigh and ran his hand through his hair. "I guess I was just nervous.”

You blinked, eyes softening in understanding.

“Nervous about what?”

Jeongguk gestured vaguely toward the bar.

"Being around people. Making conversations. I get all... tangled up in my head and forget how to just relax." He laughed, but it wasn’t a funny laugh — more self-deprecating, if he was being honest. "I probably just needed another drink.”

You tilted your head slightly, eyes boring holes into Jeongguk.

Y’know,” you started, voice closer to a whisper, “Jimin didn’t tell me that about you.”

Jeongguk balked, eyes widening in sudden surprise.

“He talked about me?”

You laughed, ripples of joy escaping your lips, getting lost in the night breeze, and looked up at Jeongguk with a big smile on your face.

“Of course he has.”

He wasn’t sure what to say to that. He figured he should’ve expected it. If Jimin talked endlessly about you to everyone, then surely he’d talk about Jeongguk as well, right?

All the awful stories that had accumulated over the years on drunken nights, the occasional nights fuelled by pure adrenaline, and the nights he would rather not bring up rushed back into Jeongguk’s head. He fought the urge to groan. Goddamnit, Jimin.

You shrugged, the playful glint in your eye never fading. “I know a lot more about you than you think, Jeonggukie. Jimin just doesn’t keep his mouth shut.”

You paused, taking in his bewildered expression.

“And I know you know about me too.”

That was the last straw—the final piece of décor on the cake. Jeongguk hung his head in embarrassment. All that, and he still managed to fuck up his first impression.

You didn’t say anything for a moment, just letting the silence wrap around you both—and the awkwardness around Jeongguk. There was something serene in the air between you, a quiet understanding that perhaps you weren’t really strangers.

And then you moved—just barely, but enough to close the space between you two, causing your shoes to brush the tips of his.

Jeongguk froze.

Gone was the laughter in your eyes. But it wasn’t replaced with mockery. It was curiosity. Raw curiosity, almost like you were inviting him to say something he’d been festering on all night.

Then your voice, soft and harmonious:

“Maybe next time… try saying hi before your nervous system gives up.”

A laugh bubbled up from his chest, the first genuine one of the day—lifting some of the weight he had been unconsciously carrying.

You smiled at him like you meant it and ever so carefully inched your hand out to brush a strand of hair from his forehead.

Jeongguk stood still, phone still clutched in his hand, grip tighter than ever, and nodded slowly. Your hand slowly made its way down and rested on his jaw a few seconds too long—long enough for Jeongguk to get nervous, red tainting the tips of his ears. Thank God it was dark.

“Okay,” he breathed out shakily. “Next time.”

You took a step back, hands clasped behind your back, eyes still on his. “I’ll keep you to that, Jeongguk.”

Then you turned, hair catching the light like strands of spun gold, and made your way back to the bar—leaving behind the soft smell of jasmine and a boy who could finally breathe.

Art exhibitions were one of Jeongguk’s favourite places to be. At first, he only came because Namjoon would plead him to come — to which he would, begrudgingly — but overtime he had come to find peace in the simplicity of the experience and was constantly finding new ones to go to (with Jimin as well).

The gallery was picturesque, with soft, warm lighting — strangely reminding Jeongguk of the night with you outside the bar – with the shadows across the walls where canvases breathed tales in splashes of watercolour and acrylic. The air had the subtle after-scent of paint and polished wood, mingled with faint undertones of perfumes and freshly opened bottles of wines.

Jeongguk was lingering near a large painting – an explosive composition of blues and reds, very much paying a homage to the inner disarray he had been experiencing over the last few weeks.

First, hearing from Jimin that you were on a flight to god knows where less than twelve hours after your initial meeting quickly dampened his giddy mood. He was hoping to see you again — even just for a quick coffee— but was now stuck resorting to stalking to your Instagram.

He couldn’t even do that properly, considering your account was strictly private and Jeongguk felt that he wasn’t at that level of status with you. He couldn’t even stalk from Jimin’s phone because he knew that his best friend wouldn’t keep his gob shut and would relay the information back to you in less than two minutes. So he was stuck with his memories. Which was quite poor, considering how tired he was on that darned night, but your face and the lingering smell of you was enough —for now.

What made this indescribable feeling of yearning worse was the fact that Jimin didn’t even know when you’d be back. Seriously. What was he even useful for? Despite all the claims of knowing you the best, he never once thought to figure out your spontaneity — or at least tried to make rough estimations based on patterns. If Jeongguk ever tried to slip your name in a conversation (very discreetly—at least he thought so), Jimin would just laugh to himself and mutter some incoherent words before going back to typing furiously on his phone. Literally. That’s all he would do.

It was frustrating to Jeongguk to no end, but he learnt to keep his mouth shut and instead wallow in the idea of what could be (which really wasn’t looking like much)

So, he figured he would distract himself with what he knew best. And no, it wasn’t the gym—even though it came a close second—but it was the tranquillity of these small art galleries, the ones that were tucked away in the quietest streets, waiting for travellers to settle inside and welcome a new world

He always liked being the one to pursue things, not the one being sought for.

Thus, he stood in a quiet corner of the room, hands tucked into his pockets, body stiff and mind racing with thoughts. He told himself that this was a casual event, but he couldn’t help but put on his best dress shoes—and yes, he might’ve gelled his hair a bit and put on his best black shirt, but it made him feel good. He needed this boost of confidence considering how pathetic he had felt lately and dressing up to have somewhat done the trick.

But it still didn’t stop the unease running through him. It was unsettling – he wasn’t one to feel nervous in a place he found comfort, but there was something about the air that made tonight’s exhibition a bit more… lonely.

Perhaps it was the fact that Namjoon and Jimin had ditched him for their dates—he didn’t even know that it was allowed in friend group meetups, but… it wasn’t like he had one anyway.

And like someone had just replaced the tonearm on a continuous vinyl, the very song that Jeongguk had been trying to avoid filtered through the speakers once more and wandered over to his ears.

…it had to be a joke. Right? No way this song was following him around like it had a warrant on him. Seriously. He had no idea what he had done to deserve this torture, and frankly, he didn’t have the mental strength to think about it.

Jeongguk didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Didn’t take his hand out of his pockets. Just stared at the painting like he was trying to be absorbed by it, disappear amongst the weird, colourful swirls and blend in to hide from whatever divine intervention was going on around him, just preying on him in his most pitiful moments.

“I know everybody here wants you…”

He tightened his jaw, muscles fluttering in annoyance.

It was decided. The universe had a sick, personal vendetta against him. How the hell did this song play everytime his thoughts drifted to you? Sure he might’ve thought of you more often than he’d like to admit, but he was trying to distract himself, goddamnit!

He huffed. Not even the multitude of colours in front of him could tug his attention from you.

It wasn’t really about the song. Not really. It was more so to do with what it meant to him.

The night outside the bar.

The way you caressed his hair even though he wanted it to lay like that.

The way you whispered his name like it was a secret between the two of you

The way you saw him.

And then— the way you left as quickly as you came.

He barely got to say his goodbye. You were there one minute, and suddenly he had blinked, and you were gone. All that was left was the feeling of your fingertips grazing his skin and the filtered story that Jimin showed you with a geotag somewhere oceans away.

Jeongguk exhaled slowly, trying to collect his thoughts. He wasn’t in love or anything he was past the stage of teenage limerence.

…Right?

A soft clack of heels pulled him from the drifting seas of his mind.

He didn’t react at first. Footsteps were common in galleries, voices humming like bees in fields of sunflowers. But there was something different about the rhythm. It made the hairs on his neck stand straight up. There was delicacy behind the footfalls nearing him.

He turned.

And nearly forgot how to fucking breathe.

You.

Long black dress, tan coat slung over your shoulder, and your hair just effortlessly pooling down your back like ink in water.

“And our eyes are locked in downcast love…”

Your eyes met his, the twinkle in them almost blinding him before he could pretend to look away and be interested in anything else.

For a moment, neither of you moved. The song, of course, droned on in the background like a cruel soundtrack to his unbecoming.

You tilted your head, lips lifting into a knowing smile, like you were fully aware of the effect you had on Jeongguk, even by just standing there. Just by simultaneously coexisting in front of him.

“Jeongguk.”

He swore you said his name like it was yours.

“You’re here,” was all he managed. His words were barely spoken, drifting like mist and condensing on the painting next to him. Honestly, it felt a bit pathetic—what he said—but you smiled wider, nonetheless.

“Jimin slipped it into conversation,” you replied, stepping closer. He could see the glitter you lined your eyes with. “Told me you’ve been moping around in galleries like a sad little poet.”

He groaned, running a hand down his face. “No, he didn’t.”

“Oh, he did,” you laughed a little. “Even told me that you wore your ‘special’ shoes tonight.”

Jeongguk looked down, half expecting his brogues to start sinking into the ground out of sheer humiliation.

You stopped beside him, nudging him softly. “I like them.”

His laugh was disbelieving—the kind that crinkled the skin around his eyes and displayed the little freckle under his lip.

“Didn’t think you were gonna be back anytime soon,” he said quietly, hoping in the way he phrased it.

You shrugged. “Only for a little while. Maybe longer.”

He wasn’t sure what to say. He’d spent months thinking about all the things he might’ve said if you were ever in his presence again, but now that you really were—so achingly near, close enough to smell that jasmine scent again—his brain had fried itself and was devoid of any thoughts.

But you, as always, were the lighthouse in a storm.

“Hi,” you simply said. This wasn’t a greeting. It was a reset.

Jeongguk swallowed nervously.

“Hi.”

Joy bloomed in the creases by your eyes.

“See? That wasn’t so hard.”

He smiled at you sheepishly.

You turned your attention to the painting he’d been staring at before—the chaotic mix of colours that had once mirrored his internal disarray. He glanced at it and noticed how the mess seemed to fade towards the edge into two distinct lines of tranquillity. Huh.

“It’s pretty intense,” you said, studying the canvas.

“Yeah,” Jeongguk replied. “S’pose that makes sense, though.”

You glanced at him. “Because you’re feeling like it?”

He hesitated. Then nodded. “You kinda… do that to me.”

Your smile wavered for a millisecond—not in a bad way. In a breath-caught kind of way. A quiet pause before your expression softened.

“Good,” you whispered. “Because you—”

The ringing of your name being called across the gallery ceased the little conversation you were having.

You sighed, eyebrows furrowing, and looked over.

Jeongguk reluctantly tore his gaze from your face and followed yours over to see a man striding over. He was tall. Well-dressed. And very clearly knew you, the way he sauntered over, arms wide open in welcome. His coat flared slightly as he walked to your corner and had that laid-back, easy grin that made Jeongguk’s eye twitch in irritation.

Without hesitation, you stepped towards him, situating yourself into his arms that wrapped all the way around you. It was déjà vu—the way the hug looked so familiar to him. It was too close. And too long.

Jeongguk stood motionless.

His hands hung awkwardly at his sides, fingers alternating between being clenched into fists or flexing involuntarily with nerves… or something more. He tried to understand what the hell was happening in front of him—and what you were on the verge of saying—but he was all too distracted by the lack of space between you and that stranger.

When you finally pulled away, the guy leaned in to say something close to your ear. Jeongguk didn't miss the way your eyes flickered briefly back to him and away, like it never happened. You faltered.

“I’ll be back in a second,” you told him quickly, that ever-present softness in your voice still lingering, but dimmed. “I’ll catch you later, Jeonggukie, okay?”

He nodded. Tried to smile, but it came out more like a wince. Tried to let the sting not pierce his skin too deeply.

“Sure,” he replied. “Later.”

And with that, you walked off, arm in the stranger’s, and Jeongguk’s heart in your hand.

His posture sagged in small defeat, and he glanced towards Jimin, who was nearing him, sipping his wine and observing the turmoil Jeongguk was experiencing.

Jimin caught his eyes and raised a singular eyebrow with a smirk.

“Are you just gonna stand there?”

Jeongguk forced out a bitter laugh and brought his hands into his pockets.

“I’m fine.”

He knew he was lying. Jimin knew he was lying. The random women giving him a look as they walked past knew he was lying as well.

Every laugh that flowed from your lips felt like a knife digging into an old wound. When the stranger brushed a small strand of your hair behind your ear, Jeongguk scoffed, pushing his tongue against the inside of his cheek and looked away.

He found himself shuffling closer to Jimin, letting the small talk between him and his best friend become a barrier to hide behind.

Your eyes met his once across the room, and you offered him a small smile—but Jeongguk looked away before the moment could unfold into anything more. Instead, he watched you weave in and out of the crowd, integrating into fruitless conversation yet still capturing the attention of everyone in the room.

“Maybe I should’ve asked who he was,” Jeongguk muttered under his breath to Jimin, who just chuckled and patted his shoulder.

“Chill, man,” he teased. “You’ll see her again. I’m sure.”

Jeongguk wanted to believe it—really he did—but it was hard to when that ‘later’ never came.

You disappeared into the night with the man—that Jeongguk never figured out the name of—like mist beneath the stars. And Jeongguk had waited, eyes constantly scanning the gallery until closing. Even helped the staff clean up the bar and stack some chairs, just in case you popped back in.

You didn’t.

Jeongguk was seething.

Well—not exactly seething. More so… mildly agitated. The kind of agitation that was so close to spilling over the surface and onto everyone around him.

The house was too warm.

The people too loud.

The lights too dim.

He wasn't even sure why he was there– sure it was his house, but Namjoon had convinced him to host a small party with familiar faces, ‘friends-of-friends’ so he would finally loosen up.

He’d spent the last half of the hour sipping on the same drink and dodging the half-drunk people that attempted to make conversation with him.

That, and the god-awful playlist Jimin had put on. It was like Jimin was stuck being heartbroken or pumping his fist at a rave with the kind of music you just had to vibe with.

And currently Jeongguk did not vibe with it.

He kinda nodded his head to heartbreak songs though - he supposed he could relate just a tad.

He hadn’t heard from you since the night at the gallery.

Nothing.

And it’s not like you were obligated to - numbers weren’t even exchanged - but Jeongguk’s hope was a persistent little bastard that maybe, just maybe thought you would ask Jimin for his number and check up on him.

And it wasn’t like Jeongguk hadn’t tried the same. He gave up on the subtle hints to Jimin and had straight up asked for your number, even though he was turned down - rather quickly- with the words,

“If it was meant to be, she would come to give it to you herself.”

Jeongguk sighs at the memory, nursing his drink and glaring into the clear liquid as if it had caused him personal anguish. The laughter of those around him fades in and out of his hearing. Everything is duller, like the colour had been vacuumed out from the room. He’s partly tempted to pull an Irish goodbye at his own party and just leave. Maybe grab his walkman on the way out to play a song that didn’t emotionally scar him.

But then he sees you.

You, standing by the kitchen island, in conversation with Namjoon. You, lit like a spotlight found you despite the purposely dim lighting. And you, head tipped back slightly, laughing at something Namjoon is saying. Gone is the tan coat, replaced by an off- the- shoulder black top that clings to your figure. Gone are the effortless waves, swapped for your hair pinned back, emphasising the delicate nature of your neck.

Jeongguk freezes, glass halfway to his mouth, breath lodging in his throat. You looked dreamlike, standing out amongst the crowd, like an advert he’d seen on television one too many times. He wouldn’t dare to skip out on you— not after knowing the smile you could give him.

When did you get here?

He doesn’t even realise Jimin has slipped into the little corner of the couch that Jeongguk was practically sprawled on until a shoulder nudges his own.

“You’re doing it again,” Jimin teases, sounding far too happy considering his playlist.

“What thing?” Jeongguk hisses, eyes locking onto the way you seamlessly flit around the kitchen.

“The ‘I’ve-dreamed-about-her-every-day-and-can’t-believe-she’s-here’ thing.”

Jeongguk scowls and shoves Jimin lightly, but his eyes don't stray. You haven’t noticed him yet.

He can’t decide if that’s mercy or torment.

“She knows, doesn’t she?” he asks.

The smug silence of his friend is enough.

“She asked me if you’d ever want to see her face again. I said you were a sucker for pretty faces and that she should come and find out for herself.”

Jeongguk gapes.

“You’re such a menace.”

“Well it worked, didn’t it? She’s here. In the flesh.” Jimin grins, clapping a hand down on Jeongguk’s back. “Maybe she wanted free drinks. Or… see you.”

Jeongguk ignores Jimin’s banter, eyes still tracking your every movement. The way your fingers tap against your glass. Or the way your gaze occasionally drifts from whoever you were talking to, and sweeps across the room —but never quite meets his.

And still, Jeongguk doesn’t approach you. Can't get himself to move up from that sofa. The weight in his chest keeps him tethered down. The unspoken words claw at his throat like before.

So he sips his drink. And waits.

The party hums around him, low and warm like the static of one of his vinyls that was left on too long.

You pass by him once, ever so briefly.

And in that one incandescent moment, your hand brushes his — hanging over the back of the couch—as you slide past on the way to the hallway. He doesn’t look up, but he knows it’s you, he feels it’s you. The absence of your touch shouldn’t linger the way it does

He doesn’t see where you go. Doesn’t even register why he’s following the scent of your perfume until his feet lead him to the hallway. Past the kitchen, past the shoes by the door, and away from the loud thrum of the party.

The bathroom door near the back end of his apartment iss half-open, an amber glow spilling through.

He raps his knuckles against the door.

“Occupied?”

A soft voice calls out.

“Yeah - give me a sec!”

But that voice…he knows it. He knows it too well.

Jeongguk pushes the door slightly - just a little further.

And there you are. Standing at the mirror, fingers fixing the wing of your eyeliner, with the smallest concentration crease forming between your brows. You see him in the reflection and halt your actions.

“Sorry-” he starts, already turning around to go back.

But you spin around, swiping a finger across the corner of your eyes.

“Wait Jeongguk.”

He freezes. The air is heavy, electricity tingling in the way that makes the space feel so much smaller than it already is..

“I was gonna leave,” you say after a beat, eyes searching his. “I…I didn't think you wanted to talk to me.”

“I thought you didn’t.”

A momentary pause. The tension doesn’t dissipate, only grows thicker, encircling the two of you like entertainment in a cage.

“I was waiting,” you start, “I didn’t want to interrupt. I wasn’t sure if…”

You don’t finish your sentence.

Jeongguk steps in. Closes the door behind him with a muted click.

“You came,” he murmurs, voice barely a decibel above a breath.

You smile at him. “I was told by a certain someone that if I wanted your number, I should come get it myself.”

Jeongguk gives a quiet laugh and steps closer to you.

“Funny. I was also told something similar. What are the chances it was the same person?”

You move forward, and lean up to him.

“A hundred percent.”

Your laughter at his expression is more subdued this time, eyes fluttering down to the space between you both—or the lack of. It’s close. So close. He can smell the fragrance radiating off of you, the floral scent ingrained into his head. He’s not sure if it’s his pulse or yours echoing so loudly in the confined room.

“I was going to ask for it,” you say, voice softer now. “At the gallery.”

“I wanted to kiss you,” Jeongguk blurts.

It slips out. Honest. Raw. And unguarded.

Your eyes snap up to his, plush lips parting slightly, startled but… not afraid. Not uncomfortable.

“Why didn’t you?”

“You left with someone else.”

You nod. “That wasn’t what you think.”

Jeongguk doesn’t want to ask. He doesn’t want to ruin this moment. He’ll face the repercussions later—as long as he’s allowed in your presence for more than twenty minutes.

Your hands move. Brush down your sides, like you’re trying to ground yourself. Or preparing for something. His hands twitch. He wants to touch you. He wants to remember how your fingers felt against his jaw. But he waits. Waits for you to make the first move.

He’s done seeking first.

Your hand lifts slowly to his chest, palm lying flat over his sternum, right where his heartbeat betrays him. You can feel it. He’s sure.

“You’re still nervous,” you whisper.

“I’ve never wanted something so bad in my life.”

The air cracks.

Your fingers slide up lazily. Up to the collar of his shirt Tugging him. Testing the waters.

“Hi,” you say.

That’s all he needs.

He’s moving before he can process his actions, lips pressing to yours in a kiss that doesn’t ask permission—but it doesn’t need to. It’s slow at first. Hesitant. Like he’s making sure you’re really there. That this isn’t another cruel memory that would fade before he even woke up.

But when you sigh against his mouth, tilting your head just enough and nudging your nose against his—

Something inside of him explodes.

His hands find your waist, pulling you flush against him, mouth pressing with more desperation, tongue sweeping past your lips when you part them with a soft whimper that nearly undoes him. Your hands tangle in his hair, anchoring yourself as he kisses you like he’d been waiting a lifetime.

The counter is cold against the back of your thighs as he lifts you onto it, barely stopping to catch his breath. His hand wedges around your hips, thumbs dragging across the sliver of skin where your shirt rides up.

You gasp into his mouth as he pulls you closer, chest to chest, heat unfurling between you like a wildfire.

He pulls back when you tug lightly on his hair, lips red and kiss-swollen, eyes hazy but focused.

“Hi,” you breathe out.

Jeongguk grins against your mouth.

“Hi baby,”

He reaches behind him, turning the lock on the door before moving for you again. His hands move with a practiced ease - the nerves from before nowhere to be found - as his hands slip under the hem of your shirt, warm fingers tracing the soft curve of your waist. His lips never leave yours, kisses rougher now, and more urgent.

Your breath mingles with his, hands clenching the fabric of his shirt, drawing him in closer, a siren in disguise.

His body presses firmly against yours, hips aligning, heat between you flaring.

With a quiet grunt, Jeongguk shifts, lifting you higher on the counter. His hands roam lower, fingers teasing the edge of your skirt, fingers dipping below the waistband. You arch into his touch, breath hitching and fingers tightening.

His mouth finds your jaw and he trails down, nipping gently before moving again - neck, collarbone, the skin below your shirt - a trail of fire in his wake.

Your fingers tangle in his hair once more, tugging, urging him deeper and harder. Jeongguk’s hands drift beneath your skirt, skimming the smoothness of your skin— inching toward that sensitive spot that makes you shiver.

He looks up at you, knees resting on the ground. Neither of you speak. The world’s shrunk to the heat of skin on skin, and the desperation laced into your frantic breaths.

He lifts your skirt up tentatively, eyes meeting yours in a silent ask. You nod. Oh how badly you need this.

Jeongguk’s fingers rub against your hip bones as he inches forwards. He presses soft kisses up your thigh, pausing when he meets your sweet spot.

“Jeongguk,” you whisper, voice shaky with anticipation.

He nudges his nose against you, “I’m here.”

He glances up at you once more, long enough to meet your eyes - dark, smouldering, and utterly focused on you - before diving in again. His tongue brushes against your underwear, rubbing up against you in a slow, teasing dance, exploring the promise in every touch.

You cry out, hands tightening at the edge of the counter, legs fighting the urge to close around his head. Jeongguk clamps his hands around your outer thighs, stabilising and ruining you at the same time.

He smiles against the lace of your underwear as you grip his hair, tongue lapping up any hint of your approaching climax. He licks deeper and triumphs as you call his name out once more, thighs trembling by his ears.

Burrowing himself deeper under your skirt, he almost halts his actions.

What if you think that he only wanted you for sex? What if this is a fleeting moment that won’t be rediscovered?

But before the irrational thoughts can settle, your hands pull on his hair, begging for him to come back up. He complies, clambering up, shaking his knees out and looks at you.

Meeting your tear stricken eyes, guilt settles in his chest,

“Are you-”

“I need you in me. Now. Jeongguk…please.”

And there it is.

His chest tightens like a wave crashing against the shore, relentless and full of emotion. This isn’t just affection he feels for you, this is an all-consuming force that pushes past reason.

He nods and reaches for his jeans. Doesn’t bother with pulling his jeans all the way off, just slides them down past his butt. Reaches for his length, stiff with need and leaking with arousal.

One. Two. Three pumps and he grasps for the back of your thighs before pushing into you. He lets out a low moan into your ear, loudening as you squeeze around him. He falls forwards, hands falling beside you.

“B-baby, don’t do that, I’ll finish,” he murmurs along your neck, nibbling gently at the column of your throat.

Your arms clasp around his neck, nails clawing at his shoulders.

“Sorry… I’m just nervous,”

Jeongguk leans back. Smiles down at you and reaches for your hand. Fingers spanning the entirety of your wrist, he places your palm against his heart, mimicking your actions before.

“Me too,”

You melt at his words. Literally. Jeongguk feels you loosen up around him, nails no longer digging half crescents into his skin. He lets out a short breath and pulls back to the tip, before pressing into you again… and again.

You moan, head tilting back, one hand holding his, resting on your waist, the other, turning white with how tightly you were gripping the counter.

Jeongguk grabs the back of your neck, encouraging you to meet his eyes. He had your attention now —only his—and he wasn’t going to lose it.

There’s something so vulnerable about this position. Neither of you are fully unclothed, but you’re practically baring your hearts to each other.

Setting a steady pace, Jeongguk snaps his hips into you, grunting with every thrust, moving you further up the ledge next to the sink. He reaches around for your ass and pulls you closer. The movement shifts your positions slightly, where he’s deeper, and firmer inside of you..

“J-Jeongguk,” you rasp.

He thrusts harder, lewd noises of skin meeting skin filling the air. Reaches down and rubs a finger against you,

“Come on baby. You can do it,”

Your back arches, curving into Jeongguk’s hands as you release—hot, sticky cum coating him and the inside of your thighs. You pulse frantically around him, pushing him forwards, moaning as your orgasm rips through you.

Your arms give out, collapsing against the mirror above the sink with a broken whimper as you try and come down from your high.

“Oh fuck,” Jeongguk groans, pulling out, leaving you mourning the loss of him inside of you.

He jerks himself, hand fisted tightly around his cock, wrists moving with a rapid pace, hips stuttering and he chases his own climax.

You watch with bated breaths as his head tilts back, lip bitten raw in pleasure. A deep groan escapes him as his pace slows down, hips twitching forwards and he spills across your thighs in thick ropes. He fucks himself through his orgasm, one hand holding yours as he paints your skin milky.

He exhales as the last of his cum leaks out, and lets go of your hands to wipe the sweat lining his forehead.

He meets your eyes and lets out a little chuckle.

Leans forwards and pecks your nose. Your cheek. And then your forehead . You giggle at him and reach for a towel - to which he snatches it out of your hands, before running it under hot water. He swipes it across your thighs in gentle strokes, like he didn't just obliterate you and cleans himself up.

He pulls his jeans up, buckles his belt and pulls down your skirt. Reaching for your waist, he helps you hop off the counter.

You move towards the door, but he pulls you back.

You meet his eyes. He swallows.

“I don’t want this to end. Ever.”

You look at him through your lashes and tuck a strand of his hair back.

“I’m gonna need your number first baby.”

Jeongguk grins, a smile lighting up his face as he wrenches the door open, hurrying for his phone that he left around somewhere.

Sunlight spills softly through the blind, casting warm stripes across the room where Jeongguk lies, you tucked under his arm. The quiet buzz of the city is distant, an otherworldly place that you’ve both stepped away from for a while. His arm rests loosely over your waist, arms sliding the hem of his t-shirt up as he traces small circles on your thigh.

For once, the voracious thoughts that constantly plagued his mind seem to have quietened down, leaving the calm weight of you beside him and the thrilling, quiet certainty of what happened last night.

You meet his eyes, and he smiles, dimples burrowing in his cheeks. No words are exchanged. This moment - this morning - is enough.

Jeongguk nudges his nose against yours,

“Can you accept my instagram request?”

You look up at him, eyebrows drawn together in confusion,

“Wha-”

The door creaks open and Jimin steps inside with an infuriatingly wide grin.

He laughs, breaking the tranquility of the morning.

“By the way, Jeonggukie, I know what your favourite song is.”

Jeongguk stares at him, processing his words as Jimin’s teasing smile grows bigger.

“Okay?”

“And I’m also really good at making people play whatever songs I want.”

Jeongguk freezes. No way. He can’t be… that fucking little-

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youryanderedaddy · 1 year ago

Note

can you write gentle yandere taking their darling for the first time vs mean sadistic yandere taking them for the first time?

Btw I love ur work 💖💘💗

tw: female reader, non - con, kidnapping, obsessive/possessive behavior, sadism, degradation, slut - shaming

Gentle ~

You know the type of guy I'm talking about. Big and buff, dark - haired, cries a lot. Watches romance movies in his free time and actually calls his mother even outside of the holiday season. Wears slutty little black fitted shirts after working out and brings you smoothies after work. He smiles and blushes. The man is a massive loser with an undying passion for anything nerdy, be it dragons, board games, collecting marks. Who would really expect this poor soul to hurt even a fly?

But he does.

It doesn't happen until months after he's taken you in. Most of the time he's being the perfect gentleman (aside from literally keeping you captive) - he cooks for you, brings you roses and chocolates (even when you throw them away or tear the petals from the flowers), cleans and doesn't make you lift a finger. He reads you poetry until your ears bleed. He tells you he loves you one hundred times a day and seemingly doesn't care about your snorts or the way you roll your eyes and push him away, already so used to your living situation you can't even find it in yourself to be scared. You think he's harmless - as harmless as a lovesick puppy.

But then one night he comes home, an unusual frown on his otherwise soft face. There is a certain type of madness in his hazel eyes. They are still so very soft and adoring, he still sees you as a Goddess in need of worship... but there is also something dark and muddy. Something possessive.

Your captor kisses you on the cheek and that much is granted - he does it every day, along with shouting "Honey, I'm home" at the door. He hugs you - tight. Tighter than ever before, it feels as if the man is trying to crush you in a suffocating embrace, like he wants to swallow you whole within his arms. For the first time you realise just how muscular he is - how much stronger he is. And then he picks you up like a blushing bride and leaves a quick peck on your forehead before taking you to the bedroom and carefully laying you down.

He doesn't give you time to ask questions - as soon as he steps a foot in your shared room, he's already tearing apart his clothes, revealing his ripped form.

"See anything you like, sweetness?" the man asks you, rubbing his hands together as he towers over you, caging you between two beefy arms. You stay silent for a moment, mouth agape at the suddenness of it all - you have never seen him like this. He starts caressing your cheeks and slowly moves down, and that's when it finally settles in your mind. You need to act quickly.

"Stop." you say authoritatively, just like you have done so many times before, praying it would work like it had in the past. But not now. This time he simply shakes his head, a crazed smile playing on his lips as he lowers his head and kisses your neck softly, lovingly. It's terrifying. You're not used to this. You don't know how to react. "Baby, I can't hold it in anymore." Your captor whispers, head resting against your shoulder, voice low and desperate - almost whiny.

"I really tried." he swallows thickly. "I swear. I tried cold showers a-and thinking about bad things but..." he bites his lip, staring at you. You look so small and helpless and, God, he respects you, he really does, but he can't help the way his crotch twitches and his pants tighten as he watches you squirm and tremble, oh-so-small and panicky, defenceless little hands scratching at his arms, but failing to make him budge.

"But every time I come home all pent up and annoyed after dealing with bastards all day, all I want is to bend you over," he continues after moving a lock of your hair out of the way so he can whisper directly into your naked ear. "And fuck-”, he says as he pins your hands to the bed frame, enjoying seeing you wiggle and pant. "The shit-" he can feel your heart beat faster and faster as your whole body gets warmer. It's awfully intimate. "Out of-" he's so excited now that he grabs your hips rather roughly, and ruts against your core, whimpering as his crotch rubs all over your clothed slit. "you".

He growls, now more akin to a lion or a bear than to a human.

He tries to enter you slowly so he wouldn’t hurt you, but the moment your tight velvety walls wrap around his hard throbbing length, he’s reduced to a feral whimpering mess, shoving at you in short sloppy thrusts, completely pussy - drunk. He lasts less than five minutes before he pulls out and cums all over your stomach, watching in fascination as his seed marks you. He slams his lips against yours, swallowing your hushed protests as he murmurs “Mine” over and over again, gripping your hips closer when he feels you pulling away.

Once his brain has cleared enough to be able to think properly he helps you clean up, touching you so gently you wonder if this wild, brutish side he exhibited was all but a dream. But it’s still very much there, barely contained under the surface - and one single moment of freedom and passion is enough to open Pandora's box.

After that night he feels a lot more comfortable with touching you, for better or worse.

Mean ~

He doesn’t wait for you to adjust to your ‘new life’ before he basically pounces on you like a predator. To be completely honest, he’s wanted to fuck you within inches of your life since the time he first saw you - the only thing keeping him at bay for a while were the countless pretty pictures he had of you naked and writhing in your own bed in the comfort of your home that all the secret cameras he had installed managed to capture.

Before he used to treat your home footage like his own personal cam - girl show; sometimes he would wait to leave work, jerking all over your face on his screen the moment he gets home. Other times he wasn’t so patient, and he had to sneak off to the restroom any time a thought about you occurred, stroking himself to completion as he blasted his recordings of your quiet moans on his headphones.

But now you’re here in the flesh - the real thing, tied so tight you can’t move an inch, trembling all over just like a bunny caught in a trap by the hunter. He wants you completely immobilised - he’s waited ages for this moment and he wants absolutely no distractions getting in the way of him finally taking his price.

You sob pitifully, your mouth the only part of your body left uncovered, and you try to plead with him desperately. You promise him money, influence, anything he wants - whatever would be able to get you out of this hellish predicament. You even offer to give him a blowjob - which he simply sneers at, grabbing a fistfull of your hair.

“Oh, doll, the night is still young. Don’t you worry your pretty little head about it.” He looks possessed, ready to feast on your flesh. You shiver, curling into yourself as much as possible - but he pulls your legs on both sides of his thighs, his hands seeming grand across your rickety ankles. “You’ll get your chance to choke on this cock soon enough.” He grabs his bulge crudely, massaging it through his thick stained grey pants. “Right now all I want is to see this cute little pussy stretched on my meat and those pretty tits bouncing in the air as I slap them red.”

It really doesn’t matter if you’re a virgin or not, you’re getting brutalised either way - although his comments would be different.

If you’re a virgin, he’s making sure you get the whole of his length in one - there is something terribly amusing about the toe - curling scream you let out as his cock tears you apart, something borderline pornographic in the way your brows twist and your nostrils flare, lips shut tight as to not give him the pleasure of hearing your pain out loud. But it’s obvious, and he wants you to know that he enjoys it through and through - licking your tears and the sweat off your neck, pinching at your thighs, your breasts, your stomach; whatever makes you cry the most.

If you’re not a virgin, he still finds a way to get his fun out of you.

“I don’t feel you clenching on me, you little slut.” He smacks your cheek with little force behind it - it’s not meant to hurt you, but to humiliate you and drive his point across. “Did you have a fucking train ran on you? I should have known you’d be a filthy whore.” He bites at your lower lip, pulling at it until he hears you whine pitifully - leaving his mark on you. “Should’a known with these cocksucking lips of yours, and ngh-” He sinks into you, voice breaking once the tip of his dick brushes against your cervix. “And t-those slutty hips, shit, keep squeezing me just like that, n-ngh, I am going to ruin you all over again!”

He fucks you for who knows how long - when he’s finally satisfied, the sun is already up and you’re drenched in sweat and cum. There isn’t a single part of your body that doesn’t ache.

He leaves you there, snickering at the sight of your empty stare fixed on the ceiling - only reaching to untie you and cuff your ankle to the bed frame instead. You weakly raise an eyebrow in question.

“Stay here until I come back, okay?” He grins with malice, caressing your wet matted hair. “Hah, not that you can really go anywhere.”

#yandere #yancore #male yandere #male yandere x reader #yandere smut #yandere oneshot #yandere x you #yandere male x reader #yandere oc #yandere oc x reader

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raven-dor · 30 days ago

Text

you're my savior

in which anthony bridgerton’s childhood best friend is desperately in love with him…

PAIRING: anthony bridgerton x fem!reader, platonic!bridgertons x reader

WARNINGS: given last name (Kinsley), typical sexism of the era, PINING, avoiding the inevitable, oblivious Anthony, angst, fluff, kissing, fluff ending!!

WORD COUNT: 6.1k

🎶 : sailor song - gigi perez

AN: 🩵♥️💗 - this is a personal fav of mine!! it's also a long one, so have fun!!

Dearest reader, the time has come to place our bets for the upcoming social season. Consider the household of the Baron Featherington. Three misses foisted upon the marriage market like sorrowful sows by their tasteless, tactless mama. Far better odds might exist in the household of the widowed Viscountess Bridgerton. A shockingly prolific family noted for its bounty of perfectly handsome sons and perfectly beautiful daughters.

Your father extended his hand, guiding you out of the carriage. You smiled gratefully, kissing his cheek. "Thank you, Papa."

"Of course, my darling."

Your mother hooked her arm through his, eyes full of adoration. "Shall we head inside, mon cheri?"

"Lead the way, my love."

The castle was magnificent as always, with flowers draped on every surface, and ushers waiting behind every door. Your father led you through to the main hall, his voice carrying as he greeted the young lord. "Viscount Bridgerton!"

"Lord Kinsley.” Anthony showed no sign of embarrassment or disdain for your father’s enthusiasm; in fact, he welcomed it. “I cannot recall how many times I have asked you to call me Anthony."

"As you wish." The older man laughed. "My lord."

You fought the urge to roll your eyes at your father. Your mother apologized to Anthony, hugging him as tightly as she hugged you. "It is his nature, to tease you.” She stepped back, holding his hands in hers. “And how are you?”

“Well, my lady.” He smiled, practically begging to be saved when his eyes met yours. “Very well.”

You hid your laughter behind your hand, shaking your head in disapproval. "My lord." Your mother moved aside, allowing you to greet your lifelong friend.

“So formal today, Miss Kinsley.”

"You know very well I cannot smack you in front of the Queen.” You whispered. “Must you tease me so?”

The Viscount laughed, hooking his arm through yours. “Those poor Featherington girls.”

You frowned, watching as Penelope, Prudence, and Phillipa were practically marched towards the Queen. You held back a gasp as Prudence fainted in front of the Queen, the room erupting into chaos. Leaning over, you whispered in Anthony’s ear. “I assume Lady Featherington is hoping this is all a dream.”

Anthony laughed. "I imagine this is her nightmare."

"Miss Daphne Bridgerton, presented by her mother, the Right Honorable, Dowager Viscountess Bridgerton." The doors opened slowly, Daphne almost gliding through them.

"She looks beautiful." You leaned into Anthony’s side, smiling brightly. "Don't you think?"

He looked down, his heart skipping. You looked radiant, the pale blue dress brought out your features wonderfully. It did not go unnoticed by him that you were wearing his family's colors, something he found pride in for some odd reason. “Yes. Yes, she does.”

She bowed deeply, the entire room holding their breaths as the Queen stood, placing her finger beneath Daphne's chin. "Flawless, my dear."

You grinned, squeezing Anthony's arm tighter. He winced, hissing from the pain. "Christ. You are more excited for my dear sister than I am."

You lay haphazardly on Daphne’s bed, smiling as you watched the Bridgeton women gossip around you. Moments like this made you long for siblings, for some sort of companion. You supposed the Bridgertons filled that longing by making you a part of their antics - whether you wanted to or not.

You had known Anthony since you were a mere two years of age, meeting the young boy when your family had moved in those many years ago. You’d been there when each of the Bridgerton children was brought into this world, you’d been there when Edmund died, you’d been there when Anthony became the lord of their family, and you had been there with your mother when Lady Bridgerton gave birth to Hyacinth.

"You absolutely sparkled, sister."

Daphne was the very picture of grace, brushing off her sister’s kind words. "Come now. I merely simpered and minced in a pretty dress like everyone else.”

You scoffed. “Not exactly like everyone else, you were perfection itself."

Eloise sighed. "Oh, I shall need to go and visit with Penelope. Her presentation was anything but... what was it the Queen called you again?"

Daphne blushed, slipping into her dress. "Flawless. Or some such thing. Trust, I was astonished Her Majesty offered me, out of two hundred young ladies present, a most gracious remark."

"Yes, it was quite a distinction. And now, 200 young ladies have a common adversary. I wish you luck, sister."

"Eloise!" Daphne gasped.

Eloise did not look shocked by her sister’s outburst, and you had a sneaking suspicion she was trying to rile her sister into a frenzy. “What? It is true.”

“My success on the marriage mart influences all of your prospects. We will all need to find love one day. Indeed, a love as pure as what Mama and Papa once shared, if we are so fortunate. I merely hope I am able to continue such a grand tradition.”

Violet burst through the door, the maids trailing behind her, each carrying at least three boxes. “Your dresses have arrived.” The rest of the girls followed after Daphne, who had practically raced toward the new arrivals.

Eloise stayed in her chair, staring at you curiously. “Surely you agree with me?”

“Eloise.” You gave her a pointed look. “Why must you tease your sister so?”

“It is all in good fun,” Eloise grumbled, crossing her arms.

You sighed, slipping off the bed, holding your hand out to the younger girl. "You know I wholeheartedly agree. The marriage market is no honorable arena. It is a bloodbath indeed."

Eloise laughed, putting her hand in yours. "I wish I were like you."

"How so?” You tilted your head.

“You can flout about undetected, without fear of your mama forcing you to attend fitting after fitting.”

You laughed, nudging her arm. “If it is any consolation, I wish I were you.” You walked through the doorway, gazing at the dozens of dresses laid out for Daphne to peruse at her pleasure.

"Why would you want to be like me?" Eloise smirked, wiggling her eyebrows teasingly. "To be young? I didn't take you to be so vain, Kinsley."

You laughed, shaking your head. "You know what I meant." You looked out at the room full of Bridgertons, watching with a concealed envy you hardly ever let show. "That, that is what I meant."

Eloise squeezed your hand. "You do have that. We are family, you and I."

"Yes, well..." You shoved Eloise towards the dresses, laughing at her disgusted face. "Enough chatter. Try one of these exquisite gowns on. I demand it."

Eloise glared, sticking her tongue out as she grabbed the latest gossip column. "Mary Edgecombe, now the Countess of Fulton, apparently spent the last year living in a cottage hundreds of miles away from her Earl. It says it all right here."

Violet sighed. "Do not tell me it is yet another scandal sheet. Eloise-"

"No, no. This one is different. This one lists subjects by name, in full."

Hyacinth jumped. "Let me see!"

"Just wait-"

Francesca stared at the paper. "Lady Whistledown?"

"Do we know a Lady Whistledown?"

"Surely, Lady Whistledown cannot be her true name." Daphne glanced at the scandal sheet.

"What does it say, dearest?"

"She loathes the fact that we've been named alphabetically, oldest to youngest."

"Your father and I found it orderly."

"Lady Whistledown finds banality."

You rolled your eyes. "Lady Whistledown sounds like a bored old hag."

Violet gave you a disappointed look, raising a single eyebrow. "I may not be your mother, but I am sure she does not allow you to use that kind of language."

You instantly cowered under her gaze, smiling guiltily. "Yes, Violet."

"The papers were distributed around town today without charge."

"Without charge? What kind of author-" Violet gasped, holding Daphne's hand. "Well, at least she has one thing right. She has named Daphne this season's Incomparable. She calls you a diamond of the first water.” The older woman sighed, smiling to herself. “Well, how lovely."

You clapped your hands, grabbing the attention of the room. “I'm afraid I must be off. My mother will be wondering where I am."

Daphne smiled. "Will you be at the ball tonight?"

"Of course I will, Daph."

You waved goodbye once more before traipsing down the stairs towards Anthony’s study.

You watched as he worked or tried to, at least. He kept staring at his father’s pocket watch, distracting himself from his duties. And you kept getting distracted by how perfect he looked in the midday light. Ridding yourself of those outlandish thoughts, you pushed the door the rest of the way open, leaning against its frame. "Waiting for someone, my lord?"

"It’s you." He glared playfully. "Please, come in."

"You seem to be in a mood." You stood in front of his desk, wiggling your eyebrows. “Is dear Sienna denying your visits?"

“When I tell you things in confidence, that does not mean you may bring them up every waking moment.”

You tilted your head, feigning innocence. "I think that is exactly what that means, my dear Anthony. Friends tease; it is in their nature."

His eyes were heavy, as if he found offense with your statement. Still, he said nothing of it, leaning forward in his chair. “Shall you be in attendance at the Danbury Ball as well?”

“I would not miss it. Even if I wished not to attend, you know as well as I that my mother would require it. She is determined to find me a husband by the end of this season.”

Anthony looked unempathetic, feigning pity. “What a horrible life to lead. I seem to recall more than one man proposing to you over the years.”

You crossed your arms. “And what a horrible friend you are. You know very well I would wait centuries if that meant finding a love half as fulfilling as my mother and father’s. You do not seem to understand how horrible these men, your peers, truly are. If I had told Benedict, he would have at least tried to-”

“Well, I am not Benedict.” His tone was harsh, all inclinations of humor leaving his face as he sat back, his gaze returning to his paperwork. “Save me a dance.”

You nodded, wishing you could stay just a moment longer. “It is humorous.”

He looked up, taking the bait you had laid. “What is?”

“That you believed I had not already done so.” You smiled, leaning across the desk and kissing his cheek. “Don’t be late.”

The Danbury ball, as it had been every year before, was the very picture of elegance, the ultimate beginning to your seventh season on the market. Your dress was pale pink, practically white, with draping fabric that billowed when you walked. Your mother had chosen it herself, stating that if this gown did not attract suitors, she had no idea what would.

You smiled at Daphne, leaning over to your mother, who was locked in some conversation with a lord whose name you didn’t care to learn. “The Bridgertons are calling me over, Mama. Excuse me.” You hadn’t bothered to wait for permission, skirting across the room as you expertly avoided eye contact with any eager young lord in need of a wife.

Anthony smirked, shaking his head at your antics. “Ms. Kinsley.”

“Lord Bridgerton.” You curtsied. “Lady Bridgerton.”

Violet smiled. “Are you enjoying the ball, dear?”

You nodded. “It is quite exquisite.” Looking over at the newly debuted girl, you forced yourself not to laugh at her overwhelmed expression, placing a comforting hand on her arm. “Relax your shoulders, Daph. You look as if you forgot how to breathe.” Daphne smiled gratefully, releasing the tension she hadn't even realized she was holding. “It is not so bad, the balls and picnics.” You hooked your arm through Anthony's as if it was second nature, muttering under your breath. "Unless you get stuck with some boring lord like-"

"Lady Bridgerton, Miss Bridgerton." Ambrose sighed, smiling faintly. "Lord Bridgerton."

"Are you not forgetting someone?" Anthony’s voice was harsh, clipped as he gestured toward you. Ambrose nodded, extending the courtesy of a quick smile.

"Miss Kinsley."

Violet smiled. "I believe you have already met my daughter, Daphne, Lord Ambrose."

He nodded. "Yes! We met at your brother's levee."

"If I recall, my lord, you had just won your first race at Newmarket."

Anthony smiled condescendingly at the lord in front of him. "His first and only, I believe."

"Well..." Daphne looked back at the visibly embarrassed lord. "In that case, let us hope your lordship has found yourself a new horse."

"I haven't had the pleasure of seeing you at our club lately, Ambrose. Should it have anything to do with the unpaid balance you left on our betting books winter last?"

Ambrose practically gulped, walking away without another word, leaving Daphne and Violet standing in uncomfortable silence. Anthony turned to his mother and sister, that terrible all all-knowing look on his face. "Ambrose is a cheat."

“I did not realize.”

"Well, how could you have done? It's the very reason I am here, sister. Now, let us take a turn about the room."

You felt as if this was a conversation best left to family. While you had grown up together, this was not your place. You began to slip your arm out of Anthony’s, whispering. "I should get back to my mother-"

"Do you really want to be stuck in a meaningless conversation with a boring lord?" Anthony scoffed, pulling you closer to him, closer than what many of the ton deemed proper. You choked on your breath, heart stopping at the gesture. "I am saving you from a night of misery."

You rolled your eyes, Anthony quickly reminding you of his arrogance. "How charitable of you."

Daphne interrupted, pointing towards a blond man dancing. "He is rather pleasing."

"He is here to shuffle about hunting fortunes. Trust Mr. Lewis knows of your sizable dowry. Leave him be."

She frowned, pointing towards another man. "I presume you know him too?"

"Mr. Worthington. Second son. We shall find better."

You nudged Anthony’s side, signalling that he should ease up on the girl. “Anthony, you are going to scare her.”

“I am merely warning her about the-”

"Anthony, Daph, Miss Kinsley!" Benedict waved from across the room, pushing his way across. You grinned, wiggling your arm out of Anthony's hold to greet him.

It was not missed by Lady Bridgerton or Daphne how Anthony’s face fell from the loss.

“Benedict! How are you?”

He brought your right hand up to his lips, kissing the back gently. "Better now that you are here."

You laughed, smacking him lightly with your fan. “You flatter me.”

Anthony glared at Benedict, shaking his head. “Benedict, do not flirt with our dear friend.”

“Why not?”

"Because I said so, that is-"

Colin interrupted. "Did mother tell you yet? About my tour? I'm to begin in Greece."

"Greece, how adventurous, Colin."

You grinned. "Greece is wonderful this time of year; you will have a wonderful time, I'm sure."

Anthony's eyes practically fell out of their sockets, grabbing your hand and making a run for it. “On guard!”

Lady Danbury approached, laughing. “Too late. I already noted you.” She turned to Daphne, smiling. “Miss Bridgerton, you look rather lovely this evening. Is there a reason I've yet to see you on the dance floor?”

Anthony jumped in. "All in good time, Lady Danbury."

The older woman glared at Anthony, leaning towards Daphne. "You poor thing."

You laughed, agreeing with the lady wholeheartedly. "I thank the lord every day I do not have an older brother."

Benedict nudged you, faux frowning. "If only I had been born one year earlier."

"And from different parents." You shook your head, laughing. "The sentiment is there." You turned to Anthony, who was still staring down every eligible young man in the room who had their sights set on his sister. “I believe I saved you a dance.”

“Do not think you can save Daphne by distracting me.”

You raised an eyebrow, an easy sort of smile gracing your lips. “Do I distract you so easily, Lord Bridgerton?”

His cheeks flushed, and he rolled his eyes. “Come along then.” Still holding your hand from when he tried to escape Lady Danbury, he led you through the crowd, stopping at the center of the dance floor.

A simple waltz rang through the room, the kind that even children knew. Anthony lowered his lips to your ear, shivers running down your spine as he wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you in. "We have not danced in quite some time."

You whispered, not trusting your voice to remain stable. “The last time you asked me to dance, I believe we were in your study." Your smile fell slightly at the thought of him erasing the memory from his mind. "Remember?"

His gaze softened, his fingers pressing into your waist as he pulled you even closer, closer than one should be for a waltz. "How could I forget?"

"It was a rather odd waltz." You retorted, desperate to break the tension. "There was no music after all."

He laughed, a look gracing his face you hadn’t seen in some time, since before his father’s passing. Peace, pure, unadultered peace, perhaps with a sprinkle of mischief. "Such a difficult woman to please."

"I am not." You glared at him, hating the way he made you feel, the way your stomach twisted when he looked at you the way he often did. "Anthony-"

"You are not a hard woman to please?" His smirk grew into a boyish grin. "What an inappropriate thing to-"

“Do not finish that sentence, Anthony Bridgerton.” You scoffed. “What happened to being a gentleman?” The conductor bowed, the waltz ending what seemed out of nowhere. Or perhaps, you would later tell yourself, it was because you got lost in Anthony Bridgerton’s eyes for the umpteenth time. You curtsied, walking away from the Viscount with your nose in the air.

He chased after you, walking a mere step behind you. "I forget what being a gentleman is when I am around you." You knew he was jesting, but the way he had said it caused your stomach to twist and your cheeks to grow hot.

"Please." You pulled your fan out, desperate to save face. "Save your theatrics for Sienna."

"You bring up Sienna quite often." He practically jumped in front of you, a dangerous look in his eyes. "Are you perhaps jealous?"

You scoffed, grabbing a glass of champagne from the table beside you, taking a large sip. "You are the most indignant man I have ever had the displeasure of-" Your eyes drifted over his shoulder, squinting. "Is that Basset?"

"Basset?" Anthony whipped around, grinning at the sight of his best friend. "Basset!"

"Bridgerton!" The Duke smiled kindly at you, bowing. "Miss Kinsley."

"Simon, it’s wonderful to see you."

"Old friend. I heard news of your father.” Anthony had a look of astonishment on his face. “Deuce, take it, you are no longer Basset."

"I shall always-"

"Hastings! The Duke of Hastings, now known for evermore."

Daphne tilted her head. "The Duke of Hastings, is it?"

You jumped. Daphne had shown up out of nowhere. Anthony nodded. "Right, Hastings, this is my sister."

"Your sister?"

"Daphne, Hastings, and I know each other from our days at Oxford, days we shall not soon forget."

"Yes. As I am well aware of the company you keep, brother, I am certain your days with His Grace were most civilized indeed."

You coughed, trying to cover up a laugh that had unfortunately spilled from your lips.

"Hastings, we shall need to get together properly. I expect to see you at our club then."

Simon nodded. "Indeed. Evening Bridgerton. Miss Bridgerton. Miss Kinsley."

Every week since your two families, the Bridgerton’s and the Kinsley’s, had come to know each other, you had had dinner.

This week was no exception, walking behind your parents as the butler escorted you to the dining room. Your father hugged Violet quickly, running after the youngest Bridgertons, who had been trying to attack him while he’d been distracted.

Your mother laughed, shaking her head affectionately. "I believe my husband will never mature, Violet."

"I believe you would be right, Elisabeth." Violet sighed, her eyes drifting from her typically light-hearted nature to one of melancholy. "Shall we take our seats?"

Ever since his father’s death, Anthony had taken his seat, and for just as long, you had been sitting on his right. It was fitting, your mother would say when you whined. ‘You will marry, I know it.’ That is when you would scoff, shaking your head.

Now, you secretly wish your mother were correct.

“For all we know, Whistledown may be some interloper living in Bloomsbury of all places."

Benedict rolled his eyes at his brother. "And what should be so terrible about Bloomsbury? That the people there actually work for a living?"

"She does seem to be someone with access."

"Who knows if Whistledown is even a she?"

Anthony nodded, taking a bite of his dinner. "Good point."

You scoffed, leaning forward in your chair. "You all are forgetting one crucial detail."

Anthony raised an eyebrow, waiting for your apparent revelation. "And what is that?"

You smirked, teasingly pointing at him with your fork. "Men do not possess the capacity to remember such details."

Eloise nodded vigorously. "Because she is simply too good to be anyone but a man?"

Anthony sighed. "I must say, you are not a good influence on my sisters."

"Well, I think it is rather obvious that the writer is Lady Danbury."

"Lady Danbury enjoys sharing her insults with society directly. She would never bother herself writing them all down."

Hyacinth spoke up. "Could it be Lady Featherington?"

The table fell into thunderous laughter. "No!"

"You have yet to read what Whistledown writes of the Featherington's, little sister." Eloise pointed out.

Hyacinth sat back, frowning. "I was just trying to help."

"And you were doing wonderfully, Hyacinth." You smiled warmly. "It is not your fault that you are normal and uneducated on such trivial nonsense, unlike Eloise." The girl rolled her eyes, sticking her tongue out at you. "Some say your sister is obsessed."

"I am not obsessed. Simply curious." She said as she stabbed a potato rather harshly.

"I'm only teasing, Eloise. I am equally curious as to who the author is. Wouldn’t it be spectacular if it were-"

"Hastings! I am most excited that you decided to join us this evening. It was most spontaneous of you."

You glared, muttering under your breath. “I was not finished.” Anthony paid you no heed, staring at his friend with a curious look in his eye.

"Not at all. With Lady Danbury accepting your dear mother's gracious invitation on my behalf, well. However, could I have declined?"

You laughed, covering your mouth with your wine glass, whispering. "What a matchmaker your mother is."

Anthony scowled. "Do not remind me."

You once again found yourself peeking through the cracked door of Anthony’s study. You smiled to yourself as his face came into view, admiring him from afar. He was quite handsome, with his terribly witty look, his dark features, and his kind eyes. You stepped closer, about to enter the study, when Lady Bridgerton’s voice cut through the silence.

"I was under the impression that the two of you are good friends."

"We are good friends. That is why I know that he is certain of never getting married."

Violet sighed. "Well, you must understand that all men make that assertion. Your father-"

Anthony snapped, looking up from his ledgers. "Do not bring Father into this. Even if he were in want of a wife, you would most certainly not have the duke anywhere near Daphne."

"I am fully subscribed to the belief that reformed rakes make the very best of husbands."

"He will not make her happy! Daphne deserves better. And I know that you think you are solving the problem, but you are not. That is all I shall say about the matter."

"The duke will be joining us as our guest at Vauxhall tomorrow evening. Now, I admit, it was not easy to convince him to come-"

"You overstep."

"She is my eldest daughter."

"Yet she is my responsibility, as are you."

Violet scoffed. "Responsibility?"

"Do not make this any more difficult than it already is."

Violet continued. "I wish to know something, Anthony. Tonight, when you leave this study that you continue to keep at your family home, are you to return to your bachelor lodgings across the square, or will you pay a visit to a certain soprano that you tend to in an apartment that you pay for on the other side of town?"

You gasped, slapping a hand over your mouth.

"You like to speak of responsibility. My dear son! Of duty? Pray, tell, what should you know of it? You must ask yourself, are you merely an older brother, or are you the man of this house?"

Violet stormed out of the study, and you tried your best to look as if you’d just happened upon the hallway, that you had not, in fact, been eavesdropping the entirety of their conversation. Anthony’s face was in his hands as you entered.

"Mother, please leave me-"

"Anthony." You frowned, shutting the door gently behind you. "Are you quite alright?" He shrugged, finding it difficult to form words. You walked behind the desk, sitting directly in front of him. “Do not become cross with me.”

"Why would I be cross at you?" He tilted his head.

You reached out, holding his hands gently in yours. Your thumb caressed the back of his palm, your eyes trailing up from your joined hands to his eyes. "Anthony..."

"Not you, too." He sounded properly exhausted, simply dropping your hold as he walked toward the fire. That was somehow worse than him ripping his hands out of yours.

You followed after him, crossing your arms. “I am merely saying that your mother has a point. You are a great Viscount, but you could-”

"I'm not my father."

You felt as if the very air you breathed had been pulled from your lungs. Your voice was soft as you spoke. "I know that."

“Then why does she keep insisting that I be-"

"I know that it feels as if she is putting the weight of the world on your shoulders, but she is trying to help you." You could not fight the urge to hold him any longer, placing a hand on his shoulder. “She loves you.” You whispered, heart skipping. “As do I.”

He turned around, pulling your hand from his shoulder and holding it in his. “Promise me something.”

You decided to humor him, nodding. "Anything."

"Do not ever leave me." His eyes held a longing, a want for everything to remain the same. You pitied him. Eventually, you would marry, and now that you had accepted that you and Anthony were never to be, that would mean you would cease to see him.

"I will try my best."

He shook his head and pulled you closer, your breaths intermingling as his eyes darted to your lips every so often. You so longed to jump up, to pull his lips to yours. “I do not know what I would do if I lost you.”

“Anthony, please.” You put a hand on his cheek, smiling as he leaned into your touch. “You would be fine-”

"I do not believe I would." He leaned down, your breath hitching as he laid his forehead against yours. "In fact, I know I would not."

You laughed, falling into the trap of domestic bliss. "Anthony, I will marry eventually. You and I will no longer see each other."

He scoffed. "Pray tell, what possessed you to ruin my dream? Humor me."

"Dream?” You raised your eyebrow, smiling giddily. “What dream is that?" His finger pressed against your lips, and you stopped, thanking the lord for the dim lighting the room provided. Hopefully, he could not see how wide your pupils were, your shallow breaths, your burning cheeks.

“It will not happen.”

You raised your eyebrow once more, this time in offense. “Am I that difficult on the eye?”

He laughed. “Do not fish for compliments. You know you are exquisite.” You sighed, stepping back. It all became too much, this complimenting, his dream, him. He tightened his hold on your hands, eyebrows furrowing. “Where are you off to?”

“I should be going, Anthony. It is late-”

“You always stay this late.” He frowned. “Is something-”

“Dearest!” Your mother’s voice rang through the house, and your eyes widened, pulling away from the Viscount. “Dearest, we are leaving!”

You would later thank your mother for her help. Curtsying quickly, you darted out of the study, racing down the steps. “Goodbye, my lord.”

You hadn’t intended on seeing him here, of all places. You were surprised, in truth, that Anthony still frequented the library. It was gorgeous, and even though you were no student, the librarian still allowed you to frequent the aisles from time to time. You could be found here in truth, just sitting, enjoying the silence. The solitude.

When you saw his ever familiar frame and you jumped, hiding behind an endcap in the hopes he’d missed you. You groaned when he’d called out your name, squeezing your eyes shut. He whispered your name again, and you took a deep breath, stepping out to face the man you’d been avoiding.

“Lord Bridgerton, how wonderful to see you.”

“I would say the same-” He took his hat off, smirking. “But it seems you have been avoiding me as of late.”

“I do not know what you mean.” You scoffed, walking past him, desperate to escape. “If you’ll excuse me-”

“Why?” He asked, following after you. “You have not been attending our dinners.”

“I haven’t been feeling well.”

“Oh?” He frowned, stepping in front of you. Reaching up, he placed the back of his hand on your forehead, checking your temperature. Your eyes widened, and you stepped around him. He squinted, watching you with interest. “You seem well.”

“I am.” You nodded. “I am now.” He kept looking at you, kept trying to understand you. “Can you stop staring at me?” Your cheeks felt hot. “It is unbecoming.”

“I have missed you.” He whispered. “May I call on you?”

You scoffed. “Call on me? Anthony, you have been in my home more times than I care to count. You do not need to call on me.”

“I know.” His hand wrapped around your wrist, stopping you in your tracks. “I will see you tomorrow, then?”

“Anthony…” Your eyes trailed down to his hand, which was still holding your wrist. “I’m afraid I have the time reserved.”

“Reserved?” He tilted his head, voice becoming hostile. “Reserved for what?”

“For whom.” You corrected, hating that this conversation was occurring, in public, no less. “It is for Lord Goring.”

“Lord Goring?” Anthony yelled, drawing the attention of the many students strewn throughout the hall. “Lord Goring? That man is twice your age-”

“His wife recently died, and he is kind.” You hissed. “We are going on a promenade.” Anthony stood before you, fuming silently. You frowned, curtsying quickly. “Goodbye, Lord Bridgerton.”

You’d practically flown down the steps, you walking pace closer to a light run. You hadn��t bothered to look behind you, too scared that Anthony would be there, following after you.

“Miss Kinsley!”

Of course, he had followed you. You kept your pace, refusing to give in and turn around.

“Miss Kinsley!” You gasped, turning to your side to see Anthony following after you in his carriage. The many lords and ladies walking on the street gasped, staring at the couple. “Let me bring you home, please.”

“That would be most improper, my lord.” You hissed, eyes wide. “I enjoy a nice walk.”

“As do I.” Anthony was not giving up. “If you like, I can escort you home.”

You glared, crossing your arms. “You are the most arrogant, outlandish, pig-headed-”

“Are you quite finished?” He raised an eyebrow. “Mother is expecting me for luncheon.”

You wanted to scream. Gathering your skirts in your hands, you climbed into the carriage, shutting the door behind you harshly. “I cannot stand you.”

“Funny enough, I cannot stand you either.” He looked thoroughly entertained. “Yet here I am…”

“Here you are.” You were now hugging yourself, knee bouncing nervously. And Anthony… he had not stopped staring at you, watching you with a fascination you had never seen before. “Stop that.”

“Stop what?” His voice was soft.

“Staring at me with such a-” You met his eyes, voice going weak. “Turn your eyes away from me if you can.”

“That is the problem.” He leaned forward, whispering. “I do not think that’s possible.”

“Why?” You wished the carriage could go faster. “Is there something on my face that you have yet to tell me?”

“Can I not admire you?” He smiled. “You are beautiful.”

You gasped. “Do not say such things.”

“It is true.” His smile had not left his face. “I am not a fool.”

“Oh?” You raised an eyebrow, a small laugh leaving you before you could think.

“Do you believe me to be a fool?” When you did not answer, he smirked. “I know why you have been avoiding me, Miss Kinsley.”

“Do tell.”

The ever-familiar scene of your two houses came into view as the carriage slowed, Anthony’s voice confident. “You have fallen in love with me.”

“You are wrong.” You didn’t know what you wanted to do: smack him or kiss him. “I have not fallen in love with you.”

He laughed, holding your hand as you descended the carriage steps. “Whatever you say, my love.”

“My love?” You rolled your eyes, smiling kindly at the servants you passed as you walked through the Bridgerton’s house. “I am not your-” Your eyes widened as Anthony led you into the parlor, the entirety of his family present. “Anthony?”

Anthony brought you into the middle of the room, hooking his arm through yours. “I have an announcement.”

Eloise peeked out from behind her book, grinning when she saw you. “Miss Kinsley!”

Violet stood beside Francesca, who was currently playing the piano forte. “What is the announcement, dear?”

“Miss Kinsley and I are to be wed.” The room erupted into chaos, all congratulating you while you stared at Anthony, frozen in shock. He leaned down, whispering in your ear. “I may have forgotten a rather important detail.”

You laughed. “I believe you may have.”

“Forgive me.” Lowering himself to one knee, he held your hands delicately in his, eyes desperately staring into yours. “Miss Kinsley, will you do me the honor of-”

“Yes.” You nodded, eyes wide with tears. You leaned down, kissing his cheek. “Anthony, you must know that I’ve loved you for quite some time.”

He stood, wrapping an arm around your waist. “You must know something as well.”

You smiled. “And what is that?”

“I have loved you for quite some time as well.”

Violet was simply sobbing as she watched the two interact. “Anthony, you must give her your father’s ring.” Pulling the delicate thing off her finger, she placed it in Anthony’s palm, tears streaming down her face. “I always wished- Your mother and I wanted this for- Oh!” She sobbed again, pulling you both into a strong hug. “I am overjoyed!”

Eloise laughed as you silently begged her for help. “I told you you were family, dear sister.”

“They will be wondering where I am, Anthony.” You looked nervously toward the door. “Now that we are engaged, they will not allow this sort of-”

“You are quite tense, my love.” He laughed, placing one hand on your waist, the other on your cheek. “Our wedding is in three days time, surely they will not mind-”

“My father now believes that every time we have been alone before this was-” Your cheeks felt hot. “Was an attempt on your part to seduce me.” Anthony laughed, actually laughed at your statement. You, on the other hand, did not find this situation remotely as humorous. “It is not amusing in the slightest, Anthony.”

“I find it amusing.” He whispered, leaning down until his nose nudged yours. “May I kiss you?”

“You kissed me when I entered your office.” You raised an eyebrow. “Are you so desperate-” You gasped as Anthony pulled you impossibly close.

“I have a whole lifetime to remedy, for delaying the inevitable, for keeping us apart.” His lips brushed against yours as he spoke. “Do you not enjoy it, kissing?”

You scoffed. “I never said that-”

“Good.” He smiled.

“But yo-” Your eyes fluttered shut, his lips colliding against yours passionately. It seemed a whole eternity passed before either of you let go, your breath heavy as you parted. “You interrupted me.”

“I am sorry.”

You shrugged, kissing the corner of his mouth. “As long as you promise to interrupt me as you just did for the rest of our lives…” Your voice was warm, full of adoration for your future husband. “Then I do not mind.”

“Well then,” He grinned, eyes falling to your lips once more. “Your wish is my command, Lady Bridgerton.”

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ladsrlife2 · 12 days ago

Text

Sugar Daddy! Sylus - Part 2

Sylus x Reader

You thought Sylus was just your mysterious, well-dressed sugar daddy. Then you landed an internship - only to discover he’s the CEO.

tags: 18+ nsfw/smut, elevator blow-job, office-sex, sugar daddy sylus, bratty mc

With the love of many on ao3 and tumblr, I decided to write part 2!! Hope you guys enjoy this as much as the first <3

Part 1 💗

────── ❀•°❀°•❀ ──────

“Not too shabby for a CEO’s office.”

You say, walking into Sylus’s office, arms crossed like you own the place.

Sylus lifts his gaze from behind his sleek desk, amused. His crimson eyes glitter like garnets under the sunlight pouring in through the wall-sized window behind him, the skyline stretching wide - cold glass and mirrored steel.

He turns slowly in his chair as you strut past the leather sofas, running a finger along their edge.

“I’m glad it wins your approval.” His voice is rich and smooth, like wine served in crystal.

You ignore the compliment, scanning the office until your eyes land on the opaque glass wall at the entrance.

“So,” you say, turning back toward him. “Why did such an important man call a lowly intern into his office?”

His gaze doesn’t falter. “Because I supposed the intern had a lot to say.”

His eyes flick down to your figure and back up again, unmistakably pleased by your new formal look. You don’t blame him. You’re wearing your carefully chosen pencil skirt, silk blouse, black tights, and favorite heels.

“Let’s hear what the CEO has to say first.”

He gestures for you to come closer with his hand. You ignore it - and instead hop up onto the edge of his desk, your legs swinging idly.

He chuckles lowly, leaning forward to place a warm hand on your thigh.

“Things are… complicated,” he says, voice dipping lower.

You arch a brow. “That’s new. You, saying things are complicated?”

“It’s a personal mess. I didn’t want you to get involved in it.”

You tilt your head. “What, are you secretly married or something?”

Sylus scoffs, offended by the absurdity. “No. Of course not.”

You look down at his hand and slowly interlace your fingers with his. A calculated move. You bring it to your lips, place a kiss on his knuckles, and look up with wide, injured eyes.

“Even if you were, you know I would’ve understood,” you whisper. “I can’t believe you doubted me.”

He looks at you the way someone might look at a monkey riding a unicycle - a sight both entertaining and ridiculous.

Yet you continue.

“I’d go through thick and thin with you,” you begin solemnly, one hand to your chest. “And I would-”

“-go through thick and thin with my money,” he interrupts dryly.

You gasp, scandalized. “That is outrageous! Even if you were poor! And married! I’d still be by your side!”

You clutch his hand to your chest dramatically. “Feel it - the heartbreak!”

You flatten his palm against your breasts.

He raises a brow. “…All I feel is a healthy heartbeat.”

He gives a light squeeze. You swat his hand away.

“See?! That’s all you think about! What happened to dignity? And honor? And chivalry?”

“Alright, alright.” He waves you down like he’s swatting away an overly dramatic stage actress. “I should’ve told you sooner.”

You lean back on your palms, lips curving into something between amusement and triumph. “You should have.”

“I’m sorry, kitten.” His tone straddles that fine line between genuine remorse and theatrical sarcasm.

You cross your arms, wordlessly demanding more.

“I’m sorry I doubted you,” he continues, slow and deliberate. “Even though you’ve been so loyal to me.”

The way he lingers on loyal - you can’t tell if he’s teasing or trying to guilt you.

“What could I possibly do to make it up to you?”

Your heart skips a beat in thrill.

“I don’t know,” you say, coy. “Nothing could mend this broken heart.”

“Right. I should’ve known kitten is not a materialistic girl. Perhaps I can make it up to you with... sincere actions.”

Nonsense.

“On second thought, I think maybe the new Ferrari collection looks rather beautiful.”

Sylus chuckles, shaking his head at your shameless audacity. “Unbelievable,” he mutters - and sighs. “Fine.”

“Really?!” you gasp, and before he can change his mind, you climb into his lap with all the grace of a triumphant winner. You wrap your arms around his neck, beaming. “Oh, Daddy. I think I’m healed already.”

He lets out a low laugh that reverberates through his chest as he pulls you in tighter.

“Maybe I should’ve picked something more expensive,” you say, trailing kisses across his cheek.

“Your greed knows no bounds,” He murmurs into your neck, and takes a second to deeply inhale your scent. “But I’m always impressed by your efficiency.”

You reply, voice quieter, like you’re whispering a naughty secret. “How about,” you say, locking eyes with him as your hand drifts lower to graze the outline of his cock, now hardening fast beneath your palm, “...I make up for my so-called greed… starting now.”

His crimson eyes flicker, darkening instantly.

You keep the gaze as you palm him harder, slow and steady. His cock stiffens beneath your fingers, straining against his pants.

Just as you start to unzip him, his hand closes around your wrist.

“As much as I’d like that, kitten.” His deep voice is full of restraint. “Unfortunately I’ve decided to keep my office sex-free. As CEO. Dignity, or whatever you were saying earlier.” .

You look at him, mouth open. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“I’m not.” Sylus says, mouth upturned into a smirk.

“You’re doing this just to get back at me, aren’t you?”

He raises a brow, voice calm. “Hardly. I made that rule when I founded the company. Years ago.”

“…and I respect that.”

Sylus laughs, amused by your forced diplomacy, and plants a kiss on your lips. “Why, thank you.”

Just then, the phone on his desk rings. You rise from his lap, smoothing your skirt, giving him space. As he reaches for the phone, his fingers brush your back in a quiet, lingering touch.

“I need to get back to work,” he murmurs. “Thomas will escort you back down.”

You pause at the door, glancing back. He’s already answering the call, voice level, posture straight, every trace of indulgence vanished. The tension in the room dissipates like smoke - replaced with cold, crisp professionalism.

It scratches something in you.

That he can switch off so easily, that you're left hot and bothered while he returns to work like nothing happened.

That kind of control is... infuriating. And sexy.

You follow the assistant down the hall, and step into the elevator and press the button.

As you watch the numbers decrease steadily, you begin to wonder:

What ever you should do to make sure Sylus breaks his precious little ‘rule’ that is oh, so unlike his character?

────── ❀•°❀°•❀ ──────

The opportunity presents itself.

It just so happens that Sylus doesn’t always use his exclusive elevator.

On your fourth day of work, you’re wrapping up a minor errand at a nearby bank around noon. You enter one of the three main elevators in the hall - only to find Sylus already inside, alone, head bowed over his business phone, texting.

Too immersed, he doesn’t notice you entering. You eye the buttons and see that only the top most floor - 53 - is lit. You don’t press 8, your floor.

Instead, you slowly walk towards him, slightly undoing the top most buttons of your silk blouse, heels clicking quietly on the floor. It’s only when you’re right in front of him, barely a hand’s width apart, when he looks up from his phone with a full look of caution.

His crimson eyes relax instantly when he realizes who you are.

“Oh, it’s you, kitten-”

His words taper off as his eyes fall to your cleavage, lush and spilling over your bra beneath the undone blouse.

His lips curl into a smirk.

“Hey, boss-man,” you say, voice low and slow. You raise a hand to his stomach and stroke down gently. “Busy day at work?”

“…Surely you didn’t walk into work like that.”

“And what if I did?”

He sighs, eyes briefly shutting as he rubs his temple, like he already knows you're about to test every limit he thought he had.

“Just button it up, before anyone walks in, please.”

The mirror behind him reflects floor 14.

“How about-” your hand trails lower to the waistband of his slacks.

With the way he jolts, you know he knows what you’re about to do. Before he can stop you, however, you slip past his hands and cup his balls, giving them a deliberate squeeze.

“-No.”

You know he loves it when you do that.

A sharp breath escapes his lips.

He catches your wrist, intent on stopping you - but as your fingers begin massaging his heavy sac, his grip slackens.

“Kitten.”

His voice is strained.

But despite his threatening words, his grip loosens like his body has lost all will to resist.

It’s been a week since he last had you. He’s as pent up as you’d expect.

You stroke him through his pants with your free hand, watching his dark, unreadable expression.

“You never said anything about no sex in the elevator,” you murmur.

Before he can respond, you unbutton and unzip him in one smooth, practiced motion.

The mirror now reflects floor 23.

And then you drop to your knees.

Before he can even utter a protest, his briefs are down and your lips wrap around his length. You take him all at once, warm and slick and deep into your throat.

A groan tears from his chest, and his hand flies to your hair, instinctive and desperate.

“Get off-”

You suck harder in answer.

His cock slides deeper into your throat, your nose buried against his pelvis, eyes glistening with the effort as you fight the urge to gag.

He curses low under his breath. His legs tremble.

Your throat tightens and releases in rhythm, massaging him in a way he can't resist. His grip loosens, turning from restraint to encouragement.

Floor 29.

You look past your wet, fluttering eyelashes and lock onto his dark, undone eyes.

You bob your head steadily, filthily, letting slick sounds echo against the mirrored walls.

His brows draw together, lips parting as he exhales through clenched teeth. There's amusement in his eyes now, despite the tension in his jaw, the tightness in his hips.

Of course he likes this. Who's he trying to fool?

Floor 35.

“Mmh-”

A soft moan escapes your lips, muffled by his cock, as he nudges you to go faster up and down his length.

You stroke the base with your hand, jerking him as your mouth works his length. The way his deep breaths border on groans, the way his hips buckle every time you suck, the way his balls feel hard as you massage it with your hand, you know he’s close.

Floor 45.

Just as he’s about to tip over, you pull off with a wet pop.

He gasps, blinking in disbelief, flushed and furious and painfully hard.

You stand smoothly, adjusting your blouse, fingers nimbly buttoning each undone hole.

His eyes blaze. His cock is still fully erect, standing against his stomach, flushed and leaking.

But the elevator begins to slow.

Floor 48.

He looks at you, about to speak - probably to curse you out - but you step in quickly, fixing his pants, zipping him up, tucking in his shirt like nothing happened.

The doors slide open.

A small group of employees stands outside. You walk out casually, slipping past them like a shadow.

“Sylus! We were just on our way to your office for the 3pm meeting! What a coincidence.” Chirps a perky female voice.

“Charmed,” he mutters back, tone flat.

You don’t turn around. But as the doors begin to close again, you risk taking a last minute glance. You jolt to find out he’s still watching you - crimson eyes burning with restrained fury, humiliation and… hunger.

The doors shut, and he disappears behind polished steel.

Serves him right, you think.

That’s what he gets for being pretentious.

…Or so you try to tell yourself.

You swallow hard, heart still racing.

You try to ignore his last minute, furious gaze from floating back to your mind.

Surely, he’s not that mad. Right?

────── ❀•°❀°•❀ ──────

“Sylus- Daddy- please, I’m sorry! Please, just stop- ”

You find yourself pleading for forgiveness in his office a few hours later.

You’re bent over his desk, the surface rattling beneath your body as he pounds into you, deep and ruthlessly from behind.

It’s been an hour. You lost count of how many times you came. How many times he came.

Your shredded black tights cling uselessly to your thighs, soaked in slick and cum, both yours and his, dripping down all the way down to your ankles.

Perhaps you should’ve known it would end up like this from the moment he ripped your tights apart and didn’t even bother to undress you nor himself before burying himself inside. “Isn’t this what you wanted so badly, kitten?”

He growls, punctuating every word with a brutal thrust.

Your legs tremble violently beneath you, your hands scrambling for purchase against the wood as he holds your hips in place, unrelenting.

“You’re right,” he mutters, almost to himself, breath ragged. “I should’ve known better.”

Your moans melt into the sound of flesh slapping flesh, echoing off the office walls.

“No-sex rule, my ass,” he huffs with a dark chuckle, angling his hips just so - hitting your g-spot with surgical cruelty. “Right?”

You cry out, body locking up as another orgasm crashes into you. Your legs give out, but he catches you easily, keeping himself buried to the hilt as you squirt down his cock, your body trembling uncontrollably in his arms.

“A-ah—!”

Your mind barely resets as you slump back into his chest. You reach for his forearms wrapped around your waist, clutching him like he’s the only thing keeping you anchored.

Tilting your head back, you look up into his yet insatiable crimson eyes, and ignore the occasional twitching of your limbs and murmur, “Please, Sylus. I’m sorry. I won’t- I won’t do it again.”

You jolt as you feel him starting to slowly grind his hips against yours, again.

“What was that?” He teases.

“No- wait.” You plead out, urgently. “Don’t you have work to do?!”

Sylus chuckles and answers, pleasantly. “I made sure to finish everything before calling you in.” He purrs. “Told all my assistants to call it a day, even.” He grinds into you, his cock dragging torturously along your oversensitive walls. “ We’re the only ones on this floor.”

You choke out a moan in disbelief. You’re about to open your mouth to plead some more, when he brings his mouth close to your ear, his hot breath fanning over your skin.

“Which means,” He whispers, “No one’s coming to save you, kitten.”

You vow to

Never.

Ever.

Tease him again.

────── ❀•°❀°•❀ ──────

You guys. When I write smut. It just flows to me so naturally. I never considered myself to be on the perverted side. I don't know if I should be happy or sad at my new hobby. Lol.

hope you enjoyed this :D

Likes and comments are life xx <3

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lorelune · 4 months ago

Text

inversion

|| rin itoshi x reader || E/18+ || angst with a happy ending || wc: 7.2k || ao3 ||

Preemptive grief defines your relationship with Rin. Heartbreak is in the nature of your connection. You are forced to reckon with its end.

minors, antis and ageless blogs dni

notes: eeeeeee this piece is part of a trade i'm doing with beloved @rabbbitseason :3c they asked for angst + rin and i am here to deliver a bruisy piece 🙂‍↕️!!!! he was an interesting (read: slippery) character to chew!! but very fun as well :3c thank you to @suguwu for beta reading this piece and talking through rin's character as well!!! jun's invaluable feedback rlly helped bring the piece together. please read and enjoy something a bit achey my kind reader 💗

CWs: angst with a happy ending, gn reader with afab anatomy, rin is assumed to be 20+ and playing professionally, f receiving oral, missionary, some possible abandonment issues for the reader

You do not mean to fall in love with Rin Itoshi.

Distinctly, you did not want to fall in love with him. Because he is probably not a good lover, nor does he want to be a lover at all. It’s a poor combination. Being enamored with him is a poor way of being.

It’s unfortunate that you have found yourself in this position— hopelessly in love and irrevocably attached to him.

...

Drizzle falls from the sky in a mist. It’s been like this for days, a haze of light rain with thick fog that rolls in during the mornings. You’ve almost gotten used to your hair frizzing up and returning home damp from any outing.

It’s unpleasant. But then again, everything is unpleasant at this moment, so the rain is the least of your worries.

Rin Itoshi is on your front stoop.

There’s a little cement step there that he sits on. In front of your door, just behind him, is a welcome mat. A large, ceramic cat is set just next to the door. As you walk up to your home, grocery bags in tow, you cannot see your normal, friendly guardian.

Instead, all you see is Rin Itoshi.

Stopping in the little walkway up to your small home, you let the rain drench you. Rin looks up from the ground with an expression between a scowl and a pout. His hood is drawn up over his head, but his hair still looks wet. The tips of his shoes are soaked through. Even from a distance, you can tell.

You sigh.

“You’re home late,” he says. His words get eaten by the ambient sounds of the city, and the pittering of rain on nearby roofs.

You raise your arms, trembling with the weight of your haul. “Groceries.”

“Hm.”

You frown and Rin rises.

He takes your bags, taking them from you and easily looping them on a single forearm. He moves aside so you can slip past him, to your door, now able to see your fat-bodied kitty cat protector (who really isn’t doing much protecting at the moment—) and give him a nod of acknowledgement.

Rin makes a sound behind you; a huff. He’s amused. You contend with kicking his shin but decide against it.

Like a lost, wet puppy, Rin follows you inside.

There’s a pair of house slippers for him; there has been for months. The fuzzy fabric of the slippers is patterned to look like big, pink cat paws. You purchased them for Rin as a joke, a gag that you didn’t expect to get a rise out of him beyond a heavy blush, and yet he took to them immediately. His pair sits next to your own slippers like the two belong next to each other.

Rin shuffles behind you.

(How many times have you done this?)

You turn on the electric kettle and put away the groceries Rin has carried inside for you. You mentally plan out your meals for the week and concurrently catastrophize about what the fuck to do with the man in front of you.

He leans against your kitchen counter. His outer layer has been shed, all he’s in now is a (somehow, still damp) white t-shirt and his warm-up joggers. Rainwater still clings to his bottom lashes, dew-like. You lean forward, cupping his face to brush the moisture away. His cheeks are clammy, still so chilled.

(It’s all too tender.)

“You’re cold.” You frown. “Go sit down. I’ll finish making tea.”

“I am sitting down.”

“Leaning isn’t sitting.”

“Close enough.”

You sigh. “I meant in the other room, preferably with a blanket.”

“I’ll wait.”

You sigh, “Fine.”

It’s not worth arguing with Rin.

Rin is so— so— frustratingly single-minded. Motivated in a single direction to a fault. You’ve long since learned that attempting to sway him, regardless of how sensible and sensical of an idea you have, is fruitless. If it doesn’t align with what he has already decided he is going to do, he simply won’t change. It’s something rather immutable about him.

His nature is as stubborn as his thoughts.

(Loving him is so difficult; you wish that you didn’t.)

Rin grabs two mugs (your mugs) while you fetch the tea. It’s the same selection as it always is— your cup of ginger and honey, and his plain peppermint.

You only settle once the two of you make your way to the couch, side-by-side, covered in the worn quilt that Rin likes best. It’s a tawny mix of grey and tan yarn. You picked it up from a thrift store years ago. You never would’ve thought that it would become such an integral part of a pathetic, mutual routine.

Rin is stiff beside you. One glance at him tells you that he’s chewing on his words. He doesn’t tend to— to do that. He doesn’t mince anything that flows from his brain to his lips. Your stomach rolls with a sense of unease.

“Is everything alright?” You ask.

(It never is, not really, when this routine is being completed.)

Rin looks at him. His gaze is piercing, crystalline. It lances you. “I’m leaving.”

You know this already; you aren’t supposed to.

“Oh?”

“Yeah.”

“... For how long?” This you don’t know.

“A while.” Rin's hands ball into fists on the tops of his thighs. “Half a year, at least.”

“I see.”

(You feel your world begin to cave in.)

An eerie quiet settles over the room. The rain patters outside, streaking your windows in droplets, obscuring the greater world. It makes it feel like all that exists is you, Rin, and the lucid knowledge that your connection has nearly run its course.

You swallow; it’s audible. “Where to?”

“Europe.”

“Europe’s big. Countries—?”

“Germany, Italy, and France,” replies Rin. “Maybe more.”

The back of your eyes sting. “I could visit?”

“I’ll be busy.”

“... Could you not make time?”

(Could you not make time for me?)

“I don’t know.”

“Hm.” You feel something cold and dreadful coat your insides.

Your tea is cooling down, steam hardly rising from the mug now. You take a sip of it, and hold the mug in both hands, grasping onto the warmth that radiates off of it. The ceramic of the vessel still holds heat, enough to scald your palms. Yet, you don’t put it down.

This big, unspoken thing lingers between you both. It writhes, swirls, like it always does when you enter this routine. There’s always been an impending end date to your connection, even if neither of you could quantify the time you had left together. Rin's career, his ambitions, his nature to not just excel, but crush and break in tandem, have always floated above your dynamic.

This thing would immolate eventually.

(And you along with it.)

...

You end up in your bedroom, the gloomy day sliding into a thickly dark night. You’re not even sure if the moon is out. The room only glows with light from a few soft lamps. The spray of them catches the angles of Rin’s face well. Even with age, his face hasn't hardened all that much. He still has pudge in his cheeks that he can’t shake. It makes him look younger, more innocent, like there hasn’t been a thing in him, forever, threatening to devour him as it craves to brutalize others.

Another part of your routine commences once you enter your soft, kindly-lit bedroom. Sex— of some sort. Today it feels bad. You’re not sure what’s coming other than grief.

Stripping feels like a funeral march. The drizzle that continues to fall outside may as well be a dirge.

Rin pulls his shirt over his head and off. It’s a quiet affair today, though typically it isn’t. On a more normal day, when you aren’t witnessing your romantically entangled decay in real-time, there’s banter. You might rib Rin, he may respond with his own barbed remark that you find a bit silly. It’s fun, despite Rin’s perpetually bruised demeanor.

Today, though, there’s no humor. No jesting. All that’s left is the unfathomable depth of— something behind Rin’s eyes and the ache in your chest that you’re afraid will kill you.

You kneel on your bed, left only in a sweater, goofy-looking socks, and panties. The stupid satiny kind that you think is kind of uncomfortable, but you know Rin enjoys. He leaves his boxers on, coming to rest on his own knees across from you.

Your eyes feel damp, you feel stupid, and can’t make yourself look at him.

“Don’t be a crybaby,” he tells you.

You scoff, the sound warbly and your voice watery. “Like you’re any better.”

(Rin isn’t the crybaby notably. You think he gets close to it sometimes. Maybe that’s just your own wishful thinking.)

(You want Rin to crack; it would make your own fissures less shameful.)

Rin kisses you then like he can hear your thoughts, and kissing you hard on the mouth will extract them from your brain. It does, in a way. He’s warm and familiar. You love him so terribly.

You cup his cheeks in your palms, still aching from your mug earlier. You don’t care. You couldn’t make yourself care as you lean into him, pitching your weight forward. For all the things Rin isn’t good at, he is good at catching you. He bears the weight of you easily, wrapping an arm around your waist and securing you with a hand on the nape of your neck.

He’s so solid. Bigger than he appears. Firm muscle over firm muscle, he’s so entirely unyielding beneath your hands. There are so many parts of him that contradict each other; it’s what drew you to him in the first place. Rin Itoshi has always been a spectacle for you to untangle and know, even if, at first, it was just to satiate your own curiosity about the foul-mannered, enigmatic man he appears to be.

Unfortunately, now, you have untangled Rin. The essence of him has been unraveled in your hands, laying across your palms like sheets of satin fabric— the kind that catches the light and almost shimmers in sun rays and moonbeams alike. Rin is so much more fragile than he appears, tough at some angles, but so bruiseable at others. This knowledge is held by you so intimately, you cherish it, what else can you do?

It’s damning. It’s made you love him.

You stifle a noise against his lips and fall into him more.

In a single motion, Rin has you on your back, laid beneath him while he straddles your hips. He doesn’t stop kissing you. If anything, the leverage has him leaning into you more deeply. It’s suffocating, the weight of his body and him over you. Like it’s bearing down into your soul.

Rin licks into your mouth and you let him.

It’s almost gross when he kisses you like this. Filthy— dirty. He practically plunders the inside of your mouth, running his tongue over the back of your teeth, pushing it against your own, spit dripping out of the corners of your mouth. If you felt like you could be properly romantic with Rin, you might even say it’s a claiming act.

But you can’t be romantic with Rin. Because this doesn’t matter. The physicality you share serves the function of physical release and gratification. You love him and it is useless that you do. These are immutable facts.

(Facts that you hate, despise, and loathe. Why can’t he love you—? Why can’t he— just understand?)

You growl against his lips and shove at his chest.

“Just—” You sigh, turning your head to the side. You can’t look in his eyes or you’ll immolate. “Fuck me already, okay?”

Rin wordlessly presses his forehead against your temple. His hands claw into your hips. He’ll leave bruises, but they’ll never last the six months that he’ll be gone for. You’ll be a distant memory to him by then, you’re certain.

Something awful and far too hot is boiling in your chest.

“No,” says Rin

“No?”

“No.” He repeats, dragging his nose down to your jaw, then your throat.

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t want to yet.”

“Well, get a move on then.” You scoff. The watery quality of your voice has shifted to something sharper, angrier.

“What’s with you?” He sighs out of his nose and it makes you flinch. “Why are you acting like this?”

“Like what?”

“Like this—” Rin tugs your jaw to face him and holds you there. You’re stuck looking into his eyes, azure and shiny like polished stones. Full of something you can’t name, lest you break your heart further.

(Your delusions are both damning you and saving you.)

Your eyes water; maybe you are a crybaby. “Fuck off.”

Rin kisses you hard again, flattening himself to you. He’s a cage like this, where you can only take what he gives you and—

(Rin gives you everything. Because that’s how he is with things he cares about.)

You feel like you're melting into the duvet as you desperately claw into Rin’s scalp, raking your hands through his hair. A pathetic noise bubbles up from your throat, pours from your mouth into Rin’s, and he takes it in kind. He always does.

(He shouldn’t be reliable, but he is.)

It’s hard to think when he kisses you like this. Rin’s physicality is consuming, like he’s attempting to crush you and absorb you into him. It’s an intoxicating type of connection; it’s part of why you linger within your entanglement. In the moments you’re under him, intertwined with him like this, god, touching at all— you can’t do anything but think of Rin and his attention.

You kick him because he’s leaving— he’s leaving you and he isn’t letting you follow.

Rin grunts at the impact, even though you don’t kick him all that hard. You nip him at the same time—

You’re so angry.

All the dread in you is angry, bitter like bile, and white hot. Preemptive grief, loss that you have to start swallowing before Rin isn’t even out of your arms.

“I hate you—” You tell him against his lips.”You’re awful. You’re the worst—”

Rin breaks away from you in an instant, slamming you back on the bed by the shoulder in a single, decisive motion. It makes your head spin.

“You don’t mean that.”

“And what if I did?” It’s not convincing, your voice is wobbling too much for it to be. You stare up at him, lips curling.

“You’re being a brat.”

“Oh my god, says you—” You roll your eyes. “You’re the brat here. Just— fucking kiss me—”

“No.”

“Then fucking leave already—!”

Rin holds you steady by the jaw, bowing over your body. You can’t look anywhere other than him. It’s consuming, like you’re being engulfed by a rushing tide.

“Stop. It.” His words are clipped, filled with his own anger. His grip is too tight; you fear he may crush you.

“Choke.”

“You’re throwing a tantrum.”

“So what if I am?” you laugh, the sound too high and airy to be comfortable. “If it bothers you so much, just leave already. It’s not like you want to be here. Does passing time in my bed make it go faster for you, Rin? Getting your last taste of this before you fuck off and leave—?”

“That’s what this is about?”

“What else would it be about!”

Your voice breaks and you close your eyes. God, you don't want to cry, but it feels unavoidable now. All of Rin’s attention, potential vitriol, judgment, and rejection is pointed at you. You might as well fucking die.

Rin is quiet over top of you, like a dark, stormy cloud in its last moments before a thunder crack. Heat lightning crackles between the two of you, but nothing strikes the ground yet.

“It’s better for you to stay here,” he says eventually.

“Why do you think that?” You sound exasperated.

Rin’s quiet again, then speaks like he’s seated at a confessional, and not over your hips.

“You shouldn’t be around me too much when I’m playing,” Rin confesses and squeezes your jaw. “It’s bad enough here. All I’ll be doing is playing soccer—”

“And that’s what you want, right?”

“Yes—” Rin admittance hits you in the chest and you have to let out a steadying breath, so you don’t shatter right there. “And you can’t be there for that.”

“Why?”

Rin lets go of your jaw and you open your eyes.

His own jaw is tight, his bottom lip bitten between his teeth. His eyes are wet, almost like there could be tears threatening to spill into his lower lashes. Maybe you’re imagining it.

“Trust me.” His tone is a bowstring. You’re both ready to snap. “Please.”

A whine echoes from your throat, out of your control.

(You love him and you hate seeing someone you love hurt—)

You can’t help yourself. You tug him down by the shoulders and into you, so he can lay over your chest. He lets you, so easily, and tucks his face into the curve of your neck. He hides there, arms wrapping around your middle, so tightly that you’re sure that you’ll ache there the next day.

It hurts, it hurts— not the pressure on your ribs, but having the atypically unsteady presence of Rin in your arms. It’s not uncommon for the two of you to cuddle, Rin is clingy, especially after sex, but it is odd to see him this visibly upset. It hurts because he’s hurting. It hurts because he’s choosing to leave and telling you not to follow, despite... everything. It hurts so deep in your chest, that you let yourself become so involved and in love with him.

You bury your face in his hair and shake.

...

Rin is bad at protecting people.

It’s a given, knowing his nature and the fact that he had an older brother closely looking out for him for most of his life, makes his ineptitude at protection make sense.

He clearly wants to be. He has the strength and tenacity to bare his teeth and claw, but you don’t think Rin knows which way to direct his fear and grief— whether to inflict wrath on himself, the aggressor, or the person he actually means to protect.

You can’t blame him. Some things, Rin only understands in theory and not in practice. Rin is so highly attuned to feelings but so absolutely atrocious at empathizing. You think— with you— he tried. He even succeeded at points, which makes your own heartbreak feel all that more infectious and virulent.

Your back is laid out over your duvet, your legs cradling Rin’s hips. He has three fingers in you, stretching you out with as much care and intention as he can muster. You can tell by the furrow in his brow, the peek of his tongue sticking out from his lips. Pleasure burns in your core, but the sensation is eclipsed by a well of fondness and grief, drowning you.

Rin slides onto his stomach and hikes your legs over his shoulders. He takes one of your hands and places it into his hair. You knot your fingers into the soft texture of it and tug. He likes when you do that, when you try to take from him. Rin shudders between your thighs, huffing a breath into the pudge of them. He nips.

On another night, you’d scold him and give him a playful amount of grief for it.

Tonight, you want him to bite you so hard that you bleed and scar.

(Would he? He’s so scared of hurting you, even if he doesn’t say it. He is hurting you. A sick part of you wants him to do material harm to you, so you’ll have something tangible to remember him by. An imprint of his teeth in your thigh would be too romantic, maybe. Too much to ask for.)

Rin kisses up toward your cunt, taking his time over the outside of it. He breathes in the scent of you, long and hard, a few times. A wishful part of you hopes that he is committing it to memory.

“Hurry up,” you snap.

“No.” Rin keeps fucking denying you. Haste would make this hurt less. You could speed things up to the inevitable end where Rin Itoshi has thrown this— you— away and you are left alone. Instead, he prolongs it. Instead he is carving a piece of you out, in the shape of himself, the wound never to fill as cicatrix and heal.

You drag him closer by the hair and grind against his face—

“Impatient—” he says against your cunt with a growl. His arms wrap around your hips, holding you down and in place, keeping you from squirming.

It’s needed as he drags his tongue over your cunt, dipping the tip of it into your hole before landing on your clit. He laps at it, at you, humming and groaning as you tug at his hair. The motion you’re allowed lets you just barely grind against his face. It’s not enough contact. You want more, need more, but Rin is only giving you so much.

“God,” you breathe out. “Fuck you.”

Rin practically growls, the vibration of the sound against your sex makes your back arch, a pretty, croaking sound dripping from your throat. He dives into you with more fervor, digging hand-shaped bruises into your hips.

The pleasure comes to you like licks of a flame, just as scorching as they are whimsical. Your toes curl as Rin’s sucks your clit. There’s finesse in his actions. There didn’t used to be, at the start of things, but now Rin knows your body so intimately—

(It feels crushing to know this will be the last time—)

It feels like you’ve been struck.

Never again— this is it—? The last time he’ll be in your bed, between your thighs, in your arms. You’ll never get to share this proximity with Rin Itoshi again. Not this version of him, anyway. You know what the journey that he’s about to embark on will do to him. The Rin that you know won’t exist for much longer, and—

The version of himself that he’ll return as won’t be yours.

(And he won’t give a fuck about you, will he?)

It feels— like you’re going to die. Preemptive grief for a still-living person feels selfish. And yet, you can’t breathe suddenly, even with Rin, present, between your thighs, lavishing you with (fleeting— fleeting!) attention.

You rip your hand from Rin’s hair and cover your face. You can’t look at him. You can’t. Tears are dripping from the corners of your eyes, soaking into your hairline. Your breathing speeds up, painful and raw. Rin is still between your legs.

“What’s wrong?” He asks, looming over you once more. You can feel his shadow, more than you can see it.

He grabs your wrists and tries to drag them away from your face. When you don’t budge, he pries them down to your sides. Perhaps it was foolish of you to think that you could hide from him.

“Just—” You breathe, staring into the shadows thrown onto your bedroom wall. “Keep going. Please. Ignore me.”

“The last thing in the world I can do is ignore you right now.” Rin squeezes you, less for comfort and more to remind you that he is there. “Don’t be unreasonable.”

“I just want to get this over with—” Your voice wobbles and you squeeze your eyes shut. A sob is trapped in your throat, breaking in an ugly sound. Your wrist jolts in Rin’s grip, desperate to try and hide the noise.

You want to hide this from Rin.

If Rin wants to hide the ugly, poisonous part of him that comes out in his career, you want to hide the lovesick one that has infected you. The one that is shattering, in real-time, at the idea of Rin leaving your bed cold, forever.

“I want to take my time,” Rin tells you. “Let me?”

“And I want you to just get it over with—” You repeat, a sob finally breaking from your lips, fully. Rin noses into your cheek. “Finish breaking my fucking heart already, Rin. Then you can hop on a plane and I can block your fucking number.”

There’s a stall. A beat, then two, followed by a third.

Rin is shaking on top of you.

“Would it be that easy for you?” He speaks with gritted teeth.

Would it?

(No, it would actually be so hard for you to cut Rin off so swiftly. Even if you blocked his number, you’re bound to see him in the news. You don’t even follow football all that closely, but he’s such a household name these days that you’re sure to encounter news of him and his accumulating accolades.)

(If not, you know his teammates. Rin begrudgingly introduced you after the lot of them crossed paths with you enough times. You have a few of their phone numbers. Rin’s mother has your contact information too, from the time that Rin spiked a high fever and you needed her specific oyaku recipe. She messages you photos of her garden now, and asks if Rin’s alright.)

(And none of that is even acknowledging the personal, emotional wreckage that cleaving Rin from your life so swiftly will leave behind.)

“No,” you say.

Rin takes a steadying breath, his breath too warm against your cheek and down your jaw.

“You said,” his voice maybe wobbles, you may be imagining it, “that I’m breaking your heart?”

You laugh, something horrible and pained. “I thought that was obvious?”

He pauses. “Maybe it was.”

God, he’s so shit at this kind of thing.

“You’re awful, you know that?”

And you cry.

You’ve become so fragile in the past few weeks. Imagining this day, these exact moments of fleeting intimacy, like doing so could prepare you in any way for the pain that’s now tearing through you. The fear of losing him is being actualized, and you’re making it worse, pushing him away like this. But what would happen if you held him closer when it’s so clear that’s not what Rin wants?

You tear your wrists from Rin’s grip, taking a great amount of effort to flip and attempt to crawl across the bed. Crying like this makes you feel awful and ugly; you want nothing more than to hide. Rin is frozen, motionless, above you at first, letting you writhe until you get onto your tummy, squirming and clawing your way out from under him.

Then, he bears his weight down on you. He gathers your wrists up again and pins them to the bed on either side of your head. It’s a single moment of strength that immobilizes you flat all over again.

“Rin!” You mean to shout it, but instead, it’s a cracking sob that you have to muffle into the duvet.

He gathers your wrists in a single hand, and pets your hair, like you so often do for him. He rubs circles on your shoulders as you wail into the duvet. Bucking him off doesn’t work, he’s an unrelenting presence, sitting on your lower back, almost laid over you. It’s hard to breathe.

(A sick part of you likes this. Knowing that your blatant pain and struggle are being acknowledged by Rin, held and quelled by him, soothes the part of you that craves his attention so terribly. You love him so much, you feel guilty for these feelings just as much as you feel elated by the touch and care he is providing you.)

“It’s okay,” he tells you. He is not a being meant to comfort, the words sound wrong coming out of his mouth. “It’s okay.”

“You know it’s n-not!”

A fresh wave of tears pours from you. You’re soaking the mattress.

“I’m sorry,” he doesn’t apologize either. “If I could give you what you want, I would.”

The sob that you scream into rumpled bed sheets is like thunder that splits the sky.

...

Rin fucks you like he loves you.

He kneels between your legs, holding your hands, thrusting into you at an unhurried, almost reverent pace. Slow and deep, busting up your insides. You’re stretched around his pretty cock beautifully; he told you so.

Each cant of his hips knocks a teary breath out of you. You— you haven’t stopped crying. You’re not sure that you ever will.

Rin kisses you despite the tears and snot, licks your cheeks and mars your neck with mark after mark. His teeth dig into fragile flesh, biting and sucking like he could be eating you, rather than bedding you. It’s a shift in his demeanor— he’s not normally this desperate. Maybe your shattering has made him more lucid to your coming loss.

His hands slip up the backs of your thighs, resting behind your knees. He bears his weight down on you, folding you in half easily. It pushes his cock deeper in you, maybe too deep, but you relish the pain anyway. The pressure of him forces a sound of you, aborted and frail. When you try to cover your mouth, muffle yourself, Rin is pulling your hand away to kiss you.

Rin swallows down every sound, every breath, every bit of you that he can. You press back at him with as much desperation as you muster. He takes and takes, regardless of your tears and jagged edges.

He curses under his breath, tilting his forehead against your own.

“C-Close?” You ask, another involuntary sound being punched out of your lungs.

“No—” He shakes his head.

“Are you lying?”

“No—”

“I’m unconvinced,” you manage to grit out, a bubbling sob creeping up your throat just after.

Rin growls, something in his chest, and thrusts harder, like he’s trying to carve out your insides.

“I—” Rin’s words choke off, pressed against your lips, a frantic edge to it. “I don’t want to be done yet.”

You both freeze.

Rin’s as deep in you as he can be, his hips pressed to your pelvis. Every bit of his weight is bared into you, into your cunt and flesh. He’s breathing in deep, hurried breaths, sweat beads on his brow. You’re grasping his shoulders, digging your nails into him as his words hit you.

“You—” You laugh and cry in the same breath. “You don’t mean what I think you mean, do you?”

His grip on you tightens. His expression is cloudy, his focus solely on you (what a terrifying thing to be on the receiving end of—)

You continue speaking, feeling a creeping amount of panic, “You— you mean sex right? You want to k-keep going?”

“If I said yes to that, I’d be lying.” Rin thrusts into you, hard and fast. You arch your back against the duvet.

“S-So you don’t want—”

“I want to keep fucking you,” Rin corrects, easily. He pushes you down into the mattress like he’s trying to crush you, pulverize you. “I don’t want to be done fucking you.”

“God,” you hit his shoulder with your fist and the force of an angry kitten. “You fucking suck, Rin.”

“I’m sorry—”

“ — Don’t say shit you don’t mean.”

He kisses you again, this time softer. More kind, but still like he wants to eat you.

You finish like that, with his lips laid over yours, with the tempest of loss having consumed you. Rin heavy over your body and heart, pleasure having snuck up behind him enough that tension has coiled in your gut. Your orgasm washes over you slowly, in waves, and you’re sucked down into the sensation with darkening vision and curling toes.

Rin kisses you through it, cursing as you tighten around him. He didn’t— he didn’t use a condom.

“Inside—” You beg him. “Inside— please, please—”

Rin listens to you, bowing over you and pushing your knees up to the sides of your skull. A choked sound leaves his lips and you swallow it down with your own keen. A gush of warmth follows, and you shiver with the heat and fullness of it.

Rin fucks you through his orgasm, muscles drawn tight as he fucks you deep and slow. He only stops when his cock is too soft to continue, and you’re both shivering from overstimulation.

His cock drags out of you, wet and chilling in the still air. You whine at the loss, the panic and grief of this all hitting you again.

You don’t have much time to spiral, as Rin is gathering you up his arms, rolling away from the soaked sheets. He holds you tight, chest-to-chest. His hand is in your hair, and he grabs yours and places it on his own. Reflexively, you scratch his scalp and tug him closer.

You’re both quiet for a long time. The rain hasn’t stopped, dribbling on, but it doesn’t feel as grim now, more sedating. Your eyes go half-lidded.

“Can you clarify?” You ask Rin, peeking up at him. “What you meant before?”

(“I don’t want to be done—”)

“Hm.”

“God—!” You laugh, headbutting him. “You do suck.”

He squeezes you, so hard that a sound is forced from your lips.

“So you want to keep fucking?”

“It’s more than that.”

“Fuck, Rin—”

“Shut up.”

“Still figuring it out?”

“Something like that.” He muffles the words into the top of your head.

You’re not sure where your grief sits then. Maybe it’s gone, and your release was just that— release. It makes you laugh again, into Rin’s chest. You squeeze him like doing so will keep him here, in this moment, for a little longer.

Rin wordlessly squeezes you back even harder.

...

You and Rin don’t talk much once he goes to Europe.

You lose your mind right after he leaves, obviously. Screaming, crying, not throwing up, but pretty close to it. His house slippers get thrown in the back of a closet (rather than in the trash because, despite everything, you have hope—) and you rot for several weeks.

It takes a while for you to be close to normal.

Your routine with Rin had been a regular occurrence. Maybe once a week, sometimes twice. Not having it to count on unmoors you and makes you lonely in a way that feels unwelcome and raw. There’s a piece of you missing, just like you knew there would be.

You get a few texts from him. A photo or two of monuments he encounters with a few choice words—

[Rin]: I thought you would like this

You’re going to fucking kill him.

You’re never sure what to reply, so you tend to keep things brief. Your last encounter made you question your understanding of your relationship so profoundly that you don’t know how to proceed. There’s... certainly more than you expected, but upon Rin departing for Europe, so much had been left unsaid. How do you begin to broach that— is it even your place to?

You don’t bring it up. You don’t call him, you leave the wound he left alone, and it aches a little less each day. Still gaping and empty, but less raw maybe.

It’s late one evening when you receive a call from a random, international number.

You ignore it at first, thinking it’s spam, but they recall you several times, and you pick up on the fourth attempt.

“... Hello?” You ask into the receiver.

“Oh, hi! Is this [name]?”

“It is— who is this?”

“Oh, it’s Isagi— I’m one of Rin’s teammates from Bluelock. I’m not sure if you remember me, but we’ve met a few times!”

You have— Rin has a serious chip on his shoulder about Isagi, which has been made to be an incredibly comical fact when realized Isagi is one of the most genuinely kind, polite people you’ve ever encountered.

“Oh yeah, it's nice to— um, hear from you. What’s up?

“Ah, yeah! I apologize for the abrupt calls. I’ve got something to ask you that’s kind of time-sensitive— if you have a minute.”

“Yeah, I’ve got time.” You swallow. “Is... everything alright? Is... Rin okay?”

“Oh, yeah! He’s totally fine. Maybe a little hungover, but fine.”

You straighten up and withhold gasp. “Rin drank?”

Rin has refused alcohol the entire time you’ve known him. He swears it affects his performance.

Isagi laughs on the other side of the line. “Oh man, you don’t even know. I’ve never seen the guy with any alcohol in his system before either, and I kind of get why. He really is a lightweight.

“I imagine... and this has to do with why you called?”

“Yes, actually—” Your phone chimes with a new message from Isagi. “Is this you in the photo?”

The photo is of another phone, specifically of its lock screen. The time on the photographed phone screen reads [01:11]. The lock screen is a photo of you.

You’re sleeping, clearly, face half-smushed into one of your pillows. Mascara smears under your eyes and hickeys are bruised up and down your throat. From the location of the marks and makeup, you know this is from the last night you saw Rin. Your chest feels tight.

“What the fuck.”

“Is that a yes?”

“Yeah, oh my god.” You had no idea Rin took this photo— and it’s his fucking lock screen? That fucker only had the generic, preloaded graphics displayed on his phone the entire time you knew him.

“I thought so— sorry, it’s kind of insane for Rin to have a photo like that—”

“It is, yeah.” You run a hand over your face, switching your phone to speaker and rubbing your cheeks. “How does this relate to you calling?”

“Well,” says Isagi, “Rin’s been playing like shit.”

“He has been.” Oh my god, has he. Like actual garbage. You’re not sure you should admit that you watch Rin’s games religiously, because at this point it’s a bit pathetic of you. But you do watch them live if at all possible, otherwise you purchased some stupid European streaming service to catch the recording as soon as possible. And because of this, you know he has been playing sloppily. You’ve been... blaming jetlag. Or something. Adjusting to the European diet or whatever.

(Not the vestiges of your relationship still, miraculously, affecting him in any way.)

“It hasn’t been great. We won our match yesterday, but barely. And we went out drinking which was good for morale! But maybe not great for Rin. He drank a bit too much and got a bit weepy.”

Your stomach drops. You can see where this is going.

“He kept talking about missing someone but didn’t say any name. And when we saw his lock screen... we kind of put two-and-two together.”

“Great deduction. Aren’t you known for that?”

Isagi laughs, sounding good-natured. It makes you smile. It’s nice to know Rin hangs out with good people who aren’t all dour and weird like him.

“Something like that. Anyway, his birthday is in a few weeks, and me and a few of the other guys thought it would be a good gift for him to fly you out and surprise him.”

You stay silent, attempting to suffocate the spark of hope that traitorously stirs in you.

“Isagi.” You fold your hands and put them vertically to your lips. “Have you met Rin?”

That makes him laugh, “I have, I’m probably around him too much. But he’s been weird since we started the season here. If you visited, the team would cover everything. Our coach even offered to arrange rooms for you at the hotels we’ll be at. If you don’t want to room with Rin, anyway—”

“Rin and I aren’t together.”

“Damn.” Isagi clicks his tongue. “Does he know that?”

Maybe you’re an idiot. Maybe Rin’s an idiot. Maybe you’re both idiots.

“I should ask him, maybe.”

“He’s never been the type to do things in halves, you know.”

“Trust me, I’m very aware of that.”

Isagi whistles and you shake your head.

“You don’t have to give me an answer right away. If you could let me know in the next few days, that would be great. You’ve got my number now that I’ve called, yeah?”

“Yeah, I’ll be in touch.” You swallow. “Thanks for reaching out, Isagi. I appreciate it. And— thanks for keeping an eye on Rin too.”

“Yeah, yeah. Someone needs to while he’s here. Let me know what you’re thinking, feel free to call if you need anything too. Or want me to spy on Rin for you.”

“Will do,” You laugh, light-hearted for the first time in weeks. You exchange goodbyes and you drop your phone onto your lap.

...

Oh my fucking god.

You know several things immediately— you want to go. Desperately, actually, especially with the knowledge that stupid fucking Rin Itoshi has you as his fucking lock screen? You need answers, if nothing else. You won’t settle for a very sad, weepy fuck this time around.

You also know that you should not surprise Rin.

So, you act before you can convince yourself better of it. You scroll to your messages with Rin and craft.

[you]: hey, i hope you’re doing alright. your teammate (isagi) just called me and invited me out for your birthday to surprise you. but i know you well enough to know that if i surprise you like that you will either kill me, isagi, yourself, or all three of us.

[you]: i wanted to touch base before i gave isagi an answer

[you]: i’d love to see you

[you]: and we should talk too.

Rin almost immediately sees the message— the freak has read receipts on. A bubble indicating he’s typing appears, then disappears.

A call from him comes in. You nearly drop your phone as the screen lights up your face and vibrates.

With a steadying breath, you answer.

“Hello?”

“What did Isagi tell you?”

You snort. “That your play sucks and that you’re a weepy drunk.”

“He sucks. Don’t talk to him again.”

“I have to, so he and the rest of your team can buy me tickets and a hotel room—”

“If— if you want to come, I’ll buy your ticket. And why would you need a hotel room?”

“So I have somewhere to sleep.”

“Is my bed not good enough for you?”

“Are you implying that I’d sleep with you?”

“...Yes.”

“Damn,” you fall back onto your couch with a laugh. There’s an odd coil of relief that’s unspooling in your chest. You could cry again. “Is that alright?”

“I— I wouldn’t want—” Rin so rarely loses his words, it shocks you to hear when he does. “Yes. It’s fine. I can meet you at the airport too.”

“Well, aren’t you sweet?”

“I’m being serious.”

“So am I.”

There’s a poignant moment of silence that passes between you two. You can imagine Rin now— it’s the morning where he is. He probably is nursing both a bottle of water and that electrolyte drink he prefers— he likes the blue flavor the best. He’s probably in his warm-up clothes, preparing for his meticulous morning routine.

“I’m excited,” Rin says, stilted but there. “To see you again.”

Something warm burns in you, frail but burgeoning.

“So am I.” You wipe your eyes and laugh. “Don’t break my heart again, Rin, I swear to God.”

“I won’t.”

He says it with enough conviction that you believe him.

#lore writes #rin itoshi x reader #rin itoshi x you #itoshi rin x you #itoshi rin x reader #bluelock x reader #bluelock x you #ANYWAYS!!! :3ccc #this piece was so interesting like #had not thought about rin in the ways i was required to for this piece :'^)#and it was very gratifying and so fun!!#thank you bitti for asking for such a piece and i hope you enjoy dearest!!!! 🩷

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