#so here's the first half of what is now a quick two-shot! | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sunderwight · 11 months ago

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AU where there's no system (or a decidedly less restrictive one) and Shen Yuan transmigrates into an OC rogue cultivator before the start of the novel, and decides he's gonna steal the protagonist before Luo Binghe even gets to Cang Qiong.

The logic is sound -- he'll keep Luo Binghe from experiencing neglect and abuse at Shen Qingqiu's hands, raise him away from the pressure of the sects and the likelihood that anyone else might find out about his heritage and try to harm him over it, keep him fully away from the Immortal Alliance Conference, and then Luo Binghe's course will change trajectory because he'll have no reason to want revenge against the world and no access to Xin Mo. Shen Yuan will be able to spare Luo Binghe some suffering and possibly survive in a world less subject to the harrowing whims of a half-mad tyrannical overlord. Win-win!

However, the tricky bit is that he's not sure exactly how far ahead of the novel he is, and also Airplane didn't specify where Luo Binghe grew up. This means that Luo Binghe could be any age younger than twelve and in any number of places along or near to the Luo river.

Shen Yuan decides he's going to approach this by pretending he is looking for the long-lost son of his sister, traveling through the likeliest areas, asking after abandoned children who might fit the protagonist's description. It's a long shot, he knows, and he's mostly relying on the existence of Narrative Destiny. But eventually he is directed by several people towards a particular city, which is not as close to the river as he'd have expected Luo Binghe to grow up, but then again he only knows that was where baby Binghe was found, not where the washerwoman who took him in ultimately lived.

It becomes clear to him, though, that he's been sent to the wrong target. But also why he's been sent astray is apparent in nearly the same breath, because among the slave children living in this area is a little boy who could be his much younger clone.

Seriously, this kid looks just like him! Or, well, close enough. He looks a lot like Shen Yuan's actual nieces and nephews from his past life. It's uncanny.

Also, because of his search, the slave kids get wind of what he's looking for (his long-lost nephew) pretty quick. The boy with the obvious resemblance to him greets Shen Yuan's own assessment with wary cynicism, but he's just a little boy. So it's not difficult to notice the way he's also practically vibrating with hopefulness, half-hiding behind a protective older kid and looking at Shen Yuan with big dark eyes like he expects to be rescued or destroyed with whatever he has to say next.

Shen Yuan has a big problem now. He just knows that if he says something like "actually no this boy is too old to be my nephew" or whatever other excuse, no one will believe him, and also this poor kid is going to be permanently scarred by it. He's going to think Shen Yuan is lying just so that he can reject him. On top of that, he's not in a good situation here. None of these children are even remotely well cared-for.

Shen Yuan's rogue cultivator self isn't rich on the level of being like a wealthy sect leader or anything, but he's made some money since transmigrating by doing random cultivator jobs and quests along the way here. He uses it all to purchase two little slave boys (Do Not Separate), then takes another job and uses that coin to acquire a somewhat rundown manor which used to belong to the local gentry. The Qiu family (rings some bells but that's not exactly an uncommon name) kept it up for a while in case a branch family sprung up in need of a residence, but they've been in decline and the place is downright decrepit, so they had been looking to sell it instead. It's too big for a wandering bachelor like SY to ever need on his own account, but that's sort of the idea. He makes more money taking on cultivator work, at first taking his boys along with him for lack of any alternative. Nerve-wrackingly dangerous! Eventually he hires workers to start restoring the manor, particularly setting up a yard to be a school area, and then starts taking on any freelance jobs he can get in order to steadily buy out the contracts on all the other kids. He gets it nice enough to house and care for as many orphans as he can acquire.

Not because he's a big old softie though!

His story of looking for his nephew is a bust now, since he's apparently "found" the kid. So he's got to change tactics! If he can't find baby Binghe and the washerwoman, the next best approach is to create an opportunity for them to come to him. So once he's got his new household established, he starts offering free lessons to all the local kids. Not just the ones he's taken in, but also any who come by and want to learn some things. It's a tempting setup for anyone who wants their child to get education but can't afford a tutor, and Luo Binghe's mother had been entirely the sort of person who would have packed up and left her situation if there had been an opportunity for it.

On that note, SY also starts hiring single mothers to help look after his new gaggle of children and do the work he doesn't know how to do in these times, like keeping house, laundry, cooking, actually raising kids, etc.

His "little school" is not universally popular. A few groups try and ruin him, because the poverty in the region provides a basis of business for them. The ringleaders of the human traffickers in the area don't want their trade to dry up, even if it means selling all of their merchandise for this round, so when they find out that their underlings let Shen Yuan buy off all the kids they try and intimidate him into returning them (it doesn't go well for them). The Qiu family also isn't thrilled after it becomes clear what he's doing, and get him investigated by the local authorities (read: use their bribed officials and local goons to try and interfere.)

When that doesn't work either the sects get involved, because the Qiu go crying to Huan Hua Palace that Shen Yuan is sketchy and is trying to establish his own sect. So Shen Yuan talks his way around the matter, and frankly the Qiu are small fish even if they're the biggest ones in the local pond, so HHP doesn't care to pursue things much further. (Read: SY could mop the floor with the disciples they sent to investigate him, and it's not worth it to piss off someone this mysterious and powerful just to bully some impoverished children.)

Shen Yuan is appalled by all this bullshit though. Trust the world of PIDW to make it so hard just for a guy to teach some poor kids how to read and do math!

It makes him dig in his heels about it, because he is at heart a stubborn bastard. The fires that once fueled a thousand angry screeds on zhongdian literature site is now aimed at the local magistrate. One of the women he's hired on has some dirt on the Qiu family, which leads SY to dig up some more until he eventually has enough to turn the tables on them. Local officials won't investigate because they've all been bought, but that in and of itself is of some interest to their superiors closer to the palace, and so SY arranges an investigation of his own that goes way further than he thought? Turns out there are some ugly skeletons in the Qiu closets, and the imperial investigator comes down on them hard.

Well, he can't say they didn't have it coming? Though he does feel bad for the children in the family, especially the oldest son, who gets hauled off to jail along with his father. At least the girl is sent to live with relatives. Maybe he should have done more to shield the minors in the situation...?

His kids tell him not to worry about it, though, that apparently young master Qiu was known to run people down in the streets and beat his servants and do other cartoonishly awful things. SY's not sure how much of it is true and how much of it is his little flock of fluffy sheep trying to ease his conscience, though they do all seem to take a lot of vindictive delight in the whole affair. Especially Nephew, who clings to his sleeves and loudly declares that the investigator should have publicly flogged the discredited nobles so that everyone could go watch, and then begs him for sweets as if that wasn't a creepy thing to hear come out of an eight-year-old's mouth. SY just sighs and tells him he can have something good when he finishes his calligraphy practice.

Of course, it's not exactly easy running what is basically an orphanage-slash-school (and maybe a budding sect...?), especially when pretty much all of the kids have been traumatized and faced stuff like rampant dehumanization, food insecurity, abuse, and neglect. Hiring single mothers soon becomes not only a plan to try and lure in Luo Binghe's mom, but an absolute godsend of an idea because SY has no clue WHAT he would do on his own about the discipline issues or emotional breakdowns or acting out that some of the kids get up to once it registers that they're in a safe enough place to unpack their baggage.

Apart from Nephew, SY's favorite kid is the one who came with him, the oldest of the flock of former slave children. He's the big brother of the group, the one who tries his best to look after the others and to not make any trouble himself. But even poor Little Yue is still just a kid who has been through too much, and he also eventually starts having some meltdowns and struggles with processing everything that has happened to him as a vulnerable child in an unkind world.

SY really didn't mean to start a trauma center for mistreated children!

Though, that's still not necessarily a bad thing for Luo Binghe to one day come across, provided he ever actually shows up...

Eventually, Shen Yuan does figure out that he must be ahead even of Luo Binghe's birth, though he still doesn't put together that he's interfered in the scum villain's backstory. Probably something even more amusingly obscure, like the creation year of some random artifact Luo Binghe used in some wife plot or other, tips him off and he mentally throws his hands up in the air. He's got to wait DECADES? Maybe he ought to try and find Luo Binghe's biological parents and just follow them around at this point!

Not that he can, now, though, because he has to make sure no negative IQ villains (who will probably just be cannon fodder for a subplot one day) decide to send goons to literally burn down his orphanage. Also if he's gone for too long his kids get upset. Probably because no one else is as weak to their puppy dog eyes and pleas for treats and toys as he is.

At least it gives him time to shore up his position, and train Nephew and Little Yue more extensively in cultivation. Despite his initial assurances to HHP that he was but a humble orphan wrangler who was only incidentally a cultivator, Shen Yuan does also teach the other kids some basic cultivation exercises. There are a few reasons for that.

One is just the principle of the thing. No, these kids don't all have the potential to become great immortals or anything, but they can still learn some of it and it's good for their health if they do. The only trouble is if they try and push too hard or attempt things beyond their range, and that's a risk with everyone who cultivates. Or even just exercises!

Another reason is that it helps stave off the jealousy that some of the kids have towards those with more cultivation potential. Teaching a lot of the basics all around makes it into just another topic at school. Some kids might not be as good at it as others, but those kids might also be better at math, or memorization, or board games, and while cultivation can open more doors to people as adults, for the children this is generally enough to satisfy their sense of fairness. Or at least reduce outbursts and fights.

Finally, the impression that any of SY's kids might be a cultivator also makes wicked people more reluctant to try and abduct or interfere with them. Cultivators are revered and nearly mythological figures in the public consciousness. It isn't difficult to see why, if even a rogue cultivator NPC like SY* can mop the floor with most random muggers (*Shen Yuan is not a normal rogue cultivator). Not many people want to risk bringing SY's ire down on them, but of those who might chance it if he wasn't around to immediately react, even fewer want to risk that the kids themselves could kick their asses.

Not knowing that only two of the orphans probably could in fact mop the floor with them helps keep all the rest safer, and is more believable when all of them can conduct themselves enough like disciples to fool anyone who doesn't know what to really look for.

Developments that surprise Shen Yuan but wouldn't surprise anyone else who is paying attention:

People start leaving unwanted babies and younger children on his doorstep. Not all the time, but more than once has he had to frantically find wet nurses and worry that he's changed things enough that some fishermen might just randomly drop the protagonist outside his gate, and he wouldn't even know because Binghe would be a literal infant??

Nephew (SJ) and Little Yue (Yue Qi -- only Shen Yuan calls him "Little", especially when he gets taller than SY by the time he's sixteen) are prodigies who get really good at cultivation, really fast, and between that and Shen Yuan's OP skills they completely warp Shen Yuan's ideas for what normal cultivation potential looks like. This would probably cause more problems if he wasn't teaching all the kids how to cultivate anyway, but means his students actually do kinda run the usual range of skills for a small sect.

SJ and YQ swiftly reach the point where they need more advanced equipment than just SY's teaching can provide, if they're going to keep building their skills. Gaining access to certain tools, aids, and materials (like spiritual swords) is a real hurdle though, and usually is for rogue cultivators (one of the major disadvantages of no sect affiliation.) Shen Yuan is hesitant to use stuff from the plot, since it's For Binghe, but he eventually caves and starts going after some things that he doesn't think the future protagonist will miss much. He also ends up buying stuff from HHP, since they're willing to sell things like spiritual tools and weapons if the price is right, whereas most other sects like Cang Qiong reserve them for members only.

They get an invitation to the Immortal Alliance Conference. Not the one where the Abyss opens up, obviously, the one where (originally) Shen Jiu reunited with Yue Qi and killed Wu Yanzi. Shen Yuan debates on going but the boys really want to, and things have calmed down enough that no one's trying to burn down the school whenever he leaves these days, so eventually he figures it'll be interesting to see some of the Cang Qiong characters and should be safe enough if he keeps his disciples close.

They don't run into young Yue Qingyuan or Shen Qingqiu on the trip, but Wu Yanzi does show up and get killed, and SY only hears about it and assumes they just missed all that action. (WYZ just got caught by some senior cultivators who recognized him and killed him to avenge some disciples he murdered.) Nephew and Little Yue do meet young Liu Qingge, Shang Qinghua, Mu Qingfang, and Su Xiyan though! Which gives Shen Yuan the opportunity to tell them all (mostly Su Xiyan) that if they're ever in trouble near his school, they can come to him for help. Hint hint.

This open invitation ends up being accepted broadly by a lot of traveling cultivators after the conference, who from then on treat Shen Yuan's school like a free motel whenever they're passing through. Plenty aren't even people SY met, but it seems his statement was taken as a general one to fellow righteous cultivators all around! Luckily, this has some advantages. Shen Yuan has no qualms running off anyone who tries to take unfair advantage of him or especially his kids or staff, and no shame in conscripting anyone who is decent enough to help teach his students, even if it's nothing to do with cultivating, and somehow word gets around and people start bringing school supplies, medicine, food, or other useful things along with them as gifts to help repay the hospitality. Young Liu Qingge comes by a lot on his way to and from various quests, or even seems to just turn up randomly sometimes (he comes to challenge YQ and SJ to fights), and SY's just like "I guess this is happening now" and teaches him to recognize the early signs of qi deviation and advises strongly against meditating in caves.

At one point a young Shang Qinghua turns up in one of the spare rooms, very obviously hiding an ice demon. Shen Yuan again is just like "I guess this is happening now" and shelters them until Mobei Jun has recovered, and sends a message to Cang Qiong that one of their An Ding caravans was attacked and their disciple is recovering under his roof but isn't well enough to travel yet. Much less stressful situation for Airplane (who is desperately trying to figure out what he did to manifest SJ's benevolent uncle from somewhere???)

Su Xiyan seems like the only person they met at the Immortal Alliance Conference who doesn't turn up at their door in a state of emergency at some point.

A few years later, there is a big scandal involving her and the demon emperor. Su Xiyan disappears, Huan Hua Palace accuses Tianlang Jun of plotting against the righteous sects, and Shen Yuan is even invited to the meeting where they try and rally everyone to go kill Binghe's dad. Naturally, he declines to participate in the witch hunt, but the major sects agree to it. By luck (or narrative fortune) Shen Yuan comes across Zhuzhi Lang on his trip back home, and mentions the ambush and his distaste for it (not knowing who ZZL is). ZZL warns Tianlang Jun and the confrontation goes very differently, especially since there's no Yue Qingyuan wielding Xuan Su.

It doesn't go well for the sects involved. Huan Hua Palace gets decimated. The Old Palace Master gets killed. Shen Yuan is like uhhhh that's... whoops? Didn't Luo Binghe need that in the future?? Fuck.

But the sect isn't wiped out completely, they just take a massive beating. Some of their younger disciples end up leaving and turning up on Shen Yuan's doorstep, for some reason. The manor house is becoming too small to account for all of these foundlings! They have to expand. Though the expansions would be a stretch to term a "palace" they end up occupying a much larger chunk of territory, and even investing in farmland and some storehouses to help support the sect. That's still not really a sect, of course. Even if a lot of the business that would have normally gone to Huan Hua Palace starts coming to them instead. Once HHP is back on its feet the stream will probably dry out. Probably?

Zhuzhi Lang starts hanging around. He's actually looking for Su Xiyan or their baby, dead or alive and per Tianlang Jun's instructions, but he uses Shen Yuan's school as base camp for his kind of hopeless efforts to find any traces of them, while also looking for ways to try and repay Shen Yuan. All the kids are just like "oh great, another weird man has fallen in love with Shizun -- someone go run interference" about it.

Some years later, an older woman and her young son turn up. Shen Yuan's off on a quest at the time, so SJ receives them. As is standard procedure he gives the woman a job and places the boy in classes, after giving him the aptitude tests. The kid is cute and precocious, so SJ uses him to distract YQ while he himself sneaks out to go join LQG on a monster hunt (and claim the valuable parts of the beast's remains for himself), and neither SY nor ZZL notice anything until SY's going over the paperwork for stuff he missed while he was gone. Since he procrastinated, it takes him like a week to find out that Luo Binghe is finally under his roof. He's going over the admission form right when SJ arrives with The New Adorable Child to try and distract SY enough that SY will let him go on a solo hunt -- as far as being distracted goes, it is way more effective than even SJ anticipated.

Then he has to figure out how to let ZZL know, so that ZZL can let Tianlang Jun know, so that Luo Binghe will have more family than just his mom and more resources than just a shabby little not-sect! But even once he figures it out and sets up the dramatic reveal, TLJ is just like "great! so can he just stay with you? he's probably fine there" which... irritates SY.

SJ fully conscripts Luo Binghe as a minion in his many cons. He never lost his street kid conman tactics, although he now uses them less as a ruthless survival tool or weapon and more to just get things to go his own way. LBH has the face and disposition of a little angel, which SJ no longer can pull off as a full grown adult, so he fills a gap. LBH also knows full well what's going, especially since a lot of SJ's tactics involve throwing LBH at SY like a smoke bomb.

Luo Binghe inevitably still develops a big fat crush on SY, so this is fine by him. Especially when he gets older, he starts bringing SY tea and making him breakfast and running his errands until even SJ is like "wait a minute, this little brat's stealing my job!" and by then it's too late. Luo Binghe is SY's personal assistant, the disciple at conman puppydog eyes has surpassed the master! While SJ was busy being like "I'm going to trick this idiot into doing my chores" LBH was going "I'm going to trick this idiot into giving me his job".

SY takes too long to officially name his school so everyone calls it the Shen Sect, much to his embarrassment.

#svsss #scum villain's self saving system #shen qingqiu #shen jiu #scum villain #long post #bingqiu

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safetypinxtales · 1 year ago

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Together with you | Azriel

(Lonely with you pt. 2)

summary: heart break sucks. Missing your friend sucks even more. It is mind-blowing what a little open communication can do.

words: 4.1k

warnings: angst with happy ending, terrible communication at parts (sorry), mention of alcohol consumption, fluff, just general misery, neutrally described reader/no reader description, no use of y/n, dumb idiots in love

notes: so this got a lot more angsty than first anticipated, but here it is! Not sure how I feel about it, I like some parts, not so sure about others - feedback is greatly appreciated! Enjoy!

part 1

Cold. Your bed was freezing cold. And empty.

Like lying on a frozen slab of stone, utterly alone and undeniably pathetic. Just as alone and pathetic as yesterday, when you woke up on the couch in the living room. No Azriel in sight. Like he wasn’t the one to practically beg you not to leave him alone, and then he went and did that exact thing to you.

It was humiliating. You were humiliated.

And that was why you had avoided him like he was contagious for all of yesterday, burying yourself in paperwork or hiding away in the library. But your plan was far from foolproof, you’d barely made it through yesterday without seeing him, so today had to be different. If being close to you was so shameful he had to sneak away before you had a chance to wake, you would simply remove yourself from the situation and spare yourself some Gods damned dignity.

You had already written to Mor, your excuse of needing to get away from the happily mated couple for a few nights only a half lie. You were in desperate need of a good night’s rest, however that was not the most pressing issue at hand. But there was no need for her to know that. Yet. She would find out eventually, she always did, and you would be stupid to expect otherwise.

Two hours past sunrise should mean that the Valkyrie training would be full and well underway, and thus it would be safe for you to make your escape. You got the things you’d need and made your way up the stairs to one of the smaller balconies overlooking the training ring. You knew you really shouldn’t, because what good would it do? But you had to. Just a quick glance. Quietly you moved towards the railing, scanning the people below.

There he was, a thing of graceful, terrifying beauty. He seemed to be demonstrating a movement with a training sword for some of the priestesses. He moved with such fluidity, wielding the sword in his hand as if it was an extension of himself. He was like death on swift feet. A fallen angel, a dark prince.

He was beautiful.

You must have accidentally made a sound, because his head shot up and his eyes zeroed in on you. Oh Gods. The intensity in his gaze, and the increasing pressure in your chest was too much. He didn’t want you.

You staggered back, one little step and you had winnowed yourself down to the city streets. This was good, you needed to get away. He left you alone. He drew back first. You knew all of this, so why did it hurt such an unreasonable amount?

You rubbed your chest in hopes of getting rid of the tightness that seemed to have moved in there since yesterday morning, and then you set course towards the one stop you had to make before getting to Mor’s.

It had been three days since you arrived at Mor’s apartment with a paper bag filled with the sweetest, sugar-powdered pastries your favourite bakery had to offer. It had taken you both approximately 20 minutes to devour them all, after which you no longer had anything to distract your friend from digging up the truth behind your visit.

You were in love with someone who did not harbour the same feelings towards you. And you desperately needed to get away from him, to save what remained of your heart.

You had cried, drank some wine, and then cried a little more. You went back to the bakery for more pastries the next day, and the cycle repeated.

The crisp, early-spring wind was a menace today as you were on your, now daily, pastry run. You were trying to stop your hair from whipping around like a being possessed, cursing up a storm, when you heard him call your name.

You froze to the spot, like his voice was some primal command. That insufferable tightness in your chest was as present as ever as you forced yourself to put on your brave face and turned towards him.

There he was, jogging towards you, his brow furrowed.

“Hey,” Azriel breathed as he came to a stop in front of you. His shadows swirled out in your direction, but retracted before they had a chance to reach you.

“Hi,” you mumbled back, suddenly finding the cobbled street very interesting.

He cleared his throat and took a step closer. You took one backwards. The cobblestone looks different here than in the alley by the bakery.

“I haven’t seen you in a while… you haven’t been home – at the House, I mean,” he coughed lightly. I wonder if it was made with, like, a different technique? Or maybe the stones are just differently shaped or something?

“Yeah, no, I’ve been staying with Mor for a bit.” It’s definitely mossier on the smaller streets, maybe that’s why? It just shifts the perspecti–

“Angel, please look at me.”

You didn’t want to, Gods you didn’t want to. But alas, you seemed to have no power when it came to Azriel.

Any other day, the worry swimming in those hazel eyes would have melted your heart. Today, it just hurt. “Did I do something? Is that why you… haven’t been around?”

You scoff, “No, you didn’t do anything, Azriel. It’s fine.”

“It’s obviously not fine! I haven’t seen you in days, and now you can barely look at me?” He exclaimed, exasperation clear in his voice. “Look, I’m sorry if I overstepped, or made you uncomfortable – but I miss my friend,” his hands twitched where they rested at his sides, shadows swirling around him with unease.

“Oh, please,” his brows furrowed further at the dry laugh that escaped you, “Are you being serious, Az? I fell asleep in your arms, after you pleaded with me to stay with you – and then I woke up alone.” His face fell. “How do you think that feels? I mean, you must know how I feel about you!” You cursed yourself for the way your voice quivered, and that damned burning feeling behind your eyes that you were so sick of.

“What– no, I didn’t– what do you–,” he stuttered. He actually stuttered. The spymaster of the Night court couldn’t even come up with an excuse for being an ass.

“Save it. I get it – you were lonely, we’ve all been there,” you muttered, wrapping your arms around yourself, “I have to go.”

You turned back in the direction of Mor’s apartment, pastries be damned. You just had to get away.

Azriel had other plans though. His fingers wrapped around your wrist, the cool wisps of shadows snaking up your forearm. You couldn’t help the way you recoiled from his touch, how it seemed to ignite every nerve in your arm.

“Wait–,”

“NO!” A sob wracked your body. “No, just leave me alone, Az. Can’t you tell that you’re hurting me?” His face twisted in time with your words, and tears pricked your eyes. “Being around you hurts!”

His shadows were whipping violently around him, but he was as still as death itself. Something like dread and confusion were clouding his eyes.

He called after you as you walked away. But he didn’t stop you, nor did he try to follow you. And you didn’t dare look over your shoulder, too scared you might run back and give him the rest of your heart, shattered as it may be. No, instead you carried the shards in your hands, tears rolling down your cheeks, one after the other.

You weren’t sure how you were ever going to be okay.

The bedroom door creaked open, and you pulled the duvet further over your head.

“Hey sleepyhead,” Mor said in a sing-song voice. You weren’t sleeping.

“I’m not asleep,” you muttered, huffing loudly at the giggle that escaped her.

“Yeah, well, calling you a crybaby would be insensitive so I went for the next best thing.”

Her comment made the corners of your lips twitch, and you silently cursed her for always knowing how to cheer you up. You had gotten quite comfortable in your misery.

You pulled the covers down and looked over at where she stood. Your chest grew uncomfortably tight when you saw what was in her hands.

“Another one?” You asked and rolled over to face the window. You had forgotten how stubborn he was. Competitive bastard.

“Yes, and they just seem to get bigger and bigger. I like the daffodils in this one though, very spring-esque. The other ones didn’t have any daffodils,” she mused as she walked in and headed towards the far end of the room, most likely towards the dresser. It was the only surface area not currently taken up by a bouquet.

This was the sixth bouquet he’d sent. In three days. He had turned Mor’s guest room into a damn flower shop. Just being in a ten feet proximity of this room would have sent Cassian into a sneezing frenzy.

“Remember that time in Elain’s garden, when you told me daffodils were your mom’s favourite flower? That she called you her little daffodil when she carried you in her womb? They are very beautiful – just like you.

“Yours, Azriel.” Mor read the note before carefully putting it back with the flowers.

Every set of flowers had come with its own handwritten note. He had apologised in the first one, the rest told you he missed you, recalling memories of moments you’d shared. Each one ended with a heartfelt compliment, one that brought tears to your eyes every time, without fail.

Mor let out a slight sigh. “I am fully on your side here, and I don’t want to pressure you into anything, but… are you sure you don’t want to talk to him? I know you’re hurt, and you have every right to be, but… he’s a good male and he likes you – a lot.”

She’s right. You figured that out two days ago. But your pride was wounded, and your trust had been betrayed, and it stung.

However, somewhere along when the initial pain had started to diminish it had slowly but surely gotten replaced by the agony of missing him. Now you didn’t know what part of the pain came from what, you only knew that it hurt.

But Gods, you really did miss him – more and more by the minute. You missed him in your bones; your best friend, your partner in crime, the male you loved.

“Alright, you don’t have to say anything. I have to visit Rhysand to go over some work though, and I won’t be home until late tonight, probably. There is food and tea in the kitchen, or you can go down to the pub downstairs and ask them to make you something. Just… make sure to go there earlier in the evening to avoid drunken idiots, okay?” You rolled over to look at your friend, who once again proved herself to be way better than you deserved. You nodded.

“Thank you,” you whispered and her lips curved upwards in a soft smile.

“Of course, take care of yourself,” she said, that warm smile still intact as she made her way out of the room, closing the door behind her.

After dragging out your stay in bed a few more minutes, the thought of a warm cup of tea became too enticing to ignore. Chucking on a thick sweater you dragged your feet out of the bedroom.

Once in the kitchen, you put the kettle on the stove and went in search of some tea. Where was the one Mor made you yesterday? The one that felt like drinking a warm, spiced hug – you needed that one right now. You found it in one of the cupboards just in time for the water to start boiling. So you made your cup of tea, drizzled in a little bit of honey, and walked out to the living room. You had just put your tea down and made your way over to the wall of bookshelves to pick out a new story to escape into when there was a knock on the door.

The way your entire body froze, yet seemed to come alive at the same time, signalled you knew who it was. How your body and soul could possibly know it was Azriel on the other side of that door, you weren’t sure. But alas, as you crossed the living room towards the entryway and tugged the front door open, there he was.

He looked tired. His eyes seemed uncharacteristically old, his skin dull and the bags under his eyes were undeniable. Despite this he still managed to look as breath-taking as always.

Those tired eyes met yours, and you swore you felt time stop. He was here. Your Azriel.

Except he wasn’t yours, was he? A truth that only stung worse when your name fell from his lips. But seeing him here, like this… you could live with never having him, you thought. As long as he was in your life, if only as a friend.

That’s why you breathed out a “hi,”, and opened the door wider, a silent invitation to step inside. His shoulders sagged in relief as he stepped over the threshold.

“Hey,” Azriel whispered on a shaky breath, as you closed the door behind him. You stood in silence for a minute, neither of you apparently knowing what to say.

Azriel was the first to break the silence, “so, uh– did you get the…”. Bouquets is what he didn’t say, but he didn’t have to.

“Yeah, yeah I did,” you mumbled, never really meeting his eyes. “Pretty.”

“Yeah? Okay,” you could see him nodding out of the corner of your eye. “Good.”

You raised your gaze to meet his, and your heart clenched. You just wanted things back to the way they were, you wanted your friend back. Because standing here in front of him, not knowing what to say was awful. So you did the only thing you could think of…

“I miss you.” Your voice wavered more than you’d ever care to admit, but there it was – the truth.

Azriel’s shoulders visibly shuddered at your confession. “Oh, angel,” it was your time to shudder. “I’ve missed you too, so much. I’m so sorry,” his eyes glazed over as he continued, “but please believe me when I say that I did not know – about how you felt. And maybe that makes me stupid, and blind, and oblivious–”

“No,” you interrupted him, “you’re not any of those things, Az.” His deprecating words wounded you so deeply, a heavy sadness filling your chest.

“I should have known. I never would have– I wouldn’t have been such a coward if I knew.” You swore you heard the remnants of your heart crack.

“Azzy…” You stepped towards him and reached up to cradle his face in your hands. His own hands flew up to your wrist and you prepared for him to reject your touch.

Only he didn’t.

Instead he gently held your hands in place and leaned into your touch in a manner so tender your breath hitched in your throat. His thumbs swiped across the backs of your wrists.

“I’m sorry, I got all up in my head and I–,” you didn’t let him finish.

“It’s okay Azriel, I forgive you.” His posture straightened a little as you continued, “I’m sorry too.”

You felt a tear roll down your cheek, and before you could even register it happening, Azriel had pulled you into a hug. He wrapped an arm around your waist, his other hand coming up to cradle the back of your head as he held you against his chest. He was so warm, and comfortable, and safe, and one tear became two, became three. All the while, Azriel held you, wings enveloping you in a cocoon as he whispered sweet nothings into your hair.

After what felt like hours, but was merely just minutes, Azriel dropped his wings from around you and as you felt his arms ease their hold on you, you took half a step back. His hand that had cradled the back of your head now cupped your cheek, the other came to rest on your hip.

You dried your tears, ungracefully wiping snot from your nose, and you once again lifted your head in search of those hazel eyes you had grown so in love with. And as your gazes locked – that’s when you felt it.

Like the snap of a bowstring, dead center in the middle of your chest, that glowing, golden thread locked into place – forever connecting your soul with the male across from you.

The impact was so intense you staggered back, knocking into the end table behind you. Your hand flew up to your chest, fingers clutching the fabric of your sweater as you tried to make sense of what just happened.

Azriel is your mate.

Does he know? Does he even want you? A thousand thoughts swarmed your head, but they were all overpowered by one: mate. He was your mate.

Azriel stood, one arm still partially outstretched, eyes wide and brow furrowed. Something like bewilderment filled you to an overwhelming degree, and it took you a moment to realise that the feelings did not belong to you. They were all Azriel, unable to keep his emotions from bleeding across the bond to you.

“You’re my–,” you stuttered.

“Yes,” he breathed in response.

“I– I’m your–”

“Yes,”

“You knew?” His eyes shuttered at your question.

“Yes,”

You had to sit down.

You wobbled over to the couch and dropped down. You didn’t even realise he’d followed you until you felt the seat dip beside you.

He seemed to realise words were not something currently in your possession, and took it upon himself to start to explain.

“You were sleeping, had been for probably an hour at least, but I couldn’t take my eyes off of you. I have–,” he swallowed and his whole body shook as he professed his next words. “I have been in love with you since the moment I saw you. When Rhysand introduced you to everyone and you were trying to sneak glances at all of us, thinking you were being discreet. You weren’t – quite the opposite actually.” You turned your head to look at him. One of those rare smiles decorated his face as he recalled the memory. “I think everyone noticed, but no one said anything. They were all probably as smitten by you as I was. Not only were you so adorable, you were the most divine female I had ever seen. Your eyes shone so brightly, and you radiated such calmness, such security – like every problem that had ever been wasn’t so bad after all. Like everything was always going to be fine, as long as you were around. You looked heavenly. Like an angel.” He whispered the last part and as his eyes met yours you sucked in a breath at the emotion swimming in them.

Angel. His dedicated pet name for you. What he had been calling you, and only you, since that very first day. Not only were you the only person with that specific pet name – you were the only one of Azriel’s friend to even have a pet name, you realised. Sure, he referred to Rhysand and Cassian as his brothers. But you were his angel.

“You love me?” You croaked, fresh tears filling your eyes.

“Yes, I do.” You hiccupped, face twisting as your chest filled to the brim with so many emotions you could not possibly name them all. He took your hands in his, and gave them a light squeeze as he continued, “When we were on that couch I was just… watching you. Holding you. Realising how perfectly you fit in my arms, when you moved. You snuggled deeper into my chest, like being close to me was an instinctual need, and then you sighed, and you smiled in your sleep – and I couldn’t breathe,” he took a deep breath, “that’s when the bond snapped.” You wanted to reach out and smooth out that crease between his eyebrows. Instead you just moved closer to him, pressed yourself into his side, and when he looked down at you, you gave it your best at pushing some of that endless love you held for him down that glittering bond.

A sharp exhale left his parted lips and he gave your still entwined hands another squeeze. When he looked at you his cheeks were tinged with pink, the tips of his ears flushed.

He loved you.

He was your mate and he loved you.

“I was so shocked. Why would it snap now and not earlier?” He shook his head, his eyes not once leaving yours. “Then I started to… doubt myself,” his brows furrowed deeper, “what if you didn’t want me? I didn’t even know if you knew. Knew and… and decided you didn’t want to be with me. The Gods know I don’t deserve you.”

You couldn’t help the broken whimper that escaped you as you listened to this wonderful male voice how lowly he thought of himself.

“Don’t say that Azriel,” you croaked, your voice thick from crying. “I love you so much. I look at you and my heart fills to a point where I genuinely think it might burst,” you coughed out an attempt at a laugh. “You are a good male, and I could not imagine a greater honour than the Mother choosing you as my mate.”

A single tear rolled down Azriel’s cheek at your confession. You untangled your hands from his, instead crawling into his lap. This wonderful male, and he was all yours. The love that filled your chest felt so secure, so safe. Like the warmth of the morning sun. Like the smell of freshly baked bread, and early morning bird song. It felt like the beginning of something great.

You raked your hands through his hair, and as you leaned in to kiss that lone tear away from his jaw, you watched his eyes shutter closed.

“I love you,” you whispered against his lips, your forehead coming to rest against his, “my mate.”

His hands found your hips and gripped them tightly, and the touch was more than welcomed. If it was up to you to decide, he would never let you go – forever in each other’s embrace.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered once more, breath hot against your lips. “I shouldn’t have–… please don’t leave me again.”

“Never,” you promised, and then, like waves crashing ashore, you leaned in that last bit and pressed your lips to his.

His entire body shook beneath you as he reciprocated the kiss, moulding his lips to yours and you couldn’t help but notice how incredibly right it felt. Like coming home. And as your lips moved together that glowing thread became a wild, real, physical thing between you. His hands gripped you tighter, like you were his lifeline. Pulling you impossibly closer, as if you were the air he needed to breathe. His tongue swiped over your bottom lip and your lips parted, letting your tongues meet in the most delicious of ways.

The kiss was claiming, overpowering and you could not help the whine that escaped you as his fingers dug into your sides. A primal growl rattled deep in his throat, alighting every nerve in your body.

This.

You wanted to stay right here, just like this, forever.

You didn’t know how long you actually did stay like that – the two of you seemed to, again, be able to defy the concept of time together. But you were now laying on the couch, Azriel’s heart drumming a steady beat in your ear, a warm, overwhelming comfort overtaking your body.

Slowly, you started to feel yourself drifting off to sleep, and with your head on his chest, his arms around you, the opening and closing of the front door and Mor’s voice that followed, felt so very far away. You almost didn’t apprehend what she said as her voice moved in closer.

“You better not leave her this time,” she ordered, and the rumble of Azriel’s voice, how very safe it made you feel, lulled you deeper and deeper into unconsciousness.

Your body was impossibly heavy, the words he mumbled into your hair the last thing you registered before sleep claimed you.

“I won't,” he pressed a kiss to your head, “never again.”

tags: @hnyclover @justdreamstars @historygeekqueen @sharknutz @icey--stars @mel-wcst @alysena2 @lewsnumerounofan

#acotar #azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel angst #azriel fluff #azriel acotar #azriel shadowsinger #a court of thorns and roses #azriel fanfic #azriel imagine #lonely with you

1K notes · View notes

lupinqs · 9 days ago

Text

CHAPTER FOUR ━━ I’ll Be Here

❀ ━ pairing: paige bueckers x oc (jo jacobson)

❀ ━ word count: 6.7K

❀ ━ warnings: descriptions of injury

❀ ━ links: my masterlist, nobody gets me masterlist

❀ ━ author’s note: i love them this is by far my favorite chapter so far i think my writing abilities have returned

JO FEELS alive out on the court. The rubbery squeak of sneakers against polished wood, the sharp clap of the ball on the floor, the steady rhythm of her breathing—all of it feels right. She’s glad to be back on campus, playing with her team. The off-month of July was nice, but August is already proving to be full of Connecticut basketball—which, frankly, Jo can’t get enough of.

She wipes the back of her hand across her forehead, sweat sticking to her skin. Practice is almost over, and everyone’s moving a little slower now, a little less sharp. Even Paige, who’s usually relentless, has started to show signs of fatigue. Not that Jo would say that out loud—Paige would probably take it as a challenge.

Jo glances at her. Paige is standing at half-court, hands on her hips, scanning the court with that laser focus of hers. Jo’s seen that look a hundred times since she’s got here, and she knows exactly what it means. Paige is plotting, figuring out how to dismantle Nika and Azzi’s defense, and Jo feels a flicker of anticipation.

Playing with Paige is easy. It has been since they first started. There’s something about the way Paige moves, the way she thinks, that just makes sense to Jo. It’s like Paige is speaking a language Jo didn’t even know she was fluent in until they started playing together.

The whistle blows and the ball is in play again. Jo takes off down the court, feet pounding, eyes scanning. Paige has the ball, weaving around Lou with an infuriating ease that makes it look like she isn’t even trying. Jo cuts to the left, then back right, trying to lose Azzi—and doing so—just in time for Paige to send a no-look pass her way.

The ball lands perfectly in her hands and Jo doesn’t even have to think. She takes the shot, her form automatic, muscle memory guiding her. The ball arcs high, spinning just right, and swishes clean through the net.

“Nice shot, Joey!” Paige calls, jogging over to bump shoulders with her.

Jo smiles a little, her cheeks feeling warm. Joey’s never been a nickname that anyone but her family calls her, but ever since that day in Boston, Paige has made it a point to call her it. Oddly enough, Jo sort of likes it. It makes sense that Paige has a nickname for her that the rest of the team doesn’t use, one for just the two of them. Paige is already moving, already focused on the next play, and Jo shakes her head, trying to refocus.

The game continues, and Jo and Paige fall into that easy rhythm again. They’re in sync in a way that’s almost unfair to the other team. Jo drives to the basket, Paige finds her with a perfect pass. Paige pulls up for a three, and Jo crashes the boards for the rebound just in case it doesn’t go in—not that Paige misses often.

And then, on the other end of the floor, Jo sees the opportunity before it even fully forms. Nika’s dribble falters for half a second, just enough for Jo to anticipate her next move. She lunges, quick hands swiping the ball clean, and takes off. There’s a surge of exhilaration as the ball leaves her fingertips in a perfect, arching pass up the court.

Paige is already there, as if she’s read Jo’s mind. She’s fast, faster than anyone on the court, her strides long and confident as she streaks toward the basket. Jo slows, her job done for the moment, and watches.

The ball lands in Paige’s hands like it was meant to be there, and she’s in full flight, her eyes locked on the basket. Jo can feel her own heart pounding in her chest, adrenaline still coursing through her veins. She doesn’t think about how good Paige looks like that—her bright blonde ponytail flying, the concentration set on her face, the fluidity of her movements—but the thought lingers at the edge of her mind anyway, uninvited and confusing.

Then, everything changes.

Paige plants her foot to go for the layup, and it happens so fast that Jo almost doesn’t process it at first. There’s a strange sound—something between a gasp and a groan—and then Paige is crumpling to the floor, clutching her knee.

Time seems to slow. The ball bounces, forgotten, the game dissolving in an instant as everyone rushes to Paige’s side. Jo’s body moves on autopilot, her legs carrying her before she can even really understand what’s happening.

She skids to her knees next to Paige, her heart racing so fast it feels like it might break free of her chest. Azzi and Nika are already there, their faces pale, their hands hovering as if afraid to touch Paige. Jo’s eyes dart to Paige’s knee, and her stomach twists violently. Paige’s hand is clamped over it, her other arm draped across her face to hide her tears, but Jo can still hear the shaky, uneven breaths the blonde is taking.

“It’s my knee,” Paige chokes out, her voice barely audible.

Jo’s breath catches. Her throat feels dry, and for a moment, she’s frozen, unable to force out a single word. The world around her seems to blur, the voices of her teammates fading into a muffled hum. Nika’s saying something, her voice soft but firm, trying to calm Paige down, but Jo doesn’t hear it clearly.

Because all she can think about is her own knee, two years ago, when she felt that same sickening shift, heard that same awful pop. She remembers the way the gym lights blurred as she hit the floor, the way the pain swallowed her whole, and the way everything—basketball, her future, her sense of self—seemed to unravel in that moment.

When Jo briefly makes eye contact at Azzi, she can tell she’s thinking the same thing.

Because now Paige is here, clutching her knee, tears slipping from beneath the arm covering her face, and Jo feels like she’s going to be sick.

Her hands shake as she reaches out instinctively, her fingers brushing against Paige’s. It’s a tentative gesture, one she isn’t sure will help, but then Paige’s hand blindly reaches for hers, gripping it hard. Jo swallows thickly, the lump in her throat making it hard to breathe, and her thumb moves in slow, deliberate circles over Paige’s knuckles.

Jo doesn’t know what to say. She doesn’t trust herself to speak because every thought in her head is jagged and messy, spiraling out of control. ACL. ACL. ACL. It courses through her head like a mantra. Because the way Paige’s knee twisted, the way she fell—it’s too familiar, too similar to Jo’s own injury to ignore.

And if it is an ACL tear, then Paige is done for the season.

Jo clenches her jaw, trying to shove the thought away, trying to be the positive, optimistic girl she is, but it still lingers stubbornly. It feels like Paige just came back from an injury. Jo remembers watching the Notre Dame game last December—she was there, in support for her future team—and Paige had crumpled down on the court in the last minute, crying and clutching at her knee. Jo knows she went through surgery, through rehab, missing majority of the season, being sidelined while everyone else played. And now, to have this happen again—it’s not fair. It’s cruel.

Paige’s whole life is basketball. Jo knows that. She’s seen the way Paige pours everything she has into the game, how much she thrives on the court, how much she needs it. And Jo knows, too, how much it hurts to lose it, to have the game you love ripped away from you when you need it most.

Jo’s hand tightens around Paige’s, and she murmurs softly, almost unconsciously, “You’re okay. You’re gonna be okay.” She doesn’t know if Paige hears her, doesn’t know if the words mean anything, but it feels like the only thing she can do.

Paige squeezes Jo’s hand in response, her grip strong despite the tremor in her fingers. Jo’s heart aches at the silent plea in that touch, at the vulnerability in someone who’s always seemed so untouchable.

Eventually, Aaliyah and Aubrey kneel down on either side of Paige, their voices low and soothing. They coax her to sit up, their hands gentle as they help her shift her weight. Jo, Azzi, and Nika instinctively move back, giving them space, but Jo can’t seem to take her eyes off of Paige. She watches as Paige’s fingers slip from hers, the loss of contact leaving her feeling strangely hollow.

Jo stands, her legs stiff, her hands hanging uselessly at her sides. She watched as Aaliyah and Aubrey loop their arms around Paige’s shoulders, helping her to her feet. Paige’s face is tight with pain, her jaw clenched as she tries to put as little weight as possible on her injured leg.

It’s silent as Paige limps toward the trainer’s office, supported on either side. Jo stays rooted to the spot, her mind racing.

She can’t stop thinking about how this could be it—how this injury could take away everything Paige has been working toward. She can’t stop thinking about how Paige was determined to get that natty this year, how much she told Jo she was the missing piece for them to secure it. She can’t stop thinking about how unfair it all is.

And, most of all, she can’t stop thinking about Paige, about the tears hidden behind the arm draped over her face, about the way she reached for Jo’s hand without hesitation, as if Jo was the only anchor in a moment filled with pain and chaos.

Jo exhales shakily, nails digging into her palms. She knows the team will rally around Paige. They’ll support her, encourage her, do whatever it takes to help her through this. But right now, all Jo can do is stand there, her chest tight with worry and her mind looping endlessly through memories she’d rather forget.

She doesn’t want this for Paige. She doesn’t want this for anyone.

But as Paige disappears behind the gym doors, Jo can’t help but wonder if wanting it not to be true is enough to change anything.

JO SITS cross-legged on the worn couch in Nika, Amari, and Ice’s apartment, her knee bouncing nervously. It’s late, and the soft hum of the TV plays in the background, but she can’t focus on whatever show Ice flipped on. Her stomach twists as shifts next to her, phone in hand. Across the room, Amari and Ice are on the opposite couch, close enough to hear the incoming conversation but far enough to give some space.

Jo appreciates that. They all know how delicate this is, how fragile it all feels. No one wants to overwhelm Paige. She’s been through enough today.

Jo chews on the inside of her cheek as Nika taps on Paige’s contact and hits the FaceTime button. The dial tone seems to drag on forever, each ring stretching her nerves tighter and tighter. Jo adjusts her position, pulling her knees up to her chest, and hugs them as if that’ll somehow ground her.

When Paige answers, the screen fills with her face.

Jo’s heart clenches.

Paige looks tired—no, more than tired. She looks worn down, like the weight of the day has crushed something in her. There’s a forced smile on her lips, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. Her hair is pulled back haphazardly, and her face is pale, her features drawn tight.

“Hey,” Paige says, her voice quiet but trying for upbeat.

“Hey,” Nika says softly, her usual bravado muted. Jo stays quiet, her throat dry.

“How are you feeling?” Nika follows up. Her tone is gentle, but there’s a tremble in her voice, like she’s already bracing for bad news.

Paige lets out a long breath, her gaze flickering away from the camera for a moment before coming back. “I’ve been better.”

The words hang in the air. Jo’s stomach twists even tighter.

“What’s the verdict?” Nika asks carefully.

Jo doesn’t realize she’s holding her breath until Paige’s lips part.

“It’s my ACL,” Paige says, her voice cracking just slightly. She tries to steady herself, but the shaky breath she exhales gives her away.

Nika inhales sharply, and Jo can see her eyes immediately begin to swim. Instinctively, Jo shifts closer to Nika, resting her head on her shoulder. She feels like she’s been punched in the gut. She’s been preparing for this answer all day, replaying the moment over and over in her mind, but hearing it out loud makes it real in a way that feels unbearable.

“Oh my God,” Nika whispers, her tears beginning to fall. “Paige…”

Jo’s throat tightens painfully. She blinks rapidly, willing herself not to cry, but it’s a losing battle. The lump in her throat feels massive, her breathing uneven. She isn’t just upset because she won’t get to play with Paige this year—though that hurts like hell—but because she knows what this means for Paige.

Basketball is Paige’s life. It’s her everything.

Jo knows what it’s like to lose that, to have the sport you’ve built your whole world around ripped away from you. The endless months of rehab, the isolation, the frustration, the fear that you’ll never get back to where you were before—it’s hell. And Paige has already been through two other injuries within the last year alone; she doesn’t deserve this.

“It’s okay,” Paige says suddenly, her voice startling Jo out of her spiraling thoughts. Jo blinks, realizing that Paige is watching them both with an expression that’s equal parts exasperated and affectionate.

“You guys, come on,” Paige says, forcing a shaky laugh. “Why are you crying? I’m the one with the busted knee.”

Nika lets out a choked sob-laugh, wiping at her face. “Because we care about you, stupid!”

Jo can’t help the weak smile that tugs at her lips, even as the tears prick at the corners of her eyes.

Paige sighs, her forced smile softening into something more genuine, though still sad. “I’m okay, really,” she says, though her voice wavers. “It sucks. It really fuckin’ sucks. But God has his plans; everything happens for a reason. I’ll get through it.”

Jo’s chest tightens at that. Paige is trying to be strong for them, she realizes. She’s the one who’s hurt, the one who’s whole season has just been derailed, and yet here she is, comforting them.

“You don’t have to pretend to be okay,” Jo says quietly. Her voice is hoarse, but the words come out steady.

Paige’s gaze flickers to hers through the screen, and for a moment, the facade drops. Her shoulders slump a little, and she exhaled a trembling breath. “I know,” she says softly. “But I will be. Eventually.”

Jo nods, though she feels her eyes begin to swim again. She wants to say something, anything, but her mind feels blank, overwhelmed by the weight of it all, the familiarity of this shit.

“Aye,” Nika says firmly, voice steadier now despite her tear-streaked face. “We’re all here for you, P. Whatever you need, whenever you need it. Yeah?”

Paige smiles faintly, her eyes glassy but warm. “I know. Thanks, twin.”

Jo swallows hard, her hand massaging over the scar on her own knee as she fights to find her voice. “We’re gonna get through this together, okay?” she says finally, quiet but resolute.

Paige looks at her for a long moment, something unreadable flickering in her eyes, and then she bore. “Yeah,” she murmurs softly. “Together.”

The call ends a few minutes later, after more reassurances and promises to check in tomorrow. As the screen goes dark, Jo leans back against the couch, her head resting against the cushions. Her chest feels heavy, her thoughts swirling in a chaotic mess of worry, sadness, and determination.

Paige is going to need them now more than ever.

And Jo is going to make damn sure she’s there for her, every step of the way.

THE ROOM is quiet, the only sounds coming from the soft hum of the air conditioning and the occasional murmur of voices drifting in from the hallway. Paige lies on the stiff hospital bed, staring up at the dull ceiling tiles. Her body feels heavy, not from exhaustion but from the crushing weight of the situation. The thin blanket over her legs is tucked too tightly, and she wants to kick it off, but she doesn’t move. It’s not worth the effort.

Her thoughts churn endlessly, looping the same questions and doubts over and over and over again. How is she supposed to do this, how is she supposed to live without basketball for a year? A year feels like an eternity. It feels impossible.

She shifts slightly, wincing at the dull ache in her knee. It’s wrapped up tightly, immobilized, but she can still feel the deep, bone-deep throb of it. The pain doesn’t scare her; it’s familiar. It’s what the pain represents that makes her chest feel like it’s caving in.

Her parents and Drew are here, their presence comforting and supportive. She’s glad they’re here—it means a lot that her dad and Drew flew in last night, and that her mom showed up first thing this morning despite how they all live several states away, over halfway across the country for her mom. But when they all insisted on staying, hovering, she’d encouraged them to go get lunch. She’d thought she’d wanted some time alone.

Now, though, with the silence stretching around her, she regrets it. Being alone means being stuck with her thoughts, and her thoughts aren’t kind to her right now.

Paige tries to steady her breathing, inhaling deeply through her nose and letting it out slowly through her mouth, just like the trainers taught her when her anxiety flares up before big games. The comeback will be greater than the setback, she tells herself firmly, trying to internalize the words that have been repeated to her so many times over the past twenty-four hours. God has His plans. Everything happens for a reason.

But it’s so fucking hard.

Tears prick at the corners of her eyes, but she blinks them back quickly, jaw tightening. She’s not going to cry. Not here. Not now. Her chest feels like it’s been hollowed out, the ache of it sharp and unrelenting. Basketball isn’t just her passion; it’s her identity. It’s who she is.

And now it’s gone.

For a year.

She squeezes her eyes shut, willing the despair away, but it only seems to grow heavier. A part of her wants to scream at the unfairness of it all, but she knows that won’t change anything. She knows what’s coming—the surgery, the long months of rehab, the lonely hours in the gym trying to rebuild herself from the ground up. She knows because she’s been through it before, though she knows this time will be far worse.

A soft knock on the door jolts her from her spiraling thoughts. Her eyes snap open, her heart skipping a beat. She quickly wipes at her face, hoping she doesn’t look as defeated as she feels.

“Come in,” she says hoarsely.

The door freaks open, and Paige stills in surprise.

Jo steps into the room, a small gift bag and what looks to be a card in hand and a hesitant, almost nervous smile on her face. She looks so out of place in the sterile hospital room, like a burst of color in a grayscale world.

“Hey,” Jo says softly, tone warm but tinged with uncertainty.

Paige stares at her for a moment, her brain scrambling to process the sight of her. She didn’t expect this at all. The teams plans are to visit her after the surgery, not before. Paige resigned herself to facing this part alone, just with her family.

But now Jo is here.

And for some reason, Paige feels her chest loosen slightly, like she can finally take a deep breath.

“Hey,” she greets, her voice cracking despite her best efforts.

Jo steps further into the room, shutting the door behind her. “I, uh, hope it’s okay that I’m here,” she says, glancing around awkwardly. “I just thought… I don’t know, I figured you might need some company before… I know your family’s here—I met them—and they, y’know, told me to come up and say hi…”

Her voice trails off, and she shifts on her feet, suddenly looking unsure of herself.

Paige feels a strange warmth bloom in her chest. She doesn’t know why, but seeing Jo here, with that goofy gift bag and that hopeful look on her face, feels like exactly what she needed.

“No, it’s—it’s more than okay,” Paige says quickly, her lips twitching into a small, genuine smile for the first time all day. “I’m glad you’re here.”

Jo’s face brightens slightly, and she steps closer, settling the gift bag on the small table next to the bed. “Good,” she says simply, her voice lighter now.

She settles gently on the edge of the hospital bed, her presence grounding yet unobtrusive. Paige feels the mattes dip beneath her weight and fights the urge to shuffle closer, some irrational part of her craving proximity. There’s something about Jo that feels a safe, like a lifeline, and Paige doesn’t even know why.

She watches Jo carefully, studies her as Jo’s gaze sweeps over her, taking in her entire figure as if searching for the right words. Paige stays quiet, letting her look. It’s easier than trying to fill the silence herself.

When Jo’s eyes linger on her leg—hidden under the blankets, immobile but looming in its absence of normalcy—Paige notices the flicker of something in Jo’s expression. A soft dimming, like a light bulb sputtering. Jo’s usually bright eyes dull just a fraction, but it’s enough to make Paige’s stomach twist.

She doesn’t like seeing that.

Jo exhales heavily, dragging a hand through her hair as if the gesture alone can lighten the mood. “I’m… God, I’m really sorry,” she says. Her voice is sincere and laced with the kind of frustration that comes from knowing words can’t fix anything. “I know everyone’s probably saying that, and I’m sure it doesn’t help, but I really am. I just…” she trails off, shaking her head.

The apology hands in the air, filling the room with a bitter truth that Paige can’t escape. She nods stiffly. “Thanks,” she says quietly, the words trembling at the edges. “It just… sucks.”

Her hands clench at the blanket bunched in her lap, fingers twisting the fabric as she tries to keep the rising tide of emotions at bay. But the sight of Jo, who’s usually so optimistic, looking even slightly defeated by the situation feels like a punch to the gut. Paige can barely handle her own disappointment; she doesn’t need to see it reflected in Jo’s eyes, too.

Jo looks at her for a long moment, and then she nods. “I know,” she says softly. Her voice is low and calm, a salve to Paige’s raw emotions. “I get it. I really do.”

Something about those words ignites a spark of frustration in Paige, a flare of anger born from sadness and exhaustion. Her voice comes out sharper than she intends, cutting through the quiet like a knife. “Do you?”

As soon as the words leave her mouth, she regrets them. The bitterness in her tone feels wrong, feels cruel, and the second she hears it escape herself, guilt tugs at her. This is Jo, the sweetest person Paige knows, who didn’t have to come here but did anyway, who’s been nothing but kind since the moment they met. Jo doesn’t deserve to be on the receiving end of Paige’s frustration, no matter how much everything sucks right now.

Paige braces herself for a reaction—a flicker of annoyance, maybe, or even a hint of anger. But when Jo meets her eyes, there’s no trace of either. Her expression is soft, gentle, almost unbearable understanding.

“Yes,” Jo says quietly, after a beat. “I do.”

Paige blinks, caught off guard by the steadiness in Jo’s voice.

Jo shifts slightly on the bed, her gaze unwavering. “A couple years ago, when I was a junior,” she starts, her tone light but carrying an unmistakable weight, “I tore my ACL. Same leg as yours. Took me out for the rest of the season.”

The words hit Paige like a freight train, stealing the air from her lungs. For a moment, all she can do is stare at Jo, her mind reeling. She feels like an idiot—no, worse than that, a complete dick. She lashed out, accused Jo of not understanding when Jo actually does understand better than most people ever could.

Paige’s mouth opens, then closes again, her thoughts racing. She’s known about Jo for years, followed her on social media long before they were teammates. Jo was the single most sought-after recruits in her class, and Paige had watched her basketball highlights serval times. How had she not known about this? How had she missed something so monumental?

Her eyes flicker down to Jo’s legs, as if she can scan through her leggings for a sign of a scar. Has she ever looked closely at Jo’s knees? She tries to picture it, tries to remember if she’s seen anything, but she can’t. She wonders if it’s because Jo hides it well or if she just wasn’t enough attention.

Guilt settles heavily in her chest, mingling with a fresh wave of sadness. “Jo,” she says softly, barely a whisper.

Jo shakes her head quickly, cutting her off before she can apologize. “It’s okay,” she says earnestly. “Really. I didn’t bring it up to make you feel bad. I just.. I want you to that you’re not at all alone, okay? I know it feels like everything’s falling apart right now, and I know it’s going to suck for a while. But you’re gonna get through it. And you’re gonna come back an even better player than you were before, because I know you, and you will. Okay?”

The words hit Paige in a way that nothing else has since this whole ordeal started. She feels a lump form in her throat, and this time, she doesn’t try to fight it. She lets the tears come, hot and fast, and Jo doesn’t flinch. “Okay,” Paige forces out, nodding through the tears.

Jo lets her cry for a few moments, a bead of silent support. And then as the tears begin to slow, Jo shifts a little, smiling that smile at Paige—wide and easy and damn near perfect—Paige feels her chest loosen some, the tears finally halting.

Jo reaches over and grabs the gift bag from the small table near the bed, holding it up. “Please don’t laugh,” she tells Paige.

Paige blinks at her, still wiping at the tears streaking her cheeks, a soft chuckle escaping despite herself. “Why would I laugh?” she asks, sounding raspier than usual from the crying.

“Just don’t,” she insists, leaning forward to hand Paige the bag.

There’s something so endearing about Jo’s seriousness that Paige finds herself smiling again, the kind of smile that feels foreign right now but also deeply necessary. She pulls the tissue paper out of the bag slowly, dragging out the moment to tease Jo, who’s clearly fighting the urge to rush her along. Finally, Paige reaches inside and pulls out the gift.

A purple dragon Squishmallow.

For a second, Paige just stares at it, her brain short-circuiting at the sheer unexpected of it. Then, a laugh bubbles out of her, surprising even herself. It’s not the kind of laugh that mocks or undermines—there’s nothing mean-spirited about it. Instead, it’s warm and light and laced with something close to gratitude.

“I told you not to laugh!” Jo exclaims, though she’s grinning at Paige.

“I’m not laughing at it,” the blonde defends, though she’s still giggling as she turns the plush dragon over in her hands, taking in its soft fabric and adorable face. “I just… I dunno. It’s cute.” She pauses, then adds softly, “Thank you.”

Jo’s smile softens, and she nudges Paige’s shoulder lightly. “I know it’s dumb, but…” Jo shrugs, leaning back slightly, her gaze flickering to the dragon in Paige’s hands. “When I tore my ACL, my mom get me what she called an emotional support stuffed animal, and as stupid as it sounds, it helped. Like, just having something to hold onto when things got hard, y’know? So, I figured… maybe it could help you, too.”

Paige blinks, her eyes darting to the Squishmallow again, her fingers brushing over its wings. It’s not just a gift; it’s a piece of Jo’s own experience, her way of saying, I’ve been here, and I made it through, and you will too. And somehow, that makes it mean so much more.

And then Paige realizes—Bubbles. The plush turtle that Jo’s always carrying around—the one Paige’s seen tucked under Jo’s arm while she’s lounging on the couch or sitting at the kitchen table, absentmindedly holding it while scrolling through her phone. That’s the emotional support stuffed animal. The thought makes Paige smile again, and she feels something warm and unfamiliar bloom deep within her chest, right around the crevices of her heart.

Jo tilts her head, watching her with a curious expression. “What?”

“Nothing,” Paige says quickly, though her lips curve upward involuntarily.

Jo narrows her eyes but doesn’t press, instead gesturing toward the dragon. “You gotta name it.”

Paige hums, thinking. And then she smirks, holding up the stuffed animal like it’s a crown jewel. “I’m naming her Sunny.”

Jo smiles. “Why Sunny?”

Paige shrugs. “I dunno. It just… fits.”

Jo seems satisfied with the answer, and Paige can’t help but feel a little triumphant. Jo doesn’t have to know the truth—that Paige picked the name because it reminds her of Jo, her own little pocket of sunshine. It’ll make her think of Jo every time she looks at the dragon.

Paige clutches Sunny to her chest, the plush fabric warm and comforting. Her eyes drift to the bedside table, where the card Jo brought in sits, its bright colors standing out. She tilts her head toward it. “What’s that?”

Jo follows her gaze, her expression shifting from amusement to mild apprehension as she leans over and grabs the card. “Oh, right,” she says, shaking her head a little, like she’d almost forgotten about it. She hesitates before handing it to Paige, fiddling with the edge of the envelope. “Um, it’s from Celeste. She saw me in the gym today and told me to give it to you. I thinks she, uh, really likes you.”

Jo’s voice is casual, but there’s an edge to it, a faint curiosity and something that Paige can’t place.

Paige furrows her brows as she takes the care, but she doesn’t open it. Instead, she stares at it for a moment, her stomach tightening. Celeste. Paige doesn’t like this. Not the care, not the fact that Celeste gave it to Jo, of all people, and definitely not the implication that Celeste likes her.

Paige just shakes her head, setting the card back down on the table without even looking inside.

Jo grins, biting back a laugh. “Paige,” she says, her voice lilting, teasing.

“I don’t want a card from her,” Paige says flatly, her tone sharper than she intends. She hugs Sunny a little tighter, as if the stuffed animal can shield her from that.

“She likes you,” Jo repeats, drawing out the words.

“Well, I don’t,” Paige says quickly. She glances at the card again, like it’s something toxic. “It was just casual.”

“Well,” Jo starts, her tone slow and deliberate, her eyes sparkling with mischief, “I don’t blame her. You really seemed to rock her world that one night.”

Paige’s head snaps toward Jo, her face heating up instantly. “Joey!” she exclaims, swatting Jo’s shoulder lightly, her mortification growing by the second. She remembers how she thought Jo was asleep, but then how Jo confirmed the next morning that she was in fact, not asleep. And how she’d heard all of Paige and Celeste’s… activities.

Jo bursts out laughing, and Paige can’t help but laugh too, even as she buries her face in Sunny, groaning. “You’re so annoying,” she mumbles, her words muffled by the plush dragon.

The laughter lingers between them, soft and warm, like a secret bubble in the otherwise sterile hospital room. Jo’s grinning at her, and Paige can’t help but hold onto Sunny tighter, as if clutching the dragon can somehow anchor her to this fleeting moment of happiness.

Then the door opens, and the bubble pops. Paige’s mom steps in, her expression shifting from neutral to outright surprise when she sees them.

“Hi, Mom,” Paige says, smiling at her.

Amy’s gaze flickers between Paige and Jo, her brows lifting as if she can’t quite believe what she’s seeing. She looks relieved, probably at the fact that she’s seeing a genuine smile on Paige’s face for the first time since she got to Connecticut.

“Hi, sweetie,” Amy says, her tone careful, like she doesn’t want to disrupt whatever this is.

Jo stands almost immediately, smoothing her shirt as she steps away from the bed. “Here, I won’t keep you any longer,” she says, her tone polite but casual, the way Jo always is.

Paige feels an unexpected song at the thought of Jo leaving, her laughter fading too quickly. Before she can even think about it, her hand shoots out, grabbing Jo’s wrist. “Wait,” she blurts, her voice more urgent than it should be.

Jo stops, her eyes flickering down to where Paige’s fingers wrap around her hand. She doesn’t pull away, but Paige can feel the hesitation in her stillness, like she’s waiting for Paige to explain herself.

Paige swallows thickly, suddenly hyper-aware of her mom’s presence, the newfound tension in the air. But she doesn’t let go. “Will you… will you be here when I wake up?” she asks, her voice quieter now, almost shy.

Jo’s eyes soften immediately, the hesitation melting into something gentler. “As long as you want me here,” she says, steady but sure, like it’s the easiest promise in the world to make.

Paige’s heart picks up just slightly, and she squeezes Jo’s hand a little. “Of course I do,” she murmurs.

Jo’s smile is small but genuine, the kind of smile that makes Paige’s heart ache a little in the best way. “Then I’ll be here,” Jo says simply.

The words hang between them for a moment, and then Jo steps back, her fingers flipping from Paige’s grasp. The loss is instant and sharp, but Paige forces herself to let go, watching as Jo gives her mom a polite nod and heads for the door.

As soon as Jo is gone, Amy crosses the room to Paige’s bedside, her eyes still wide with something Paige can’t decipher. Then, Amy blurts, “P, she is so adorable!”

“Mom,” Paige says, drawing the word out, her cheeks heating.

“I mean it!” Amy continues, her grin wide and unguarded. “She’s sweet, and funny, and, I mean, seriously, she’s been amazing. She absolutely did not have to come today, but she did. Paige, you are so lucky to have her.”

Paige’s lips curve into a small smile despite herself. Her mom isn’t wrong. Jo has been amazing—more than amazing, if Paige’s chest full of warmth and what she thinks might be fucking butterflies is any indication. She hugs Sunny close, her fingers brushing over the dragon’s soft fabric as she thinks about Jo’s stupid, perfect smile and the way her laughter filled the room like sunshine.

“Yeah,” Paige says softly, almost to herself. “I am.”

JO SITS in the stiff chair of the waiting room, shifting every few minutes as if she can find some magical position that’ll make the tension in her chest ease. The hum of fluorescent lights overhead is steady and oppressive, a constant reminder of how clinical this place is. The occasional sound of a nurse’s squeaky shoes against the linoleum and f the distant beeping of a minute only makes the waiting worse.

Paige’s family is here, of course. Drew, Paige’s little brother, is perched beside her, his legs too short to touch the floor. He’s been playing video games on Paige’s iPad that he’s borrowed, occasionally glancing at Jo with a curious look that makes her feel both self-conscious and oddly endearing. Drew’s nine, all wild energy and blunt honesty, and Jo’s thankful he seems to like her. She’s always been good with kids—she has Mia, so she knows how to be patient, how to meet them where they are—but still, there’s something about being around Paige’s family that feels different. Like she’s auditioning for a role she’s not even sure she’s qualified for. Truthfully, she doesn’t know why she cares so much.

“Rematch,” Drew says, handing her the iPad without waiting for a response.

Jo chuckles, taking it. “You sure? I got you good last time.”

“I wasn’t trying my hardest,” Drew says seriously, though there’s a glint in his eyes.

They dive into the game, and for a little while, it’s easy to forget where they are. Jo even gets Drew to laugh when she deliberately fumbles one of the controls, letting him win. He gloats, much like his sister, but Jo doesn’t mind.

Eventually, though, Drew gets bored, as kids do, and he starts tugging on his dad’s sleeve. “Can we go get something to eat?” he whines.

Paige’s dad, who’s been scrolling through his phone with the same restless energy Jo feels, stands immediately. “Alright, let’s go, buddy. Jo, you want anything?”

Jo shakes her head. “I’m good, thanks.”

And then it’s just her and Amy.

The room feels quieter now, probably because it is without Drew’s chatter, and Jo suddenly doesn’t know what to do with her hands. She folds them in her lap, tracing the edge of her nail with her thumb as Amy turns to her.

“I’m really glad you’re here,” Amy says earnestly after a moment. “I know Paige is, too.”

Jo blinks, caught off guard. “Of course,” she says, quickly. “I’ll always be here. I hope she knows that.”

Amy kids, her expression shifting to something more contemplative. “I think she does. But I want you to know, too. It means a lot to me, seeing her smile.”

Jo tilts her head, confused. “What do you mean?”

“I was with her all day, and I didn’t see her smile through any of it,” she says, her voice tinged with something heavy. “Not until you were in the room with her. And you didn’t just make her smile, Jo. You made her laugh. Really laugh.”

The words settle in Jo’s stomach, setting something alight, warm and unfamiliar. She doesn’t know what to say at first, so she just nods, looking down at her hands as she feels a faint blush creep onto her cheeks. “I just… I like to make people smile,” she’s says finally, almost shyly.

Amy’s smile is knowing, like she sees something in Jo that Jo hasn’t quite figured out yet. “I can tell,” she says. “You’re good at it.”

The compliment sends more heat into Jo’s face. “Thanks,” she murmurs, looking up at Any and offering a small, genuine smile of her own.

Eventually, Bob and Drew come back, and Azzi and Nika arrive, everyone who means so much to Paige, all there for her. Jo’s glad. But, oddly enough, there’s a part of Jo that feels almost… protective? She doesn’t know if that’s the word for it, but it’s almost like she wants to be the one Paige sees first when she opens her eyes. She knows it’s not her place—not even close—but she feels it anyways.

It’s a little weird, if she’s honest.

But as Jo sits there, waiting, she knows, with absolute certainty, that she’ll stay as long as Paige needs her. Longer, even.

#paige bueckers #uconn wbb #paige bueckers fic #uconn huskies #wcbb #wbb #uconn #paige bueckers x oc #paige bueckers series #paige bueckers fluff #paige bueckers smut #paige bueckers x reader #ncaa wbb #wcbb x reader #wlw #lgbtq #nobody gets me

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janitorhutcherson · 1 year ago

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Bf!Futturman Headcanons (Future Man)

there is NOT enough future man content! allow @dollfacedalls and i to fix that :p these r some headcanons we came up with real quick. if there are typos, sorry guys lolz. its 3am and i just typed this up bc i felt like we needed some josh futturman content. enjoy the sweaty loser boyfriend vibes!

Bf!Futturman who tries to be flirty and sexy but is unsuccessful. You've been out all day, and you've just gotten home. The moment you walk through the door, Josh is in front of you in a pair of dinosaur boxers with a huge, cheesy smile. You know why, and you know what he's wanting. You can't help but grin like an idiot as you put your bags down, walking towards him to place your hands on his hips. Before you can do so, Josh attempts to lean against the coffee table in a sexy fashion. Of course, as expected, he loses his balance, his feet falling out from under you. He lets out a yelp as his elbow hits the coffee table, your eyes wide as you run to assist him. "Baby," you gasp as you kneel. "Are you okay?" you mumble as he repositions himself, now leaning on his hurt elbow on his side, the toothy grin back on his face. "Yeah.. fine now that you're here, sexy," he says, wiggling his eyebrows as you roll your eyes, hitting his shoulder.

Bf!Futturman who is so clingy that he misses you so much, making him even want to be you. You two live together, Josh finally having moved out of his childhood home to get an apartment with you. You were at work, and Josh was upset. He felt like his other half was missing. It wasn't fair that he was off and you weren't. So.. naturally, he did what any man who was missing his partner would do -- he tried on your clothes, sprayed himself in your perfume, listened to your favorite songs, and watched your favorite TV show. When you walked into your apartment to him sitting on the couch in your dress, the apparent scent of your cherry-scented perfume in the air, Dance Moms on the TV, you gasped. The moment his eyes locked with yours, Josh froze, his eyes wide, not really sure what to say. Your eyes darted to the empty bottle on the table; your lonely boyfriend had drained your expensive perfume. Josh's eyes followed yours to the bottle as he shot up, walking over to you with raised eyebrows. "I swear, baby, I- I'll buy you a new bottle," he awkwardly muttered, rubbing the back of his neck with a sheepish smile.

Bf!Futturman who wants an ugly cat with you. No, not just a cat, but an ugly one. He wanted to find the most hideous, rattiest, mangy-looking cat the two of you could find. At first, you were somewhat frustrated with how adamant he was about the situation. You would've been much happier with a fluffy kitten with pretty blue eyes and soft fur. But no, you loved your boyfriend so much you'd given in. Josh convinced you he wanted one because 'nobody wants the ugly ones.' He claimed it was an action from the goodness of his heart, an action to save a poor kitty. He never would've said it out loud, but the reality was he didn't think the name Barthalomeow fit a pretty kitten. You ended up with a fluffy cat with huge brown eyes bulging from its skull. Its bottom teeth hung out of its mouth, and its brown fur stuck up in every which way... Yeah... it was hideous for sure, but Bathalomeow loved you and his kitty dad so that you couldn't be too mad.

Bf!Futturman gets so sucked into his game that he doesn't notice anything around him. When you weren't around, and he wasn't working, Josh did NOTHING but play Biotic Wars. He'd be so sucked into the game for hours, going to disgusting extremes to avoid having to press pause. When you were home, though, he'd only dedicate an hour or two a day to the game. This usually didn't bother you, but one particular day, you were feeling incredibly desperate for his attention, his eyes locked onto his TV screen as his fingers moved stealthily across his keyboard. You felt like you'd attempted everything. At first, you just tried his name. No luck. Then, you tried tapping his shoulder. Barely flinched. Your next action was more severe, seeing if your words would stir anything in him. "Baby," you called out, your annoyance apparent. "Hm?" he hummed with a half-assed response. "I'm going to my other man's house in a few. Is that cool?" you said from behind him, sprawled out on the bed with your eyebrows raised, your eyes throwing daggers toward the back of his head. "Yeah, whatever, babe, I'll see you later," he mumbled quickly as a loud groan left your lips. "Jesus christ," you mumbled. "Gonna jump off of a bridge, Joshy," you sang out jokingly, to which Josh responded, "Okay, baby." It felt hopeless, that was, until you had an idea. You threw your shirt off, your bare chest exposed as you pranced over to him, standing in front of him. Josh glanced over at you for a moment, his eyes widening slightly as he reached his hand up to grasp your boob before looking back to his screen. "Mm, give me another hour," he hummed, his attention once again back on Future Man. Nope, didn't work. You'd revisit in an hour when you were his girlfriend again, and it wasn't his controller getting all of the hand action.

Bf!Futturman that attempts to cook for you. Josh could not cook. This was a given considering in order to cook, you had to have good coordination and be able to somewhat follow directions. Unless in video game form, it was difficult for Josh to do both. You didn't mind, enjoying making dinner and snacks for the two of you. It wasn't until one night Josh wanted to surprise you. He'd watched a YouTube video online on how to make a baked chicken with broccoli, mashed potatoes, along with a few other things. He didn't think twice about the difficulty, already feeling like a chef as he turned off his phone. He was soon proven very wrong, as about an hour later, you walked into the door to the smell of burning meat and smoke filling your kitchen. Josh stood in the center of it all, surrounded by far too many pans for him to be making such a simple dish, many of them filled with what looked like pure charcoal. He looked at you with sad eyes, a pout on his lips. "I'm sorry, baby, I didn't mean to make a mess. I really just wanted to do something nice for you like you do for me," he said softly as he walked over to you. You embraced him into your arms, pressing a kiss to his head. "Hey, 's okay baby, we can just order takeout," you giggled, deciding to turn the oven off and leave the mess for another time.

Bf!Futturman who has no filter and lacks an understanding of time and place. The two of you were inside an art museum. You pulled out your phone to snap a cute selfie. The moment he saw the camera, he pulled you close, stiffening his entire body as he stared into the camera with a blank expression. You snapped the picture, reviewing it afterward as your smile dropped. "Seriously, Josh?" you asked as you raised your eyebrows, showing him the photo where he looked both uninterested and terrified all at once. He snickered with amusement, his nose scrunching up. "God, people are going to think I kidnapped you," you muttered under your breath. He nudged you with his shoulder, raising his eyebrows up and down. "That's because you did!" he exclaimed as he pretended to yank out of your grip. People began to stare, and Josh just snickered as you smacked his shoulder. "Shut up, Futturman!" you gritted through your teeth, rolling your eyes. God, you loved him, but oh, how he pissed you off sometimes.

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dazzlingjaeyun · 14 days ago

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𝐱𝐦𝐚𝐬 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥 [𝟏𝟐/��𝟗] ⊹˚꙳⁺⋆₊･*❅

bf!riki x gf!reader

genre: fluff

word count: 998

[vote here for next week's drabble]

₊☃️‧₊˚❄️˚₊‧🌨️˚ ⋅

a half-eaten cake sat on riki's desk, its frosting smudged where someone (you) had playfully smeared it on riki’s nose earlier, and the 'happy birthday' balloons you'd carefully taped on the wall now pooled on the floor.

the two of you had spent the day together, grabbing lunch at his favorite ramen shop and playing arcade games (where, of course, his ego refused to let you win and you would not hear the end of it, ever).

now, as the day came to an end, you were standing in front of his bed with an envelope in your hand.

"what's that?" riki asked in confusion as he looked up from his phone.

"open it and find out," you said with a smile, sitting down on the edge of his bed and handing him the envelope.

your heart beat just a little faster when he took the paper and carefully began to open it. he shot you one more glance before slowly pulling out the content, his eyes widening in shock when he processed what he held in his hands.

his eyes snapped back to you, a look of disbelief on his face, almost as if he didn't trust his own eyes.

"you haven't seen your family in months, so... surprise," you said hesitantly when he didn't say a word.

riki wordlessly dropped the envelope and pulled you against his chest, squeezing you so tightly he might as well have suffocated you. "how did you think of this?" he asked, his words muffled by your hair.

you gently pulled away, just enough so you could look at him. "i know you're trying to hide it and act all nonchalant, but sometimes it's obvious you're homesick, love."

you chuckled as riki winced in feigned disgust. "don't call me cute names. you'll make me blush and all that shit," he mumbled.

you just playfully stuck out your tongue before you got up from his bed and stepped on his desk chair to pull down the suitcase that he kept on top of his wardrobe.

"start packing, love," you said, making sure to put special emphasis on the nickname, "we're leaving tomorrow."

while riki started to throw almost his entire closet into the suitcase, you explained to him how you'd gotten in touch with his sister to plan the trip with her. you'd met her before, during the one time she'd come to visit riki abroad. back then, you hadn't been officially dating – you hadn't even really been friends yet. you'd just shared a few dance classes but you rarely spoke outside of them. when konon had come to visit, he'd been giving her a tour of the campus and the dance studio, barging into the practice room with the subtlety of a hurricane just as you were in the middle of rehearsing.

"i think i'm done," riki announced with satisfaction, having added practically half his room into the suitcase that dared to overflow.

the next day, when you arrived to japan, you could see the excitement on your boyfriend's face as soon as the plane landed. he was quick to show you the way to the baggage claim, and just a few minutes later, you were scanning the arrivals hall for his parents.

once riki caught sight of them, he gently took your hand in his and guided you toward where they were standing. you stepped back while he happily hugged his parents, wanting to give him enough time and space to greet them first.

you only saw him from the side but he smiled more than he had in a long time and that alone was enough to know you'd chosen the right birthday gift after all.

after riki introduced you to his parents and you exchanged warm greetings, you made your way to his family home. riki was holding your hand in the middle seat, mindlessly brushing his thumb against your knuckles as he looked outside the window and took in the snowy scenery.

you looked outside too, not through your window but through his so you could catch a glimpse of the sparkle in his eyes whenever you passed a place he probably had made memories in.

when you arrived to his place, you only brought the suitcases inside, before riki gently grabbed your arm and pulled you outside again.

"i wanted to show you so many places, we'll start right away," he announced with excitement, taking your small hand in his bigger one and tucking them both into the pocket of his warm jacket.

you were walking through his neighbourhood while riki told stories about almost every corner, and when he wasn't speaking, the soft crunch of snow underneath your feet filled the silence.

"wait, stay here," riki said suddenly, letting go of your hand and pulling out his phone from the pocket of his pants. he took a few steps back and shot a picture of you smiling into the camera.

"cute," he said with a grin. "now, look over that way," he instructed, motioning toward some distant trees as he adjusted his phone, pretending to find the right angle.

just as you posed, a cold lump of snow hit your shoulder, and you spun around to find riki grinning, the remnants of the snowball still in his hand.

you squinted your eyes. "you little shit," you gasped, quickly crouching down to form your own snowball and throw it at him.

later that day, when he'd shown you his room, you were sitting in his bed, your back resting against his chest. "you look different when you're at home," you said with a soft smile, and though riki couldn't see it, he knew you were smiling.

he wrapped his arms around you a little tighter and placed a quick kiss on the top of your head.

"i feel more like myself here," he replied after a while, his voice just a hint softer than usual, "that was the best surprise i could have asked for."

part four of my xmas special. tap here to get to the other members!

join my taglist here

❥ perm. taglist: @sudi109 @woniesun @leov3rse @simpjay @jayparked

#❅ ⊹˚꙳⁺⋆₊･* hanna's xmas special #dazzlingjaeyun writes #enha x reader #enhypen au #enhypen x reader #enhypen #engene #enhypen fluff #niki x reader #riki x reader #niki fluff #riki fluff

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rosyblooom · 7 months ago

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right person, wrong times | cl16

pairing: charles leclerc x fem!reader summary: a random day each year across 11 years, as they go from practically strangers, to more, to less, and again. (~4.3k) a/n: inspo from 'one day' !! been struggling with writer's block, so sorry in advance if it's rough lool

part 1 | part 2 | part 3

One day in 2018

Y/N glanced across the crowded room, picking out one familiar face amidst the sea of strangers: Pascale. Their families went way back, but with Y/N's parents splitting when she was just a toddler, she'd spent most of her life in Spain with her dad, Switzerland for boarding school, and rare trips to Monaco to visit her mum—hardly ever crossing paths with the Leclerc's.

But today was different. She found herself in Monaco attending a family gathering to finally meet Pascale's sons properly. She couldn't recall the last time she'd spoken to them, but Pascale had insisted today would be the day, especially since her recent move here.

Across the room, Charles stood, his posture slightly hunched as his mother whispered in his ear, urging him to check on Y/N. "Please go see how Y/N is doing. I'm not sure if she'll remember you, but just introduce yourself and keep her company for a while," Pascale pleaded, fixing him with a hopeful gaze. "Please."

"I don’t even know where she is or what she looks like."

"She's at the bar," Pascale replied with a smile. "She's the pretty one—you won't miss her."

"Very helpful," Charles chuckled, shaking his head before stepping back. "I'll make my way over now."

It didn't take long until he found himself at the bar. Surprisingly, his mother's brief description proved accurate, as Y/N stood out for her beauty—quite a departure from the faint memory he held of her.

Drawing closer, he flashed a warm smile and extended his hand in greeting. "Charles."

Y/N shot him a quick, assessing glance, her eyes flitting over his unruly hair and black attire, before meeting his gaze. "Not interested," she dismissed, her attention already wandering back to the room.

Chuckling at her abruptness, Charles shook his head. "No, no, I wasn't trying to... I'm not here to make a move, I wouldn't."

Y/N turned towards him, her curiosity piqued by his response. "Ouch," she teased, a hint of amusement dancing in her eyes. "So you think I'm ugly, then?" Her lips curved slightly as she awaited his answer.

Heat crept up Charles’ neck, and though he couldn’t see himself, he could sense the warmth spreading across his face. With a nervous stammer, he began, “Wait, no! That’s not what I meant—What I’m trying to say is—”

“Relax,” Y/N interjected with a sympathetic smile. “I’m just kidding. Nice to see you again, Leclerc. It’s been a while, huh?”

Charles let out a long breath, his tension easing slightly. For a moment, he studied Y/N with a discerning gaze, as if attempting to unravel her mystery; she was undeniably peculiar, yet undeniably intriguing. “It has been a while,” he finally acknowledged, nodding slowly.

One day in 2019

This marked Y/N’s first ever Christmas market in Monaco. She had wanted to attend last year’s, but the winter season had always been her least favourite. This time last year, it was simply too cold for her—no matter what the news claimed, she was freezing. But today wasn’t half as bad. Sure, she was bundled up in about three sweaters under her hoodie, which she wore beneath her jacket, but well, you could say she was sensitive to weather.

“Y/N?” a voice suddenly erupted from behind her, pulling her attention away from the gigantic, decorated Christmas tree and towards Charles, who now stood before her, holding two steaming mugs.

Y/N narrowed her gaze, appearing lost in thought. “Sorry, do I know you?”

Charles shook his head and sighed, his breath forming a white cloud in the chilly air. “Right, of course. It’s been a year, so it makes sense for you not to remember me…”

“I'm just joking,” Y/N grinned, nudging him cautiously to avoid any spills. “You’re too easy.”

Charles’ mouth dropped open slightly, his eyes widening for a moment before he chuckled, “Okay, I’m not going to believe anything you say from now on.”

"Good idea," she nodded with a smile. Y/N's gaze then drifted down to the two mugs in his hands, and she inquired, "Am I right to assume that one of these is for me?"

A puzzled expression briefly crossed Charles' face, his brows furrowing slightly, prompting Y/N to gesture towards the cups.

As if suddenly remembering, he exclaimed, "Oh, right! I thought you might want something warm, and who doesn't like hot chocolate, right?" With that, he offered one of the drinks to her.

"I sure do." Y/N took the cup, cupping her cold hands around the hot glass, immediately feeling the stiffness melt away from her fingers. The hot chocolate wasn't nearly as scalding as she had anticipated—it was just right, and she savoured each sip, briefly closing her eyes in contentment. When she reopened them, she couldn't help but remark, "Sweet, just like you."

As if someone had turned on a gas stove, heat rushed to Charles' face, though this time he was fortunate; the weather was already giving him a rosy complexion due to the cold.

But Y/N still noticed, and she smiled. "Don't go getting soft on me now," she teased, bumping her elbow into his arm.

Without really thinking, Charles muttered, "You're not making it easy…" His words slipped out, and with their proximity, Y/N heard him loud and clear. Even though it wasn't the first time she'd heard a comment like that, the fact that it came from Charles sent a pleasant shiver down her spine.

"What was that?" Arching a brow, Y/N glanced up at him sideways, a playful glint in her eyes.

"Nothing… Do you want to get inside though? It’s a little too cold for me."

“It’s my first time here,” Y/N said, hooking her arm around his, ignoring the sudden tension in his muscles. “Don’t want to get lost,” she explained, glancing up at Charles, who didn’t object and instead simply nodded. “Right, yeah.”

“So? Lead the way then.”

“Alright, alright,” Charles obliged, skilfully manoeuvring through the crowd, with Y/N beside him.

One day in 2020

“Is this seat taken?” The question caused Y/N to freeze, her forkful of ratatouille dropping onto her plate. She swallowed the remaining food in her mouth and swiftly swept the napkin off her lap, dabbing the corners of her mouth until she was sure there were no traces left.

“Not at all,” she finally responded, turning towards the voice. “I should warn you though—” But the moment her eyes met the familiar pair of Charles’ blue ones, she stopped mid-sentence.

For a brief moment, it seemed as if the rest of the table didn’t exist, as neither of them spoke, both too captivated by the other's presence. With a crooked smile, Charles broke the silence. “You were going to warn me about something?”

Y/N couldn't quite explain why, but the sight of his smile immediately lifted the corners of her mouth, while her stomach somersaulted with a flurry of emotions. She pushed aside the sensation and simply laughed, resting her elbows on the table and burying her face in her hands. “Just forget it,” she mumbled against her palms, loud enough for Charles to hear.

A gentle breeze wafted over her, carrying a familiar, clean scent of laundry detergent that Y/N had come to associate with Charles. Somehow, it immediately calmed the strange fluttering in her stomach, prompting her to lift her gaze again.

“Hi,” she finally greeted with a smile, reaching for the glass of wine on the table.

“Hey,” Charles nodded, settling back in his seat.

They lingered like this for a while, Y/N's gaze fixed on the side of his face while Charles casually surveyed the room, exchanging greetings with a few acquaintances. Squinting slightly, Y/N blurted out, “Are you stalking me?”

Charles burst into laughter, quickly composing himself and leaning towards her. “In my family's house?” he countered.

Y/N nodded in satisfaction as she took a sip from her drink. “Excellent point,” she conceded.

Gently settling the glass down, she redirected her attention to the untouched forkful of food and remarked, “Can I just say, you have to try this, it's so good.” She gestured towards her barely touched plate. “I don’t know what Pascale put in this, but this is the best ratatouille I’ve ever tasted.” Y/N grabbed her fork and extended it towards him, but noticing Charles freeze, she quickly swallowed her words, saying, “Oh, sorry, I know some people are a little iffy with sharing—”

Before she could retract the fork, Charles' warm hands suddenly enclosed around hers, halting her movement as he guided the fork towards his mouth, taking a bite, and nodding at her with a smile. “It’s been my favourite since I was a little kid.”

Y/N whispered softly, her voice barely above a murmur, yet close enough for them to hear each other perfectly. "A man of taste huh?" Her gaze drifted from his eyes down to where his hand still lingered around hers, now tracing soft circles across her skin.

Charles followed Y/N’s line of sight, quickly clearing his throat when he realised what he was doing. He withdrew his hand, causing both to avert their eyes, suddenly finding interest in everything but each other.

The last thing Charles wanted was to make Y/N uncomfortable, and as for her, she simply didn’t want to blow things out of proportion—see something where there was nothing. For all she knew, Charles was like that with all his friends.

A few moments passed, filled with surrounding chatter, before they both spoke up at the same time.

“Do you want to go—"

“So, do you have any other—"

Laughter erupted between them before Y/N smirked, “Because I’m a lady, you first.”

“How kind of you,” he chuckled, running a hand through his hair. “Are you free next week? We could maybe grab lunch or something.” Before she could respond, he added, scratching his neck, “I would offer to cook, but unfortunately, cooking skills don’t get genetically passed down.”

Ignoring the beat Y/N was sure her heart had just skipped, she simply smiled and leaned forward, chin propped on her hand. “You mean a date?”

“Only if that’s what you want.”

Her rapid nods confirmed everything before her words even formed. However, just as Charles’ lips broke into a broad grin, Y/N’s expression suddenly fell as she remembered, “Wait, no, I can’t. I’m travelling to Spain tomorrow to visit my dad. And then after that, I’ll start my internship in New York City.”

Charles sank back into his chair, though his face didn’t betray the disappointment he felt. “I see,” he sighed.

“Rain check?” Y/N asked. She wanted a date with him, to see if they’d hit it off on that level. The only problem was the timing, but she knew her feelings didn’t fade quickly. If they had to wait, then so be it. She was ready to do so. Laughing, Y/N added, “Seriously, I still want that date.”

“Rain check it is,” Charles nodded. “Congrats on the internship though, that’s amazing. Maybe I can come visit, and we’ll—”

The sudden clanking of glass interrupted him, causing both to turn their attention to the woman standing at the end of the long table.

Without breaking eye contact with the woman, Y/N leaned in closer to Charles, her lips accidentally grazing his as his gaze fleetingly dropped to her lips before he refocused on the woman, who had now dropped her glass onto the table.

Y/N whispered into his ear, to which Charles simply nodded, suppressing the sudden surge of desire coursing through his veins.

One day in 2021

Y/N walked through the Paddock with a sense of detachment, like a deer caught in headlights. The US Grand Prix had come to an end, and Max Verstappen had emerged as the victor. It wasn’t exactly what she had hoped for, but she didn’t feel any strong emotions about it. What occupied her thoughts, however, was the meeting spot she had arranged with Carlos.

Pausing in her step, she pulled out her phone, deciding to cut straight to the chase and call him directly. The phone rang for what seemed like an eternity until the sound was abruptly cut off by a long beep, indicating his automated voicemail.

“Not even personalised,” she scoffed, hanging up, tossing her phone into her bag, and continuing, resigned to the idea of either wandering aimlessly forever or eventually finding Carlos.

However, she didn’t get far before colliding with someone. She stumbled backward a bit before regaining her balance, and as she looked up, her eyes widened in recognition.

Charles stood opposite her, his expression shifting from shock to a warm smile, though his eyebrows remained slightly furrowed. “Hi,” he breathed, the warmth of his breath reaching and spreading across Y/N’s face. “You’re… here.”

Y/N’s gaze swept over his tousled hair, a few strands sticking to his forehead adorned with tiny beads of sweat, some trailing down the sides of his slightly flushed face. “You’re sweaty. Very sweaty,” she blurted out, immediately regretting her awkward observation. But it had been a year since their last exchange, so it was understandable that things felt a bit awkward between them.

A few chuckles escaped Charles, immediately bringing a smile to Y/N’s face. “Thanks, I didn’t notice."

She exhaled a laugh, and then Charles added, “Thank you for coming, I really appreciate it.” Shielding his eyes from the harsh glare of the sun with his hand, he squinted at her. “Can I ask though, was this meant to be a surprise or something?”

“Ah, Charles, you’ve met my friend, Y/N,” Carlos interrupted from behind as he came to a stop beside her.

Y/N smiled awkwardly. “Uhm... Carlos actually invited me, so that's why I'm here."

“You two know each other?” Charles inquired, raising an eyebrow in curiosity.

“My dad lives in Spain, remember?” Y/N reminded him, shrugging. “Our families are pretty close.”

“Right…” Charles nodded, though he couldn’t shake off the slight hint of disbelief in his voice. After all, he knew Carlos was dating someone already, so he wasn’t sure why he felt that way. And as for Y/N, she was free to do as she pleased. After all, that date they had talked about last year never even happened. They had no history, no reason for him to feel jealous.

But he did anyway.

Wanting to diffuse the sudden tension settling between the three of them, Y/N exclaimed, “But it’s good to see you again. And you did really well. Congrats on P4, seriously.”

Charles smiled, and for the first time today, it was genuine. He wasn’t entirely satisfied with P4; he had wanted a podium finish and had come close to it. But for some reason, if she was happy, so was he.

“Thanks—” His smile faltered when an arm snaked around his torso, his girlfriend Amélie taking her place beside him and planting a quick kiss on his cheek. Without wasting a second, his gaze shifted to Y/N, just in time to catch the way her eyes widened before she swallowed, her expression now impassive.

Shock and confusion swirled through Y/N’s body. She hadn’t expected Charles to have a girlfriend, so when she felt her heart crack slightly, it made sense. But she wasn’t going to show it—at least, not purposely she wasn’t.

Charles furrowed his brows as he regarded the girl standing in front of him. A pang of guilt nagged at him, though he couldn’t quite pinpoint why: they were never anything more than friends. And judging by the way neither of them had kept up with one another, you could barely even call it that.

Maybe they were more like strangers with a couple of good memories and unfulfilled promises?

“You alright, mate?” asked Carlos, pulling Charles out of his reverie.

Clearing his throat, Charles replied, “Yeah, yeah... Uhm Amélie, this is Y/N, my… friend.” The word came out almost as a question, but he pressed on. “Y/N, meet Amélie, my girlfriend.”

Charles wasn’t sure what he expected, but Y/N’s cheerfulness was definitely not it. “Hey,” she smiled and waved.

Slowly, tensions began to dissipate as all four of them became engrossed in conversation—though in reality, it was more like three. Y/N found herself too preoccupied with the realisation that Charles had a girlfriend now. It was a simple fact, yet it carried a weight: it meant he hadn't spent the year turning down people left and right, like she had, in hopes of a maybe.

One day in 2022

"Y/N, thank God you’re here!" Amélie's voice echoed the moment Y/N stepped into the living room, causing her to freeze in her tracks. "Uh, hey?" she replied, her eyes scanning the partly decorated room before settling on Charles, who sent her a small wave.

She raised her brows and forced a smile, though it faltered quickly—she and Charles had grown apart. Truthfully, Y/N had contemplated not showing up today; faking an illness or something and making sure to stay at home for a few days—Monaco was too small to risk being accidentally spotted.

But she came.

She came because Charles called.

Two days ago, he had called her in the middle of the night, asking if she was planning to fake being sick to avoid seeing him. And he was right—exactly what Y/N had been contemplating. So, when her first phone call with Charles in two years challenged the very idea in her mind that they had grown apart, it confused her. After all, she was sure she was a blank page now, yet he still seemed to be able to read her.

Snapping out of her daze, Y/N watched as Amélie paced erratically, her brows furrowing with every step. "What's going on with her?" Y/N asked, turning to Charles for an explanation.

He chuckled, approaching her. "It's the cake," he explained. "Amélie ordered it, but now it needs to be picked up sooner than planned because they're closing earlier than usual for some reason. So, now we have a problem, obviously."

"Why don't you just go pick it up?" Y/N leaned into him, her voice barely above a whisper, her eyes still fixed on Amélie, who was now engaged in a fervent phone call.

"Apparently, I'm too clumsy."

"You are."

Charles chuckled, but his laughter was cut short when Amélie suddenly gasped, her eyes darting between Y/N and him as she rushed towards them. “Okay, guys, everyone will be here soon. If I stay and finish all this off, you two can quickly go collect the cake. So, if one person drives and the other holds it really tightly, that should work, right?”

“Sounds good,” Y/N chimed in.

“I agree,” Charles added.

“Alright,” Amélie beckoned them out of the living room and towards the front door. “Go on.”

“I love you,” Amélie said, leaning in for a kiss. But as she moved closer, Charles instinctively turned his head, causing her lips to land on his cheek instead of his mouth. His gaze had shifted to Y/N, who stood in the front yard, seemingly fixated on the grass.

“Yeah... love you,” he muttered absentmindedly, his attention still captivated by the girl just a few feet away from him.

Normally, Charles had no issue displaying affection for his girlfriend in front of others, but Y/N made it difficult. Whenever she was around—whether at family gatherings, parties, or Grand Prix events—his eyes always seemed to gravitate towards her.

“Please, don’t take too long!” Amélie shouted as the door slammed shut.

Amidst the occasional chirping of birds, a palpable silence settled between them. Y/N stared into the distance, while Charles observed her from the corner of his eye, noticing subtle changes since their last encounter. Her hair, for instance, was slightly shorter—a minor detail, yet one he couldn't help but notice.

With a loud clap, Charles gestured towards his car, parked discreetly to the side. “That way.”

Following his lead, Y/N entered through the passenger seat. However, as the car sprang to life and its dashboard lights flickered on, Charles let out a frustrated groan.

“What's wrong?” Y/N inquired.

Charles shook his head for a moment, muttering, “I told him to fill up the gas…”

“Oh,” Y/N exhaled, resting her head against the soft leather headrest. “So, what now?”

Charles' eyes lit up with excitement as he sat up eagerly, turning to face her. "We've got some old bikes in the shed, so if you want to—"

"You want us to ride rusty old bikes, while carrying a cake?" Y/N interjected, her serious expression quickly giving way to laughter.

"...Yeah?"

Y/N narrowed her gaze, appraising Charles for a moment before rolling her eyes and pushing the door open. "This is so going to backfire. I can't believe I'm doing this."

Charles couldn't help but smile as he watched Y/N exit the car. He had a feeling she wouldn't turn this idea down, and he was glad he was right. It meant that despite the years, things hadn't changed too much between them. She was still the same Y/N he knew, and he hoped he was still the Charles she was willing to have a date with.

"Don't tell me I'm going to have to do this by myself now. You coming or what?" Her yell pierced through the car, prompting him to jump out and hurry towards the shed.

By the time he finally reached the shed, Y/N had already claimed a bike—and surprisingly, it was his. Charles used to guard that bike fiercely when he was younger, not allowing anyone, not even for a few minutes. But now, as he watched her mount it, he felt no trace of that possessiveness, not even a hint.

Perhaps it was because he had outgrown that childish behaviour, or maybe it was something else entirely. Either way, he couldn't deny the genuine happiness that bubbled up within him at the sight.

Now, if it were Amélie riding his bike at that moment, he wasn't quite sure he would feel the same way.

“Race you to the bakery?” Y/N grinned mischievously.

A wide smile immediately spread across Charles' face. “Sure, once I get my hands on a bike.”

“No,” she retorted, already starting to pedal. “You snooze, you lose.”

Racing to grab Lorenzo’s bike, Charles jumped on it, yelling, “Cheater!”

When he finally caught up to her, Y/N was no longer riding her bike but pulling it alongside her, causing him to slow down beside her. “What’s wrong? Why aren’t you riding?” One corner of his mouth curled upward as he fixed her with a knowing look, coming to a full stop. “Oh, did you finally realise that cheating isn’t the way to go?”

“Says you,” Y/N retorted, though her chuckles rang loud and clear as Charles fell into step with her.

“Anyway,” she pointed down at her bike, “the chain’s come loose. So yeah, I was right, this was a bad idea, and Amélie is going to kill us, and poor Pascale won’t have a birthday cake.”

“Wow, don’t be too optimistic now,” Charles teased, earning an elbow to his side. “We’re not too far from the bakery now, so I say let’s not worry until we get to the ‘how do we get back home in time’ part. What do you say?”

Y/N turned to Charles, her eyes lingering on his features longer than necessary. “Okay,” she finally nodded, “sounds like a plan.”

But her words seemed to fall on deaf ears. In the time she spent gazing at Charles, he had been doing the same, unwilling to move on from that moment quite as quickly as she had.

Stopping in his steps, Y/N continued a few more feet before finally noticing his hesitation and halting her movements, turning back. “Do you want Amélie to murder us?” she joked, but her humour faded when she saw Charles’ serious expression remain unchanged.

“Okay, what’s the matter—”

Charles cut her off with a sigh. “Why don’t we talk anymore, Y/N?”

“What do you mean? We’re talking right now.”

“Come on, seriously,” Charles walked up beside her.

Y/N just shrugged, her mouth suddenly as dry as the Sahara desert. “I don’t know…”

“Well, I don't either, so can we please just start over then?” Charles proposed, his tone tired of the tension and the walking on eggshells. It was too much when all he wanted was to be close to her, to laugh like they used to before everything went haywire.

Y/N looked off to the side, musing over his words for a moment, before meeting his gaze again with a small smile. “Okay, fine, I guess.”

“Wow, you seem really excited,” Charles remarked, flashing a wide grin.

“I really do, don't I? Now, if you don’t mind,” Y/N started walking again, “I really do not feel like being killed today, so let’s fucking go.”

“Alright, alright, I’m coming.”

2:31 ──────ㅇ────── 4:45

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fics-and-quotes-andthelike · 1 year ago

Text

Better Late Than Never

Title: Better Late Than Never

Pairing: Dean Winchester x female reader

Word Count: ~2,143

In which the reader’s love language is physical touch, but has never touched Dean…in public.

A/N: I really hope you guys like this one! Thanks so much for reading and for your support. If you have any requests for a fic, feel free to give me a character and a prompt/explanation for what you’d like!

Your love language has always been physical touch. A quick brush of hands here, an innocent kiss to the cheek there. Whether it was your friend or your significant other, touch was just something you used to show that you cared.

So it meant a lot to you when, after you moved in with the Winchesters, Sam had quickly picked up on your love language and allowed you to give him occasional hugs. He’d also gone out of his way to hug you, or even just put a reassuring hand on your shoulder once in a while.

But even though you felt more than comfortable with Sam, you were the first to admit that you’d never so much as given Dean a high five.

In front of others.

In the privacy of an empty bunker or motel room, you and Dean had no problem brushing against each other and exchanging brief touches. Eventually, the brief touches had turned into longer ones, and hands drifted from your shoulder to the small of your back. Then those touches turned into sitting right beside each other, your head resting on his shoulder as he peppered kisses on the top of your head. And after that, kisses on your head turned to kisses on your lips, while hands on your back turned into hands grasping your hips.

But as soon as Sam, Cas, Charlie, or anyone else walked through the door, you would revert back to no touches at all.

It’s not that you didn’t want to. He truly meant the world to you. But every time someone would walk into the room, he would pull away. And you never wanted to make Dean feel uncomfortable, even if it was killing you inside. So, to respect his space, you’d never so much as given Dean a high five in front of other people.

Until today.

A hunt had gone sideways when a djinn had outsmarted the three of you and gotten its hands on Dean while you and Sam had been out getting dinner.

When you got back to the motel room to see that Dean was gone and not answering his phone, you and Sam had come up with a plan. A questionable plan, for sure, but it was all that you could come up with in the limited time that you were allowed.

Now, the two of you sat in Baby, reviewing the plan before you burst into the abandoned warehouse where Dean was being kept.

“Whatever you do, don’t engage with the djinn, got it? I’ll take care of him, you take care of Dean.”

You nodded stiffly, your eyes on the building ahead. “I hear you, I got it. But if you’re in any trouble-”

Sam sighed in exasperation. “Would you just listen to me for a second-”

You looked up at him, fury in your gaze. “I will not let that djinn take you, too.”

Sam’s gaze softened. For all of the sweet touches that you passed around, you were still a hunter, willing to hurt anything that came between you and your family.

He placed a comforting hand on your shoulder and leaned towards you. “Hey. We’re going to be okay, alright? Us and Dean, we’re getting out of here. And that djinn isn’t gonna know what hit him.”

He kept his hand on your shoulder until you finally nodded in agreement, a half smile taking shape on your lips. You took a deep breath and checked the bullets in your gun and the knife hidden in your jacket as Sam checked the knife dipped in lamb’s blood and the colt in his holster one last time.

As you went through your mental checklist, you couldn’t help the bolt of fear that shot through you when you realized that the djinn could have easily killed Dean hours ago.

You shook your head at the thought. Dean was tough, and if the djinn was probably desperate to make his life force last as long as possible.

You shook out your nerves one last time before you straightened up and looked towards Sam. “Alright,” you muttered. “Let’s get this thing.”

The two of you got out of the car quietly before making your way to the door of the warehouse. Sam put a finger to his lips as he tried the door. You both made a face of surprise when the door gave way easily. Sam led the way as you crept inside, hoping against all odds that the rest of the revue would go this smoothly.

But of course, it wouldn’t really be a Winchester hunt if nothing went wrong.

As soon as you and Sam entered the building, you were ambushed by the waiting djinn. With the advantage of surprise on its side, it quickly overpowered Sam and tossed him to the side before it turned its attention toward you.

You cursed under your breath and raised your gun, knowing full well that it and your knife would do nothing to save you, since the plan had been that you would never have to face the djinn. The djinn smiled at your panic, pacing towards you swiftly.

Suddenly, Sam appeared once again behind the djinn. The djinn whirled around and just barely managed to dodge the knife that Sam swung its way.

Sam risked a glance over to you. “Go! Get Dean!”

You nodded, though he had already turned back to face the djinn.

You looked around wildly, hoping for some kind of sign as to where Dean could be. You startled when you heard faint gasping coming from one of the rooms to your right.

Dean. You sighed in relief as you followed the sound. He had probably saved himself from his fantasy world. You shuddered as you remembered what he’d had to do to escape his dream, and started moving faster.

You entered the room cautiously, gun in hand. From your left, a weak voice croaked out your name.

You whirled around to find Dean weak and bound, but utterly alive. You felt tears well up in your eyes as you ran over to him, shoving your gun back in its holster so that you could grab your knife and cut through his bindings.

Dean looked up at you and smiled weakly. “Hey, sweetheart.”

You ignored him, focused solely on setting him free. Your hands were shaking, making it harder to cut through the ropes. Finally, with an extra push, your knife cut through. You dropped it so that you could catch Dean, who slumped forward as soon as he was able to move again.

You slowly lowered the two of you to the ground, allowing him to catch his breath. “Are you okay?” you asked, a slight tremor in your voice.

Dean looked up at you, his eyes soft as he searched your face. “I’m alright.”

His gaze sharpened suddenly, and he looked around the room. “Where’s Sammy?”

Your head snapped over to the door, through which you could hear sounds of a fight. You cursed lightly under your breath as you stood.

Dean moved to stand as well, but you placed your hands on his shoulders and pushed him back lightly. “Stay here,” you ordered. “I’ll help Sam.”

“I’m not gonna-”

“Stay. Here.”

Dean eyed you stubbornly, but seemed to think better of himself, and nodded once for you to go on. He watched as you picked up your knife and handed it to him before you exited the room, jumping straight into the fight.

He sighed and leaned back against the wall behind him. Normally, he wouldn’t have stayed behind, regardless of what you or Sam said. But as he lay still against the wall, he couldn’t help but remember the dream that he’d been forced into.

You, him, and Sam. There’d been no more monsters. No fighting, no war. Just the three of you, living peacefully.

Jess had been there. She and Sam had gotten married, and Sam was the happiest man around. Or maybe not the happiest. Dean himself had been pretty happy too, with you by his side, through sickness and health. Finally free to hug and love each other freely, regardless of who was around.

He smiled as he looked back on it, but immediately broke out of his memory and jerked to attention as he heard footsteps enter the room.

Panic filled his body. Was it the djinn? Had he gotten to you and Sam? He clutched the knife you had given him in his hand, ready to make good use of it.

He heard Sam call out his name, relief filling his body. Dean opened his eyes and stood slowly, smiling at the two hunters watching him with concerned eyes. “Hey, Sammy.”

You heard Sam laugh breathlessly in relief while your eyes raked over Dean’s body, making sure that he wasn’t hiding an injury.

Dean tilted his head slightly, meeting your eyes. “I’m fine. Honest.”

You nodded, not trusting yourself to speak. You were aware of Sam saying something next to you, but you couldn’t focus on his words, your attention solely on Dean.

When Dean looked over at you again, a small smile on his lips and concern in his eyes, you couldn’t help yourself. You threw down your weapon and ran over, throwing yourself into his arms.

You’d never been hugged like that before.

His arms wound themselves around your body and tightened, pressing you against him. His hands were open, one resting on your shoulder and one on your side, both tugging you closer than you thought possible. His head rested on top of yours, and he murmured reassurances into your ear as he slowly rocked you side to side.

Through it all, you could faintly hear the sound of Sam leaving the room, giving the two of you some space.

When you finally pulled back, Dean’s hands didn’t leave you, instead resting on your hips as he pressed his forehead to yours.

Your hands fluttered between his shoulders, his neck, and his face as you closed your eyes and inhaled a shaky breath. “I thought you were dead.”

Dean chuckled and gave the barest shake of his head, bringing his hands up to rest them on yours where they sat cradling his face. “I wouldn’t do that to you.”

You laughed. “Because my life revolves around you?”

“Because then we’d never be able to tell Sam about us.”

You felt your face change, your smile dropping as you stepped away from Dean.

He looked back at you as his arms dropped down to his sides, hurt evident on his face. “What did I do? Are we not…?”

“No!” You exclaimed, shaking your head quickly.

You saw disappointment and shame flit across his features. You shook your head again. “I didn’t mean it like that. I meant…I just…I wasn’t sure.”

“Sure about what?”

“It’s just…” You steeled yourself. “You always pull away from me. I thought maybe you were embarrassed or something. Or maybe you just wanted me to help you feel better-”

Dean’s whole body jerked with surprise and he stepped towards you, arms outstretched. “No, sweetheart, that’s not it at all. I’m just…” He hesitated, only a step away from you as his arms dropped. “I’m not good with mushy gushy crap. You know that.”

You smiled cautiously. “I know. Nothing wrong with that.”

He nodded, unmoving.

You took a step towards him. “Maybe we could…work on it together?”

A smirk crossed his face as he reached an arm around your back and pulled you closer. “Oh, yeah?”

A laugh crossed your lips. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

Dean leaned his head down to softly brush his lips against yours. “I know.”

You felt him stiffen as you both heard footsteps re-enter the room, with Sam loudly complaining, “You guys good to go?”

You moved to pull away, muscle memory taking over, when Dean suddenly cupped your face with one hand and pressed his other hand against your back. His eyes searched yours. “Is this okay?”

Your heart was hammering against your chest, the knowledge that what you said could determine your whole relationship with both Winchesters weighing on your brain.

You heard Sam’s footsteps moving closer and smiled breathlessly. “Yeah,” you managed to say before he connected his lips to yours.

“Guys,” Sam repeated as he stepped into the room. His eyes landed on the two of you, your hands cupping Dean’s face as he pulled you closer still. He chuckled and turned away, but not before shouting, “It’s about time!”

He could hear Dean telling him where to shove it as he walked away, and he couldn’t help but laugh at the fact that the two of you genuinely believed that nobody had noticed your secret relationship these past two years.

Oh well, he thought to himself. Better late than never.

#supernatural #supernatural x reader #supernatural fic #dean winchester #sam winchester #dean x reader #supernatural fluff #dean x reader fluff #sam and dean #fanfic #fic #castiel #supernatural charlie #supernatural imagines #incorrect supernatural #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x female!reader #fem reader #fluff

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laneywrld · 8 months ago

Text

things lost and things found | Lewis Hamilton

part two

word count: 10k

warnings: smut, smut, more smut, fluff.

A man not made for commitment also doesn’t know how to communicate

It's safe to say that since that night in Cannes nearly two months ago, the lines have blurred.

Every night Clem spends with Lewis ends with her falling asleep nestled in his arms.

Some nights, they don't even have sex; he just calls her up to see him.

Their outings are no longer limited to his bedroom or whatever hotel he's shacked up in. They're often found all over tabloids and fan pages, seen out at clubs or dinners or even on simple excursions such as shopping or taking walks.

Clementine tries her hardest to remember that Lewis was noncommittal. He would never ever even think about dating her or taking her seriously. That realization and his vocally telling her to not make things weird every time he can see that he catches her off guard keeps her on track.

Clem knew what she signed up for; quite literally, the NDA she signed entailed every component of their relationship.

Besides the weird butterflies she got around Lewis, life was only getting better and better.

Being around someone who understands her fully and allows her to completely unravel herself to them has really been good for Clem socially and career-wise.

She was less awakward around people, less reserved and she felt like hey, this man has accepted me for my every little flaw, why wouldn't other people.

She was moving up in the world, and people loved her for who she was, and for the first time ever, she did too.

She's won an emmy for her netflix show, her movie was breaking records, and she was finally stepping out of her box and showcasing other skills she had.

Along with this new burst of confidence came new relationships.

She's been trying to go out on dates to see if now was finally the time for her to try to settle down and find something serious.

That what she was doing currently, at dinner sitting across from some NBA players as he rambles on and on about different shots he couldve taken during the game, that he most definitely lost.

Clem hums, eyes feigning interest as he describes how he actually wasn't open when he tried to go for a three-pointer. Shocker, he missed.

When he excuses himself to run to the bathroom, she whips out her phone, seeing that Lewis texted her.

Lewis 🏁

How's your date?

She shakes her head, typing out her response.

dense. how's silverstone?

Lewis 🏁

Nerve-wracking, my car is still shit.

i'm sorry 😞

Lewis 🏁

I'm going to need you tonight.

Lewis, i'm on a date.

Clem scoffs, but the smile on her face as she presses send is misleading.

Lewis 🏁

Is he getting lucky tonight?

NO!

Lewis 🏁

So why can't I?

Clem feels the familiar tingle in her core and places her phone face down on the table just as her date takes his seat in front of her again.

She can't help the incredulous eyebrow raise she gives him as she sees a powdery substance painting his nostril.

"Yeah, it was nice meeting you, love." She smiles politely as she stands and motions for him to wipe his nose. He lifts his camera just as Clem drops enough money to cover her bill and tip the waitress generously.

She hops into the black SUV, thanking her driver for helping her into the back. She unlocks her phone and sees another message from Lewis.

Lewis 🏁

My jet will be waiting for you.

That is precisely how Clementine ended up in Lewis' hotel room, waiting for him on the bed as he took a quick shower.

When he emerges from the bathroom she can only offer him an uplifting smile, he looks so tired and so stressed.

It helps, it always does which is why Lewis wanted her here in the first place. She was like sunrise after the darkest of nights.

"Hi," she coos, opening her arms for the muscly man.

He falls into her arms, his torso bare and his bottom half swaddled in a towel. He lays his head in her lap as she sits against the headboard. He looks up at her face as she stares down at his, and she physically pouts as she brings her fingers up to massage the stress lines from his face.

"That bad?" she whispers as his eyes flutter closed. Lewis sighs, grumbling out a faint "Yeah."

"You don't have to go through it much longer, at least." She tries and she knows it does nothing to take the heavy weight of mercedes off of his shoulders.

"You feel like you're carrying the weight of the world." She hums, her hands traveling down to rub the tension out of his neck. Her fist rubs up and down from the sides of his neck to the crook of his shoulders.

Lewis lets out a relaxed sigh, letting her work on him.

She doesn't know how long she sits there with him snuggled into her lap as she kneads the tension from his body.

After a while, she connects to his speaker and plays music. She has Lewis turn over onto his stomach as she slips from underneath him.

She hums as she sits on his bottom and begins massaging his back. "Your back is bruised."

"I was bouncing around like crazy in that fucking car." He curses.

Clementine bends down, pressing kisses around his back on the purple and red marks adorning his skin.

Lewis closes his eyes, relishing in the comfort she gives him.

Lewis has noticed it, too, the turn their dynamic has taken. He is aware that he has given slight leeway to the emotional part of their relationship.

He finds himself thinking about Clem plenty throughout the days. Buys things he thinks she'll like. He's grown accustomed to placing delicate pecks on her lips and face randomly throughout their time together; he can't help it.

Something about her has him wanting her all of the time, not even in th physical way. He just wants her to be with him.

"Can you come out to the race tomorrow?" He rasps.

She sits up, her legs still encaging his body. "Hmm, I don't think your publicity team will like that, people are already speculating about us."

"I don't care." Lewis argues, "It's about time you come to a race, wanna see you immediately not wait to get to the hotel and then see you."

His words make her heart thump harsher, and suddenly, all of the warnings from her publicist dissipate.

"Okay."

Lewis didn't initiate sex between them that night. He simply turns over with her still on top of him and places his hands on her thighs.

"Come here," he whispers, reaching up to tug her head down to his face.

Their lips lock and it's not rushed or leading to anything. It's like how he kissed her in France. It's just sweet?

She can feel his heart against her chest as she is pressed against him, beating rampantly. "Thank you for showing up for me." He mutters against her lips. She grins against him as she remembers the words she scribbled onto the note she'd given him with her gift.

"Always." she breathes, diving back in to kiss him. One hand travels to her waist, and the other has a soft grip on the back of her neck.

She feels his member poke against her thigh, and she sits up as much as she can with his hand on her neck, ready to free him from the towel, but the hand he had on her waist stops her actions with a grip on her wrist.

"I just want to lay with you tonight, if that's okay?"

Just when she thought she was safe from her tom-foolish thoughts, she felt her suppressed feelings for Lewis take light again. Don't make it weird, she thinks to herself. "Okay."

Lewis sits up, his hand returning to her hip; she is sat in his lap, legs folded, and his body pushes her slightly back as he tugs on the comforter. He falls back taking her with him and pulls the thick comforter over her body which lays against his chest.

"What's one thing that surprised you about me?"

Clem traces her fingers on his chest in deep thought, "that you don't do relationships."

"Why that?"

"You're a lover boy at heart." Clem chortled, "Literally just a sweetheart. Most men who can't see themselves being with someone don't act as affectionate with women."

Lewis lets out a hmm sound, his hand still gliding up and down her back beneath his t-shirt that she wore.

"Is that a good thing or a bad thing?"

"Good, there's nothing wrong with being a sweetheart; bad if someone gets the wrong idea; I have a feeling you're an easy man to fall in love with."

Lewis presses a kiss to her hairline, butterflies doing summersaults in his belly.

They wake up the next morning in the same position, with Clem's face nestled in the crook of his neck. Lewis smiles as he reaches over to turn off his alarm.

"Gotta get up, Clem." He soothes, rubbing up and down her back.

"Mhmm." She moans in denial, cuddling deeper into him. "No."

"Come on, beautiful."

He sits up, forcing her up with him.

She flutters her eyes open and wraps her arms around his neck.

He chuckles at her defiance, throwing his legs over the side of the bed and standing. He taps her thigh and she gets the message, wrapping them around his waist.

He walks her into the bathroom and sits her down on the bathroom counter. "Sit here, be careful." He orders, unraveling her from his body. He almost gives up and tucks her back into bed as she whines at him.

He leaves the bathroom and returns with a small bag of hers. She slumps against the mirror as she hears him rustling about. When she hears the faucet turn on and then feels his big hands massage circles into her cheeks, she opens her eyes.

There, she sees Lewis standing there with a cheeky smile, his hands lathered in her face soap as he massages the suds onto her face.

"Going to have to get my girl ready myself, huh?" He questions.

She only smirks at him and closes her eyes, letting him work through her skincare routine step by step, laughing as he inquires about every product.

When he finishes, he washes his own face and then passes her toothbrush to her. He stands between her legs as they both brush their teeth. Both of them stare at each other with googly eyes, laughing as foam bubbles from their mouths. When she leans over to spit into the sink, he follows shortly after and then pours a capful of mouthwash for her and them himself. And again, they stare into each other's eyes, giggly and gleaming, as they swish the liquid between their puffy cheeks.

This is where Clementine struggled with the status of their agreement. These weren't the actions of a man who didn't intend to be in a relationship. But she had heard of Lewis and his many flings and "friends" and she knew that he was a very affectionate person so once again she willed away the thought that there was any chnace of Lewis ever straying away from his bachelor lifestyle.

She pats his shoulder beckoning him to step away, when he does she hops down and releases the last of the contents from her mouth into the sink and stepping aside so Lewis can do the same.

"I'm going to grab my clothes." She informs.

As she lays her outfit options across the bed, she hears a vibration beneath her shirt, and she leans over the bed, patting until she finds the culprit. When she feels the device, she pulls it from underneath and sees that it's not her phone but Lewis'.

The screen lights up with notifications.

One catches her eye from, Natalie.

Lewis did feel comfortable enough to disclose his other flings to her, and she nearly shit herself when he associated them all with cities. She remembers the way he laughed when she asked if she needed to get tested. Then she asked if he had referred to her as Clementine, NYC.

Natalie, Silverstone. She recalls.

It wasn't like she was intentionally snooping, but as the screen lit up in her hand again, she couldn't help but read the message as it appeared.

Still on for tomorrow?

At first, she feels a pang in her chest, but then she remembers her place, and she gently sits his phone on the nightstand, allowing the screen to turn off.

"Hey, you okay?" Lewis questioned, poking his head from the bathroom, realizing that she had stopped responding to him.

She is stood facing the bed with her hands on her hips, scanning her oufits. "Yeah," she smiles though it doesn't quite meet her eyes.

He eyes her quizically, but when she chuckles at his facial expression, pulls her outfit from the bed, and saunters into the bathroom with him, he relaxes.

Clem is in her head, and she hopes it's not obvious to Lewis.

But she can't help but wonder why he would fly her out just to make plans to sleep with another woman in the span of two days.

She's hurt, and she's jealous, and she knows she shouldn't be, but a part of her wants to slap the shit out of him.

Instead, she refrains and plays into whatever sick bullshit he was playing with her heart unintentionally.

She arrives to the paddock with Lewis and she tries not to grimace as he tells a journalist that he brings friends with him to races all of the time, as they pass by.

He opens the door to the Mercedes motorhome like the proper gentleman he is and directs her into his room.

"I'm just going to change into my suit, and then we can head to the garage, okay?"

She nods and pulls out her phone. Already, she sees that they are trending.

Lewis steps out of the room and leaves the door open. A few minutes pass before she hears an audible gasp.

When she looks up, she sees a bright-eyed George Russell.

"Hello, Hi! I'm George, I'm a big fan." He enters the compact room, his hand outstretched before him. She stands from Lewis' bed and accepts his hand.

"Hi, George, I'm Clem."

"I know who you are. What are you doing here?" He wonders.

"I'm a friend of Lewis'. I wanted to see you guys race today."

George stutters out a wow, beginning to ramble on before he is interrupted by a throat clearing at the door. There stands Lewis, with a burning look on his face that makes George immediately drop her hand.

"Lewis." He gasps, "How do you literally know everyone, man?"

She smiles, raising her eyebrows behind Lewis as George rambles about her.

Lewis claps his hands against George's shoulder before speaking, "I love you, kid. But we've got to get going."

And then he reached his arm around George and latched onto Clem and pulled her from behind him.

George stammers out a quick bye, and Clem waves sweetly at him as Lewis pulls her from the motorhome and towards the garage.

"He's so sweet," Clem coos, and Lewis only grunts out a "yeah."

"He looks like a literal prince charming." She extends.

Lewis doesn't want to hear her call his teammate any more kinds of cute, so he opts not to respond.

When they finally reach the garage, he is sitting her down beside Toto, who introduces himself with a warm and welcoming smile.

She accepts his hand, gently shaking it, and in return, Lewis gets whisked away.

She enjoys her time in the garage, whilst Lewis talk to his strategist she is sat beside Toto and a few engineers and she feels like she is on a field trip as they explain the many different parts of their setup. Finally Lewis appears at her side again, beckoning her to follow him. She accepts his hand, lifting from her seat and walking hand in hand with him to his car.

"Wow." she gasps as she studies the racing car.

"You want to get in?" Lewis questions. She turns to him with wide eyes, and Lewis can see the excitement in her dark orbs.

"You don't like people in your car." She reminds, peering back down at it.

"I said I don't let just anyone in my car, are you just anyone?" He is staring at her so intensely it has her body on fire.

She felt shy underneath his gaze as he stepped closer to her.

She stands tall, looking up at him through her lashes. He's nearly bumping chests with her as he looms over her.

"There's an entire team in here, Lewis, and cameras." She whispers only loud enough for the two of them to hear.

He doesn't care. He leans down, his mouth near her ear, "Are you just anyone to me, Clementine?"

She swallows nervously as he takes a step back, "No."

"Then get in the fucking car."

Toto watches on from his seat in amazement as Lewis lifts her frame into the car. He then turns and looks into the camera with his eyebrows raised as to show his impressment.

He put two and two together that she was a personal guest for Lewis. It was obvious since Mercedes had already planned for Tom Cruise and Damson Idris' arrival for the race today.

Lewis leans into the car as he motions to different parts on the inside of the automobile.

Clem honestly couldn't give two fucks about the car, but she was relishing in how passionate Lewis looked and sounded as he spoke about every aspect of it. She hadn't moved her eyes from his face not once, and Lewis froze as he turned to face her and saw the wanting look adorning her features.

It has him hard instantly.

"Behave." He warns, turning his head to survey their surroundings.

"You're fine as fuck when you're talking cars."

Lewis chuckles, and a blush comes up to cover his cheeks. He lifts his hand, his knuckles skimming along her jaw.

"I want to kiss you, but people will see."

She drops her face against his hand, puckering her bottom lip out at him.

"Aw, too bad." She whispers seductively, and Lewis whispers out a quiet "fuck." as she tugs her bottom lip between her teeth. His thumb reaches up and drags it back out.

"Gotta be nice to me right now, Clem. Hmm?" He hums, not bothering to remove his thumb from her lip. He smears his finger across, watching as it pops back into place.

"Help me out of this car." She smirks, lifting her arms, "Before you do something you'll regret, there are cameras around."

"I don't give a fuck about the cameras." He rasps and breaks out into a grin when she bursts into a fit of laughter. He smacks his teeth, standing up straight, preparing to get her out.

"You like fucking with me." He declares.

Lewis helps her from the car, his hands probably lingering on her lower back for far too long once she's back on the ground.

"Lewis." He hears, and when he turns around, he sees Tom and Damson.

He pulls Clem with him, introducing her to the pair. He instantly regrets it when he sees the way Damson eyes her down like she's a refreshing tall glass of water.

Tom starts up a conversation with Lew about the business they need to handle for his upcoming movie, but his eyes can't leave Clem's frame, and how Damson brings her hand up to his lips.

He feels like a suicidal maniac when he watches her laugh and smile at whatever he is saying.

He'd met him before, and trust, whatever he was saying couldn't possibly be that funny.

Lewis wants to rip Toto's head off as he directs the two of them into a set of empty seats. He was less than present during the conversation with Tom, and he hoped he hadn't noticed. His arms are folded over his chest, and his foot is tapping the ground anxiously. He tries not to make it obvious when he directs Tom to his spot and takes his in order to keep an eye on Clem.

When the time for the start of the race gets closer he is thankful to see Tom take his place beside Toto.

He saunters over to the still chatty pair and stands in front of Clem. He waits for her to notice him, and when she doesn't, he clears his throat rather dramatically.

She stands when she notices him, shooting Damson an apologetic smile that has him ready to drag her off. Which he does.

He pulls her to a corner of the garage and up the stairs into a random office and locks the door.

"You okay." Clem questions, stepping towards him and placing her hands on his waist. "Lewis." she tries again when he doesn't answer.

He looks stressed and zoned out.

"I- uh yeah." he coughs and suddenly he feels better having her away from Damson. "i'm fine, pre-race jitters." He lies.

Her hands slide up his chest until they settle on the sides of his head.

She tilts his head so that he's staring into her eyes.

"You sure?"

"Yeah."

"Okay."

"I'm regretting this." He admits and her eyes squint, "bringing you here, I mean."

That does nothing to alleviate her hurt expression, so he continues, "My car is still shit, I don't want you to watch me lose."

She scoffs, gently slapping her hand against his shoulder before returning it to its place caressing his beard. "Would’ve watched you lose at home too, what's the difference. I'm going to support you all the same."

Lewis leans down and presses a short, soft kiss to her plump lips.

Her eyes flutter closed as he stares down at her, and finally, his hands raised to her hips, pulling her into him. "I don't think that I tell you thank you enough for all of the ways you help me, Clem."

"You don't have to," she whispers, dropping her forehead against his chest. He rests his chin on top of her head, putting his arms over her shoulders as hers wraps around his torso.

Lewis likes this. He thinks he can start every race for the rest of his career like this. When he hears a knock on the door, he groans but shoots Clem a warning look as she chuckles at him.

"Big baby." she teases, moving around him to unlock the door. He maneuvers behind her, reaching to open it, and when he does, he sees Toto there with a knowing smirk.

"Time to race, Lewis."

She allows Lewis to pull her from the office hand in hand, and she knows her publicist is probably in New York and stressed running through cigarettes. She always joked that this Lewis rendezvous would result in her smoking her stress away.

Lewis knows something is wrong with him for sure when he realizes that he doesn't care about the camera or who's watching him show Clem his affection. He knows they're going to be the main topic of every tabloid tomorrow, and he just doesn't care.

She stands in front of him beside his car as the crew bustles around them.

When it's time for Lewis to finish his preparation, he motions his head towards Clem, and suddenly, her hands are stuffed with a balaclava and a pair of gloves.

She turns to the man who handed them to her and he offers her a small smile.

She turns to Lewis, and he can tell she's trying to fight off the grin that desperately wants to appear.

She reaches for his right hand, tugging the glove onto his hand gently, she checks each finger and pulls to make sure the fit is snug. She repeats her actions on his left hand and then Lewis firmly places his hands on her waist. He's looking at her with those sparkly eyes and a loving smile.

She turns the balaclava in her hands, trying to figure out which way to pull it over his head. When she sees the opening, she lets out an "Aahh" that has Lewis chuckling at her.

She stands on her tiptoes, freeing his braids from the ponytail and pushing them back. She hums to herself as she pulls the balaclava over his head.

She settles back on her feet, and she can only see his eyes, but it does something to her.

She reaches between them pulling the upper half of his suit up his body, giggling when he grunts realizing he's got to let go of her to push his arms through the sleeves.

His hands are back on her in an instant, like by not physically touching her he'd fly away.

Clem reaches between them again; this time, her fingers latch onto the zipper, and she tugs it up from his pelvis all the way up his chest until it's set in place.

"I don't know, Lew. I think we've at least got a podium." She whispers, accepting the helmet.

She steps back, allowing his hands to fall, and then hands him the helmet.

"I can feel it in my bones."

"Oh," Lewis laughs, "Can feel it in your bones?" He sticks out his free hand, tickling at her.

Clementine laughs, stepping back and gripping his arm, "Stop!"

He listens, pulling on his helmet and looking back at his car.

"Well, that's me."

Clem feels like a lovesick puppy as she watches his eyelashes flutter with every blink of his eyes.

"Podium." She reminds him, lifting her pinky.

"Podium." He declares, wrapping his own against hers. He lifts their conjoined hands and places them against his helmet where his mouth would be, and she swoons.

"Get in the car, Hamilton."

She's a giddy mess as she steps away from him and finds herself accepting a seat from one of the crew members.

She sighed while watching the screen as Lewis started in P5. He is quickly into P4. She feels her adrenaline kick in as the crew cheers excitedly watching him overtake into third. When he overtakes two other drives all in the same lap the garage erupts in shouts of excitement, just for that to be taken away just as fast when they see a car barrel through off od the track and into the fence.

Clem gasps, her hand coming up to cup her mouth.

She knew Formula One was a dangerous sport, but watching a wreck like that happen in real-time has her mind reeling on just how much danger Lewis puts himself in.

"Is he okay?" She hears as the crew all talk amongst themselves.

"George is out of the race. The other driver is okay." Toto announces, "We're restarting."

Lewis is back in the garage, and he is irritated.

Clem stays back and out of his way as she watches him angrily rant. "That is not right, Toto." He snaps, "back in fifth?"

She watches as Toto nods at him, and Lewis turns to his assistant, rolling his eyes. He looks so frustrated as he throws his hand out, "fucking fifth."

Clem knew that when she was angry that she didn't like to be bothered, so she stayed in her seat. She feels a body plop down beside her, and she turns to see Damson.

"Intense, yeah?" He questions.

"Most definitely." She sighs, "My adrenaline is off the charts right now."

"First time coming to a race?"

She nods, returning the question, "Nah, this is like the NFL to Brits."

She laughs, "Right."

The two chat whilst the rest of the garage is in shambles, and Lewis watches the two with slits in his eyes.

He knows he shouldn't be jealous. Clem was nothing to him but a friend who he enjoys fucking. It's what he tells himself as Damson passes his phone to her. She was just his friend. He'd even encouraged her to get out there and find her person.

But that was before he realized how differently she made his heartbeat.

Lewis doesn't bother going over to her before the race restarts, he can feel her lingering eyes as he manuevers around the garage, avoiding her.

Lewis feels a bit enraged. Initially, it was just the FIA and their stupid fucking rules, then it was the car, and now it was Clementine and the stupid British actor drooling over each other in his face.

It was all piling on top of him, and he hadn't felt so unsettled ever before a race.

He hops back into his car, not sparing Clem a glance, and rolls out into P5.

This time the only thing on his mind is how fucking mad he is.

That anger got him P3.

He doesn't know why he doesn't approach Clem as she waits for him patiently in her seat. He goes around and thanks the crew and the engineers and has a brief talk with Toto and Tom. And then he leaves to go to the podium, all without even glancing at her.

Clem, always aware, remains silent and tries to keep the pout from taking place on her face.

She tries not to take Lewis' actions personal, it's obvious he's wound up. She doesn't know if it's something she did or if he's still frustrated by the race restart. Logically it's the second, she's learned that not everyone's behaviors have to do with her. It's taken years of her enternalizing other people's moods to realize that 9/10 people are just feeling things. She hasn't done anything, she's sure of it.

She is directed into the motorhome whilst Lewis handles other business and she sits in his room on his bed waiting patiently.

When Lewis had brought up the idea of bringing her to the race yesterday, he raved on and on about how she'd be able to walk the track, wait with his team whilst he's on the podium (if he got one), and get the classic guest experience. She hadn't gotten that, which was a letdown since she really wanted to experience Lewis' world, but she understood why that wasn't possible today after seeing Lewis' mood.

But still, it would have been nice not to sit in his motorhome and then the garage all day, just to end up back in his motorhome alone for hours.

When Lewis emerges into the tiny room he is clean and dressed in comfortable clothes. He had been on the phone in the office preparing a few arrangements for the past hour. He sighs as he sees her frame sprawled across the tiny bed.

There are soft puffs of air escaping her, and her phone is clutched loosely in her hand.

He can tell she fell asleep scrolling through her phone.

He sits on the foot of the bed at her feet and drops his head into his hands.

He doesn't know what he's doing. But he does know he can't keep going on like this. Lewis didn't like relationships, he didn't like being tied down, it wasn't fair of him to only want Clem to himself when she would never get all of him.

"C'mon Clem, let's get you back."

Like the sleepy girl she is, she whines as Lewis pulls her body from the bed, placing her on her feet.

"Can you walk?"

She only nods, reaching over to grab her bag and her phone. She doesn't speak to Lewis quite yet, still unsure of his mood. She lets him direct her from the motorhome, his hand tight in hers as he leads her through the paddock. It is so late at night that there are rarely any people hanging around. When they exit and get to his car, the flashes from the cameras wake her up even more, and she uses the back of her hand to block the lights.

Lewis walks her to the passenger side, waiting for her to slip in before he closes the door gently and goes around to his seat.

He pulls out cautiously and begins their trek to the hotel.

Clem forces herself to stay awake, knowing that it's only a short drive.

Still, she is waiting for Lewis to speak, but he doesn't.

"I had fun," she announces.

"I'm glad."

"You got podium." She cheers lowly.

Lewis only offers her a small smile, and uncertainty settles in her gut. Something's not right.

She gives up trying to talk to him after that.

The car is filled with tension and awkward silence. It's so unlike them.

When they pull into the hotel, Clem doesn't wait for the valet to open her door. She clambers out and thanks god as the night breeze fills her lungs. She's never felt so suffocated around Lewis.

As Lewis exchanges formalities with the man she rushes into the hotel and onto the elevator, when she reaches the room she unlocks it with the secondary key taking a moment to gulp down a glass of water.

Lewis follows in behind her shortly after, paying her no mind as he goes to the bathroom and emerges with his shirt and jewelry off.

"You got an attitude?" Lewis questions, standing in the doorframe.

"No, I don't."

"I know you, Clementine." Lewis rasps, coming to stand over her as she sits on the bed.

"You're the one with the nasty ass attitude." She huffs, reaching up to nudge him away from her. He doesn't budge.

"Lose the attitude, Clem." He orders, and she rolls her eyes.

"Or what, Lewis?" She pushes.

Lewis' hand is at her neck in a second. His grip is not tight at all, just holding her in place as he ravishes her mouth. Just as frustrated as he is, she returns the kiss.

"Got something for that attitude," Lewis grunts, pushing her onto her back.

She gasps as he roughly pulls at her pants.

He has them off before she knows it, and his hand lets go of her neck and travels down to pull at her panties. He rips them off of her with a hunger in his eyes like no other.

"Gotta fuck it out of you, Clem?" He asks.

He doesn't give her time to answer as he sinks down to his knees at the end of the bed and pulls her down with him. He lifts her legs over him and wraps his arms around her thighs. His hands settle on her thighs, keeping them apart, and he stares up at her one last time before connecting his mouth to her clit.

She jumps, but his hands hold her in place.

He removes his lips from her bundle of nerves, his tongue traveling down to swipe through her crease. She moans lightly as she fists at the sheets. His fingers travel up to replace his mouth, and he digs them deep into her core, his tongue flicking against her clit before he presses it flat and moves up and down.

Clem gasps as he curls his fingers inside her and suckles extra hard on her. Her hand shoots down to push him away, but he catches her wrist in his free hand, holding it against the mattress.

He stares up at Clem, the whole scene naughty and erotic. He lets her other hand come down to rest in his hair.

Lewis moans into her, his mouth sending a wave of vibrations through her body. Lewis never took his eyes off of her, watching as she writhed above him. He was showing her no mercy as the gushy sounds filled the room.

She tasted so good.

Lewis worked his tongue around her clit, teasing her only for a minute before he smushed his mouth over it again and suckled just the right amount, his fingers still thrust in and out of her, driving her absolutely insane. He moans into her pussy and trails his mouth down to swallow where she is oozing.

Lewis lets her captivating moans egg him on as he devours her like a starved man. He can feel it when she comes when her tight, spongy pussy constricts around his fingers. He happily licks up the juices she releases as she comes undone.

He pulls his fingers from her core and stands, quickly turning her body over. She lands on her stomach with a slight "oomph" noise and turns to look back at Lewis.

He wastes no time hammering into her from behind. He grabs her arms pulling them behind her back and crossing her wrists; with one hand, he holds them against her back, and with the other, he swats at her ass. Groaning as he watches it ripple.

"Fuck."

Clem can do nothing but pant underneath him and let out pathetic mewls as his hand repeatedly strikes her ass. It hurts so good.

Lewis keeps pounding into her hard, his heart racing as he chases his own orgasm. He sees her phone light up beside him, and a message from Damson appears.

When he sees this, he speeds up his thrusts, gliding his thick member in and out of her suffocating walls.

She can only blubber out useless moans as he plummets in and out of her.

He lets go of her wrist, pulling her up onto all fours.

"You get a thrill out of pissing me off?" He grunts, his hand going up to grip her hair.

"No!" she whines, gripping the covers.

"I think you do."

His other hand is gripping her waist, pulling her back to him every time she falls forward.

"Nuh-unh." He orders from behind her, letting go of her hair and holding on to her waist tightly with both hands now.

"Don't run from it, baby. You wanted this, huh? This what you want?"

Clem rasps out a choked yes, her head falling at the intense pleasure running through her veins.

Lewis sounds like a beast behind her, all strangled up and growling out praises at her.

He feels so possessive as his hand lifts and smacks at her ass again. "Fucking, mine." He growls, and Clem falls forward. He doesn't stop as her legs give in, and she drops to the bed again. He climbs behind her, still keeping his pace, and throws his head back as she quivers around him like a candle on fire.

He can feel the heat building in his core, and it eggs him on as he places his hands on her ass, holding her in place.

Clementine spasms beneath him, never experiencing an orgasm like this before. Her heart feels like it's beating outside of her chest as her ears ring and her eyes roll to the back of her head. She can only curse over and over as she feels Lewis drag out of her and return again with much more force.

This was the best sex she'd ever gotten in her life.

Her walls clenched around him, her breath hitching as he moved aimlessly in and out of her.

Lewis shuddered at the feeling, sucking in a sharp breath at the sensation. She is face down, panting into the mattress as he pants above her.

She can't count how many times she has come undone underneath him, but as she feels another orgasm approaching, she can't help the way her thighs tremble underneath Lewis.

Lewis is an incoherent, mumbling and moaning mess above her as he allows himself to succumb to her squeezing cunt, clamping over him. Lewis falls into the abyss, pleasure washing over both of them as he spills into her.

He pulls out with a hiss, shuddering at his sensitivity, and falls over beside Clementine, who rolls onto her back.

"Woah." she pants.

Lewis feels her phone vibrate and he watches as she scambled down the bed to get it, he feels green as he watches her smile at the screen.

Just as she moves to lie beside him again, he speaks up with words that make her feel dismayed.

"I booked you a room."

He turns away from her, staring at the ceiling.

"I- What?" She stutters, turning to face him.

"It's just a floor below, suite 909."

Clem is distraught, and it shows on her face as she jumps away from the bed as if Lewis has burned her. "Lewis, what-"

Her words are cut off as her phone vibrates in her hand. Lewis chuckles dryly, finally tilting his head to face her. Suddenly Clem feels like a little girl again, wondering why her parents never made an effort in her life, wondering why it was so easy for them to push her aside like they didn't care that she existed.

"What's the matter? Are we okay?" She rambles.

Stop talking, Lewis. He thinks to himself as he watches Clem's eyes flash with wetness. Even sad, she has doe eyes, still shining, but this time, there are tears in her eyes and an intense sadness.

"Yeah," he should’ve stopped there, but he kept going. "I'll probably see you tomorrow. If not, it'll be the next time I need you." He motions to the bed.

Clem frowns, letting out an exhale as she bends down to tug on her pants. As she maneuvers around the room collecting her suitcase, Lewis calls out to her. "I put the room key beside your toiletry bag."

She slips into the bathroom, picking up her small bag, and sure enough, the keycard is there. She grasps it in her hand and walks out. She wants to scream at him, tell him how big of a dick he's being, but she's not that kind of person.

She is graceful. But it's taking everything in her to channel the lessons her grandpa has taught her when she is this mad, this hurt.

Clem avoids looking at Lewis as she latches onto her suitcase.

"Maybe you should start considering finding someone who's serious, Clementine."

Is this what this is about? She knew the blurred lines would come back to bite her in the ass eventually.

She freezes, her back turned to him as her hand pauses on the door handle. And her body shakes slightly as a her frown deepens, she feels a stream of tears flow down her cheeks.

And just when Lewis thinks that Clem is going to turn around and argue with him, probably throw something at him and shout at him, she doesn't.

She lifts one hand, swiping at her face, and then softly opens the door and leaves without so much as looking back at him. The door clicks shut behind her, and she walks on down the hallway towards the elevator.

The words don't react, echoing over and over in her head, but as she hears the wheel rolling on her suitcase, she can't help but feel the trembling in her body. She presses her lips together, stepping onto the elevator, and as the doors close, she lets out a gutwrenching sob.

She sniffles as she steps into the suite. Rushing to the bathroom to shed her clothes, she showers wiping all traces of Lewis Hamilton from her body the way she wishes she can erase him from her mind. She scrubs harshly, eyes still full with tears, between the scorchingly hot water, steam and the tears she can barely see anything as she scrubs severely.

For the first time since agreeing to this arrangement, she feels used by Lewis. She's never felt so dirty in her life. As she sank down to her knees, feeling the wails rip through her body with force, she realized why exactly his words and actions hurt her so much.

It didn't matter how much she showed up for him or how much she allows herself to be his shrink and him hers, it'd always be a bad religion, loving someone who'd never love you back.

Lewis is in the same position he has been in since she left, flat on his back with his hands covering his face. His body is quivering as sobs rack through his body.

It was a tough decision, but it was one that had to be made. He could never give Clem what she deserved; he wasn't a committed person. Seven years on and off with the same person is proof of that. He could never be okay with putting her through that.

Lewis wakes up the next morning with a pounding headache and lingering loneliness.

He always felt like this when he woke up without Clem in his arms. As he sits up and swipes his hands over his face, his heart aches when he notices her ripped panties thrown on the floor.

He regrets his actions.

He wishes he would've sat her down nicely and explained how things were getting too deep for him. It's Clem, she would've understood.

He realizes just how bad he fucked up when her giddiness to lay beside him last night flickers through his mind like a clip from a movie.

"What if we lay in bed after every meetup and we just talk?"

He feels like he's been shot when her hurt face replays over and over. He treated her like shit last night, all because he was scared of what she made him feel.

He was a mess during yesterday's race; all he could think about down every straight and around every curve was how much he liked Clem, how good she made him feel, and bad she could make him feel just as easily.

He realized that the woman had too much control over his heart yesterday, and he couldn't take that. This was supposed to be fun, casual fun. He never inteded to catch feeling for Clementine Russell, but she was the kind of girl who made you drop to her feet.

He never stood a chance against her charm.

He scrambled from the king-sized bed, rushing to his phone.

When he hears a knock on his door, he opens it in a rush; he sees the butler there and offers him a finger to signal to hold on. He rushes to his table, picking up the bouquet of flowers, an array of red, yellow, and orange orchids, dahlias, and marigolds.

"Can you take these down to suite 909?" Lewis pants pushing the boquet towards the man, there is a note nestled between the pedals.

The man tilts his head, pushing the flowers back towards Lewis.

"I am sorry, Sir Hamilton, Ms Russell has checked out already in the early hours of Midnight."

Lewis feels his heart crumble as he steps away from the man, the giant bouquet firm in his hold.

Lewis says nothing as he closes the door and walks away.

Clem had left that night, not long after leaving Lewis' room. After her shower, she was on the first flight home, and she hadn't spoken to Lewis since.

Lewis misses Clementine. It's a realization that he came to rather quickly but refused to admit.

Lewis pulls himself out of the leggy woman he picked up at the end of his race. She drops down beside him in heavy pants.

"That was fun." She exhales.

He doesn't know why when he turns his head, he expects to see Clem staring back at him with her dark eyes and cute smile.

This woman is no Clementine, and that's for sure.

He doesn't know why he tries it, but he does. "You can go anywhere in the world under one condition. You'd have to stay there forever; everything is unchanged, and nothing new will ever come. Where do you choose?"

He watches as her eyes scrunch momentarily in confusion.

"I don't know. It's probably Paris. I'm obsessed with their lifestyle, honestly."

Lewis turns his head back to the ceiling.

He wants her to leave. And he wants Clementine to be in her place.

It's quiet and awkward, and she doesn't even try to ask him.

He already knows his answer. He'd be with Clem in his bed, hands connected as they lie naked underneath his covers, heads turned to each other as they talk. He'd watch on as the moonlight supersedes the darkness and the moonbeams are replaced with sun rays. And he'd listen to her feel things like she made him. And he'd be happy and content with spending eternity like that.

Everything unchanged, nothing new.

Lewis begins to think that maybe casual sex isn't for him anymore. Perhaps he's taking Clem's absence extra hard because he yearned for the other form of intimacy, the emotional aspect of being with a woman.

So he tries dating.

And he comes to the same conclusion, date after date.

Their eyes don't gleam like hers.

They don't understand his humor.

They don't care about why losing his favorite toy as a kid was an integral part of the man he became.

They can't carry on discussions like Clem or even talk like Clem.

They don't have her precious smile and her deep dimples. They're not gracious and benevolent.

They aren't Clem, no one ever will be.

Lewis craves Clem; he misses her with every fiber of his being.

And he regrets letting her up from his bed. He regrets telling her to pursue another man.

When Lewis returns to New York, his thumb lingers over the send button.

clemmy 🪂

I need to see you, where are you?

He doesn't send the message; he drops his phone with a sigh, knuckling at his eyes. Why was it so fucking hard? He'd never felt this troubled in his life, especially over a woman he'd never even dated.

He sighs in distress, picks up his phone, stares at the message begging to be sent, and clicks off of the app. Instead, he opens his Instagram. As he goes to search for Clem's name, he sees that she is still his top search, and he feels like a loser as he enters her profile.

He'd take any sight of her he could get.

Clementine wouldn't say she was necessarily religious. Her grandpa would probably drop dead of a heart attack if he heard that. But it was the truth. She thought it was fairytale-like sometimes. Yes, she had faith, but she wasn't as devout as many people.

If she was being honest, she thought religion began as something beautiful, putting your complete trust and faith into another person, with the idea that they were quite literally the holy grail. Over time, it's been skewed and manipulated, some for great purposes and others for very wrong reasons.

She thought most religious people were hypocrites. Lewis was a hypocrite for sure, giving her an inch and then taking a mile. Now that she has had time to ponder over it, Lewis Hamilton is actually a sick man. Pouring affection into her and poisoning her heart.

How did he expect her not to fall for him when he treated her the way he did? She feels like a fool herself, too, thinking back to the conversation she had with him the night before it all went to shit.

"You're a lover boy at heart." Clem chortled, "Literally just a sweetheart. Most men who can't see themselves being with someone don't act as affectionate with women."

Lewis lets out a hmm sound, his hand still gliding up and down her back beneath his t-shirt that she wore.

"Is that a good thing or a bad thing?"

"Good, there's nothing wrong with being a sweetheart; bad if someone gets the wrong idea; I have a feeling you're an easy man to fall in love with."

Lewis was a hypocrite, and she was too.

But the truth is religion gave people purpose. She'd never felt it firmly in a spiritual sense, but she had experienced that strong urge to follow someone's every command. She's believed every word that tumbles from his mouth. Given the opportunity, she would surely drop to her knees at his feet. She's only ever felt the need to praise and put her limited faith and her secured trust into one person. Sure, she had faith, just in a bad religion. She admired one man, Lewis Hamilton, but there was one problem, she could never make him love her the way she loved him.

Clem took his advice. She branched off, presented herself in new ways, made new friends, developed herself, and found someone who would take her seriously, though that didn't last long at all.

clementine

liked by feliciathegoat, pharrell, and 12,898,465 others

clementine so, they've helped me make an album? Clementine, NYC out now on all streaming platforms !!

view all comments

feliciathegoat Cool kids doing cool shit 🏌🏿

clementine the coolest 😎

lilyachty ALBUM OF THE FUCKING YEAR

clementine 🤸🏾‍♀️🤸🏾‍♀️🤸🏾‍♀️🤸🏾‍♀️

user no bc who did my girl like that

clementine no really, it's okay though builds character 😃

user builds character my ass, go beat his ass

user A MOVIE AND MUSIC IN THE SAME YEAR ASVJHKHK WHEN DO WE GET SEASON 2???

clementine yk im filming girl 🙄

clementine

liked by danielricciardo, justinbieber, and 10,898,465 others

clementine two post in one day bc why not, what's everyone's favorite song from Clementine, NYC?!?

danielricciardo In your hands slaps

clementine you sir, have great taste 😘

user daniel what are you doing here 😭

user No really, weird ass crossover episode

user the blue hair to match the album cover the movie * chefs kiss*, your creativity is unmatched queen

clementine you noticing the small details >>>

justinbieber posting us arguing over the order is killing me

clementine no bc we both look so over it 😂

user I love her and Tyler's friendship sm

feliciathegoat i love my bestie

clementine and I love u T 🥹

Lewis instantly throws in his airpods and starts the album, one by one he listens to each song. Sure enough every song has small anecdotes about their time together that only he'd know.

He was aware that he was blurring the lines between just benefits and true feelings, but he didn't know that he wasn't the only one feeling strongly about it. He never took her feelings into account.

Just when he thought he couldn't feel any worse about the situation, that realization dawned on him. Clementine Russell loved him and he threw her to the curb like a bag of trash.

He's throwing on whatever clothes he sees first as he rushes from his door.

He doesn't bother calling his driver as he treks block after block; he has one destination in mind, Clem's townhome.

He's there before he knows it, his fist urgently banging against her door.

He sees a light flicker on through the window, and then her door swings open.

She's in her nightshirt with her hair wrapped in a scarf, and her eyes are puffy from sleep. When she sees Lewis, she begins to swing the door back closed, but his hand pushes against it.

"No, Lewis." She snarls, swinging the door open again. She is looking at him like he's the devil himself. "I don't want to see you, I don't want to talk to you, I don't even want to think of you."

"Clem, please." He begs, "Please, I can't take it."

She pauses at the door, taking her time to study the man in front of her. He looks bad, simply put.

His eyes are bloodshot and droopy with bags, his braids are disheveled and clearly in need of a touch-up, and he just looks all around miserable.

She almost gives in until she thinks back to the last eight months where she had been miserable herself. She smacks her teeth swinging the door closed until she hears Lewis shout out three words that take her back to when the roads got foggy, Cannes. When she realized the difference in how she actually felt for Lewis.

"I love you."

She peels the door back open and stares at him intensely. "What did you say?"

He looks like he's watched his whole world get taken away from him as he repeats himself, "I love you. Don't shut the door, please."

"It's not fair, Lewis." She fumes.

"I know." He whispers, and his voice cracks.

"You don't get to do this to me." Clem snapped. "You can't just make me feel things for you and then push me away. You can't make me love you and then hurt me and tell me you love me when it's too late."

"I'm sorry."

"Sorry, isn't enough." She hissed angrily, approaching him and poking his chest.

He reaches up and grabs her hand, holding it close to his chest. She feels him shudder underneath her touch, and his body begins to shake.

"Clem, I'm sorry." his voice is hoarse and thick as he peers down at her, and she cracks when she feels a teardrop against their connected hands. "I'm sorry."

Her forehead drops against his chest, and he wraps his arms around her. "You didn't deserve that; I should have just told you; I was scared; you broke all of my walls, Clem; I didn't know what to do. I didn't want to hurt you in the end."

"But you did, " she cries.

"I know, I did; I was scared of commitment, was scared I would ruin us further down the line." He presses a kiss to the top of her head, "I'm not scared of commitment, Clem, not anymore. I just don't want to be committed if it's not to you."

"You don't mean that." Clem breathes.

"I promise I do, Clem."

She steps back from him, letting his arms fall to his side. "You made me feel dirty."

He opens his mouth, and she puts up her hand, "Let me talk. I let you disrespect me, Lewis. I should be done with you. I should be over you. I don't care how much I feel for you; if you ever, and I mean ever, speak to me that way or treat me like I'm nothing ever again, all gracefulness is out of the fucking window."

"I understand." He breathes, "I will never, Clem, and I mean never treat you like that again."

It's ironic, the two of them standing infront of each other as the sky illuminates in yellow and orange hues.

"It's six in the morning." Clem sighs.

"I couldn't stop thinking about you."

"I wasn't supposed to be here today; you almost missed me," Clem informs.

"I would've found you. Lost you once already. I didn't know how much I cherished what we had until I no longer had it. Until I lost it. I don't want to lose you forever, too."

"It's almost spring," Clem announces.

"Gonna take you to that mountain, Clem." He promises, pulling her into his arms again.

"I've missed you so much. There were so many things I wanted to talk to you about. I missed talking to you." She admits and Lewis holds her tighter.

"I missed listening to you. Swear I did."

"Are we still friends?"

"No, we're more than that. We should’ve never been friends. Always meant to be more."

"I wrote an album about you." She sighs.

She feels Lewis hum against her. "It's beautiful."

"I talked so much shit about you, I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry for feeling Clem, I was a shit person to you."

"My hair is blue." She announces, and he chuckles; there she was, his Clem talking his head off.

"Starting over, right?"

"Yeah, starting over."

Although they weren't laying in bed on their backs hands connected and staring through the ceiling like it was their sky. Things felt familiar to the two as the sun rose and light beamed around them.

Lewis was her sunset, the beauty that comes after a hard and blaring day. To him, she was the sunrise. After the darkness, it will always be light again. She was his light source, and he knew that now. He could never lose something that's always shining.

"Thank you for showing up for me."

Not proofread

the album:

bad religion - frank ocean

in your hands - halle

i think- tyler, the creator

saturn- sza

broken is the man- jorja smith

everything is gonna be alright- infinity song

everything- kehlani

mine- beyonce ft drake

poison- beyonce

are we still friends- tyler, the creator

eternal sunshine- jhene aiko

#black reader #lewis hamilton #f1 #formula 1 #lewis hamilton imagine #lewis hamilton x black reader #poc reader #black female oc #lewis hamilton x black female oc #black reader friendly #things lost and things found part two

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lleldey · 2 years ago

Text

The Broken Vow

Description: You met your husband when you were children, foolishly following the pull of first love. Nothing seemed impossible with him holding your hand; dreams and hopes at your fingertips. But when an accident happened, and you were left alone in this world, you learned how to rebuild it without him. Years later he’s back by your side, the only problem – he’s not too keen on having been replaced. It’s not your fault...right?

Warnings: manipulation, yandere, hospitals, divorce, mentions of death, angst, weight loss (not by MC), power corruption, self-condemnation. Please keep in mind this is a yandere story.

Word Count: ~13.5k

One-shot

!In no way of shape and form do I think this is how Jungkook acts in real life, this is pure work of fiction, so if you choose to read it, please keep that in mind!

Life is the biggest mystery of them all. You’ve promised yourself to never again take it for granted, yet now you wish the time to stop, and for you to disappear in it.

You don’t remember how you got here, the parking lot of the hospital seems eerily empty, the vacant lights illuminating the lone space. You rest your head against the seat and wish for whomever is upstairs to give you strength, you remember how you prayed years on end for this day to come, but now that it’s here, you’re at a loss of what to do.

Notifications from your phone light the car, and for the first time in hours, you pick up your muted phone and scroll through the countless messages and calls, some from unknown numbers, probably the medical staff, and some from people you tried your best to forget.

3.04 a.m.

You should’ve been here at least an hour ago, but the ride took almost twice as much as it should’ve. The speed of your car never nearing the limit, every yellow light stopped at, and every minute spent in silence. No music, no thoughts, just silence.

If it were to happen two years ago, you would’ve jumped in relief and happiness, thousand possibilities running through your mind, and body jittering in anticipation, but as you walk through the hospital door, you look around lost. Not sure where to go, not sure if you wish to go.

The reception stares right at you, and you know you should probably go there, but your legs mindlessly carry you to the waiting area. You sit down and look at the people around you, only a few give you company in the dead of night.

A woman sits in front of you, dried tears trace her face, as she clutches the hand of a man besides her. Probably her husband. You watch how he caresses her hand, while they mutter something under their breath, and fresh tears fall from her eyes. It looks like they’re praying. Should you be crying as well?

From your peripheral vision you see someone stand next to you, but you can’t hear what they’re saying, as you continue to watch the sorrowful woman in front of you.

“Mrs. Jeon?”

You play with the gold ring on your finger, the jewelry calms your mind, as you mindlessly twirl it around.

Cough sounds besides you, “Mrs. Jeon?”

Not so far along you were in her shoes, the memory still fresh in your mind. How you sat in the seat for hours, crying and hoping for God to take pity on you. But now you pity the woman; she doesn’t know that the seat she’s occupying will soon become her second home.

A hand on your shoulders breaks your trance, and you look up confused as the nurse once again asks, “Mrs. Jeon?”

Only now you realize she’s speaking to you, and you’re quick to start, “No, no, I’m not-” but you catch yourself, and swallow your words as the realization hits you. No one has addressed you in such way for years, and her words trigger a distant past.

The woman looks at you expectantly, but all you manage to do is stand up and barely nod your head, as memories from years ago plays out in your head.

She outstretches her hand, a light smile graces her tired face, “Mrs. Jeon, I’m your husbands’ doctor, we talked previously,” you shake her hand, only half-heartedly listening to her words, and silently follow her lead.

“Your husband has been asking for you, and dare I say he’s very persistent,” she chuckles, and you butt in, “He’s awake?” she must’ve seen panic travelling through your body, as your hands start to shake and suddenly your surroundings seem grounded, the sleep like state ripped away like a bandage.

“He awoke 2 hours ago,” you stop near a door, laughter resonating from it, and you swear, the voices seem eerily familiar, “your family is with him right now, but he keeps asking for you.”

“His family is here?” she nods her head, and you’re not sure if you can do this. They don’t want to see you, the last time you spoke, you made his mother cry, and his brother chose to ignore your existence.

You drag your hands down your face, you must look a mess, hair sticking every way possible, and the pajamas mixed with your sneakers surely doesn’t help. You feel the doctor’s hand on your shoulder and with a squeeze she points towards the closed door.

Before she leaves, you grab her hand and mutter the words that keep ringing in your head, “How is this possible? Everyone said there’s no hope if I had known...” your words slowly fade, as you watch her with tearful eyes, hoping she’d understand.

“Your husband was taken for his annual checkup, and we noticed some…” she stops and thinks of the correct words, “elements that shouldn’t be present with his condition.” You nod your head, clinging to her every word, hoping that you weren’t at fault for this.

“We did some additional tests, and they came back positive for minimal consciousness.” She holds your hands when your lips began to tremble, “And after your agreeance, we gave him course of amphetamine, and now here we are.”

Her smile should’ve calmed you, but shame manages to creep up your veins; how are you supposed to face him? If he’s been asking for you, surely, he doesn’t know anything. Or perhaps he does and wants to see you begging for forgiveness.

The doctors’ steps slowly fade away, and you’re left with the door glaring daggers into your soul. You try to remind yourself that these are good news, you’d hoped for years on end for this day to come, then why does what’s hidden behind the door scare you so much?

You hear the voices of his family members through the walls, voices from people you used to call your own family. You haven’t talked to them for two years, even if some of them tried to reach out to you.

The room feels suffocating even through the door, you envision their judging stares, and harsh whispers. You lay your head against the door and try to calm yourself. Perhaps they won’t let you in, chase you away even before you step a foot in. But through the war in your head, you hear a soft voice, such a delicate voice you think your mind made it up.

Tears spring to your eyes, as you realize it’s truly him; ever since the doctor called you, all you could think of was his family, the possibility of him being awake seemed so unimaginable, that you didn’t dare to hope.

His voice calls you like a melody, the soft hums you longed to hear for one last time. Gently you open the door, and the room falls silent, distasteful looks thrown at you from every corner. Slowly you step in, still keeping the door open, you wrap your hands around your body when you notice how elegant everyone looks.

What else could you expect from the Jeons? Makeup in the middle of night, suits and silk dresses are a norm, you should know, this was your life not so long ago. You try to soothe down your hair, while stuttering, “H-Hello,” you don’t await a response, and feel yourself caving in further, the dark gazes you expected are overpowering, and you’re close to running out of the room.

“Can I come in?” you try, you truly try to make this less awkward, but you hear your voice quivering, and their heated stares make you turn to the door, longing for a breath of air.

Before you manage to run out of the confined space, Jungkooks’ mom steps up, and approaches you, “Child, I’m so happy to see you,” she grabs your hands, and you manage to smile back, at least someone in this room doesn’t hate you.

Your relief is short lived, as a man’s voice comments from the front of the bed, “Took her long enough” Your gaze drifts to him, as Jungkooks mother scolds him, and you hear a familiar voice, hidden between the sea of people, disapprove as well, “Jin, don’t speak to her like that.”

Your breath hitches, and you try to look past the bodies hiding him from your view. Involuntarily your lips start to tremble, all you manage to decipher is his raven black hair and hand that tries to shoo his family away from blocking you, but that is enough for tears to trace down your cheeks.

You feel a hand on your shoulder, and your gaze snaps back to his mom, and her sympathizing smile makes your tears fall down quicker, “All right everyone, let’s head out, and give them some space.”

You start to protest, as much as you wish to see him, you’re also afraid. You don’t know how much he knows, but your hands tremble from the idea of seeing him for the first time in years. Jungkooks mom stops you before you manage to say a word, “You’ve some explaining to do, and we must start preparing for court.”

Your eyes snap to her, and with furrowed brows you mutter, “You’re suing them?”, and the room fills with arrogant chuckles, “They took my baby away for years, of course we’ll sue those incompetent doctors.” She states while longingly looking towards the hidden bed.

Jin shoots you a grimace and mutters as he passes you by, “That’s the least we can do, they don’t deserve their certificate. Those doctors should not be allowed to step near a patient ever again.” He stops by the door and looks you over, suddenly your shoes seem like the most interesting thing in the world.

“They should know what happens when you mess with Jeons.” His words feel directed not only to the poor professionals. They should know indeed, and if they don’t, then they’ll have to learn the hard way. That much you can say from your own experience.

Jungkooks mom stands besides Jin, and pats his cheek while muttering, “You’re right son, now that both my babies are back, they’ll see why you don’t mess with attorneys.” You choose to stay quiet; they can barely stand your existence as it is, you doubt that they would overlook you going against them again.

Silence entails once more, as everyone leaves the room, you don’t miss how they keep a great distance passing you by, as if the mere presence of you disgusts them. But this was to be expected, and you stand still, not looking up till you hear the door close.

It takes a good minute for you to gather yourself and look up, but when you see him lying in the bed awake, looking at you with the love filled smile he used to give you, the barely patched up walls of your heart break, and you cover your mouth to silence the sob that wrecks your body.

Your feet carry you closer to him, and you stand by the bed, body shaking and tears falling. His hand reaches out to you, trying to comfort your restless mind, and you throw yourself in his embrace, the soft huff and chuckle rumbling his chest.

His heart beats against your own, and you pull him closer, not fully believing that you’re not dreaming. Hidden in his chest you whisper, “Is this real?”, but the hand that caresses your hair confirms your suspicion, this is real.

The countless years spent lying on his chest, praying that one day he awakens and embraces you like he used to leaves a bitter taste on your tongue, and you pull away just enough to see his bright eyes and gentle smile, and fall back into his chest, cherishing the moment at hand.

He leaves soft kisses on your head, and you let tears fall freely on his hospital gown, you forgot how warm his skin is, how comforting his touch is, the lonesome years left you with nothing but the far memory of it.

“Has it truly been seven years?” his voice sounds scratchy, his vocal cords vulnerable from all the years spent in silence. You raise your head to look at him, tears still falling, and caress his face noting the beard that has taken its place.

You nod your head and shakily mutter, “Almost eight”, to be precise seven years and two hundred and fifty-seven days of him laying motionless, unaware of his surroundings and your breaking heart. Jungkook heaves a sigh, and you lean into his touch, relishing his warm hand drawing patterns over your cheek.

He carefully examens your face, taking into account every detail and new wrinkle, “You look-”, playfully you groan, and sniffle, “Old? Like a train wreck?” to which he chuckles, and you can’t help yourself but do the same, you haven’t heard his laugh in so long, the sound almost hypnotizing.

“I was going to say beautiful,” you shake your head at his teasing grin, “God truly took his time on you, age suits you well. I just wish I was here to see it; it feels like only a day has passed, yet everything has changed.”

Your smile slowly fades, oh, he has no idea how much everything has changed, but you don’t wish to break his heart, so you opt to cheer up the dampening mood, “And you look like a cave man”

You brush your fingertips against his beard, something he used to keep track of to never grow out. His hair is also noticeably longer, brushing past his shoulders. You used to be the one who cut it, and shaved his face, but you haven’t been here for almost two years.

His hand moves to your chin, and your heart stutters; even though years have passed, he still acts like the man you loved, bringing you closer by your chin to kiss you. Now quickly realizing his motive, you back away and mutter, “We should probably do something about it, there must be shaving cream somewhere nearby”

If he notices the distance you created, he chooses to ignore it, a light furrow of his brows all is seen, before it morphs into a smile once more, “And here I thought you promised to love me for better or worse, even when I turn into a cave man”

Your heart sinks at his words, even though they are true, you’ve no clue how to even start to explain how you broke your vows, crumbled them like a piece of paper. You start to get up in search of a nurse, but Jungkook quickly stops you and presses a button, to which one quickly comes in and leaves in search of Jungkooks demand.

You sit back in a chair and enjoy his silent company while you wait for her to come back, seeing him conscious, breathing and back to his normal self is more than you could’ve asked for, and you can’t stop the tears that grace your waterline.

“I felt like I was going insane while waiting for you. Jin said you moved to another city...?” his questioning gaze looks over your features, and you distantly hum, when the nurse comes back and leaves a small bowl of water, razor, and some shaving cream.

Gently you start applying the cream on his face, and you feel his eyes burning, trying to catch your gaze. Continuing your work, you start to explain, careful with your wording, as the subject entails more than you wish to tell, “It was hard being there alone. But I didn’t sell it if you’re worried about that”

Understandingly he nods his head, and you cup his chin while gently scolding him for moving, afraid to accidentally cut his skin. You see his muscles morph into a smile, and you stop your movements, and look him in the eye as you shake your head with a smile of your own.

You lead the razor gently over the white foam and see glimpse of his youthful skin hidden behind it, “I can’t wait to go back home with you, these hospital beds will give me a backache like no other. Our bed is far more comfortable, not to mention you, who’s the softest pillow to exist.”

You press your lips together, and tightly smile; silence might be the best answer for now. You let his dreams carry on, couple of years ago you would’ve fallen into them with him, but now, you know you can’t afford to do so.

But the sparkles that coat his eyes are too bright and tender for you to extinguish, yes, you are selfish, you allow yourself to live in the fantasy-esque world that Jungkook desperately tries to pull you in, even just for a moment. You lost him for so long, barely found a footing in this world alone, but now that he’s here, the idea of losing him again hurts more than words could entail.

Jungkook is no fool, he sees that something is amiss. Your tense body, and pursed lips tell him that much. He tries to be gentle, it’s understandable that you’re confused, after all almost 8 years have passed. But it irks him when you refuse his touch, doing so seamlessly, that one might not even notice.

But someone isn’t Jungkook, he’s your husband, and has been your lover for six years before the accident. The past few hours have been dubious; at first everyone was elated, tears filled the room as more and more people came in.

But with each time the door opened his patience tinned out, they weren’t you, and as much as he was grateful to see everyone, the one he truly longed for wasn’t there. He tried to calm himself, he knew that you’re well and somewhere nearby, as the doctor said they talked to you, but every time he brought you up, the room turned silent, anxious looks passed by everyone present, till they ended the subject with, hopefully she’ll be here soon, and you’ll understand everything.

Now, what was ‘hopefully’ supposed to mean?

“I’m sorry about Jin, I don’t know what came over him” he starts, carefully observing your movements, but you tick your head, and forcefully shake the razor in the bowl. “He’s your brother, he was only looking out for you.”

“But you have great relationship, he shouldn’t speak to you like that” the sad smile that graces your lips makes him even more confused, “We did. But after you-” you sigh and drop the razor in the bowl, and grab a towel, softly wipe the residue off his skin “A lot has changed, I had a falling out with your family”

You focus all your attention on patting his skin dry, but his hand stops yours, and when you look up you see the light panic clouding his eyes, “How is that possible? Is it because of the accident?” you shush his rambling, and smile while caressing his jaw, “Don’t worry about it, at least now you’re no longer a cave man.”

He huffs, but you don’t pay it any attention, just appreciate his smooth skin that seems radiant in comparison to the last time, when you said your goodbyes to him. You allow him to play with your fingers, and don’t even notice when he pulls your hand closer to his face.

“Why are your fingertips cut? Do they hurt? Your skin isn’t as smooth as it usually is…” you laugh at his zeroed-in attention on your fingers, and with adoration explain, “I’m used to it, I work as a hairdresser now, and every once in a while, help out in a farm”

His facial expression is one for the books, he starts to sit up, and anxiously you try to stop him, but he stubbornly ignores your protests while cradling your hand to his heart, “What the hell did I miss? A hairdresser? But what about photography, it’s your dream!”

You nibble on your lip, while trying to think of a way to calm him down, this much stress surely isn’t good for his body, “Photography doesn’t pay the bills. I couldn’t stay here, Kook. I moved out and this was my only option.”

As much as you try to soothe him, your words go amiss, he shakes his head, thousand thoughts travelling through it, “I don’t get it, you had my trust fund, you shouldn’t have to worry about bills”

He tries to understand, he truly does, but something doesn’t add up, and it keep him on the edge. You move closer to him, and sit on the bed next to him, hoping that it would ease his mind, “They cut me off,” before Jungkook starts to panic, you continue, “we got into an argument, and that was my decision, I stand by it.”

Jungkook shakes his head and opens his mouth, but nothing comes from it. You watch how he falls back onto the pillows with a frustrated sigh, “It doesn’t matter. I’m here now, and I’ll handle it. I should’ve taken care of you, and I failed.”

You shake your head, “Don’t say that. Just promise to never again touch a motorcycle in your life.” He takes your hands in his own and presses kisses all over while repeatedly mumbling, “I’m sorry”

“It must’ve been so hard for you. I’ll get discharged, and we’ll move back into our own place, everything will be back to normal. You won’t have to worry about a single thing.”

Nothing will ever be the same, but he’s clueless. Your heart clenches as you realize you have to tell him the truth. He’s living in the idyllic life you created years ago, oblivious of how broken it now is. You have to tell him.

You straighten you back and ready yourself for what’s to come, “Jungkook, I-” But before you manage, he stops you

“What’s that?”

You follow his gaze, and your breath hitches. “That’s my ring, Jungkook.” His grip tightens around your fingers, and very slowly grits out, “That is not our wedding ring”

His gaze travels to your own and noticing the tears clouding your gaze his eyes narrow, “No, it’s not. But it is my wedding ring.”

Silence overtakes the room, but his eyes don’t stray from you, unblinking, frozen, trying to make sense of what you’ve told. “You cannot remarry when you’re already married. To me, might I add.” He articulates every word slowly, as if speaking to a child, and you shake your head and somewhat shamefully mutter, “We’ve been divorced for almost three years”

His neck slowly turns red, and his muscles are strained, veins popping out of his neck and forehead. You feel the doom coming, and you try to make him understand, “Jungkook, please understand. You were basically dead, and I waited for years but I-”

“What the fuck do you mean you’re married to someone else” his voice raises, and you feel the words vibrate through your body, “Jungkook,” is all you manage to whimper.

“You are my wife,” he hits his chest, “My wife, what are you even talking about?!” at this point he’s screaming, and you try to shush him to no avail.

His words become distant, once you see tears streaming down his cheeks. His hand is wailing around, neck strained and face red, and forcefully he pulls you closer by the hand he’s still gripping with full force.

You don’t hear the nurses running in, your eyes zeroed on his enraged state, he tries to push them away, and you force your hand out of his, to try and move away. But your actions don’t go unnoticed, as Jungkook close to lunges toward you.

Everything becomes white noise, and you see everyone screaming, nurses barely able to hold him back from you. He fights against their grip, but his body is frail, and the pool of workers press his body down, all while he scratches, screams and throws pillows every way possible.

Distinctly you hear one of them scream about sedating him, and your body finds the last bit of strength to run out of the room. But you don’t get far, as just outside you bump into his doctor, the poor woman looking over your shoulder astonished, as everything progresses downhill.

You hear him scream your name time after time, but you look at the woman in front of you, and cry out, “I can’t be here, take me off his medical proxy,” You’re out of breath, and you try to mutter a legitimate sentence over your cries, “Ask his brother, anyone, just please-” your words fade, and the woman stares at you in shock, but Jungkook keeps calling your name, and you can’t bear to hear his broken cries. He sounds like a wounded animal, and the sound chills you to the bone.

You push past her and run towards the exit, from your peripheral vision you see his family crowded around the hall, but you don’t stop, even when you hear their voices mixed with Jungkooks shouting after you. You have to get out of here.

Your body moves on its own accord, and perhaps your stressed mind is playing games with you, but you feel someone running after you. Jungkooks cries echo through your mind even when you find yourself in the parking lot, hands shaking, trying to unlock your car.

With trembling hands, you try to ignite the engine, but it won’t start up, frustrated, you hit the steering wheel with your palms, and pray that this isn’t the time your car decides to give up. With a look to the hospitals entrance, you see a dark silhouette running out, you were right, someone was indeed chasing after you.

Praying that they won’t notice you, you sink into the seat, and try to start up your car once more, it takes couple of seconds, but when it does you heave a sigh, and see that the person noticed you only now, headlights turning you in.

You don’t wait to find out who it is, or what they want from you, swiftly you press the gas pedal, and rush back home.

04.46 a.m.

If the road to the hospital took you almost three hours, now you don’t care if you’re speeding, only thing you wish for is to be in your husbands’ arms and cry your heart out. Yes, perhaps you missed a couple of red lights, but you’re too far gone, lost in the labyrinth of your mind to care.

06.10 a.m.

The edges of the clouds shine in golden sparkles, and the darkness slowly dissipates, as sun makes itself known. You drive through the depths of forest green, the car wobbles on the bumpy road, but you feel the end of your misery, as you see glimpse of your home in the distance.

Your body feels frozen, every action robotic, your goal the only thing in mind. You stop the car near the entrance of your home, the stone walls of the house seem lament, and you step out of the car, finally able to take a deep breath.

The door opens, and the gray monotone vanishes, once you see your husband. He looks visibly nervous, but he tries to smile to ease your mind. “How did it go?” his hair is disheveled, and eyes drowsy, it looks like he couldn’t sleep, anxiously waiting for you to come back.

You take a deep breath, and ready yourself to explain how horribly everything transcribed, but all you manage is to whimper “Tae,” before you run into his warm embrace, and let the dam of tears loose.

He caresses your head, and rocks you from side to side, you’re not sure how long you spend like this, you, hyperventilating on his chest, and him, embracing you in his warmth, trying to hold his own tears in. But when you calm down, and look up, the sky is baby blue, sun rays blinding you.

Some say you can’t avoid things you don’t want to deal with, but you're determined to prove them wrong.

For the past week, you’ve buried yourself in work, either at the hair salon, or, more so, helping Tae with farm work. Now more than ever you relish his company, his touch and gleaming smile helps you forget about everything else.

But with ignorance comes sloppiness. You can’t count the number of times you’ve accidentally cut your fingers, while trimming someone’s hair, or daydreamed while coloring hair, only for the end result being a two shades different color.

On top of that, Tae’s farm has gotten multiple complaints, so it made sense for you to clock out of work to help him. You’re applying the last bit of color on clients’ roots, every once in a while, humming along her story that, if you remember correctly, is of how her son drove her car in a ditch.

You make sure the color is blended in evenly when your phone rings. After the events in the hospital, your phone was flooded with messages, and the constant ringing was too much for both you and the phone, as it continued to glitch out.

You contemplated the idea of changing your number, but the next day complaints started coming in, and you decided that this isn’t the best time, both financially, and in case someone needs to reach out to you about that. And even if you don’t want to admit it to yourself, somewhere deep down you knew that won’t stop him. But Taehyung advised you to mute everyone’s notifications except for his, and so far, the proposal has worked perfectly.

Quickly you apologize to the woman, and pull off one of the gloves, while answering the phone, “Hi, honey. I’m working, is everything all right?”

His voice comes out rushed, and your smile fades, as you try to understand what he’s saying, “Can you slow down please, I can’t hear you”

He takes a deep breath and this time you manage to hear what he’s rambling, “Okey, I’ll be there soon, we’ll figure something out.” The line disconnects, and you curse under your breath, this isn’t good.

Moving into action, you grab your things, and turn towards one of your colleagues, while packing “Can you please take over my client? I have an emergency, and all that’s left is to wash her hair and style it” you ramble and look at her with puppy eyes.

“Which time is it this week? You can’t drop all of your clients on me” you clasp your hands together, and do your best to give her puppy eyes, but she rolls her eyes.

“I know, but it’s very urgent. Tae’s about to get sued, and he needs me”

She looks at you with a pitying gaze, “This one last time. Next time please remember that I also have a family to go back home to”

Quickly you kiss her cheek and turn to the exit, but you should’ve known that it won’t be this easy. Red fury, or rather, your boss stands at the aisle with a disapproving gaze. Before she starts to protest you butt in, “I know I’ve been distracted, but it’s truly an emergency. I promise once this is over, I’ll take double shifts, but please understand”

She looks nonchalant, and somehow you think that’s worse. She doesn’t scream, or scold you, but simply shakes her head, already given up, “Go,” quickly you thank her, but before you manage to exit, she notes over her shoulder,

“You haven’t been clocking in the hours. If this continues, I won’t have another option but to fire you.”

One foot out of the door you stop, at this point this job is your only income, but you make your decision, as your rush towards the car.

You try to convince yourself that there’s no other option, your husband needs you. You’ve already broken your previous vows, and sure as hell won’t do that again. After all you promised, for better and for worse.

One good thing about living in a village, everything is reachable in spam of minutes. But as you speed down the road, the idyllic ambience and joyous people make you feel like you’re suffocating.

This was never what you wanted, you enjoyed the bustling crowds and big cities dreams, but then the ground disappeared under your feet, and you were left all alone, lost, with no one there to ground you.

But then you met Taehyung, and he gave you another chance in life, even if it was the furthest thing from your reality. You could be the friendly neighbor who talks about her children morning-night. It never was your dream, but it is enough, because you have him.

You rush out of the car in search of him, for once thankful of your small home, as you quickly find him in the living room buried in scattered documents and disheveled hair. Once he notices your presence, he lifts his head up, and you kneel in between his legs to wipe his tears.

“What’s going on, Tae?” he shakes his head, and tries to calm himself. “They are suing me, and I don’t know what to do.”

When you left for work, things weren’t great, but they weren’t necessarily bad. You thought that this was another situation that would pass with time, but now you’re stuck, how could everything change so drastically in a few days?

“A little girl is lying in hospital because of me,” you shudder a breath and quickly stop him, “This isn’t your fault-”, he interrupts you, “But it is! I changed the supplier for a cheaper one, all the complaints, their health is on me!”

It doesn’t add up. He changed it two months ago, why are there problems all of a sudden? You watch his devastated face expression, at a loss of what to do to make everything better.

“Now, I have to compensate costumers, pay the workers, and find attorneys. I’ve already stopped all production, but I can’t fire everyone, they depend on me. I can’t believe I’ve ruined my family’s business.” He shakes his head, and you draw patters over his knee, not sure what to say, just listening.

“And I have no clue where to find resources for everything. I’ve already paid out most of our savings, and it’s just been a week. I don’t know what to do with court, you know how hard it’s to get attorneys.”

A thought strikes you, a possible solution to this whole thing. But you shake your head, as you realize what that would take out of you, you’re not sure if it would serve for better or worse. You rest your head against his knees, and think over the possibilities; you’re the last person he wants to see, you’re sure of that, but do you have a different solution?

But his screams still echo through your head, and you’re not sure if you can go through it again. But you have to try, for Tae.

“I might have a solution for that.” Confused he searches your eyes, and realization dawns upon him. Taehyung quickly gets up and starts pacing around the room. “I’m not putting you through that.”

“He’s our only option. There’s a reason why they’re the best attorneys in country. Worst case scenario, he can give us contacts or dismiss all together.” You don’t voice out the thought that he could indeed do worse, you’re not sure of his emotional state, but judging by the last time when multiple nurses had to hold him back from you, you’re going in blind. And honestly, you don’t blame him, you are at fault for his misery.

“Alright, but I’m coming with you.” A humorless laugh escapes you, “No, you’re not. He might be unwell, but if he sees you, rage will consume him. You didn’t see what I saw, he doesn’t want to see me honey, let alone you.”

Silence consumes the room, and you know that it’s agreed upon. You have to do this for Tae, and you know you’ve to talk to Jungkook. As much as you’d like to pretend the past 20+ years of your life didn’t happen, you can’t do that. You love him, but you can’t afford to do anything about it. You’re divorced, and that was your doing.

Turns out you can’t hide from things you don’t want to deal with.

You’re not sure if this is the right call; it’s been 5 minutes of you standing frozen in front of the door of a place you once called home. Not a single thing has changed, even the doorman recognized you, never mind that years have passed.

You calm yourself (rather try to convince yourself) that everything’s all right. You hoped that Jungkook would deny your request of meeting up, or rather not pick up the phone in general, but he answered on the first beep of the call.

The conversation wasn’t pleasant - even awkward - no pleasantries exchanged. You take a deep breath remembering the lone sentence he muttered during the phone call, “Are you coming back?”

Seeing him brought up memories and feelings you did your best to burry, most prominent one – guilt. You remember the incident at the hospital; how hard you tried to pretend as if nothing has changed, till the truth came out, and you saw his desperate eyes pleading for it to not be true.

Guilt you felt that moment was consuming, you knew that it’s your fault, so you ran. But somehow that didn’t help, only amplified the gut-wrenching pain of leaving the one you love behind, in pain and hurt.

But you comforted yourself with the knowledge he has a crowd of people by his side – they can patch up the tear you made. He doesn’t need you.

And as pathetic as it is, you’re afraid of stepping into the apartment. Isn’t it ironic, you’re the one who’s hurting him, yet you’re afraid of how you’ll feel. Selfishness at its best.

Straightening your back, you knock on the door, silence greets you, and after good 30 seconds you try again. When nothing happens, you try the door handle – it’s unlocked.

Door opens and the comforting smell of your home envelopes you, even if no one occupied it, somehow, it’s still drowning in the smell you seeked comfort in – your washed-out scent mixed with Jungkooks.

Slowly stepping in, you shudder a breath; you’re transported back 7 years ago, the creamy walls and coat racks filled with both of your jackets, messily thrown out shoes in the hall, and photography’s of your small family decorating the walls.

You close your eyes and envision Jungkook coming behind you to help you shrug off the coat, and give you a kiss on the cheek, while hugging you from behind. Just like he always did. The memory seems so tangible yet so far away.

But you open your eyes to the vacant hall, dust particles coting the furniture. Cold seeps under your skin, and you remind yourself of reality. Calling out Jungkooks name is useless, as silence welcomes your nervous state, but your body leads you to the living room, sort of déjà vu coaxing you to go there.

And just like you thought, he’s there. Overlooking the cities horizon, standing still besides the window, even when you address him.

“How are you?” you try to start a conversation and move closer and sit at the couch far enough from his reach, yet close enough to see his stiff body. But his back is turned to you, and he doesn’t give you the least bit of attention. “Door was unlocked, hope you don’t mind me barging into your home…”

“Our home” he’s quick to interrupt, awkwardly you shift weight from foot to foot, “Well, I’m glad you’re alright-” his hollow laugh makes you pause, not sure what to do. His emotions far too intense to what you’re used to, his aggravated scoff makes you sink in with guilt, the gentle mannerism he always bestowed hidden behind waves of betrayal.

Now looking at him through the reflection of the window, you can see he is not the man you’ve known and cherished dear to your heart. His body looks frail, you’re afraid that a stronger breeze of wind will make him break.

But still, your heart cries out for the past. And if it didn’t feel real beforehand, now it does.

He is wearing the sweatpants you bought him years ago, when you first moved into your apartment and decided to paint the walls yourself, you can still see washed out splotches of blue and white on them. Only now the pants are way too big for him, barely hanging on his hips, threatening to fall off any second. His shirt swallows his whole body, pitifully hanging from his shoulders, with no muscles or fat to cling on to.

“You left me. You threw me out the first chance I wasn’t of value to you anymore.” His words hurt you more than imaginable, and as much as you know that’s not the truth, you let him talk. You deserve to hear what you have done.

“And now I have nothing. No job, no home, no purpose, no-” his breath shutters before he whispers, “no one to come back to.”

“All I have is money and this empty space. Space that we built for our family.” He shakes his head, still not looking at you.

“Before you chose to exchange it for that low-life.”

You know what you have done is immoral, but your husband has done no wrong, only nothing less than hold you through these last horrid years.

“Jungkook stop. Please, don’t mix him into this, you know nothing about him-”

He turns to you, and you realize you mistook his anger for pain. His face is scrunched up, brows furrowed and eyes hollow with undeniable rage. You don’t recognize the person in front of you, the soft eyes you longed to gaze at one last time are long gone. And you can’t blame anyone else, but yourself.

He looks older, the dark circles beneath his eyes undeniable, the wrinkle that seems to be taken place in between his brows. And the sharp cheekbones that pinch through his skin. He looks unhealthy, his skin colored in yellowish tone.

“Don’t I? Aren’t you here because he lost his job? Because his dirty secret has come clean, and no one wants to be associated with him?” He steps closer to you.

“Because you want to beg me, your husband to take a pity of your side dick, and give him a job?” As he progresses towards you, you’re able to see how his body trembles, and at this point you don’t know if it’s due to his rage or unwell body.

“He’s not able to take care of himself, let alone you.”

“Am I wrong?”

Looking at his disheveled body, you know you can’t lie to him. You’ve done things you promised to never do in your vows. You hurt him, and you left him. And that’s the greatest pain one can cause another.

But you’re left confused. He knows. But how does he know? Has he been keeping tabs on you?

“Jungkook. Do you have any part in this?” You’re afraid to ask, the answer already looming in his previous words.

“And here I was hoping that my wife still cares for me. That she came to visit me, her husband, who has been almost dead for years.” He shakes his head with a scoff, and you look away.

“But no, she’s more worried about her affair. She doesn’t even care.”

“You know that’s not true.” You bite back your tears. There’s nothing you can say to make it better. You play with your fingers in your lap, too ashamed to look at him.

“Isn’t it? Because I’m here, waiting for you to turn up. And my wife isn’t even bothered to show when I’m being discharged. My wife doesn’t even care I wish I’d be dead, then live with the knowledge that she’s sleeping in someone else’s arms, living the perfect life we promised each other.” His voice breaks, but you still refuse to look at him. He’s crying, breaking down in front of you, and he has every right to do so, because you betrayed him.

Silence drags on, you, not able to look him in the eye, while he shakily breathes out, trying to stabilize his breaking heart. Pacify himself from the reality he’s welcomed to.

“But you know, I’m not sad. I’m angry.”

“I thought about killing your boy toy.” Frightened, you look up, “You know we have contacts for that, hundreds of them lining my phone, hoping we’ll help them in exchange for a favor. But then I thought, what a great feeling it would be to dig my nails through his skin, watch as the life trickles out of him, and smile, when his blood drowns my skin.” You rush to him, hoping to awaken him from his dulled thoughts.

But as you stand in front of him, you’re afraid to touch him, and the thought drives the knife in your heart deeper. You’re afraid to touch the man you promised to love for eternity. The man your heart yearned for years.

“And I want you to feel every bit as I do. I want you to hurt, the same way I do. I want you to see the world crumble beneath your feet and know that there’s nothing you can do about it.” His overbearing frame casts shadow over your form, and you mingle your hands together, trying to stay strong.

“But then I realized, that would be too easy. And you wouldn’t get your lesson. As it turns out, you still don’t know that wife doesn’t disobey her husband.”

“I have always been there for you. And now, you will see what it means, when I stop taking care of you. Because now, you can’t do anything, and I can do everything.”

The promise in his eyes scars you, but when you see the first tear trickling down his cheeks, when you see the hurt you bestowed upon him, nothing else matters except for him.

You watch how he starts to hyperventilate; his body shakes uncontrollably and his face pales. And the moment his knees buckle, your haze is broken, and you catch him in your arms. Panic overtakes every nerve in your body, and you call out for him, only to feel his tears on your shoulder.

You try to move his face towards yours, but he stubbornly shakes his head, hiding in the crook of your neck. “Jungkook, honey,” your voice trembles, “we have to get you to the couch,”

His heart pounds aggressively against your chest, you can’t muster what he sobs in your neck, his cries overpower any possibility of deciphering what he says. You feel your pulse in your ears, and you’re close to succumbing under his weight.

“Please, you have to lay on the couch.” You’re powerless, your own tears cloud your sight, the only thought running through your mind is to get him to safety. You move your hands around his waist, and you thank the gods, as Jungkook seems to hear your words, and weakly takes a step towards the seat.

To see a man, you love crumbled in your arms, barely standing, and breathing, breaks a piece of your sanity. You don’t know what your body is doing, but you zero on the couch, and only distinctly hear yourself muttering “We’re almost there, one more step” with every step you take.

You fall into the couch, your hands automatically reaching for his face, hoping to understand what is going on. You’re met with his blood-shot eyes and tear covered face, his breath is shallow, and you don’t know what to do.

Jungkook throws himself into your embrace, and you finally hear what he’s been muttering like a mantra all this time, and the words “please don’t leave me all alone” only serve to make your own tears escalate.

“I need to call the ambulance” you cry out, only for Jungkook to hold you tighter and cry out no one after the other. His breathing gets worse, and you realize if he doesn’t calm down, he will pass out.

“Jungkook, breathe.” You loudly breathe in and out, caressing his head, and feel him messily repeat your actions. Every second seems eternity long, and you pray to whomever sits upstairs, that he will be alright. With heavy chest you watch how his breathing normalizes, and sobs turn to hiccups, your body deflates, and you rest your head against his.

You allow your heart to stabilize, carefully listening to his shallow breaths, “Do you have any calming meds?” you whisper in his hair. He detaches from your skin and looks up.

“Please don’t go.” He defeatedly whispers. You hush him and rest your forehead against his, “I’m here, but I need to make sure you’re alright.” Uncertainly he nods, and points towards the kitchen.

You get up from the couch and Jungkook grabs your hand, “Kitchen” you whisper, and see the relief in his eyes. The moment he lets you go, you rush towards the room, you shake your head, as the kitchen counters are filled with bottles of medication, pills scattered all over.

You search through the bottles; your home never looked like this, Jungkook is a perfectionist, he never left a single dirty dish out, but now the space is covered in dust, no sense of your family home present.

Picking the right bottle, you search for water, only to realize it’s not here. You open the fridge to find it empty as well. Praying for the best, you open the trash, and you know you’ve failed him. You turn to the couch, to see Jungkook watching you with tears still running down his face.

You want to cry, but now is not the time, with both of you unstable no good will rise, and he needs you now. You try to silence your mind and fill up a glass with tap water. Thankfully, his family kept the apartment running.

You return to Jungkook and press the glass and pill in his hands. Silently you watch how he follows your command and bend down to your purse to fish out your phone. “What are you doing” he panics besides you. Before he starts to hyperventilate again, you grab his hand and as softly as possible whisper, “Only ordering food, don’t worry.”

You notice how your hands shake around your phone, barely managing to order, before your phone drops to the carpet. You catch Jungkooks gaze, and you don’t know if you should, but you wish that you’d be wrong,

“Have you-” you swallow, and try to keep composure, “Have you eaten anything since you’ve been discharged?”

He doesn’t answer you but continues to stare. You take a deep breath and continue, “Have you drank anything?”

If Jungkook doesn’t decide to murder you for your betrayal, you’re sure that the silence will. The dark circles and blood-shot eyes encourages you to get to the bottom of this, “Slept?”

You search his eyes for an answer, praying that he’s too stubborn to answer, rather than cavalier enough to try and withhold the truth from breaking your heart further. But he simply stares, no emotion travelling past the deep mahogany eyes.

“You know I can’t sleep without you.” Is the only thing he whispers. He doesn’t break your eye contact, and you wonder, perhaps he truly wants to see your pain, enjoy the way his self-neglectance makes you feel like you’ve failed.

You take another look at his disheveled form, gulp down your emotions and turn to the stairs. “Where are you going?” one single step away from him, makes his voice shake in panic, and you wonder how’d you get to this place.

With a look over your shoulders, “Run you a bath”, Jungkook nods his head in understanding, and silently follows you. You turn to him once he reaches the staircase, unsure if he’s strong enough to climb it.

He pushes your outstretched hand away, and mutters “I can climb the stairs.” You send him an unsure gaze, but his eyes harshly move up the stairs, urging you to go in a silent command.

The house truly looks the same, only difference being the coat of dust over the space. Automatically you go into the master bedroom, even if you haven’t been in this house for years, your body still remember every nook and creaky board.

You expect the bedroom to look the same as well, but the bed is filled with your clothes, as if they were thrown around. You send Jungkook a questioning gaze, but the same void eyes greet you; you wonder if this is how it’s going to be, him looking at you with empty eyes.

It’s funny how the one you love, can be the reason of your anguish. You promised to love one another till your dying bed, but here you are, looking at each other with nothing but hurt and betrayal.

Silently you go into the bathroom and start preparing his bath. When you left, you were sure that was the last time you stepped a foot in this house, you wanted to start over, so you left everything behind.

Even if your past actions were rushed, now you’re thankful for them. Cupboards are filled with oils and bubble bath solutions, you have to take a double look to check the expiration dates, but you sigh in relief, as the gentle smell of lavender and chamomile fills the space.

The smell takes you back to when everything was perfect, ever since you two started dating, bath was a sort of escape from reality. After a stressful day at work, you lit the candles, and drowned in each other’s embrace in midst of bubbles. Spilled wine, kisses on shoulders, laughter, and bubble beards - that was the reality.

You help Jungkook step into the bath, and your breath hitches as you see the full extent of his fragile body; scars from the crash, and skin pressed right against bones, bones so prominent that you’re able to see how his sharp shoulder blades bulge when he moves, every single rib, and back bone.

Now this is the reality.

You pour water over Jungkooks hair, the black strands lightly tickle his shoulders, visibly grown out over the past few years. Surprisingly, he relaxes under your touch, head leaning against the bath while you massage shampoo into his hair.

He’s looking at you, but you try to ignore his gaze, as every time your eyes meet, you’re met with dark circles and red, puffy under eyes. The room falls silent, the only sound being the water trickling from his hair.

Jungkooks shoulders slowly relax under your touch, and you move to massage his neck, careful, observing his body language. But his body only further melts into your arms, and when he sighs, you’re sure you made the right call.

The main reason of your visit escapes your mind, you gathered his answer when he named called Tae, but the possibility of him being involved in the ordeal seems great. You keep in mind to check if there’s any correlation between them.

“When I was under, all I remember are sparks of warmth enveloping me,” you stop your movements and look at his face, how his eyes search the ceiling, as if they hold the truth to his misery, “But then it stopped, and coldness overtook my body. Conscious enough to feel like you’re about to wake up yet suffocating in coldness and loneliness.” He whispers, and your heart clenches at the tears clouding his eyes.

“I think it’s because of you - when you stopped visiting me. I think I felt it.” He tilts his head up to catch your gaze, and you stare at him in silence, no words able to bear the barrier of guilt. At times you’ve caught yourself regretting your decision, heart crying out for your ex-husband, missing his touch, and soothing kisses. But you could never regret meeting Tae, he’s been with you through it all, and you’ll be forever indebted for that.

You caress his cheek, and he looks at you lost in thoughts, but when he pursues his lips, you know somethings weighting his mind. “How did you meet him?” Your fingers freeze and you search his eyes confused, is he actually asking about your husband? No uncontrollable rage behind the words?

But he looks just as lost as you are, but you don’t miss your shot and cautiously murmur, “At the hospital. His mom was admitted, and we leaned on each other for support.” His face scrunches as if your words were physically hurting him.

“I’m so glad I helped you bond over my anguish.” He spits out, and his body tenses. You see the patterns of anger return, and desperately whisper, “Jungkook-”

“Save it.” His tone is final, and his clenched jaw combined with his stiff body should’ve been a warning for you to drop it; but he gave you a small bead of hope that everything might be alright, and you don’t want it to burn out.

“If you’d give him a chance, you’d see that he’s a good man” your words are rushed, and so are his actions. His shoulders move to his ears in disgust, and he jerks his body away from your touch, his back turned to you, “How the fuck can you talk with such ease about your affair?” his voice raises.

“The idea of him touching you disgusts me; do you actually want me to hurt him?” you watch helplessly how he pulls his hair. His voice breaks and body shakes, and you pull him back into your embrace by his shoulders.

Your body leans over the tub, and you back hug him; arms around his shoulders, as he’s pressed against your chest. “How can you do that to me? I love you, and you promised to be mine years ago. Does that mean nothing to you?”

His voice shakes and body sinks deeper under water, face pressed against your arms. You calm your own heart and brush your nose over his hair, smelling the gentle lavender. Water splashes everywhere, your top soaked, but you don’t mind, as you try to ground him.

“I love you with all of my heart,” you murmur against his wet strands, “Never forget that.”

You stay in each other’s embrace for a while; Jungkook cherishes your warmth like never before. Yes, he’s out of the void he’d been stuck in for years, but the feeling he told you about hasn’t faded.

The past week had been excruciating, he was alone in your home, in the place he should’ve felt the safest at. But void overtook his mind, coldness seeped under his skin, and he felt like he’s back in the cage he barely escaped from.

No matter how high he turned on the heating, his body was shivering from cold, and he awaited the day his body would freeze, and the pain would go away. Death seemed like an escape.

He realized this wasn’t his home, not really. His heart wasn’t bound to it, it was bound to you. And the further you were, the tighter the golden strings around his heart pulled, cutting off blood, and leaving him suffocating.

He detests the man who steals your warmth, who stole you from him. He doesn’t understand why you chose a farmer over him. Him, who does everything and beyond to fulfill your dreams, him, who painted the walls your favorite color, and made your forever home from stars that painted the sky golden.

Happiness doesn’t come to those who wait, it comes to those who fight for it. And he will fight for you. Physical alterations have never been his style, but if it comes down to it, he wouldn’t put it past him. But then again, he’s an attorney, and sometimes one has to use his advantage.

Silence is interrupted by a doorbell, slightly startled from the noise, you mutter, “Food must be here”. Before Jungkook manages to disapprove you quickly let go of him, and with a quick peck on top of his head, you’re flying down the stairs.

The moment felt too intimate even for you and moving out of his presence gives you time to collect yourself. You choose to ignore the confused look on the delivery-guys face; at this point you’re used to looking like a mess. Mascara smudged, hair tousled, clothes soaked. You simply smile and gather the bags from his hands.

Goosebumps cover your body due to the wet clothes, and your carry the paper bags away from your body, so they don’t get ruined as well. Jungkook awaits you in the bedroom, clean clothes on his back, and you watch how he gently removes your clothes from the bed and carries them into the walk-in closet.

You put the food down and follow him, the closet is still mostly full, not a single piece of clothing out of its usual habitat. Your fingertips traces over the elegant dresses, so soft to the skin like you’re touching a cloud.

Not so long ago this was your life, formal parties and theatre plays a part of your daily routine. Memory so far yet so tangible. And now you’re married to a farmer, overalls and dungarees is your daily routine. You don’t mind your life, found comfort in the routine of it; yet now, when you’re presented with the life you gave away, you can’t deny that at times you miss it.

“Here,” Jungkook hands you one of his t-shirts, “You must be uncomfortable.” Uncomfortable is an understatement, your skin irritated from the rough fabric, but he gives you his clothes in the midst of a full closet of your own. You bite back a remark and take it, quickly shooing him away to get dressed.

You pull the shirt over your head, all while not taking your eyes off of a particular dress. You take it off of the hanger and a smile graces your lips. This is the dress in which you announced your engagement; the red silk fabric reminds you of the sprinkles of champagne, and happily applauding family members. You take a closer look at the bodice and laugh, the maroon stain where Jungkook accidentally spilt his wine still visible, the day was too happy for you to be mad, you simply laughed it off.

Each of the pieces carry out a significance of your past life; the mahogany off-the shoulders dress for your first gallery exhibition, the elegant romper you wore for Jungkooks bachelors party, because yes, he refused to spend it without you. You’ve to pull yourself away from the memorial of your past, this isn’t real life.

When you come out of the closet, you sit next to Jungkook on the bed, and hand him a tray of soup – probably the best course of action, considering he hasn’t eaten in days. His hands shake around the spoon, his body exhausted from muscle extortion and sleepless days.

You look around the room, picture frames of your college days and wedding decorate the walls. Suddenly you can’t wait to go back to your husband, the overflow of memories overwhelms you.

A certain question keeps bugging you for more than a week now. You didn’t feel comfortable rising it in the hospital, Jeon judging stares left you relentless as it was, but this is Jungkook, you should be able to ask him anything, right? “Do you actually plan on suing the doctors?” you softly mutter as to not startle him with the hot brew in his hands.

He lowers the spoon and ticks his head, “If it wasn’t because of them, we wouldn’t be in this situation. Someone has to pay for it.” You watch how he continues to eat; to a certain extant you understand his stance, what wouldn’t you’ve done couple of years back for him to wake up.

But he wasn’t the one who spent every week crying on doctors’ shoulders, they offered you strength and compassion, and your consciousness spikes of you not being able to offer them the same in time of need.

Jungkook pushes the bowl away from him, and groans, “I can’t eat more. I feel sick.” He didn’t even eat half of the bowl, and you worry how fragile his body is, but you don’t push.

“Will you promise to eat more when you wake up?” he looks at you with a calculative gaze before he focuses on the bedsheets. “You won’t be here?” he emptily snickers “Am I your pity case?”

He still doesn’t understand. You grab his hand, and make him look at you “Jungkook, I love you with all of my heart,” you hope that the fierce look in your eyes confirms that, “But I have also promised to love him,” his face scrunches, and he looks away from you. Jungkook opens his mouth to cut you off, but you draw his head back to you and continue.

“I have signed a document stating that I will love him” you know that’s the last thing he wants to hear, but he has to understand you’re married, and your rightful place is to be besides your husband.

He shakes his head without saying a word, and falls into the pillows, “Like I said, someone has to pay for it.” You watch him and shake your head, he’s great at blaming everyone but you, for your own actions.

You put the food on the table, and climb back in the bed, remembering how hard it’s for him to sleep without you by his side. You draw the comforter over him and lie on your side watching him. He turns to you as well and intertwines your hands.

Neither of you speak, and you wait for Jungkook to close his eyes. But he fights sleep, and a droopy grin paints his expression, imagining him lying in the bed 7 years ago with his wife. But his stubbornness holds no strength to his prominent eye bags, and his eyes slowly close.

Before he falls asleep, he whispers the lone thought eating his consciousness, “If you hadn’t married him, would you stay?”

Out of all the questions he’d asked, this is the easiest one. Without a second thought you whisper, “Always.”, and the last bit of stubbornness leaves his body, his smile increases, and he pulls your hands closer and kisses your knuckles.

His breath evens out and his cheeks form a pout as sleep invades his body. As peaceful as he looks, you can’t stop the unease creeping up your nerves. The view seems hauntingly familiar to his motionless body in the hospital.

You have to stop yourself from waking him up, just to check that the last week hasn’t been a fever dream, and he is, indeed back to life. You force yourself to stay put for a couple of more minutes, trying to prioritize his health over your discomfort.

But you feel uncomfortable leaving him like this, what if he awoke only for a moment, and will never be by your side again? You sit up, ready to quietly leave, but with one last look over your shoulder, you cave in and pinch him.

When he furrows brows from the unexpected sensory you breath out.

You contemplated leaving then and there, but guilt crept up your spine, like you were abandoning a lost puppy. Only in this scenario, the puppy is a grown adult, who’s begging for you to stay.

Standing by the door you take one last look at the apartment and decide you can’t leave it like this. Judging by Jungkooks exhausted state, you have more than enough time to rid this place of the painful reminders coating every inch of it.

You found some gloves in the kitchen and got to work. You didn’t stop till every corner gleamed and spent what little money you had on his groceries. Perhaps you haven’t made the best decisions, but you do care.

“He threatened you!” Taehyung looks at you flabbergasted, searching your eyes as to why you’re so careless of it.

You arrived home yesterday evening, and ever since then both of you have been arguing, neither willing to see the others POV. You told him the truth, Jungkooks distaste for Taehyung, his possible involvement in the lawsuit – you were honest and told him everything, and now you’re starting to regret that choice.

You drop your bag on the hallway floor, ready to leave the house and escape to your job, tired of the pointless arguing, “He’s lost, confused, what do you expect from him?” You never know how one might act in stressful situations, his life has turned upside-down; he missed out on most of his twenties – the time when one enjoys themselves, relishes the responsibility free life, and celebrates freedom. Of course, he’s lashing out.

“Not to threaten both of us, that’s for sure.” His words irk you; a sense of defensiveness comes over you, and you bite your cheek trying to calm down, “You don’t know him, he acts threatening, but his soul is gentle, he’d never hurt a fly.”

Taehyungs shoulders drop once he sees your pleading eyes; arguing has never been your pitfall, but these past weeks have been the most stressful of his life. Each muscle in his body is tense, ugly bursts of anger colored with desperation bubble in his chest. There is a reason why he vowed for better and for worse, you’re in this together.

Two letters fall from the doors mail slot and Taehyung bends down to grab them. You watch how he tears one of them open, while simultaneously hands you the other. Your name is printed on it, and you’re left confused when you see courts stamp next to it.

You’re about to open it, but before you manage to, Taehyung curses and you look up and meet his helpless gaze. “They’ve annulled my certificate till the court ends.” You purse your lips, trying to understand what he just said.

You move over to him and read the notice in his hands, “What does that even mean?” you look up and down from him to the letter, scared of the consequences that might entail, “That means hundreds of laid off workers, bankrupt business, and no income whatsoever. What are we supposed to do with court? All of our savings went into compensations, and no one wants to associate themselves with us-”

His words fade out as your gaze shifts to the letter in your own hands, you shoot daggers to it, and forcefully rip it open. Your eyes scan the text, and mutter “Oh my fucking god.”

At this, Tae stops his rambling, and when he notices court papers into your own hands, he nervously asks, “What?” You look up from the notice and clear your throat, “Um-”, you’re not sure where to being, your mind unable to process the information.

“It says that my divorce to Jungkook is annulled, as I have submitted forged documents,” his eyebrows scrunches and he shakes his head confused, “Wait what-”, but you’re not done, and you scan the other notice “And I'm being summoned to court as forgery is a criminal offence.”

“That’s not possible, I saw the doctors give you the documents with my own eyes!” his voice raises, but a particular symbol at the bottom corner of the notice gains your attention. You put both documents together to compare the stamps, and barely audible whisper “No fucking way.”

You snatch the documents from his hands, and when all the stamps match, you call out once more the only sentence your mind can muster, “Oh my fucking god!” You look at Tae in expiration and show the documents in his face.

“Bottom left. Under the prosecutor’s signature. Does the stamp remind you of something?” He takes the papers from your hands, and when he pursues his lips, and takes a double look at them, you know he’s got it.

“Is that…?” with a feigned laugh you finish his sentence, “Jungkooks company.”

You look at each other at a loss of what to do, when he said he had the power – he meant it. But never in million years did you think he would use his status against you, the corrupt ways of the law and one’s upper hand leaves you restless. Worst of all, he wants you to know it, he could’ve used any other company, one you wouldn’t recognize, and played his schemes unbeknownst to your knowledge.

But no, he wants you to know that he’s in power.

Unfortunately, you don’t see another choice but to fold under the pressure; your hands automatically reach for your pockets in search of your phone.

“Where is my phone?” Rushed you mutter, grabbing your purse to look for it there. Instead of answering, he asks, “What do you plan on doing?” Not finding it there you move to the coats rack, not minding if the jackets fall over in haste.

“I have to go to him. There’s no other choice.” Frustrated you sigh, and close to shout, “Where is my damn phone?!”

Taehyung comes up to you, and stops your actions, “Don’t go to him. We can fight this. We’ll take out a loan, and-” you interrupt him, “No one in their right mind will give us a loan. We’re already in debt as it is, you’re jobless, and my wage barely covers food. And now, we're both on trial.”

At that you groan, forgetting one crucial element, “Can you call my boss, I won’t be able to go in today. I still haven’t found my phone!” Taehyung stands silent, and after a while fishes out his phone to follow your command. He’s not able to rebut your words, he knows you’re right.

He puts the call on speaker, and after a couple of beeps your boss answers the phone, “Hi! It’s me. I know it’s a short notice, but something important came up, and I won’t be able to come in today. But I-”

“Save it. You have a week to collect your things, I have no use of a slacking employee. You’re fired.” With that she hangs up, and you’re left speechless looking at the beeping phone. You contemplate all of your life choices, when did life get so hard?

You look at Tae and drop your shoulders, “And now we’re both unemployed.”

He closes his eyes, and you see defeat written across his face when he moves to the windowsill and grabs your phone to hand it you. Quietly you thank him and drop it in your bag. Before you manage to step a foot out of the door, he calls after you, and you turn your head to look at him.

“He’d never hurt a fly, right?” He’s using your words against you, and you hate that he was right. But your blind love for your ex-husband left you fooled, and without a word you step outside.

You march down the hallway to Jungkooks apartment, hours you spent alone in your car only fueled your desperation. You didn’t bother calling him, somehow you felt like he knew you’d be there soon.

His door’s unlocked, and that only further proves your point. Not wasting a second, you walk through the apartment, and find him in kitchen cooking. This time he looks collected, hair in ponytail and clothes without a single crease.

He looks up from the cutting board and smiles, “I was wondering when you’d come by. I’m making your favorite, come, sit.” He points to the kitchen island, and you drop your bag on the table and move your hands on your hips.

“Why did you do that?” he washes his hands and looks at you questioningly. “Don’t pretend. You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

He smoothly stirs the sauce in the pan and comforts you, “If you’re worried about the charges – don’t. I can take care of that once you move back in.”

You stare at him incredulous; how can he speak so calmly about it? “I’m worried about being called to court over procedures that aren’t even legal.”

“Submitting forged documents is a valid reason to being called in.” he ever so calmly states, and you feel your blood boil, “Every document I submitted is real. And I’m sure the doctors will testify so.” But he only smiles and shakes his head, and continues to stir the food, while cheekily clarifying, “Will they?”

You consulted five different specialists before proceeding with divorce, of course they’ll testify the same, as their answers broke your heart one after the other years back. You shake your head trying to figure out where he’s coming from, why wouldn’t they-

Till it clicks. “You threatened them. If they don’t comply, you’ll sue them.” Jungkook tilts his head and presses his lips together, “I don’t threaten people. I simply explained their options.”

Your mouth agapes, and you whisper, “This is insane, Jungkook.”

This gathers his attention, and he clicks his tongue and comes closer to you, “You said your affair is the only barrier between us. I got rid of the problem, you should be thanking me.”

“Marriage Jungkook! I’m not having an affair, I’m married.” You raise your voice and hit your chest. He never calls it what it is. A marriage. One you freely chose.

“No, it’s not.” His tone changes, and now you’re both angry. You recognize the deep tone, it’s the one he used in courts, not a single person willing to interrupt his matter-of-fact statements. “You’re lawfully married to me; your surname carries my legacy. Don’t ever compare me to your adultery.”

He might be right, but he seamlessly evades why you’re married to him – how he used his power to tie you to him. “I will fight this.” You bite back.

“Will you though?” you clench your jaw, “Because I don’t see you winning. Are you willing to sacrifice your boy-toy and his whole family for a fight you’ll never be able to win? Their business, which they created generations ago. Go against specialists, who will testify the same statements? Not to mention what resources you have; jobless, without a penny to your heart. Do you think that anyone will employ you, with a criminal record?”

Fighting back tears, you wince out, “How do you know that?” Seeing your glazed eyes, Jungkook stands in front of you, and pats your hair, “You live in a village. Words travel fast.”

Unable to hold it in, you sob, feeling trapped with the burdens of life dragging you down. His words ring through your head, and you know – he’s not a man of who’s words should be taken for granted.

Your sobs increase once you realize – this is not a fight you’ll ever win. He pulls you into his embrace, and you scrunch his shirt in fists, hating him for dragging you into this mess, hating him for getting on that motorcycle years ago, and leaving you all alone. Hating him, for he was the one you promised your heart to – hating him, for not being able to hate him.

He rocks you from side to side, and shushes your cries, “You broke our vows, but I promise to patch them.” He detangles your hand from his shirt, and you don’t notice him pulling your ring off your finger.

The sound of something falling catches your attention, and you see the silver bands lying on the floor. You look up and see him slipping your wedding ring on your finger, the golden ornament shining in the light bright as ever, as if it had never gathered dust in the drawer.

Jungkook kisses your forehead finally satisfied, the golden strings tying you back to your rightful place. Back to him.

“For better or for worse, baby”

Hi! Hope you enjoyed this story, as always would love to hear your thoughts on it. And thank you so much for all of the attention preview got, hope it didn’t disappoint ☺️

I haven’t managed to edit it yet, wanted to publish it for all of you, as you’ve been waiting for awhile.

As always, thank you for reading, hope you stick around! 🌻

#bts fanfic #bts fanfiction #yandere bts #bts yandere #jungkook fanfic #jungkook yandere #jungkook x reader #yandere

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yandereshingeki · 2 months ago

Text

The Antithesis of Decay

made for @ficsforgaza’s Kinktober!

⬑ please check them out! ⬏

Masterlist

Word Count: 2.2k

Pairing: Tomura Shigaraki x afab!reader

Content Warnings: Stuckage, fingering, dub/noncon, no gendered pronouns, but reader is described to have bigger hips than their waist (no big specifications though). meant to take place between s3 & 4

Summary: An escape through the alleyway ends in a terrifying run-in with a wanted villain.

Managed to write this entirely in a single day 😵‍💫 it gave me a headache doing it that fast but thank god i got it done! It was a lot longer than I intended (stuckage is hard to keep short akhsheja & i originally wanted to go full smut but then wrote too much) and was a little bit difficult to navigate cause I don’t think about shiggy in a sexual way BUT !! I DID IT!

This is also the first time I'm posting something I've written in present tense, I'm just trying to experiment and figure out how I like to write lol

Shiggy lovers i hope this is adequate!!

Another crash. Another roar. Another Nomu.

You're in the thick of it, beside a building, half-destroyed, and another one completely toppled to the ground. There's screaming and panic, citizens running in every which way to escape the crossfire. Another building is about to collapse, and the monsters take no hesitation in using it as leverage to fight.

There are other heroes here, maybe three, or even more now if there were any on patrol nearby; it isn't clear through the fog of dirt and smoke. It isn't enough though. None of you had the strength or stamina to fight against the group of Nomus that appeared. Especially not by yourselves, even if you barely outnumbered them. The rubble is building. The ground is practically shaking under their destructive hands. They have the absolute advantage.

Your quirk isn't built for such a fight, even as a pro, and your combat skills would prove useless against those monsters. You're meant to be more of a support hero than anything, someone usually waiting on the sidelines to rush in and heal the defending heroes in fights. The limits of your restorative quirk meant it was wise to steer clear from the heart of the battle and avoid being hurt, so the best course of action would be to run. Run and find backup. That's the most you can do for now; the most you can try to save what remains of that small city sector.

You choose your path quickly, remaining observant of the chaos around you. Cracked asphalt and concrete, dust flying everywhere from the destruction, debris from the second half-collapsed building scattered everywhere. The Nomus remain distracted by the other heroes, so despite the obstacles, there's a clear path to the closest alleyway. From there, if you can just reach the other side of the buildings and escape harm's way, you'll be safe to make the call.

You can make it, you believe — as long as you're fast. Confident, you take off, bound for the crack between two untouched office buildings nearby, the spring in your costume's boots allowing you to move more efficiently. With such quick speed, you nearly run face-first into the wall, entering it at an angle that's easy to correct with a simple push off against the brick. From there, the path is a straight shot to the other side, only separated by a feeble chain link fence. There's a hole that looks just big enough for you to crawl through at the bottom of it, the wire pried upward to create a gap. You can make it, you repeat in your head. The coast is clear, you can make it.

Stumbling to a stop in front of the mesh barrier, you drop to your knees as quickly as your body will allow, planting yourself onto your stomach afterward. The opening is much smaller up close, but it's nothing you can't army-crawl your way through. Your costume was made to be dirtied and protect you in the heat of conflict, so having it scrape across the rocky ground while you drag your way under the fence isn't an issue. Its durability was the least of your problems — until now, that is..

The elastic fabric snags on the wire once you squeeze your head and arms through the hole. Time is sensitive, you don’t have any to waste on something trivial like this. You try to reach back to untangle it, only to find the wire completely stabbed through.

With a heavy sigh and adrenaline crawling in your veins at the delay, you manage to move back a sizable distance before you try again, but it’s useless. The ends of the wires are sharp and stab into your suit with ease, holding you back. You needed to try something else, you needed to be fast.

Before you can attempt to force your way through the hole, a voice arises behind you. Raspy and hoarse, you don’t even realize he's there until he speaks.

“Oh, look at what we have here. A hero, is it?”

His approach is slow, and you only hear his footsteps once he's standing over you. Your entire body goes stiff, your blood running cold as you curve your spine back to look at him.

"Shigaraki," you whisper, terrified, under your breath.

"Oh, you know me already? How nice, I suppose we can skip the introductions then."

You can hear your breath hitch in your throat when he speaks and feel his presence as he looms right behind you, bending at the knees to crouch down over your legs.

"I've seen you on TV," he starts, and you hold back a scream when you feel four rough fingers gently touch the back of your thigh, "You've got quite the impressive quirk, you know. Restoration quirks are hard to come by. And yours…"

He pauses again, glides them up to where your hip and femur jointed together, and relishes in the way you shiver before he continues, "It's the exact opposite of mine. I guess you can only restore organic things, sure, but — it does make me wonder."

You're hardly listening to his little ramble, your heartbeat drumming too loud in your ears to process anything — but then, your head goes blank when you feel all five of his fingers cup around your hip. Panic sets in fast, and you find yourself writhing before you can think, trying to force your way through the fence. The metal wires only dig into your skin, causing even more pain as you realize you're hips are too big to fit, and you wouldn't have made it anyway.

Tomura only chuckles lightly at your reaction, watching the bottom half of your hero suit disintegrate into dust. You don't even realize it until you're already crying, and a cold breeze hits your face and bottom half. His hand is on you. Touching you. Feeling you, and yet.

You don't feel any pain. His touch is simply normal against your skin. His palm is surprisingly warm, but dry. And you don't disintegrate. You don't disintegrate.

Tomura laughs again at wide eyes and gaping mouth as if you should have expected his quirk to cancel out with yours. He slides his palm across your bottom, down to the back of your thigh again to caress it up and down slowly. Carefully. His touch lingers far longer than you're comfortable with.

"Your quirk activates automatically when it's your own body, right? I wonder how long I can keep doing this for, then." He speaks so casually, acting like you weren't trapped and half-bare under him.

"I've always wanted to be able to touch someone like this again. No gloves, no barriers. Just skin. When I saw you on the news and heard about your quirk, I thought you were perfect. Aside from that pesky hero stuff, that is," he frowned slightly behind the hand on his face, moving his own to grip at the fat of your ass, "You have no idea how frustrating it is to be unable to touch something without it falling apart."

You let out a loud squeak, feeling his weight on the back of your knees when he sits on them, squeezing and kneading your flesh in his hand. There are tears in your eyes, and you struggle to twist around to look back at him, where he sits proudly like a king on his throne. Seeing such a widely known villain — being face to face, but being stuck and having him touch you like this. It felt humiliating. Humiliating to who you were as a person and a hero. You felt sick to your stomach.

He frowns a little at the pathetic look you give him, only tightening his hold more, "Come on, don't look like that. I haven't done anything yet."

As he speaks, he slides another hand underneath you and pulls your hips up slightly, your spine beginning to ache at how it was strained. You can only shake as you watch him, the hand that was gripping your ass moving to slide a single finger down the center of your underwear, sending a large jolt up your spine.

In an instant, you look forward again, covering your mouth to hold back any noise you'd almost let out. You don't want to give him the satisfaction of making a sound, let it be cries or anything. So you force yourself to silence, even as tears roll down your face.

Tomura only grins, running the finger up and down the fabric a few more times just to feel you jolt before hooking around the lining to pull it off to the side, stuffing it between your thigh and outer labia to keep you exposed. You clench up at the cold air, another shudder roving through your body as Tomura holds back a chuckle.

Without another thought or word, he immediately dives in, his two fingers sliding between your folds, feeling whatever you can offer him before moving down to the bud below. You shiver, but are otherwise completely frozen as he does this, not even knowing half of what to do to retaliate.

"Not too wet yet, I see. That's ok, I can fix that." He says, beginning to prod around for that extra sensitive spot he knew you wouldn't resist. A lightbulb goes off in his head when you jolt suddenly, your hips shaking extra whenever he squishes or pokes at it. With a grin plastered under that embalmed hand, he starts to move his fingers around in slow, gentle circles.

The coarseness of his fingers doesn't help the sensation they bring on, that feeling of soft ecstasy pulsing through your body slowly like a drum. You hold back your sounds, at least, only your breathing growing heavy as he watches you clench around nothing.

It isn't enough for him. He needs more than this, he needs you prepared, and that wouldn’t come from just a few measly touches.

His fingers move faster, gaining enough friction that he has you audibly gasping, slick already building up just below. It doesn't take as long as expected, like your body is reacting on primal need. It almost makes him wonder — maybe you're getting off to the position he has you in, even if you don't realize it.

He gives you a few more minutes of soft touching, allowing a good amount of wetness to accumulate between your shaking thighs before moving his fingers up. He gathers your natural lube on his digits, humming as he slathers it all over your pussy to make it nice and glossy before dipping them back in, finally allowing them to take the plunge.

As if you weren't already amply humiliated, the way his fingers toy with you before pressing in is distracting enough that he manages to draw a squeak out of you the second he dives in.

"Ohh, give me more of that. Don't be shy." He says, sliding his digits out slowly, licking his lips at how slick they are before shoving them back in.

His fingers are so long, soaking knuckle-deep inside of you and reaching parts that your own couldn't. You would rather die at his hands now than ever admit it to anyone, but god, it feels good.

He's already moving them so fast, curling them all around like he's searching for something. It felt too good to be touched by someone like that. You haven't slept with another person for over a year, so it's like a new foreign feeling and an old friend all at once. You can't stop yourself. Your brain grows foggier with each drag of his fingers, like he's scratching an itch you couldn’t by yourself. You couldn't hold it back anymore.

You let out a quiet, croaked moan, covering your face with your hands to hide how embarrassing it is to indulge in something so crude with someone like him.

A wretched smile immediately dawns on Tomura's face, and he moves his hand even faster, trying to milk more sounds out of you before he moves on. He wants you to make more noise, to hear how good a disgusting villain like him is making a great hero like you feel.

From there, the sounds just spilled out. He’s surprisingly quick to find the smooth spot inside of you, pumping over it repeatedly until you’re a wriggling, gasping mess. The coil inside of you is winding up tight, growing ready to burst at almost any second.

It's so degrading, being face down in the concrete while a villain is digging his fingers so deep into you. But you weren’t thinking about that anymore. Your mind is too focused on how good it feels rubbing against your walls, the friction driving you crazy with how fast it builds up.

Then, like electricity in your veins, it comes crashing through your body all at once. The pleasure, the ecstasy. Your body practically vibrates against his hand, an unforgiving orgasm ripping through your entire system until you’re panting like a dog, still pulsing around him as he slowly removes his fingers and wipes them on your thigh.

As you return from your high, the quiet chuckling unnerves you. And then you feel sick to your stomach again. You’re still recovering, but you’ve come to your senses enough to look behind you.

The sight you see has bile rising in your throat. He’s already grabbed onto you again, unzipping his pants with one hand while he speaks.

“So, what do you think your little hero friends would think if you had sex with a villain?”

#ch:shiggy #forest fics #kinktober #cw: noncon #cw: dubcon #mha x reader #bnha x reader #shigaraki tomura x reader #tenko shimura x reader #shigaraki x reader #smut #x reader smut #shigaraki smut

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shirefantasies · 9 months ago

Note

Heyyy i just wanna say that I LOVE your writing. Its so so comforting 🫶🫶🫶

Can I request a story/headcanon about how Thorins company/ specifically Kíli would react if (fem) reader got her hair braided by her (non dwarf) friend, and it was just a friendly thing, but the dwarves thought it was a courting braid?

Pairing Fem!Reader x Kíli

Thank youu🫶💗

Omg thanks! Comfort writing is a big honor 🥹

Mission of Misunderstanding- Kili x F!Human!Reader

Shout-out to my girlies in the unbraidable hair community lmao 🤝 Warnings: one minor swear lol, a couple suggestive remarks

One more step and your feet were going to fall off. Surrendering to the burn, you all but fell down onto the log, tilting your feet so only your heels rested upon the earth. A sigh escaped your lips and you didn’t even move when the rustling sounded at your back.

A familiar voice spoke your name. Bilbo. “Are you quite alright?”

“Yes, my friend,” you breathed, “so long as you don’t count anything below the knee. Or my hair. Can’t imagine how much dirt and leaves have gotten in it after all that.”

"Well, yes," Bilbo chided, ever the little mother-hen, "you've got to keep it back. Why don't I braid it for you?"

Your heart burst, and not from exertion this time. "You would do that for me?"

"Of course," the hobbit shrugged, "haven't had much practice of it of late, but certainly I can give it a go for you. I understand. I wouldn't want the mess either. Come here."

Thanking him again, you scooted closer to where Bilbo stood, gritting your teeth for the pain of him detangling your hair, only to relax at the gentle touch of his nimble fingers. Eyelids fluttering shut in contentment, you sat as Bilbo worked his magic neatening your hair up and making fresh braids of it for you. Feet still elevated and aching, but less so the longer you sat off of them. When the hobbit pulled back with a quiet, still-focused finished, your first instinct was to reach up around your head, touching the new set of braids with a widening smile.

"And now it shall be free of my face! Truly, thank you, Bilbo!" Pulling him into a quick hug, you vowed to repay him somehow with a teasing final statement. "Since I doubt you want me to braid yours."

"That is quite alright, thank you," he chuckled, "let's head back to camp before Bombur chases us down, eh?”

Camp was nearby, and still sparsely populated as you approached it. Bofur and Bombur were there building a fire, and Thorin stood a ways aside having a conversation with Balin. Dwalin and Gloin sat playing a game with a rock as their table, and Ori sat knitting. The others, you presumed, were hunting, saddling ponies, or else getting attention from Oin. Thinking nothing of it you sat down again, this time near Dwalin and Gloin, asking who was winning and if they were taking bets just to laugh at their responses. Bilbo helped Bofur and Bombur get set up for dinner a few feet off, propping up sticks strong enough to hold the cooking pot.

Sure enough, the rest of the company began trickling in, Oin, Bifur, and Nori first, the latter two with poultices and bandages. You winced. Perhaps you should complain less about your feet. Next up came Dori and Fili, who each carried one half of a felled deer, shot clearly with one of Kili's arrows. The younger prince had a bag in hand, likely having won whatever silly game determined who got the lightest load. Smiling and meeting his eyes, you gave a quick wave, indicating your amusement at the game behind you with your eyes.

Kili smiled back and waved, then swiveled his head away and back again in a double-take. You found yourself frowning as he averted his gaze to help his brother, blinking as you wondered what that was about. All you'd done was say hello. Not even say, really. Did he think you were making fun of the others?

Perhaps it was nothing, but considering your feelings for the prince, it was everything in your mind. Cycling ideas began overtaking your brain like mist. Had he suspected malice of your joke? Had he simply heard something? Why had his expression shifted so? Maybe he was just worried by what he heard.

"What did I miss while we were gone?"

At Kili's words, Dwalin simply frowned, peering at him like he'd thoroughly lost his marbles. "What do ya mean, lad?"

"Did...did anything happen?"

"Took Gloin for a right fool on the card table," the older dwarf replied with a smug look, chest puffing and shoulders widening.

"No," the prince shook his head, "not with you, with..."

Despite the way he trailed off, Dwalin gave him a knowing smirk, crossing his tattooed arms. "Ah, I see," he nodded, "not with me, not with me at all. With the lass, eh? Why, she didn’t greet you with a kiss?”

Having an older brother really steeled one to teasing. Much as Kili wanted to fight, to protest and say oi, quit that or I’ll make you, he knew it was exactly the rise Dwalin would’ve wanted to get from him. Beside the other fact that his elder could kick his ass easily.

“‘Course not,” he replied nonchalantly as he could, “I just noticed someone had braided her hair was all.”

Even Dwalin had cause for surprise at that, dark eyebrows shooting up to his metaphorical hairline. “Just since this morning?”

“Yeah,” Kili replied, trying not to sound as deflated as the words made him feel, knocking the air clean out of him now that he’d said them out loud, “thought maybe you’d seen who did it.”

“Hadn’t even crossed my mind, but I think it was like that when she and Bilbo headed back to camp.”

“Bilbo?” He’d lose to a three and a half foot…grocer? “Well now, I’d not have expected that, eh?”

“I can tell ye don’t actually want to laugh, son.”

Sighing, he finally let himself deflate. Bilbo? You and Bilbo?

“I hardly see them talk that much. Do you?”

“Not nearly enough to warrant a marriage. Those take time.”

“I know, Fee.”

“Spark.”

“I know.”

“And I thought you two had it. Not even just saying that because you’re my brother. You know I’m honest with you. The only reason those two would have is both feeling like outsiders, and that hardly seems cause to f-”

“Thank you, Fili, yes. Perhaps I was just wrong. Perhaps she could never have loved me after all. She wasn’t my One.”

“Now, brother,” grabbing him by the cheeks with one hand, Fili pulled his younger brother’s gaze to meet his, “not so hasty. Have you talked to either of them yet?”

“Wasn’t ready,” he mumbled, shaking out of the squishing grasp.

“Well, perhaps you should. Knowing is pain, yes, but it is also the thing that keeps us going in the end.”

Kili dropped his gaze thoughtfully before meeting his brother’s eye again, smiling faintly. “Remember our old espionage days? Maybe it’s time we had another mission.”

“Alright,” Fili nodded and smiled, “for old times’ sake.”

“Well hello there, Master Burglar.”

“Whatever it is, I won’t fall for it.”

“Now, now, so dry and for what?” Fili wrapped an arm around the hobbit. “I was just wondering how you you were coming along with…a certain member of the company.”

At that, the hobbit’s face crumpled in disgust. By Fili’s reckoning, Master Bilbo seemed barely interested in romance and certainly not with any of the types he currently ran with. He needed someone more doilies and dishcloths and the lot. You may have been the closest to his type, but still far too much of an edge, far too much indeed.

“I beg your pardon?” Bilbo simply replied.

With a conspiratorial wink, Fili leaned in and whispered your name, glancing back to the hobbit’s eyes, which narrowed slightly. Suspicious.

“Uh, w-well I would say,” Bilbo stuttered, shrugging lightly, “well as we could be, all things considered.”

“All things considered?” Fili’s grip tightened a bit. “There are things to be considered?”

“There are plenty of things to be considered!” The burglar shot back. “Why, is she upset with me? Last I heard, she liked the braids and I made her feel much more comfortable. Have I done something today?”

Blue eyes closing to near-slits, Fili released his grip entirely, arm falling back to his side. “Did she ask you to arrange her hair?”

“She complained about it,” Bilbo replied, shimmying in his newfound freedom and using his released arm to slide his pack closer, “so I offered to do something about it. Can’t imagine that is much of an outrage…oh. Oh, good heavens! No! Oh, no. No. She could be my daughter, who on earth sent you over here to…?”

Blonde brows raising, Fili’s head shot back in surprising hard enough to send his mustache braids swinging. “Wait, so you do know about courting braids?”

“Gloin was just telling me all about his,” the hobbit replied, freezing in place even in spite of his awkward, hunched-into-his-pack-hands-deep posture, “neither of us thought a thing about it. Privately I was hoping she and Kili would do whatever it was to get the tension out there, you know?”

Fili did know. He knew, all right.

“Psst! Psst! Hoo! Hoo! Caw!”

Kili’s head snapped up at the sound, dark eyes meeting his brother’s fair head popping from the scraggly bushes surrounding camp. One gloved hand waved wild beckoning at the younger prince. Rising from the rock he’d sat down on, one with a strategic view of some conversation between you, Uncle Thorin, and Balin, Kili strode to the edges of camp.

“Reconnaissance successful,” his older brother hissed.

“What?” Jaw dropping, Kili felt his hands leave his chest and clench in surprise. “That was fast. Nothing for me to do?”

“Not true, brother. Not true at all,” Fili smiled, “your part is far more important. You have to go talk to her.”

With a sigh, Kili nodded despite the heavy clunk of his heart in his chest. All the childhood playtimes were nice and all, but at the end of the day he had to be a dwarf about things. Face his fears, just like Uncle Thorin and his father and even Fili.

“You’re right. Though I dread it in my heart, I must speak to her. Even if my love is never known.”

“I wish you the greatest of luck,” Fili patted his shoulder, smiling eagerly, “and trust me. She won’t do a single thing to hurt you. I know it. Alright?”

Another nod. “Alright.”

Inhale, exhale. One step, then another. It was hard sometimes. Putting on the bravado. Fili was always so capable and Uncle had high standards. Not that he shouldn’t, but…it just got easier to act unafraid of everything. In truth, there was much Kili didn’t understand. Much he feared. Perhaps even his own heart, and that was why he had allowed himself to play games with it for so long. No longer, though.

Crunching across the dry campsite ground, he marched up to you as your conversation ended and asked to speak with you, frowning slightly at the nod Balin and Thorin exchanged. Focusing instead on your gaze, the way your eyes were intent in his and the-admittedly quite adorable-way shock bloomed across your face before giving way to a smile and a nod.

“Of course,” you said, and that was that.

How was it that one little smile from you could simultaneously calm Kili's heart and set it leaping like nothing else? There truly was no denying that you were special. Perhaps Bilbo had seen what was so dazzlingly obvious, too. Guess that wasn't too much of a shock.

You both ventured toward the tree line, stopping next to a particularly sturdy trunk. Eagerness was written across your face as you leaned against the smooth bark, encouraging Kili with a smile he couldn't help faintly mirroring even as tears swam in his eyes.

"Are congratulations in order?"

"For me?" You asked, head tilting and hand reaching to your chest. "Forgive me, but what are you asking? I thought maybe I'd upset you last night, but now I really fear it. Or are you teasing me again?"

All thought was scrubbed from Kili's brain at your words, a thick blanket of confusion draping over the prince's mind and furrowing his brows. Is this what Fili meant? Were you not to hurt him because you thought him cross with you? That hurt a bit in and of itself. Perhaps you'd known he would be jealous. But then again, you had greeted him so casually, giving him a cute little wave when he came back...

"Please," he all but begged your name, "the suspense is just killing me. Is that not a courting braid you've been given? I know it is new as of yesterday."

"Is that why you looked so perturbed? Courting...courting braid? Kili," you laughed, "my hair was full of sticks and leaves and all manner of muck, so Bilbo detangled it and got it out of my face for me! Bilbo could be my father!"

Still a bit shaky, but Kili's face surrendered a smile at the teasing smack you gave his upper arm. "Oh, forgive me for being a dwarf," he shot back, "I was hardly the only one who noticed."

"But you were the only one who was jealous," you teased him back, "is that not right?"

Kili could tell by the faltering smirk you gave, by the dart of your beautiful eyes, that you did not truly believe it, but by Mahal, you would when he was done with you.

"Madly," he agreed, eyes boring into yours, "never let anyone but me braid your hair again."

Eyebrows shooting up to your hairline, you peeled yourself from the tree as if to get a closer look. "Kili..."

"I mean it," he implored your name once more, gently taking your shoulders in his hands, "please. This isn't a joke, but if you'd like me to convince you..."

Surging forward, Kili closed the gap between you two, his lips soft against yours and stubble pleasantly tickling against your skin, which shifted as you moved in response to his kiss. Your hands found purchase in his hair, tangling in it and eliciting a sound Kili was too focused on you to be embarrassed about. When you finally pulled away for air, he pulled you back, resting his forehead against yours with a growing smile.

"So, you convinced?"

Your eyes glittered with mirth, joy, mischief...perhaps even love, and Kili knew he should have never doubted you were his One. "So convinced I practically want you to rip out all of Bilbo's work and do it over again yourself."

"You don't have to tell me twice."

Taglist: @lokilover476 @fuckyoumakeart @mossthebogwitch @ibabblealot @kilibaggins @joonies-word @stormchaser819 @pirate-lord-of-narnia @datglutengoblin | Reply/Ask/Message to join 🥰

#the hobbit #the hobbit imagines #the hobbit x reader #kili #kili x reader #kili x female reader #female reader #ask #anon #requested

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system-to-the-madness · 3 months ago

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The Traitor - Zuko x Reader

Word Count: 3 089 Warnings: mentions of torture, war, injuries, betrayl Summary: When Zuko attempts to break out the Avatar from Zhao’s prison, he is forced to bring someone else along as well A/N: Can be read as a oneshot; Part One of the series Perfect (10 times Zuko thought you were perfect and the first time he told you)

“We are the sons and daughters of fire, the superior element! Until today only one thing stood in our path to victory, the Avatar. I am here to tell you that he is now my prisoner!”

Admiral Zhao’s voice was booming over the crowd before him, and as tempted as Zuko was to roll his eyes underneath the blue mask he was wearing, he held back, rather focusing on sneaking past the guards.

He had one chance, this chance, to steal the Avatar right from underneath Zhao’s nose, and keep that boy as a prisoner himself. Then all he would have to do was make his way back to the Fire Nation, and present the Avatar to his father, and he would have restored his honour. Everything would be the way it was supposed to be. He by his father’s side, the Avatar in the deepest, securest cell the Fire Nation had to offer, and soon the world under the Fire Lord’s command.

His steps were quick, and almost inaudible, as he ran along the high walls, climbed down a rope and crossed a yard. Even when he had lifted aside the lid to the sewage, and jumped down into the underground tunnels, the water around his boots barely made a sound as if it was siding with him. He had to be quick, quiet and leave no trace. He had to be like a ghost.

The first guard that crossed his way was taken out faster than the poor guy was able to comprehend. The second guard, alarmed by the helmet Zuko had kicked out from behind a corner, followed suit as he tied him up and bound him, so he was hanging from the ceiling. As two more guards came to check, what the commotion was about, he attacked them from where he had hidden between some pipes on the ceiling. The last guard was taken out by a bucket full of water.

A moment later, he was able to slip into the cell, in which the Avatar was held. Pathetic, really, Zuko thought to himself. All this trouble just for a small boy dressed in oranges and yellows. Had that child really been able to put him through so much trouble? Swiftly he pulled his swords, ignoring the fearful screams of the Avatar at the action, and severed the chains holding him up. Surprised brown eyes looked up at him, as the Avatar was rubbing his uninjured wrists. Two more swings with his swords and the shackles around the boy’s wrists and ankles fell to the floor uselessly.

“Who are you?” The Avatar’s voice sounded so young, Zuko thought to himself, already turning to make his way out of the cell again. There was no time to lose; they had to leave immediately. “What’s going on? Are you here to rescue us?”

Instead of answering, Zuko simply pushed the door open and motioned for the Avatar to follow him.

“I'll take that as a yes."

Zuko quickly walked past the tied-up guards, when he heard the light footsteps of the boy catch up to him.

“We need to find my friend,” the Avatar said, urgency thick in his voice. “(Y/n) was captured along with me! I can’t leave without her- My frogs!”

The Avatar’s even footsteps halted, and when Zuko turned around, he found the boy kneeling on the floor, trying to catch some half-frozen frogs that desperately tried escaping his grabby hands.

“Come back! And stop thawing out!”

This time Zuko did not suppress the urge to roll his eyes, and instead walked back to the Avatar, grabbing him by the collar, and dragging him along.

“Wait! My friends need to suck on those frogs! And we need to find (y/n)! Hey, put me down!”

Zuko was hit by a gust of wind, knocking him forwards a step and making him drop the Avatar.

“I said: We need to find (y/n)!”

By all the spirits, this kid was annoying.

Zuko shot him a glance, as if to say ‘then where is she?’, and sure enough the Avatar turned and raced down another corridor, Zuko following him, while he tried to remember if he knew your name. He had run into the Avatar and his little team of run-aways before. There were the boy and the girl from the Water Tribe, and of course that Sky Bison. But there was another girl, too. Zuko had never paid any attention to her, and her clothes didn’t give away where she came from. Maybe the Earth Kingdom, or a remote region of the Fire Nation even.

Traitor.

If she was Fire Nation, why was she helping the Avatar? And if she was a traitor, why should he free her? It was only another risk, one that would put his whole mission in jeopardy. But he needed the Avatar to follow him out of the base without making a fuzz. And for that, apparently, he needed to free this girl. He would simply knock her out after they had made it past the walls. Then he’d grab the Avatar and he’d be back on track with his plan.

The Avatar led him to another block of cells, these unguarded, but behind every door, there was the groaning and complaining of hungry and beaten men. Behind every door except for one. While the Avatar had kept walking, Zuko stopped in front of the only door behind which it was quiet. Maybe the cell was empty, but his instincts told him differently. Getting on his tiptoes, he spied through the bars in the door into the cell, and sure enough he saw the small, curled-up form of a girl laying on the ground.

Not hesitating for a moment, he pulled his swords and hurled them against the locks keeping the door closed. The clash of metal against metal alarmed the Avatar, who came running back to his side, but by the time he reached the door, Zuko had already stepped into the cell.

You were slowly sitting up, clearly irritated at the sudden noise, and even in the twilight Zuko could make out the bruises on your face and arms. The soldiers had beaten you. Cowards, honourless cowards. You were no bender, you barely seemed to pose any threat as it was, otherwise he’d remember you better from his previous run-ins with the Avatar, but they still had beaten you.

“What-”

Before you could ask what was going on, or protest, he had grabbed you by your upper arm and pulled you to your feet. From up close, he could tell you were about his age, maybe even a little younger, and if it hadn’t been for the bruises on your face, and the dirt crusting your hair, you would have even been beautiful.

Then he saw the emblem of the Fire Nation dangling on the thin leather necklace you wore, and any sense of attraction vanished as quickly as it had flickered to life. You were Fire Nation, and you betrayed your country by helping the Avatar. He should knock you out on the spot and let you rot in this stinking cell. Who cared what the guards did to you?

In that moment a strangled cry of joy sounded from behind him, and like a lightning of orange and yellow the Avatar shot past him, practically wrapping himself around you.

“I found you,” the Avatar yelped, quickly letting go of you when you began swaying under the sudden impact of your friend. “This nice, masked man here is saving us! He’s just not very talkative.”

You were clearly dazed, from pain, a lack of water or food, Zuko wasn’t sure. But still you made him squirm in his boots as you stood up as straight as possible and took in his appearance for a moment. You weren’t as tall as him, but something in your eyes made him realize that maybe you weren’t as harmless as he had believed.

“Nice, masked stranger, hm,” you questioned, your voice raspy, and you swayed again.

Damn traitor. Who did you think you were, judging him like this?

Ignoring the racing thoughts in his mind, Zuko turned back to the door, leaving the cell without another word.

“We need to go,” the Avatar told you, and behind him, Zuko could hear two sets of footsteps following him, the light steps of the Avatar and your heavier, almost shuffling steps. You really were in bad shape. He knew it had been a bad idea to go save you. You’d only slow them down.

Together you were creeping through the corridors, back into the canalization system. As Zuko climbed out, he didn’t look back to see whether you were following. He could only hope the Avatar had enough sense of self-preservation to leave you behind, should you not even be able to climb out of a shaft like this. But a moment later, as he was standing pressed against a wall, spying around the corner, you came to a halt next to him, followed by the Avatar. Your movements were still not as fluid as his own, but you seemed not as sluggish anymore as when he had found you in the cell. Maybe the movement and the fear that was doubtlessly cursing through your veins gave you the energy to keep going.

Zuko motioned to the wall, where he had left behind the rope which he had used to lower himself into the yard, and following on his heels, you and the Avatar ran after him towards it.

“(Y/n), go first,” the Avatar encouraged, making Zuko want to shake him. Didn’t he see? You were unimportant, a traitor at that, and the slowest of the group. If anything, you should go last, so it was easiest to leave you behind.

But before even a sound of protest was leaving Zuko’s lips, you had already grabbed the rope, and pulled yourself into the air with surprising speed, immediately followed by the Avatar. He wasn’t going to get rid of you so easily, was he?

You had made it almost half-way up the wall, when suddenly an alarm rang and just a moment later a guard appeared over the edge of the wall, cutting the rope. For a moment Zuko was in free fall, having just enough time to realise that a fall from this hight would mean a few broken bones at best, when a gust of wind caught him, you and the Avatar, before you fell the last inches to the ground.

Quickly looking around, trying not to let the sudden plummet towards the ground get into his head, Zuko pointed towards the still open gates, immediately taking off with you and the Avatar close on his heels.

“Stay close to me,” the Avatar instructed and overtook Zuko and you, continuing the sprint towards the gate that was slowly closing.

A group of soldiers who had tried blocking your way simply got blasted aside by the Avatar, and Zuko couldn’t help but shoot you a glance to see your reaction. But your eyes were only focused on the gate, following the Avatar, as if you had seen him blast people out of the way a hundred times. You probably had.

That was the moment two soldiers got Zuko from the side, and even the Avatar had to grab a weapon, swinging it around, using it to create air blasts. For a moment, and with a reasoning Zuko couldn’t even explain to himself, he searched for you, fully prepared to jump to your aid, should you need it.

Instead, he found you standing over the crumbled bodies of three guards, who were groaning on the ground. In your hands, you were holding two swords, and Zuko couldn’t help but freeze. A blast of air picked up your hair, gently playing around it, as you stood proudly over your defeated enemies. Nothing seemed to be left of the sluggishness from just a few minutes ago, when Zuko had pulled you to your feet in that cell. Now, you seemed to be on high alert, perfectly aware of what you were doing, and ready for a fight. There was a light glimmering in your eyes that made Zuko wonder how he hadn’t taken notice of you before; after all he had run into you several times already. But something about the way you stood now, both feet securely anchored to the ground, this spark of defiance and determination in your eyes, fingers closed around weapons you clearly knew how to handle… for a moment Zuko couldn’t help but think how perfect you looked. The thought disappeared as quickly as it had come to him. You were a traitor to the Fire Nation, despicable, cowardly, disloyal. Before he could continue the list of negative attributes he associated with you, he picked up on the group of soldiers that were moving in from the side: Fire Benders.

Quickly pushing himself between them and you, he began attacking them with his own flames, only noticing from the corner of his by the mask limited vision, that you had picked the fight back up again. He was right in the process of firing a blast at a couple of soldiers, when suddenly a wave of fire was rolling towards him. No, not towards him, towards his left side- where you stood. Reacting faster than he would have thought possible himself, he grabbed your arm, his fingers closing around your biceps underneath that flimsical shirt you had been made to dress into as a prisoner, and quickly he pulled you aside, using his other hand to send a quick interval of fire balls back towards the attackers.

The chocked cry that suddenly reached his ears made his heart freeze over and the short shaven hair in his neck stand up. Had he been too slow? Had you been hit by the blast anyway? When he swivelled around, the smell of burnt flesh reached his nose, making sour stomach acid burn in the back of his throat. Small flames were licking at the fabric of your shirt, and when he pulled his hand away as if he had been the one who had been burnt, a fresh burn wound in the shape of his hand was wrapped around your arm. He had been in the middle of a blast when he had reached for you, burning you while trying to save you from being hit by the fire of the soldiers.

Quickly he drew in the flames on your shirt, extinguishing them, but the damage to your skin was done. He had tried to save you and instead he had burnt you. What a laughable metaphor for his whole life. But still something inside his chest tightened up, wound so tight he wasn’t sure it would ever come undone again. He shouldn’t care, he told himself as his eyes flickered to your pain distorted face. You were a traitor, a means to an end, you would be left behind the moment he and the Avatar had made it past the walls.

But still- he couldn’t help but wonder how you held yourself together. Burn-wounds were some of the most painful wounds there were, he knew that, and yours wasn’t exactly small. Still, no more sound slipped over your lips, and even though you had dropped the sword in your left hand, you were ready to keep fighting with the sword in your right.

But before it came to that, your attackers were blast away by an air current, and the Avatar came running.

“(Y/n), are you hurt,” he asked, his voice filled with worry. Envy spread in Zuko’s stomach. Nobody ever worried about him like that.

“It’s nothing,” you replied, quickly covering up your wound, hiding it from the Avatar.

But now your luck had finally run out, it seemed. You were with your backs to the closed gate, Zuko and you the last barrier between the approaching soldiers and the Avatar.

“Hold your fire!” The voice belonged to Zhao, who came stepping past the Fire Benders, that were ready for the final attack. “The Avatar must be captured alive!”

Quickly assessing the situation, Zuko grabbed the Avatar, pulling the boy so his back was to Zuko’s front, the blade of one of his swords dangerously close to cutting into the thin skin of this neck. At his side, he could tell you were moving to attack him, no hesitation in your movements when you realized he was threatening your friend’s life, but before you had even fully pointed your sword at him, Zuko had dropped one of his own, and held his open palm right into your face. One wrong move on your end, and he could blast your head away in a ball of flame. He wouldn’t, but you didn’t know that.

It seemed like the wordless demand Zuko was uttering as he stared over to Zhao was understood, because after a moment of internal debating, the Admiral pressed out: “Open the gate.”

Behind them, the gate opened, heavy metal running against the earthy ground, and Zuko dragged the Avatar backwards, motioning you to come with them. The expression on your face was one of pure disgust and hatred as you stared at the mask that was covering his face, but followed his instruction. Why was he even taking you along? He could just leave you behind now, then he wouldn’t have to deal with you later. But then again, the Admiral would start getting suspicious if he only took the Avatar and not also his friend. It would make it too obvious that he was after the Avatar. If he also took you, it would seem like one of your allies had come to your rescue. So, all in all, it would be better to take both of you.

At least that was what Zuko told himself as he was guiding the Avatar backwards, away from the slowly closing gate. You were watching each of his movements, as if you were looking for an opening to attack him. He had already hurt you; you knew what his flames were capable of, and still you were ready to take him on in a fight, just to defend your friend. It seemed as if while you were a traitor, perhaps you were not a coward after all.

That was his last proper thought before something silver shot through the night, and hit him in the head, knocking him out on the spot.

Next Chapter (04. Oct. 2024) | Masterlist

Tags (it seems like some of the tags aren't working, sorry...): @ghoststookourlifes @ashcal99 @4acoffee @pxrplewalnxt @toomuchboredd @banished--prince @oddobsessionbutotay @makik0 @joysflower @hamdehlesmis @mitski9328373 @angstylittleb1tch @lovecalll

#zuko x reader #perfect zuko x reader #zuko x you #zuko x fem!reader #zuko x yn #zuko x y/n #prince zuko x reader #atla #mad atla #avatar the last airbender x reader #atla x reader #mad angst to fluff #angst to fluff #hurt/comfort

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mochinek0 · 5 months ago

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Looking Back (Part 1)

Adrien couldn't help but look at Marinette across the room. The only thing that bothered him so much was that she was there with her husband, Damian Wayne. He saw the smile he missed; saw her laughing with friends. He could see how close she was to him, every time she turned and looked at him to continue the story.

"How did you meet your husband, Marinette?"

"Yeah he doesn't look familiar."

"Did he go to school with us; I feel like I would have remembered him."

"Uncle Jagged took me on tour when I graduated, half way through the year, and I met Damian during one of the stops." Marinette answered.

Adrien looked away and noticed his friends were uncomfortable. Some people, those closest to Mari, stopped listening to Lila. Kitty Section had launched to stardom with their amazing clothes, lyrics and Jagged Stones backing. The others…..'Did I do the right thing?' was running across their minds.

"Hey, let's get out of here for a bit." Kim spoke, "I need a drink.

"Alya nodded, "It's….unnerving, right now."

"I don't know." Nino declared.

"It'll only be for an hour." Kim sighed, "There's a place to drink a block away. We can walk over and back."

"We can take my car." Adrien smiled, "I'll probably only have one drink."

Outnumbered, Nino groaned, "I'll drive us back."

After a quick round up, they left to a near by bar.

"This isn't how I expected this reunion to go!" Alya whined, "I thought Marinette would be miserable and we would be telling her, 'You should have be nicer to Lila'. Why is her life; her friends' life, better than ours?"

"Odine broke up with me two months after she found out that I had pulled a prank on Marinette when we were twelve." Kim sighed, "She never got over it. She said I was heartless and a monster to do that to a girl. She said she would be terrified of having daughters with me. I wasn't even thinking that far ahead."

"Looks like you are now." Nathaniel stated.

"I- She was the first girl to confess to me and our dates weren't horrible!" Kim retorted.

Alix chuckled, "Thought that was Marinette."

The former swimmer growled, "Shut up! It's not my fault that girls only want some slim-fit guy!"

"Mylene and Ivan are married." Nino pointed out, "Neither of them are 'slim-fit'."

"That's right!" Alya shouted, "You're blaming us, but guys only want model types. Where's the love for curvy girls, huh? Show me thicc love, dammit!"

"I don't know." Kim spoke, "Where did it go, Nino?"

The DJ rolled his eyes, "It was a mutual break up. We had conflicting schedules and barely had time to talk to each other. It was a ten minute talk at most and then class or sleep. Even now, most dates I've had have been coffee because I'm tired after a gig."

Nino realized his best friend had been quiet so far. He was sure he would have defended himself when his long-time ex brought up models. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted five shot glasses.

"Hey, Dude, are you okay?" Nino questioned, "You ususally don't drink this much."

Adrien turned to Nino and pouted, "I should have married Marinette."

The model didn't expect the table to erupt in laughter.

"Nice one, Dude." Nino smiled, "I understand you want to be included."

"I'm serious!" Adrien whined.

"Dude, if you really feel that way, you only have yourself to blame." his best friend stated.

"Huh?" Adrien replied, confused.

"You were the blindest idiot, as a teen." Alix cackled.

Alya rolled her eyes, "Mari was head over heels for you. It's why she bullied Lila, duh."

Adrien tried to shake off the alcohol, "Bullied Lila?"

Alya took another sip, "You know because you and Lila were dating."

"I would never date that Bitch!" the model shouted.

Everyone froze and looked at him.

"What?" Kim questioned.

"I never dated Lila." the Agreste heir snarled, "I would have never-She's not my type. Fuck, I would never date a model, period. I have always hated modeling; both Chloe and Mari knew that. I did it to get my father's attention."

Everyone looked at each other as the web of lies began to untangle in front of them. After all these years, the thread had begun to snap.

"You all thought Mari was bullying Lila because she liked me?" Adrien continued to rant, "You forget she helped me get with Kagami. Kagami even told me she tried to get us back together. Hell, 'Gami had a crush on her, but ended up with Felix instead. She still says that if Mari suddenly wanted to get together, she'd drop Felix."

No one knew what to say. Everything they thought they knew, that kept them as friends was slowly coming undone. They had been 'Team Lila' for the longest time and now….what were they? Adrien never dated Lila. Adrien said he would never date her. He believed Marinette wouldn’t bully Lila simply because Lila had feelings for him because Marinette helped him get a girlfriend. If that was all true, why did Lila say they dated? Why did she say Marinette bullied her? As if a distant echo, they recalled Marinette calling their friend a liar. Had Lila really lied to them all this time?

Kim let out a loud belch, "Like we believe that." his speech slurring.

"You're saying I'm lying?" Adrien questioned.

Mr. 'Just A Friend' had feelings for her?" Kim answered, "Yeah, right."

"Mr. what?" Adrien asked.

"It's your catchphrase." the former swimmer laughed, "I'm sure you all remember. 'Who, Marinette? No! She's just a friend. She's a good friend. She's a great friend. You'll like her once you get to know her and be friends with her. She's an amazing friend'."

Alix yawned, getting bored of the dying party, "You had 'FRIENDZONE' tattooed on your forehead."

Alya relaxed. She had been so close to believeing that she had betrayed the wrong person, but Adrien having feelings for Marinette was laughable at this point.

"Marinette obviously got tired of hearing how much of a 'friend' she was to you." Alya declared, "The shit I had to listen to when we were friends! How 'dreamy' you looked. The names of you imaginary kids! You two gettign a hamster."

"She found someone better." Alix shrugged, "He's taller and looks strong as hell. The only things you share in common are green eyes and wealthy families."

"Gold digging, Bitch." Alya snarled.

"I thought that, too." Alix admitted, "From what Juleka tells me, Marinette makes more than Adrien alone on her fashion commissions. That's without using her muscle hubby or his family name. Rose said that not even Luka compares. Kitty Section went with them to the Caribbean and …muscles and scars. Said Mari couldn't keep her eyes of him and they barely saw her after that."

"Demon God." muttered Nathaniel.

"Demon God?" questioned Nino.

"His brothers call him 'Demon Spawn', but he's chiseled like the sexy Lucifer marble statues that the church said no to." Nathaniel groaned, "I should have taken my chance, too."

Nino glanced at Adrien and saw him tearing up.

'Shit.'

"Okay, I think we get the idea." the DJ stated, trying to change the subject.

"Alya's right. We tried to get them together so many times, but he always thought they were 'friendly outings' even though eveyone had a date." Kim continued.

Nathaniel took another shot, "Imagine getting kissed by the most popular girl at school and thinking she was 'just being nice'."

"Lila?" Alya replied, "I thought-"

"Lila was popular in class, only." Nathaniel answered, "Marinette was popular all over school. The true 'Queen' of the school."

Adrien quickly stood up, scraping his chair against the floor, and rushed out. Nino quickly rushed out after him.

"What's his problem?" Kim asked.

Alya's eyes trailed after Nino's back before she took another drink and turned back to the group.

Nino quickly spotted Adrien's car. He slowly approached it and found him sobbing in the passenger's seat.

'At least he didn't think he could drive.'

Nino walked around and sat in the driver's side. He simply patted his friend's back.

"Did-Is what Kim said true?" Adrien asked.

Nino unintentionally paused his hand's movements, trying to decide what would be best.

"Nino!" Adrien shouted, "You're my best friend! Is what-"

"Yes." he answered.

He could feel the weight of Adrien's gaze on him.

"We did try setting you up with Marinette." Nino spoke, calmly, "Everyone in the school could see she liked you. I don’t know when she stopped; we truly believed that she was mean to Lila because Lila was with you."

"Not in a million years." Adrien replied.

"You sure?" Nino asked, looking at his friend.

"Not even if it brought my mother back." Adrien growled, "I can't stand her."

Nino started the car as Adrien sunk into his seat. They drove in silence, but he faintly heard the model's sniffles. He knew Adrien might not possibly remember the night and he didn't want to say anything that was too damaging. It was a conversation for another time…if there ever was.

Adrien thanked Nino as they got out of the car and he took the keys form him, "She looked happy tonight, didn't she? Her smiles were always the brightest."

Nino watched as tears fell down his friend's cheeks. Adrien quickly turned and went inside. Nino sighed and took out his phone.

"Yo, Max. I need a ride." he spoke, "Got a minute to spare?"

#mochinek0 #marinette x damian #damian x marinette #marinette dupain cheng #damian wayne #mlb x dc #class gossip #class regret #reunion #dc x mlb #adrien agreste #adrienette #class salt #alya sad #part 1

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hwaslayer · 1 year ago

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butterflies (smg) | one shot.

—summary: life with your husband & daughter is always full of butterflies.

—pairing: song mingi x f. reader

—genre: (18+ - minors dni) established relationship/marriage, parents au | fluff, smut

—word count: 3.2k

—content/warnings: cussing/mature language (away from the baby!), quick neck/shoulder massage, innocent shower lol, lots of sweet kisses/making out!, unprotected sex, missionary, cowgirl, oral (f. receiving), fingering, sprinkle of breast play, multiple orgasms (two), it's incredibly soft and sweet smut though!!

—a/n: happy birthday to our mingi mangi, but also - happy birthday to my entire soul, my favorite person in the world, my other half @persphonesorchid. i love you more than you can even comprehend!!! 💞 whipped this up as a secret little bday present hehe

—on rotation: butterflies pt. 2 x queen naija

“Daddy!” Harin squeals when Mingi plops the tiny pancake onto her pink princess plate, setting the pan aside so he could place blueberries in a shape of a happy face.

“There, babygirl. All done!” He smiles at her and gives her a kiss on the top of her head.

“No!” She pouts and points towards the fridge.

“You don’t like it?” It’s Mingi’s turn to pout.

“It's not done.”

“Hm.” Mingi hums as he stands there with his hands on his hips, pondering on what the 3 yr old is trying to tell him. Then, it suddenly dawns on him, snapping his fingers in the sudden revelation. “Ah! You’re right. I’m sorry, daddy’s fault.” He says, taking the can of whipped cream out of the fridge. “Here.” He chuckles, spraying a bit around the edges. “Better now, right?”

“Mhm.” Harin nods as smiles up at him, eyes twinkling as the three year old looks at him in pure adoration. She was daddy’s girl, and daddy’s girl at best.

At this point, you’ve headed down the stairs and into the kitchen, watching your husband plop a small amount of whip cream on your daughter’s tiny little nose before she does the same on his cheek. You giggle as Mingi swipes the tiny trail of whip cream with his finger, plopping some more onto her nose.

Butterflies.

It’s the way Mingi looks at her like she’s his entire universe, like he adores her and loves her more than words could ever capture. It’s the way Harin constantly yearns for him and asks for his company, his jokes— making him smile and laugh in return because of her silly antics.

They give you butterflies.

“Mommy!” Harin is a giggling mess as she lays eyes on you, her dad smiling innocently off to the side.

“Daddy making a mess, huh?” She sticks her tongue out to try and lick the cream from the tip of her nose. “Silly girl.” You chuckle as you wipe her nose with a napkin.

“Goodmorning, beautiful.” Mingi pulls you close and smiles down at you, brushing the hair out of your face before kissing your forehead. “Sleep okay?”

“I think so? I think a need a new pillow. My neck is kinda bothering me.”

“Hm. Does it hurt pretty bad?” Mingi asks as he turns to grab your plate and hands it to you. “Made you a plate, by the way.”

“Thanks, baby.” You press a quick, chaste kiss to his lips before sitting beside Harin. “And no, nothing a new pillow can’t fix. I think.” You shrug and settle down to eat.

“I’m sorry, love. Maybe I can give you a massage later to help?”

“If you’re not too busy.” You smirk as he sets his plate down and sits on the opposite side of Harin.

“Never.” He begins to dig in just as you do. “So, what does the princess wanna do today?” Mingi turns to Harin and she laughs.

“Can we go to the park please, Daddy?”

“You wanna go to the park?”

“Mhm, with mommy too.”

“With mommy, too?” He repeats animatedly. “Sounds like a plan to me.” You laugh a bit as you brush Harin’s hair back and let her finish eating.

“Okay, lovebug. We’ll go on a walk and head to the park together, but you’ll need to finish your food first.” You boop her nose. “Deal?”

“Deal!”

“There you go!” You cheer her on to make her laugh.

Her laugh brings you butterflies.

Once the three of you have wrapped up with breakfast, Mingi takes the plates and washes it along with the bowl and pan he used to make breakfast this morning. It’s a crisp, cool morning, but nothing entirely unbearable. You’re dressed in a loose cropped sweater and sweats, while Mingi is in a shirt and track pants. He helps Harin into a light jacket and puts a beanie over her head, locking the door behind him once he’s gotten you both out of the door.

The park is a close walk from the house, and it’s Harin’s favorite park of all time. The play structure is huge and updated, with features that most playgrounds nearby don’t have. For a minute, she’s walking in between you and Mingi, holding the both of your hands until she requests to be propped up on Mingi’s shoulders.

He willingly does it without complaint, always doing his best to make you and Harin the happiest.

When your family arrives at the park, there's only two other children playing around— giving Harin the ability to make use of her time at the playground wisely. Mingi joins along and plays with her, never showing signs of exhaustion or boredom even when he follows her around. He pushes her on the swings, plays tag with her, helps her down the ‘big girl slide’ and helps her cross the monkey bars confidently.

He is the sweetest, and even as time goes on, the butterflies you feel for this man only seem to increase— never dies, never goes away.

You’re pulled out of your thoughts when Harin yells for you at the end of the monkey bars, both your husband and daughter waving and yelling that she’s made it to the end. You laugh and eventually join in on their playground shenanigans before the hour quickly flies by.

Luckily, Harin must have enjoyed herself a little too much that she doesn’t complain when it’s time to go. She happily hops back onto Mingi’s shoulders as they sing a song with you on the way back home, running into the bathroom for a quick wash-up before plopping onto her usual seat at the dining table for a small snack.

You clean around in the kitchen, occasionally watching as she eats away at her strawberry snack bar. It doesn’t take long before she’s exhibiting signs of exhaustion and sleepiness:

One, she continues to rub away at her eyes.

Two, she begins to mumble her responses and pouts more than usual.

Three, she constantly asks for her dad to hold her.

“Alright, let’s get you outta here and into bed, babygirl.” He lifts her in one swift motion, bringing her over to you for a quick kiss. Once Mingi disappears upstairs and into Harin’s room, you finish up in the kitchen and head to your room to rest a bit. You change into shorts and a cropped tee once you’ve stepped inside, plopping onto the bed to get comfortable in the meantime.

“Phew.” Mingi says, quietly stepping into your room and shutting the door. “She knocked out quick. As soon as I tucked her in and gave her a kiss, she was out like a light.” You giggle.

“She had a blast at the park. She’ll have a good nap.”

“Yeah, she will.” Mingi plops onto the bed next to you as you try to sit back against the wall and put on a show to indulge in— feeling content with the fact that you don’t have much to do around the house today.

“Babe, we do need to get groceries when Harin wakes up though.”

“Okay.” He looks up at you as he continues to lay on his stomach at a weird angle on the bed, his hands gently tracing circles on your knee. “But, we have an hour? Maybe an hour and a half, until she wakes up? What can I do for you?” He places a quick kiss against your knee. “Neck still bothering you?”

“Kinda?”

“You sure it’s just your pillow?” Mingi looks at you with concern. He knows you’ve been having some rough, long days at work; though, you’re incredibly great at masking it because you don’t ever wanna bring that stress home.

He knows you, and he knows you well.

After all, you are his other half.

“Maybe? I think I’ve just been exhausted from work overall.”

“Come here.” He finally gets up and fixes his position, motioning for you to settle in between his legs. You comfortably sit with your legs crossed, while Mingi begins to massage your neck and shoulders; easing the knots you have felt from the past days. “Does this feel okay?”

“It feels perfect.” You breath out while his hands continue to do the work. You feel his breath against your skin, sending tingles down your spine.

“Good.” He chuckles as he watches you shift in your position, enjoying every moment of this surprise massage from Mingi. “What else can I do for you, love?” He asks softly, close to a whisper. “Can I make you feel better in any other way?”

“Hm.” You hum, his voice hitting a certain feeling in your gut, hitting you down to your core. “You make me feel better, Mingi. Just having you is enough." He hears the way your tone dips a bit, catches the way you subtly bite onto your lip and expose your neck more. He smiles to himself when your body continues to relax in his hold— lips grazing the surface of your shoulder, the nape of your neck.

“Yeah?” He finally plants a few kisses on your shoulders, moving to your neck, gently nibbling on your earlobe. “Does that make you feel better?” He hears the sigh you let out, feeling your hands rest along his thighs. “Or, this?” He asks, kissing your jaw.

“Babe, Harin.”

“The princess won’t wake up. I promise.” He chuckles a bit. “Let me take care of you.”

“You always do.” You slightly turn to him and meet his eyes. He stares at you for a second, eyes darting between your lips, eyes, nose, mouth— everything about you that brings him butterflies. He smiles and brushes your hair back before caressing your cheek with his thumb, allowing you to sink into the palm of his hand and melt in his touch.

“And I’ll continue to do it, time and time again.” He responds. “Come here, baby.” Mingi brings your chin forward to kiss you on the lips, wasting no time to deepen the kiss. He swipes his tongue at your bottom lip before biting down and pulling back with a gentle tug. He quickly chases after your lips, tongue now dancing with yours and fighting for dominance. He lets out a soft sigh against you, moving you in between kisses so that he has you pinned to the mattress and underneath him.

God, you look good underneath him.

Butterflies.

“So beautiful.” He mumbles against your skin, moving down to pepper kisses on the other side of your neck. You let out a small whimper when his hands trace the hem of your cropped tee, giving him full permission to remove it. He tosses it to the side, fumbling with your bralette next. You giggle when Mingi pauses and furrows his brows, not finding the hooks on the back like your usual bras. “Where’d they go?” He pouts a bit.

“I wore my lazy bra today.” You continue to laugh as you remove the bralette and toss it aside to join your shirt somewhere on the floor.

“Shouldn’t have worn one at all.” He smirks against your lips before diving in for another kiss.

“Definitely had to for the park.”

“You wore a loose sweater anyway, pretty girl. Nobody had to know.” You chuckle at his remarks, running your fingers through his hair. He makes his way down to your collarbone, nipping and sucking on the surface before moving down to your breasts. You let out a tiny gasp when his tongue circles a hardened bud, closing in on it and pulling back with a pop. He repeats his motions on the other, taking more time when he feels you squirm underneath him. He plants a trail of kisses down your sternum— to your stomach, reaching your waist. His hands settle on either side of your cotton shorts, meeting your eyes as he tugs both your shorts and panties down and sets them aside.

You are so beautiful.

Everything about you gives him butterflies.

“Fuck.” He lets out a breath. “How’d I get so lucky?” You shyly smile when you hear him ask while removing his shirt, settling in between your thighs in no time. His thumb is planted on your clit, easing in with a slow, circular pace. He watches as you slightly arch your back in response to his touch, biting onto your lip when he picks up his pace. He lowers his lips onto you, other hand settled against your inner thigh to keep you open for him. His tongue laps at your clit just as he inserts two fingers to prep you, spending his time just to continuously build that pressure for you. “Already so wet.”

“Mingi.” You call for his name as you tighten the grip on his hair, his fingers pumping in and out of you and keeping a steady pace. He continues his work, licking down every bit of you until he feels your breathing quicken, chest heaving up and down as your legs almost try to close him in.

“That’s it, baby.” He mumbles against you, hearing you let out a moan when you cum around his digits. “Good girl.” He praises, slowing down to give you time to gather yourself. He smiles and plants a kiss on your inner thigh before shedding off his sweats, aching to be inside of you sooner than later.

“God.” You whimper, watching him as he pumps himself a few times.

“Ready for me?” He lowers himself and whispers against your lips, hand still gripping his cock— running his tip in between your folds, nudging your clit to tease you.

“Yes. Need you.” The moment the statement leaves your lips, Mingi is inserting himself into you; the both of you let out silent moans against your lips, Mingi easing himself in until he bottoms out. He stills for a second, adjusting to the feeling— to you— relishing in every bit of the moment.

It’s the way you feel against him, the way your eyes flutter, the way you grip his biceps.

“Babe, please move.” You plead as Mingi presses his forehead against yours. He nods, beginning to work his hips at a slow pace while keeping his eyes locked onto yours.

“Shit.” He lets out a moan. “You feel so good.” He picks up the pace, hitting you in all the right spots—

In and out.

Deeply, passionately.

You moan against him when he snaps his hips against yours, steadying the headboard with a hand as much as possible. Your nails are digging into him, and he loves every fucking bit of this.

The way you arch against him, feeling your warmth against his.

The way your eyes roll back every time he hits a spot.

The way you chase after his slips for a sloppy kiss in between the whines you let out.

You are perfectly crafted by the stars, holding the universe in your eyes, down to every inch of your body.

Mingi’s thumb starts to circle your clit just as he feels your walls clenching tighter around him.

“Just like that.” You breathe out. “Mingi, please.” You beg and beg, hoping he’ll continue to work his way with you. You feel your stomach start to tighten, the coil within you threatening to unravel soon. Suddenly, Mingi removes his thumb from your sensitive nub— only to rest back on his ankles and let you sit on him. You carefully wrap your legs and arm around him while he kisses you, not wanting to break away from his lips. He has a hand tangled in your hair, while the other navigates down to your hip and gently encourages you to rock against him.

“Baaaby.” He hisses and breaks away from the kiss. “So fucking good. So perfect for me.” He continues to praise you as you roll against him, building enough friction to heighten the pleasure you feel.

“Fuck— ” You whine as Mingi sucks on your neck. You tug on the ends of his hair just as you quicken your pace, feeling yourself tipping over the edge. “Gonna cum—” You moan, probably a little too loud for your liking, but it is what it is; you’re too into your man at this moment.

“Let go for me.” He says before letting out a low groan. “Let me feel you.” And in a two, three deep rolls against him, you find yourself unraveling at the same time Mingi fills you up. Mingi holds you close as you tremble against him, watching as your face contorts in pleasure, nails digging into his back as you let everything go. He caresses your back and runs his fingers down your spine, planting sweet kisses on your cheek, eyes, nose, lips.

Anything to ease you, soothe you.

“You okay?” He chuckles as he brushes your hair back and kisses you once more.

“Mhm.” He looks at you so tenderly and lovingly that it drives you crazy, wondering how lucky you were to have him and Harin in this thing called life.

He will always give you butterflies.

“Let’s get you cleaned up?” He helps you off and leads you into the bathroom for a quick shower together. Mingi continues to shower you with love, peppering you with feathery kisses in between soaping you up and rinsing you off. Once you’ve both gotten cleaned up, you throw on some comfier clothes to prepare for the rest of the afternoon, while Mingi—

“Daddy.” The both of you hear Harin call for him. “Daddy?” She repeats with a slight whine, and you can only imagine the pout she’s sporting while waiting for her dad to come and get her.

“That definitely wasn’t an hour, babe.” He laughs a bit as he tosses on a new hoodie and matching sweats.

“Close enough.” He swings the door and finds Harin standing near her room in the hallway, waiting for Mingi to swoop her up into his arms.

“Had a good nap, princess?” You hear Mingi ask as he holds Harin in his arms and walks into your room.

“Mhm.” She rubs away at her eyes before they land on you and she smiles. “Hi mommy.”

“Aw, sweet thing. Hi babygirl.” You walk over and kiss her on the cheek while rubbing her back. “You ready to have a little snack and head to the store with mommy and daddy?”

“Yes. May I have yogurt, please?” You giggle hearing her politely ask for her favorite snack. She gives you butterflies.

“Yogurt it is!” Mingi answers animatedly as he bounces her in his arms. “We’ll meet you downstairs?” He looks at you. “Does mommy need a snack too? I think she’s a little tired.” You playfully hit him on the arm and shake your head.

“No. I’ll be there.”

“Okay.” He kisses your forehead and heads downstairs with Harin, making you chuckle to yourself as the two hum another song together.

They always give you butterflies.

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