#so here's the first half of what is now a quick two-shot!

[crowsofdarkness]

Truth: One Shot

-gif not mine. credit to owner-

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: 8,799

Content Warnings: language, angst, tiny bit of violence, mentions of death, mentions of drunk driving, alcoholism, and implied smut.

Summary: A next door neighbor bound with secrets; one of which nearly breaks you from the inside out.

-originally posted on my old blog-

I walked up the last few steps towards my apartment, the long and emotional day finally catching up to me. The three hour drive turned into a six hour and with half of my day gone, the thought of climbing into bed brought a soft smile to my lips. The amount of people I had to plaster a fake smile for mentally drained me so I was thankful I didn’t have to see anyone for the next 12 hours until someone undoubtedly face-timed me to check in. 

Grief wasn’t something I expected to deal with overnight and the support was nice when needed. But it had been years since that night, I was at the point in my life where I was ready to finally move on and accept it, even if his family continued to check in every day. 

Whatever joy I felt about being able to quickly slip inside and into my bed left my body when I noticed two guys hanging around the apartment door across from mine, chatting amongst themselves. Internally I groaned when I knew that I wasn’t going to go unnoticed by them. Almost every day one of them would ask for my number or ask to come inside. It never got physical and they accepted no the first time. 

It still bothered me that they tried every day. 

“Hey baby, why the long face?” One of the guys asked. 

Not wanting to deal with any of them today, I ignored them and reached my door in a quick flash, ready to get this interaction over with. However the other guy had stepped in front of me to block me from entering my apartment. 

Unbeknownst to them, I had gripped my car key in between my fingers; to be safe. 

“Please move. I’m not in the mood tonight.” I threatened. 

He licked his lips. “Come on. One night with us will change your mood. I guarantee it.” 

I sliced my eyes into him. “Move. Now.” 

He didn’t budge and the other guy was now lurking behind me. My heart hammered in my chest, not knowing what was to come. The key could only do so much damage with the two of them. 

“Everything alright?” 

I looked over my shoulder and let out a long breath of relief when I saw my next door neighbor leaning against his doorway, concern etched on his face.

“Doesn’t concern you.” The guy behind me said while not taking his eyes off of the back of my head. 

“I think it does,” my neighbor said. 

The guy that was blocking my path inside didn't bother to see who my neighbor was before he spoke up. 

“Man, get back inside. She's fine!”

“She doesn’t look fine.” 

The same guy grabbed my hand, ignoring my neighbor, and led me towards my door giving an extra hard push. 

“Tell him babe, you’re with us.” 

I haven't officially met my neighbor, only seeing him in passing, so I hoped he understood the look of despair I gazed his way. If that didn’t catch on, the way I mouthed ‘help’ should have. 

Before I could register what had happened, my neighbor had the guy behind me on the floor clutching his stomach and the guy in front of me pinned up on the wall, gloved fingers around his throat. By the look of fear in their eyes, it was clear that they finally realized who saved me. 

“I don’t want to see you lurking around here or bothering her again, understand?” 

They guys were out of sight in seconds, not wanting to get on the wrong side of my neighbor again. 

“You alright?” He asked while giving me a quick once over with his intense eyes. 

I nodded, my heart calming down. “Yeah, thank you for that. They always hang around but never got that close before.” 

My neighbor nodded. “Well, I’m glad you’re okay.” 

He went to walk back into his apartment but my quiet voice stopped him. 

“Thank you again, Mr. Barnes.” 

He turned to face me once again. “You can call me Bucky. I’m around anytime if you need something.” 

We shared a small smile before slipping into our own apartments. 

The quiet solace of my apartment was everything I needed after the absolute hell of a morning I had. I never meant to raise my voice at her, she was hurting too, but she was asking questions that I didn’t even know the answer to. 

“I never said I don’t miss him, Barb. It’s just been so long that I can’t keep dwelling on the what if���s.” 

“How can you say that? Don’t you want to know what happened to him?” 

“Of course I do! But there’s no leads; no answers. I don’t know what else you want from me.” 

“He’s my son, Y/N. I will find out what happened to him whether you want me to or not!”

“He was my husband, Barb! I don’t have any fucking answers on how he died because I don’t know how he died! The cops don’t even know. So stop thinking I’m hiding something from you.” 

My mother in law meant well but she was tired of not having answers to what happened; we all were. But none of us were accusing each other of hiding something. 

I let out a deep, aggravated sigh, while I pinched my eyes shut, hoping it would help the headache that was slamming behind my eyes. My body molded into the couch, hoping that it would ease away the worries I felt. The darkness I saw behind my eyes began to fill with memories that night, hours before he died, and my veins filled with regret knowing that I was the reason he was dead. I kicked him out that night, told him not to come back unless he kicked his habit. 

Alcohol consumed his life and it wasn’t something I could deal with anymore. 

The constant fights because of him staying out all night at the bars or showing up to important things drunk as hell. 

Maybe if I let him stay, he would still be alive. 

I quickly shook those thoughts out of my mind, knowing that even if I did keep him home that night, one way or another he would have still wrapped his car around a tree. 

The only answers the cops could give me was that they believed he was driving drunk. I believed them because I knew the kind of man he was; as much as he loved me, he loved the booze a bit more. 

His mother never wanted to believe that her “precious son” could have those demons so when I told her what happened, she didn’t believe me. 

My phone’s alarm went off with the message laundry and I remembered that I had been working on my laundry when Barb called. 

Making sure my phone and keys were in my pocket, I let my door close behind me as I walked down the long hallway and hung a left, the communal laundry room coming in sight. 

I always chose to do my laundry in the middle of the night because everyone else in the building was asleep so I didn’t have to worry about someone hogging all of the machines. 

So to say I was surprised when I saw someone else in the laundry room was an understatement; mostly because Bucky had his back to me, folding away. I only knew it was him because of the metal fingers that worked to fold a shirt of his. 

“Here I thought I was the only one who did laundry at 3 am,” I smirked while walking past him. 

Bucky gave me his own. “I usually don’t but couldn’t sleep so I figured I might as well get a couple loads done.” 

Realizing that my clothes weren’t quite dry yet, I set them for another cycle before giving Bucky my attention once again. 

“Did I have my t.v to loud? I only moved in six months ago and sometimes forget that these walls are paper thin.” 

He quickly shook his head when he noticed the sorrowful frown pulling my lips. 

“Not at all. Just couldn’t sleep,” Bucky shrugged. 

 There were rumors around the complex of him, some that I opted to pay no mind too but there was one that I did believe; his nightmares. 

The walls were incredibly thin and you can hear a conversation from the person on the other side of the wall. Which meant I had heard Bucky have nightmares once or twice. Given who he was and what he used to do, I couldn’t blame him for having them. 

For a brief moment, our eyes locked and the fire I felt burning in the pits of my stomach with how intense his gaze made me bite the inside of my cheek. I had only seen him in quick passes so never got the chance to actually look at him. His blue eyes were dark, filled with exhaustion, but somehow still shone bright. His stubble that covered the lower half of his face was filled with a few gray hairs, and the long hair that he had when I saw him a few nights ago was gone. 

My mouth fell open. “How did I just notice you cut your hair?” 

Bucky smiled. “Needed something different.” 

“Well you look good. I mean it looks good. Not that you don’t look good, you do but your hair looks good too.”

Words spewed out like vomit before I had the chance to stop it. I felt my cheeks burning in embarrassment. It had been so long since I attempted to flirt with someone and the first chance I had, I blew it. 

“I’m just going to glue my lips shut now before I embarrass myself even more.” 

Bucky chuckled while lifting his basket with ease, metal arm twinkling in the overhead light. Some of the other rumors that went around the complex was that people were afraid of him because of his arm. But I always found myself intrigued with it. 

Black with gold lines twisting and turning all around his arm. I wanted to trace it with the tips of my fingers. 

“If you glued them shut then we wouldn’t be able to keep talking,” Bucky said. 

“I’m sure there are other people around here that will be glad to talk to you without embarrassing themselves.” 

He shrugged. “I don’t like talking to them as much.” 

My brow peaked at his comment. “Are you saying you like talking to me?” 

He gave me a wink before walking out of the room while calling over his shoulder. 

“You look good too by the way.” 

The previous heat I felt down below intensified and had to swallow the moan that came crawling out of my throat. This was the second interaction we shared that lasted more than a few seconds and slowly he began taking over my mind where I found myself thinking of what he was doing and how badly I wanted to talk to him or see him. 

“God, I need a bath and a large milkshake,” I groaned to myself as I reached the last step of the floor to my apartment. 

My eight hour shift that started at six this morning became a fifteen hour shift and now that it was reaching close to nine in the evening, I never craved sleep more than I did right now. 

As my door came into view, I quickly noticed that Bucky’s door was open and he was hanging around it, a few people with him. They were chatting amongst themselves and clearly having a good time so I decided not to impose. My head was down as I searched my purse for my keys, trying to go unnoticed. 

“Long day?” 

Bucky stepped away from his group of friends and leaned against my door frame. 

I nodded. “My boss asked me to stay a few extra hours; I couldn't say no.” 

“So I’d assume you’re too tired for a drink?” Bucky asked while stuffing his hands into his pockets. 

“Yeah, sorry. I’ve got the late shift tomorrow so I want to take advantage of the extra sleep.” I apologized. 

He waved me off, saying he understood. 

“Plus, I wouldn’t want to impose on your friends.” 

“You wouldn’t,” Bucky shook his head. “But if you change your mind, the offer still stands. 

I nodded a quick thanks before I watched him walk back into his apartment, the skinny brunette girl attached to his arm. A twinge of jealousy stirred in my stomach and I let out a gruff groan, knowing that it was ridiculous of me to feel jealous. 

The rest of the night passed with nothing exciting, that was until I had decided to finally go to sleep, only to be kept awake by nightmares of that night. Flashing red and blue lights, his car wrapped around the tree, his body hanging out of the driver's side door with blood pooling from his head, and the sirens being drowned out by my screams. 

I awoke with a scream, it echoed throughout my apartment, and my chest rose and fell with each heavy breath. It had been so long since I had dreamed of that night but it was still as raw as that night. 

Once I had calmed down, I finally could hear what was coming from the wall behind me. The headboard banging against the wall in the apartment next door only getting drowned out by the moaning of what could only be described as ecstasy. 

But as soon as I heard it, it ceased being replaced by hushed voices. 

“Did you hear that?” 

“Why’d you stop? I was so close.” 

“I think the scream came from Y/N’s place.” 

“Bucky, come on. I’m only in town for tonight. Don’t waste it on someone else. I’m sure that person is fine.”

Damn these thin walls. 

With a quick jump from my bed, I tossed on a sweater and sweatpants before climbing onto my balcony through my large bedroom window, allowing the fall night air to calm my racing thoughts. I don't know who I thought was on the other side of the wall, clearly that was Bucky’s room and there was a brunette clinging to him when they walked back into his apartment. 

It still stung to see someone else with him. 

Why does it matter to you? You’re not even on his radar. 

I shook the thought from my mind and looked up into the sky, hoping to see some stars. Why I ever moved to New York, I never understood. With the noise and lights, trying to look up to the night sky for some peace was inevitable. 

Tears fell and I ghastly wiped them away as I thought back to my nightmare, visions of him lying there in death, all alone. Soft sobs fell from my lips and shoulders shook with despair and hatred that I allowed him to leave that night. 

“Everything alright?” 

I slightly jumped at the voice and saw Bucky leaning against the shared railings of our balcony, a beer bottle loosely hanging between his fingers. 

“Yeah,” I nodded while avoiding his gaze. 

Thankfully it was dark out here so he wasn’t able to see my tear stained cheek. Between the nightmares and hearing Bucky having sex with someone else, I was a wreck. 

I wasn’t sure why the thought or image of him with someone else bothered me so much. This feeling was unknown, something I hadn’t felt in so long; since before my husband. Maybe that’s why I felt like this, guilty for it being because of another guy. 

You fancy him, dumbass. 

Blinking away the thought, I leaned deeper into the chair and closed my eyes, enjoying the breeze. 

“Anything I can help with?” Bucky questioned. 

“I don’t want to keep you from your company.” 

He quickly shook his head. “You’re not.” 

“I’m fine, Bucky. I just couldn’t sleep,” I kept my eyes trained on the chipped away  nail polish on my fingers. 

The curtness in my voice didn’t go unnoticed by him. “I heard a scream-.” 

“Bucky, there you are! What are you doing out here, it’s freezing!” 

Both of our eyes landed on the woman that had slinked her way next to Bucky, a hand on his back and a soft kiss to his cheek. 

My heart fell deep into my stomach and I let out a shaky breath to try and compose myself. I didn’t want to cry again, not in front of them. 

“I’ll be there in a minute. I’m talking with Y/N,” Bucky nodded towards me. 

I shook my head while standing to my feet. “I was actually about to head to bed. See you around.” 

“Perfect, let's go Bucky.” 

The brunette linked fingers with him, purposely avoiding his metal hand, and tried to drag him inside. 

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Bucky wondered. 

I nodded, trying to hold the tears back but Bucky could see right through my facade and told the brunette he would meet her inside. Reluctantly she nodded and soon it was the two of us again. 

“She seems nice,” I motioned towards where she was previously standing. “Sounds like you two had a good night.” 

Bucky’s face fell when he realized what I was talking about. “You heard?” 

“Thin walls.” 

He cursed under his breath. “I’m sorry, we’re usually more quiet.” 

“Oh, so this isn’t a one time thing?” I wondered. 

“Does it matter?” He asked. 

But then the confusion was replaced with humor, a sly smirk pulling at his lips. His elbows leaned against the railing, his face coming closer to me. We were so close now I was afraid he could tell that I had been crying so I kept my gaze trained hard to the floor beneath my feet. 

A cool metal finger lifted my chin and I sucked in a breath when I drank in his gaze, so powerful and moving. 

“Are you jealous?” 

My lips parted, unsure of how to answer mostly because I didn’t even know if that’s what I was feeling. But I did recognize one feeling and was coursing through me; comfort. 

It was a simple action, his finger lifting my chin, but that had been the first contact I’ve felt in so long that it almost over took me, the tears pooling at the corner of my eyes. 

“No,” I finally answered. 

Bucky snorted, not believing me. Whatever witty comment he had was gone when tears fell from my eyes, concern clouding his gaze. 

“Hey, what’s wrong?” His hands now cupped my face. 

I shook my head in his grasp. “I’m fine.” 

“Y/N,” he urged. “You can talk to me.” 

My eyes refused to meet him, knowing that if they locked, I would melt into him and tell him everything. He didn’t need that, though. He could have been dealing still with his own trauma, I wasn’t going to pour mine on top of it. I had been dealing with it on my own for so long, I could continue too.  

I breathed, feeling his pinkies gently trace circles in the back of my head getting tangled in my hair. The slight action caused a quiet moan to fall from my lips. 

Not a sexual moan but a need for more affection. 

Bucky seemed to have understood so with his metal fingers he ran them fully through my hair and begged me with soft whispers to look at him. 

I obliged. 

His blue eyes bore down at me and with his touch, I felt myself crumble into him, my hands slowly grazing up his chest to his shoulders. I was ready to let it all go, let him in. 

Until her voice sounded behind us once again. 

“What the hell?” 

Bucky turned to look at the brunette, ready to explain himself but before he had the chance, I slipped out of grasp with fresh tears falling. 

“I’m sorry,” I whimpered. 

His pleas to come back meant nothing as I slipped back inside, shutting the window behind me. 

The buzzing from my phone on my end table meant nothing as I turned my back to it, adjusting a new position on my bed. With my blankets pulled up to my chin, another broken sob fell as the water from my eyes continued to stain my pillow case. 

I knew who was blowing up my phone, I didn’t need to check. 

Bucky had found my number from the apartment phone book the other day and he had been trying to get into contact with me to see how I was doing. 

It had been almost a week since that night on my balcony and I had done everything I could to avoid him. Not sure why I felt I needed too, he only was trying to help. 

Truth be told, the memories of my husband and his accident had caused me to go into a dark place, not wanting to leave my apartment let alone my bed. Since I moved to New York, I was alone, no one to share in my grief with which is why whenever a wave crashed over me, I fucking drowned in it. 

When the buzzing phone finally ceased, I breathed a sigh of relief and forced my eyes to shut in hopes of letting the dark slumber take it. 

Three persistent knocks to my window caused my eyes to spring open and when I saw Bucky sitting on the other side, I groaned. 

“Leave me alone!” I yelled, fully engulfing myself in my blankets now. 

The sound of the window opening and a large body all but crashing inside made me sit up in bed, brow perked in confusion. Bucky was standing in my bedroom now with a concerned gaze. 

“You know for a former assassin, you’re not that quiet when breaking into someone’s apartment,” I stated. 

He shrugged. “I thought about knocking on your door but figured you wouldn’t answer.” 

I nodded. “You thought right. Feel free to leave that way though.”

My back was turned to him as I laid down in bed again, pulling the blanket to my chin. Bucky didn’t need to say anything, his warm presence was still felt behind me. I let out an annoyed groan before turning to face him again and it was then that I took in appearance for the first time. Gray sweatpants and a tight black shirt that hugged every inch of his chest and torso. His metal arm twinkled under the soft glow from the lamp in the corner of my room. 

Even in somewhat darkness, he looked breathtaking. 

“You’re not going to leave, are you?” I questioned. 

When he shook his head, I reluctantly sat up and motioned for him to sit; he hesitated. 

“If I didn’t trust you, I wouldn’t be inviting you in my bed right now,” I stated. 

Realizing I had a point, he finally relaxed and sat on the edge of my bed. “Did I do something to make you uncomfortable?” 

“You didn’t,” I reassured him with a small smile. “I’ve been dealing with some things lately, that’s all.” 

“Do you want to talk about it?” Bucky suggested. 

I gnawed on my bottom lip, debating whether or not it was a good idea to talk to him about my problems. I didn’t want him to think less of me because of them. 

You know he wouldn’t. 

“I don’t want to keep you,” I began. “Especially if you’ve got company.” 

Bucky immediately shook his head. “That’s over, I promise. You’re the only one that has my attention.” 

My heart soared with his words and the redness that crept from my cheeks to the tips of my ears didn’t go unnoticed by him. I let out a deep breath to gain whatever courage I could and wondered where to start. 

“I, uh, was married.” 

Bucky’s body tensed at my words so I gently laid a hand on his knee. “Was. Not anymore.” 

He relaxed with my touch. 

“My husband, Rick, died about eight years ago. Next month actually,” I admitted. 

His face fell. “I’m sorry.” 

“I’ve done my best to move on, try to create this new life without him. Which is why I moved here. I thought a fresh start would help.” 

“Why did you wait so long to leave?” Bucky asked. 

“My mother in law. We only had each other and I never found the right time to leave. But the grief and questions became too much to bear so I had to stop thinking about how she felt and start taking care of myself.” 

I almost didn't notice Bucky slip his flesh fingers between mine as I continued to tell my story. 

Almost. 

“She was so hell bent on finding the truth on what happened that her accusations pushed me away.” 

“With his death?” Bucky questioned. 

I let out a low sob. “Yeah. He-uh-he was driving drunk one night and crashed his car into a tree.”

My body shook with fresh tears as the memories began replaying like an old movie in the back of my mind, the wounds tearing open once again. 

Bucky had snuck up next to me, wrapping his arms around me to pull me into his chest. I seeped into him, allowing his soft words of comfort to ease my pain. 

“The images of him hanging out of his car haunt me to this day. I can't go to sleep without seeing him, bloody and cold,” I cried into his chest, hands grasping at his shirt. 

He didn’t say anything, he didn't have too. If anyone understood how I felt, it was Bucky. His large hand rubbed circles on my back while I continued to sob, finally letting go for the first time in so long. I didn’t realize how bad I needed someone to just listen to my problems and comfort me, not criticize how I feel or accuse me of keeping secrets about Rick’s death. 

“His mother blames me,” I muttered into Bucky’s chest. 

“Why?” 

I pulled slightly away from him and looked up into his eyes; they were clouded in sorrow. He cupped my cheek and with his metal thumb wiped the tears away, the coolness of it easing the redness caused by my cries. 

“I couldn’t deal with his drinking any longer. It was ruining our marriage so I told him that he  needed to leave and only come back when he was sober. Rick’s mom didn’t want to believe that he had those demons but he did. I held onto him for so long that I couldn’t take care of him any longer.” 

“He got so good at hiding when he was drunk that I had no idea he was that night. Maybe if I had known, he would still be-.” 

“Hey,” Bucky lifted my chin up to meet his gaze. “You cannot blame yourself for his actions, okay? None of what happened is your fault.” 

I wasn’t so sure if he was talking to me or more so himself. It wasn’t a surprise to anyone that knew about The Winter Soldier's past that Bucky had so much trouble not blaming himself for what he did during that time. 

My head pounded from all the crying and I had nothing left in me, emotionally, so all I could do was nod in his grasp. 

“I’m here to help you with whatever you need to get past that guilt, alright?” 

I nodded again. “Thank you, Bucky.” 

He responded by pulling me into his chest once again, allowing me to ease into his comforting touch as he continued to run circles over my back. 

Time had passed, the two of us locked together with my sobs being replaced with constant yawn after yawn. 

Bucky began to pull away. “I’ll let you get some sleep.” 

I squeezed him a bit, not ready to let go. “Few more minutes? I haven't felt this kind of comfort in so long. It’s nice.” 

His lips brushed the top of my head and I melted into him again, my heart beating so hard against my chest I knew not only could he feel it, Bucky could hear it as well. 

“Take all the time you need, doll.” 

My heart fucking soared at the pet name. 

Our laughter bounced off the walls of the complex as Bucky and I both ascended up the staircase towards home. I had been on my way home from work when I bumped into him one block away, with a bouquet of fresh flowers grasped between his metal fingers. 

“You mentioned that you had a rough day at work so I thought these would make it better.” 

His words from when I questioned him about them brought a smile back to my face. 

Ever since that night last month where I told him about Rick, we had grown incredibly close. He was there for me when the nightmares got bad or I needed someone to talk to; with me also returning the favor. 

Even if he was in therapy to deal with his past, I was still by his side to lend an extra ear and a comforting hold. 

If anyone was to ask what we were, I would tell the truth; friends. 

That love to steal longing glances, the occasional flirty banter, and fingers lingering on one's skin longer than normal. 

“You didn’t have to go out of your way to get me flowers, Buck,” I reiterated my words from earlier. 

He shrugged as we turned the corner of the hallway, our apartments coming into view. 

“Anything to bring a beautiful smile to your face,” he mused while throwing an arm over my shoulder. . 

“Cheeky, aren’t you?” I giggled while patting his chest. 

My feet came to a halt when I saw the lone figure leaning against my door, arms crossed in what appeared to be one thing. 

Anger. 

“Barb, hi. What are you doing here?” I asked, confused. 

She shook her head. “Eight years. Today.” 

My heart dropped. Bucky had been such a good thing in my life lately that I had forgotten Rick’s death anniversary was today. 

“Oh.” I muttered. 

Barb scoffed. “That’s all you have to say? What would Rick have to say about this?”

She motioned towards Bucky who still had his arm around me so he quietly slipped away and tried to leave but I gently grasped his arm to stop him. 

“I can go. I’ll talk to you later,” he suggested. 

While I shook my head, Barb’s demeaning voice spoke again. 

“I think that’s a good idea. She doesn’t need you right now.” 

My eyes snapped over towards her. “Excuse me? What gives you the right to speak to him like that?” 

“Doll, it’s alright.” 

“Doll?!” Barb shrieked. “How long has this been going on? What would Rick think?” 

I shook my head in disbelief. “Nothing because he’s dead Barb. Has been for a long time.” 

“I cannot believe you’ve moved on already. He was your husband for god sakes! He loved you dearly and this is how you repay him? Fucking the first man that touched you.” 

Anger radiated off of me, Bucky noticing the way my breath became erratic so he gently laced our fingers together and nodded towards his door. 

“Come on, let’s get inside.” 

In our many talks I had mentioned a few times about how demeaning and cruel my mother in law could be but I put up with it for years because I was married to her son. The constant belittlement from her had knocked me down to my lowest and now that I was finally starting to feel better about everything thanks to his help, Bucky refused to let me get back to that low. 

I held him back with a shake of my head before giving Barb my attention. “I don’t know why you came here. Like I said on the phone last week, I still don’t have the answers you’re looking for, Barb. Whether you want to believe it or not, your son was an alcoholic and it was his actions that night that killed him. I know it’s not easy to hear but Rick is gone and your quest to find answers to questions that don’t exist isn't going to bring him back.” 

Barb shook her head, looking at me bewildered. “No. There’s a witness that was there that night. They said they saw someone in the road before RIck crashed. He swerved so he wouldn’t hit them. Not the lies you’ve been saying!” 

“I’m not lying about anything!” I snapped, mouth ready to spew hateful things towards her. 

Bucky squeezed my hand as if he could read my mind, knowing what I was about to say. 

I took a deep breath to calm myself, knowing that no matter what I said to her Barb would never change her mind. She could never see her son in such a negative light. 

“I don’t know what else to tell you, Barb. But I know that I can’t keep doing this with you; Rick wouldn’t want this. As much as we loved each other, he wanted me to move on. We talked about it all the time that if something happened to one of us that the other wouldn’t dwell on the heartbreak. He had demons, he tried to drown them with alcohol but they knew how to swim.” 

Tears pricked my eyes. “Rick would want me to be happy, to find love with someone else. He would want the same for you.” 

Without another word, I let Bucky lead me inside of his apartment, ready to finally leave Barb in my past. 

“Are you alright?” Bucky questioned once inside. 

I sat on his couch with a soft groan and nodded. “Yeah, it needed to be said. I hate that it took so long though.”

Bucky trekked around his apartment placing the flowers in a vase then grabbing a beer for him and a glass of water for me. I smiled a thanks as he sat next to me, his hand placed on my knee. “I’m sorry for what she said to you,” I frowned. 

He shrugged. “It's nothing you need to apologize for, doll.” 

With his flesh hand on my knee and the metal one lounged on the top of the couch, his fingers inches from my face, I began tracing the gold lines, mesmerized by the design. Before when I would look or touch it, Bucky would flinch because he was afraid of how I would react to it. 

“I don’t understand how you’re not afraid of it,” Bucky wondered. 

“The way I see it,” I began while linking our fingers together, “This arm was your fresh start. Your old one did all of those horrible things and this one has done so much good, you can’t let the weight of the old one hold you back.” 

A smile pulled wide on his face. “Who needs therapy when that advice is free.” 

I giggled with a wink. “Plus, I come with some extra perks.” 

Bucky smiled smugly with his eyes turning dark. “Care to explain what those perks are?

My lips went dry and I rolled my tongue over them, hoping it would help. The intense gaze I felt from Bucky was enough to lock me into place on his couch with my hands now in my lap clasped together in hopes they stopped shaking with nerves. 

They didn't. 

There was something between us, that wasn’t a question. But what exactly, I wasn’t too sure. We would flirt back and forth and have some small touches here and there but that’s all it was. Neither of us were brave enough to take the next step in this relationship. 

I gnawed on my bottom lip while staring in Bucky’s eyes and I noticed the way his breath caught in his throat, unable to move as I slowly, oh so agonizingly slow, closed the distance between us. Meters from his lips, I hesitated though, my warm breath fanning over his plump lips. This close I could see how pink and full they were, practically begging to be kissed; ravished.

Lips parted and ghosting over each other, I could feel the softness against mine and when I glanced up into his gaze I noticed Bucky’s pupils were blown with desire. 

Fuck it. 

I crashed my lips to his in a slow but firm kiss, testing to see if he wanted this as much as I did. Soon we began to meld together, his hands gripping my hips while mine found his broad shoulders, nails digging slightly. He hissed against my lips, the sensation burning low in my core when he repaid the favor by digging his own nails into the bare skin of my back. 

I nibbled on his bottom lip, begging to taste him, and his tongue slipped between my lips, exploring every inch of my mouth and I groaned when the heat expanded from my core all the way to my head, making me dizzy. 

Our breathing had become ragged with desire, wanting to feel every single inch of each other's bodies. Bucky’s flesh hand tangled in my hair while his metal hand lifted me with ease into his lap, sprawling his fingers over the plump of my ass. My own hands ran down his chest, down his stomach to ghost over the belt of his pants before they snaked underneath his shirt, the skin of his stomach hot with lust. 

“Bucky,” I moaned into his mouth when I felt his hips press into mine. 

The hardness of his cock pressed against the confines of his jeans and a low groan echoed into his mouth when he pressed up against my heated core again. 

Bucky’s lips left mine to start biting and nipping at the skin of my neck while I rutted slowly but firm into him. My hands gripped and pulled at his shirt, yanking it off of his head in a snap. I felt him tense under me as my eyes glazed over where the skin and metal of his arm met, the scars still looked fresh to this day. 

I left soft, pepper-like kisses over each scar, letting him know that it didn't bother me. 

“Bucky,” I breathed his name once again. “I need you.” 

He spewed a few curses into the crook of my neck before finally pulling away, locking our lust blown pupils together. “Are you sure about this?” 

I traced a finger down his cheek and scratched at the stubble on his face. “I’ve never been more sure about anything.” 

That was all he needed before tossing me over his shoulder, and carrying me to his bedroom. 

The coolness from his metal fingers felt almost orgasmic on hot skin as we laid next to each other in bed, in a post-climax haze. Bucky’s fingers traced my spine from the top to bottom, over and over again, and he would leave light feathery kisses where his fingers missed. 

It had been a couple weeks since our first kiss and we had been spending most of our time in his apartment since he had the bigger bed but tonight he surprised me by sneaking into my window while I was asleep, wrapping me in a warm embrace. 

“For an ex assassin, you’re still not that quiet,” I muttered into his warm chest. 

“I missed you,” he breathed into my hairline. 

We then proceeded to spend the next hour tangled in between one another. 

Our relationship had blossomed in those few days even if we had decided to take things slow, not needing to rush or put a label on it quite yet. Even though we both knew how we felt about one another. 

His soft lips left the skin of my back and found its new mark on my neck, Bucky continuing the mark he began earlier. 

“Bucky, I’m so tired,” I whined, playfully smacking him away. 

With a fake groan of annoyance, he pulled away not before leaving a kiss on my forehead. 

“I’m going to grab a glass of water then I’ll come back to bed.” 

The dark slumber was within my grasp, fingers dancing towards it, so all I could do was nod in response. The bed shifted with the sudden change in weight and I wrapped the blanket around me, allowing the darkness to fully engulf me but only to be yanked from it a short time later by the sound of glass breaking. 

“Babe, you alright?” 

Silence. 

“Bucky?” 

More silence. 

Pulling my brows together with confusion, I quickly dressed myself in Bucky’s shirt that he had worn over here and walked into the main living space of my apartment expecting to see Bucky cleaning up whatever broke. 

However, I only saw the broken glass from a cup and a picture face down on the ground next to my couch. 

“What the-?” I muttered while picking it up. 

My heart sank when I saw what picture it was; Rick and I on our wedding day. 

I mentally smacked myself because I thought I had taken down whatever was left of Rick in my apartment when Bucky and I started seeing each other. It wasn’t fair to him that I still had pictures or mementos of a past love up. 

“Fucking dumbass. No wonder why he left,” I cursed to myself. 

I scurried back into my room and reached for my phone, typing out a message. 

I’m sorry that you saw that picture. I thought I packed everything up. Can you come back so I can make it up to you?

A few minutes went by with no response so I sent another message. 

Or I can come over there if that’s alright. 

A few more minutes went by with no response from Bucky so with an aggravated groan, I tossed my phone onto my bed with myself falling close behind. 

“Way to fucking blow it, Y/N,” I grumbled while running my hands over my face. 

Two days. Two fucking days Bucky had been ignoring my texts, calls, and persistent knocks to his door. I had been a wave of different emotions the last two days; Anger, confusion, and hurt; mostly hurt. 

I never knew that Bucky had an issue about my past marriage since I talked about it openly with him so much and he helped me heal that part of mind and heart, moving on completely from it; with him. 

The time we spent together was some of the best parts of my life and I would be a fool to say that it meant nothing to me. Bucky had become an important person in my life and the mere thought of losing him forever weighed heavy on my heart. 

A heart that took so long to mend from past heartbreak and loss. A heart that took forever to find that perfect someone to pick up the pieces, make it feel whole; loved. 

I sat up in bed with a start, the blankets falling from my body, when I was slammed with the sudden realization; it hit me so hard I almost fell right back into my bed. 

I was in love with Bucky. 

And I wasn’t going to let him get away. 

Throwing whatever clothes on I could find, I was standing in front of Bucky’s door in less than a minute, knuckles rapidly knocking with no end in sight. 

“Bucky, can you please open the door?” I called through the thick piece of wood. “I really need to talk to you.” 

More knocking followed by more begging. 

“I’m not going anywhere until you let me inside,” I informed him with crossed arms and all of my weight perched on my left foot. 

“Do I have to pull some ex assassin bullshit and sneak in through your window?” 

The door in front of me opened revealing a very tired looking Bucky and I cringed when I remembered that it was almost four a.m. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t even realize what time it was.” I apologized. 

Bucky simply nodded. “It’s alright.” 

He went to shut the door again but I blocked it with an angry hand. “You’re not going to shut me out again. For two fucking days you’ve been ignoring me with no explanation.” 

“Y/N, please-.” 

“No!” I shot. “I don’t know what the hell is going on with you but I don’t deserve to be shut out like this especially after everything we’ve gone through and the things I’ve told you.”

Bucky ran a hand over the subtle on his cheek before nodding, allowing the door to open a bit more with me slipping inside before he could change his mind. I was in such a rush to tell him how I felt that I hadn’t noticed his sleeping attire; a pair of very tight black briefs and his hair was a tousled mess of slumber. 

As breathtaking as he looked, Bucky needed to know how I felt. 

“Did I do something wrong? I know you found that picture of Rick and I.” 

He was quick to dismay my worry. “It wasn’t about the picture.” 

My shoulders raised with confusion. “Then what is bothering you? Is it me, are you over us?” 

“No, doll, trust me.” He hesitated to reach for me. 

“Then tell me why the fuck you’ve been avoiding me?!” I snapped, voice raised in anger. 

“I can’t,” Bucky shook his head, refusing. 

“You’re kidding, right?” I scoffed. 

He was in fact not kidding with the stern face he bore. 

“God, I’m so stupid!” I covered my face with my hands. “I let myself open up to you, let you in my life when I needed someone the most, trusted you with my heart and you ripped it away from me. Right when I started to fall in love with you.” 

Bucky blinked. “Wh-what did you say?” 

Tears pricked my eyes. “I love you, Bucky.” 

“Doll,” he breathed, unsure of what to say next. 

“You don’t feel the same,” I nodded to myself, realizing what his silence meant. “God, I’m such a fucking idiot.” 

Hasty wiping away the tears, I stormed past him only to be stopped by his metal fingers grasping at my wrist, pulling me into his chest. His lips crashed onto mine in a powerful kiss, tongues quickly finding each other in starvation for each others taste. 

We shared many kisses but this one was different; it was the kind that made you fall to your knees with dizziness. 

A good kind of dizzy. 

“I love you too,” he pressed into my lips. 

My heart jumped into my throat as his revelation. “Then why have you been ignoring me?” 

Bucky stepped back slightly and rubbed the back of his neck. “There’s something I need to tell you. I wish I would have told you sooner, it might have saved you.” 

“Save me from what?” 

“Falling in love with me,” he linked our fingers together and set me down on the couch. 

We sat with our knees touching and my heart was hammering so loud in my chest I knew Bucky could hear it. My mind raced a million miles a minute with different thoughts of what he had to tell me. 

“The reason why I left the other night was because when I saw that picture, memories came flooding back, almost over taking me,” Bucky began. 

“Memories? Of what?” I pressed. 

Bucky ran a hand through his hair in clear distress. “I know what happened to Rick.” 

I nodded. “Yeah because I told you. He was driving drunk.” 

He disagreed with me. “He wasn’t drunk that night.” 

I looked at him with confusion. “What are you talking about?” 

With one last deep breath, Bucky fully confessed to his past transgression. 

“Rick wasn’t drunk that night. He was sober and driving to meet with the head of the local Hydra group. I don’t know what Rick told you he did for work but whatever it was was a lie. Rick was hired by SHIELD to take back the super soldier serum I had stolen back in the 90’s.” 

My eyes blinked with disbelief. “You’re lying.” 

“I wish I was, doll. I knew who killed Rick.” 

“Who?” I asked, afraid of knowing the truth. 

Bucky hesitated, breath getting caught in his throat, before he spoke with broken words. “The Winter Soldier. And that was me.” 

His bottom lip trembled the same time his nose scrunched up his disgust for his previous actions. 

My whole world came crashing down from the heavens, falling into large pieces of debris around me. My heart was ringing in my ears that I swore I misheard Bucky. Everything I thought I knew about Rick’s death was a lie? Had Barb been right this whole time?

“No,” I stood to my feet with a start. “You’re fucking with me.” 

Bucky reached for my hand but I snatched it away, a look of hurt flashed across his face. 

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I didn’t have a choice,” his broken voice begged me to understand. 

I stopped pacing. “How’d you do it?” 

Bucky refused to answer, only standing to try and get me to stop moving. Anger spilled out of me and I pushed his shoulders to force him back onto the couch. 

“How did you do it?!” I seethed. 

His tongue rolled over his dry lips. “I got in the way of his car so he would have to swerve out of the way. When he crashed, I had to make it look like he was drinking so I injected him with alcohol so it looked like he had been drinking all night.” 

“No,” I sobbed. “This whole time I thought he was at a bar getting fucking wasted and was on his way home when he was actually sober!” 

Bucky flinched but kept his eyes trained at his shaking hands. 

“You fucking left him there to die!” I screamed. “You could have saved him!” 

Bucky was on his feet now, shaking his head rapidly. “It wasn’t me, doll. I swear.” 

“But you still did it!” 

I shoved his chest, hard, and he stumbled back a bit but kept his stance. 

“I wish I never did, Y/N. If I could take back everything I did when I was The Winter Soldier, I would; you know that,” he begged me to listen. 

Sobs plowed through my body causing me to shake and fall to my knees with the truth of what happened that night. The man that I found myself falling in love with had killed my husband. How do you get past that? 

But it wasn’t him. He had no choice.

I screamed at the voice in my mind, telling it to shut up. 

“Doll,” Bucky knelt down to reach for me. 

My fist collided with his cheek knocking him onto his ass and rage took over my vision as I straddled his hips, landing blow after blow to whatever part of flesh I could hit; face, head, neck, chest, stomach, and flesh arm. 

Bucky never stopped me, allowed me to hurt him; try to anyway. The super soldier serum that flowed through his blood every day made it so it felt like he was getting slapped by the wind. 

“Fuck you, Barnes! I hate you!,” I bellowed while going to attack his metal arm. 

In a swift movement, I was now being straddled by Bucky who had both of my hands pinned above my head with his metal fingers gripped tight. Tears fell from his eyes onto the skin of my neck and his chest rose and fell with deep breaths. 

“You don’t mean that.” 

I writhed in his grasp, trying to break free. “I do! You’re a monster, I hate you!” 

When the words left my lips, I immediately regretted them. I knew that he wasn’t a monster, I was only angry at his revelation. I never meant to call him that. Whatever anger I had spilled out of my body through the floor beneath me and I tried to break free once again from Bucky, to reach for him. 

“I didn’t mean it,” I cried. 

He nodded before pulling me into his chest, arms now wrapped around me. He hushed my cries with whispers of sorrow and promised to make it right; make everything right with me and us again. 

“I love you, Y/N. I’m so sorry.” 

My hands clutched at the muscles of his back, my own words being muffled by his chest. 

How could anything be right with us again with me now knowing the truth? Nothing would ever be the same. 

[therentyoupay]

#24 JUST SAY IT JELLSAAAAAA ARTGHHHAHAHNSNNEMWMEMWJAJHAJAHAHHAHA

On July 1st, the lonely house at the top of the mountain was finally sold.

— In which Jack(son) Overland tries his best to befriend his neighbor, one woodworking project at a time. { neighbors-to-lovers!fic, modern-mountain-living!au }

Prompt from @aicosu: Three-word sentences: "Just say it."

ao3 ❆

[sunderwight]

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.

[notquitecanon]

Familiarity & Whiskey // Simon "Ghost" Riley x Fem!Reader

Summary: Simon and Johnny get in a fight, which is how Simon crosses your path. Thinking your an easy mark for quick comfort and a quick fuck, he's not aware you're in the UK to meet your estranged father. Your circles running tighter with his than he thinks...

(Unedited)

Poor Simon can't catch a fucking break. Let this man nut and smoke a cigarette.

CW: feminine descriptions and pronouns used, alcohol consumption, making out, heavy petting, allusions to oral (male receiving), Simon's lowkey highkey manipulative, absent father!John Price, don't think too hard about age gaps i gave up

Request by: @i-live-in-spite

NSFW 18+ MDNI

"Go to hell, Riley. ‘S where ye fuckin’ belong." 

That had been Johnny’s direct words.

 Which was the first and only time Johnny had addressed by just his last name. Usually it was some irritating nickname, his callsign, or his rank delivered with the Scotsman’s usual bright eyes and mirth that somehow made it less annoying to Simon. And when it was his real name, in serious times, it was his first name, with a sincere look and genuine inflection. Never just ‘Riley’. 

But Johnny had spit his last name like it was a curse. Something that tasted bitter in his mouth, something poisonous. 

Hell, maybe it fucking was. And it had him craving something volatile- destructive. Alcohol, sex, a pack of cigarettes… and if he couldn’t get one of those to self-medicate this poisonous streak, he’d settle for bloodying his fists before the end of the night. 

A shit mission with a shit conclusion. A shit day. Fuck, a shit year.  Culminating in a clash between Lieutenant and Sergeant, Simon’s icy seething clashing Johnny’s explosive rage about a bad call made worse by Simon’s version of coping- cold indifference and colder jokes.  Actions had consequences, isn’t that what Simon always told his sergeant? Maybe that’s why Simon was stewing in the shitty pub close to base crawling with recruits after Gaz and Price had forcibly split up the confrontation right as it was about to get physical. 

Price had all but shoved him off base while Gaz took Soap somewhere to cool off- probably the gym or some equally shitty pub on opposite ends of the city. So there he was, sulking in a corner, nursing the only bourbon this bar offered, stewing over whether or not he needed to apologize.  

The thought of apologizing burned worse than the bottom shelf bourbon he was sipping. He was Ghost. The Ghost. He didn’t apologize. This was one of those times he would’ve actually appreciated Price’s usually unwarranted ’sage’ advice- but he was tied up, still on base and pissed off because he was trying to wrap up mission reports and now was cleaning up Simon’s mess. 

—

"Excuse me? Would it be ok if I sat here? I’m waiting for someone but the guys at the bar won’t leave me alone." You were biting your lip a little, trying your best not to look too awkward as you asked the tall, dark, and you assumed handsome but you couldn’t tell around the mask he was wearing. You felt nervous, but not to be talking to you, you were nervous for a laundry list of other reasons. Including and limited to meeting your father for the first time since you were barely three years old. 

When the pub had been suggested to you, you’d thought the closeness to his base was an advantage- casual, easy, public, nearby- what you hadn’t accounted for was the herds of young soldiers that would also be there.  Trying to buy yourself a drink to calm your nerves while you waited had resulted in four heinous pick up lines, three cocktail napkins with phone numbers scrawled on them, two vulgar gestures, and one marriage proposal. Like the 12 days of Christmas song, but from hell. The only place that wasn’t buzzing with sloshed young soldiers was a dark corner with an absolute behemoth of a masked man, two empties and a half drank tumbler of whiskey.  Despite (or perhaps because of) the nerves, jet lag, and shot of tequila you’d just took because of said nerves, you considered yourself something of a strategist. 

After you asked, narrowed amber eyes flicked up to you appraisingly, pinning you to your spot. Even slightly slouched over his drink, he was huge. Not just tall, but built like a brick house. He wasn’t wearing an actual military uniform, but everything about him just read military. He stared at you for a second, then a minutes, stretching into two. To your credit, you kept your chin high and your eyes level on his. Right as you started to say, "Never mind, sorry to bother-" 

" ’s fine." His voice was deep and kind of gravelly, low enough that his quiet tone was almost lost to the barroom chatter. His accent wasn’t one you’d heard before, a bit sharper and choppier than the accent John had on the phone. He scooted further into the booth, dragging his drink with him. As you turned back and slid into the corner booth, he scrutinized you again, like you were supposed to be familiar to him, "I know you?" 

"Doubt it." You smiled, a tight lipped but warm thing. You knew you didn’t know him considering this was the first time you’d set foot in this country. Not to mention you’d undoubtedly remember a character like this. So instead, you offered him your name and an outstretched hand. He nodded, neither returning the exchange or shaking your hand, just grunting to show he heard you. 

Still, he scanned you again. Simon was sure he’d never met you, but there was something about you that was eerily familiar. It was the feeling of someone’s name being on the tip of his tongue but slipping between thoughts before he could place it, or a song that as soon as he tried to think about it the melody slipped away. It wasn’t your physical features, as pretty of a bird as you were. That little smile, the way you carried yourself, the saunter in your walk, how your shoulder were held, the set of your jaw, you were young in the face but seemed older, the casual confidence so rare for someone your age… These were all things so familiar to him, but he couldn’t connect it to it’s match. Maybe it was the bourbon. 

"Y’not from ‘round here." He stated, and it wasn’t a question. Simon knew it as a fact. For the life of him, he couldn’t figure out why someone not from here would patronize a piss-poor pub like this, especially a bird like you- pretty and warm and put together. He rose an eyebrow that shifted the brow of his mask, "What brings you?" 

Blunt and to the point. Definitely military.  You leaned back against the booth, your finger tracing the glass rim of the wine glass you’d set down in front of you. White wine from a shit hole like this was one of the many clues that you didn’t belong here. 

"Meeting someone important." You answered vaguely with another one of those warm but tight smiles. Seriously, where did he know that from? "He’s late." 

"A date?" He pressed further with eyes that were somehow intense and disinterested at the same time. You couldn’t decide if his bluntness was a military quirk or social dysfunction, or possibly both. Of course he couldn’t know that this was the furthest thing from a date you could be doing tonight, which made you laugh, loudly and suddenly. The noise took Simon off guard, but not for it’s spontaneity or for how bright and beautiful it was , but because it tugged at that feeling a familiarity, bordering on nostalgia. 

"Oh, god no." You rushed, shaking your head and forming an X over your chest for good measure, still laughing a bit as you took a sip of wine. Still, you weren’t sure how you were supposed to describe John. "Not a date. I’m just meeting…. someone important." 

Simon doesn't know why this pleased him. Something about you being available and talking to him as opposed to the damnably flashy and obnoxious grunts wearing their dress uniforms to the pub on a fuckin’ Tuesday… Simon’s mouth quirked into a subtle smirk as he lifted his mask enough to take a sip of his bourbon, not missing how your too-familiar eyes followed the movement, intrigued and keen, “Who then?" 

"Nope, I’ve already answered, like, three questions. Your turn?" There was that casual confidence again as you turned the question on him with that little grin, legs cross under the table as your nails clicked against the sticky wood table, "What brings you here?" 

Simon’s expression under the mask soured again, eyes fixing on the lipstick stain on your wine glass. Pretty color… He wondered how it’d look smeared along his mouth. Or his cock. He shook that thought out of his head, bringing his eyes back to yours. Maybe it was the bourbon that loosened his tongue, or maybe those eyes of yours, “Got in a fight with a mate o’ mine. It was… suggested that we give each other some space.” 

‘Suggested' was nice was of saying Price manhandled him all the way to the guard station at the gate. Like a scolded dog being put outside. 

“So you’ve put yourself in the corner? Are you in timeout?” You quirked an eyebrow in another frustratingly familiar gesture, something that made him chuckle instead of bristle as you gestured to the dark corner he’d been lurking in. 

“Something like that.” He nodded, swirling the whiskey in his glass. 

“What was the fight about?” You asked casually, taking another sip of your wine. Normally so private, Simon would’ve bitten a stranger’s head off for such a personal question. But coming from you, between his desire to keep your attention on him and the ever present nagging sense of familiarity, he just sighed. 

“Hard week pushed some buttons. We’ve both got tempers. Mine’s worse.” He explanation was simple, both from characteristic standoffishness and the fact the mission that had provoked this fight had taken place in a country the British Military was not supposed to be. Another deep sigh like the confession took something wrenching from him, “He puts up with me usually, but I… said somethings’ I shouldn’t’ve.”

You nodded sagely, taking in the rather vague information with eyes settled on the far wall as if you were doing mental math, quiet deductions. He recognized this look from somewhere, this was the look of someone looking for answers and solutions. Your fingers tapped against the table again before your eyes slid back to him, “So you were both assholes to each other, but you were worse?” 

“Yeah. That’s the gist of it.” Simon scoffed as you boiled down his already barebones explanation even further. You nodded again, looking at him quizzically. 

“Have you thought about just apologizing?” You rose an eyebrow at him, your head cocking a little to the side. The most obvious answer in the world that for some reason he couldn’t wrap his hand around. He opened his mouth to protest, but you were quicker, voice chiding in way he’d heard before- but from where?, “No, let me guess, it’s not that simple, you can’t just apologize.” 

For a moment you dropped your voice a little lower and attmepted a half imitation of his Mancunian accent which would’ve been offensive if it wasn’t exactly what he was about to say. You huffed a quiet lap before returning to your normal tone with a roll of your eyes, “Believe me, yes, it is that simple, and, yes, you can just apologize. And if you truly think it’s not something an apology would fix, let him get one good hit in and get it out of your systems. Problem solved.” 

“Get it out of our systems?” Simon asked a little incredulously, despite the sampling of a sharp wit and the occasional hard glint to your eyes, he hadn’t expected someone as soft looking as you to jump to punching as a serious form of conflict resolution. Hell, you sounded more like his Captain Price than some random pretty thing in a pub, “that’s terrible advice.” 

“You telling me you would’ve seriously taken my apologize and talk it out advice?” Your eyebrows raised again as you leaned forward on your elbows onto the table- another frustratingly familiar look that would’ve distracted him if your now exposed cleavage didn’t distract him further. He swallowed as he stared, feeling the growing need to get something out of his system, and his fight with Johnny was becoming less and less forefront in his mind. 

“Not a chance.” He shook his head, sniper eyes locking in on the drop of wine that escaped your glass and slid between your breasts, quickly disappearing between skin and under your shirt. He could find it with his tongue, bet your skin made the wine sweeter… 

“Yeah,” You laughed again, setting down the empty glass, finding this intriguing masked character to be a wonderful distraction from the anxiety of this upcoming meeting. And if John was running late, you’d take advantage of the distraction, “Figured as much.” 

___

An hour and another glass of wine later, you’d continued to scoot closer to the masked man in the booth with you. He was first to initiate contact, throwing an arm over your shoulders in the pretense of keeping you close enough to hear over the rowdy group cheering on a rugby game, it was you who had leaned into his side. His hand had found your thigh first, but your nails were tracing little shapes and words against his forearm. 

“Who was it you were meetin' 'ere, sweetheart?” Simon asked again, his mask still rolled over his nose again as he took another sip of his bourbon, lips grazing your earring as his breath fanned over your neck. He wondered how you would react if his teeth tugged one of the pretty little earrings you’d picked out. You were distracted noticing how his accent minced certain letters in syllables in a delectable way, “Only a fool’d keep you waitin’ this long.” 

Two glasses of wine and jet lag had done away with your need for vague answers as you leaned into him, shivering as the smell of bourbon, cigarettes, and gunpowder started to overpower your perfume. You swallowed, eyes meeting his with a bit of nervousness he hadn’t been able to pick up on you until just now, “I’m meeting my father. We’ve been estranged most of my life. And he’s an hour and forty five late now.” 

“Shit.” Simon muttered under his breath, not thinking you could’ve said anything that could really surprise him. Meeting your estranged father and yet you’d spent the last two hours coaching and comforting him through a fight with his friend. That level of self sacrifice should’ve clued him into your parentage almost immediately, but he was busy staring at how your wide eyes were staring up at him through your lashes, teeth toying with the seam of your lips that your tongue kept darting out to wet. 

“I’m a little nervous.” You admitted, the nail that was tracing shapes on his forearm dropped down to his massive thigh to brace yourself. If you leaned any closer, you’d be all but in his lap- which wouldn’t be the worse thing, both of you mentally decided. You took a deep breath, sipping some of the water you’d ordered midway through your third glass of wine,  "A lot nervous, actually.” 

One thing about Simon, was that as a sniper, he was opportunistic. When he saw a shot, he took it. And you just lined him up to test his theory on how long it’d take to convince you to slip into the pub bathrooms with him. 

His arm around your shoulder adjusted so he could gently brush some hair behind your ear, thumb purposely grazing your cheekbone before he tilted your face up to meet his, “Well, you know the best way to get over your nerves?” 

The sudden closeness stunned any witty retort to silence as you hummed for him to continue, swallowing thickly in a way that brought those keenly sharp eyes to watch the bob of your throat. He chuckled lowly to himself, so sweet and perfect, he was about to absolutely ruin you. But he wasn’t evil, he’d put you back together again… 

“Gotta… work... it outta your system. Just like you said, sweetheart.”  His other hand was kneading into your thigh through the pretty satin of your skirt, such a good girl, with a skirt below your knees, and he looked forward to shredding those tights underneath with nothing but his teeth and bare hands. But… he wondered if he could make you cum through them before he ruined them, and with the way you tensed and then melted at his touch, he was betting the answer was a firm yes. “Gonna let me help you like you’ve been helping me?”

You thought he sure had a funny way of equating this heavy petting to the teasing and mild comfort you’d offered about his fight with this ‘Soap’ guy, but you nodded anyway. All the pent-up anxiety made it an eager motion as he chuckled, leaning forward and catching your mouth, so possessive and borderline aggressive at your compliance. He was a bit of a bully, using his bulk and his weight so you would bend underneath him like he was testing how hard he had to press for you to break, and when you whined at the feeling of him biting your lip, he only swallowed your sounds and laughed into your mouth. 

Lips smearing your pretty makeup, one hand tangling your hair into his finger and the other fisting your skirt so it started hiking up your legs, and one of his boots nudging your ankles out of their polite cross so he could start prying your thighs apart.  God, you were making out (bordering on hooking up) with a nameless, masked man with anger issues while you waited to meet your estranged father for basically the first time… What had your life come to? 

Actually, the absent father bit explained the masked stranger bit if you thought about it for more than three seconds. 

“Fuckin’ hell, you’ve gotta be taking the absolute piss, Simon.” A sudden and angry voice, familiar to both of you sounded from the front of your secluded little booth. You jumped back away from your paramour. Simon, apparently was his name, while he only turned in frustrated confusion at his captain interrupted him blowing off steam, just as he’d been instructed when Price all but kicked him off base for the night. 

Your eyes went wide in absolute mortification, like you’d melt under the table and just die there. Standing there, watching you sloppily make out with someone he apparently knew, was your father. John Price. Who hadn’t seen you since you were three years old and compulsively carried around a Kermit the frog stuffie everywhere you went… He looked older compared to your hazy memories of him and the singular picture your mother hadn’t burned, and the interesting facial hair only made him look older. You suspected he was capable of looking warm and kind, your mother always said you got his soft eyes and smile, but right now he looked pissed.

“Price?” Simon questioned, yanking his mask back over his mouth to hide the smears of his lipstick, wondering if this temper had something to do with the mission or with his fight with the sergeant and if so, why it was urgent enough to interrupt him right now. He’d noted how you went rigid underneath him, batting his hand out of the balmy soft canyon between your spread thighs before they clamped shut again. Shit, that door was rapidly closing...

You spoke at the same time as Simon, your voice somewhere between hesitant questioning and caught teenager, “Dad?” 

“Dad?” Simon immediately parroted, his respect for his Captain superseding the whiskey and lust as he peeled himself off of you quickly doing mental math Olympics to figure out genetics and age gaps, “Bloody Hell, John-“ 

You shrieked, as Simon didn’t get a chance to justify himself or even ask, how was I supposed to know the bird I was trying to fuck was your kid you’ve never told anyone about? Because your father’s face went red instantly, jumping across the booth and landing a scarily hard punch across Simon’s face, spilling wine and whiskey all over you in the process. 

So it was going to be a bloody knuckles kind of night, after all. 

____

Sorry I kinda changed up your request a little bit, I started writing and it kinda got away from me. I'm a slave to the little worm in my brain.

[emmaxdelicate]

THE GREAT WAR | op81 x reader

summary: you and oscar fight about the growing distance between you two

pairings: oscar piastri x fem!girlfriend!reader

warnings: angst, swearing, use of y/n (2 times only), intentional lowercase (lmk if i missed any!)

word count: 1.4k

a/n: i felt so bad writing this idk why😭, i already have a part 2 in my drafts lmao

masterlist

rain came in sheets of water, a downpour. it had been this way for days now: gray skies, unending clouds, heaviness that settled upon your chest like a lead weight.

you stood in the kitchen of yours and Oscar's shared apartment , staring blankly at the half-filled mug of tea on the counter. the liquid had long since gone cold, untouched in the chaos of the evening. you could hear Oscar moving in the living room; his footsteps quick and agitated, not as usual, each step was a subtle reminder of the distance that had grown between you.

the fight had started hours ago, even thought "fight" felt like the wrong term. it wasn't just one argument, not really. it was more of a culmination of days and weeks, months, even, of little fractures, cracks in the foundation of the house you had built together. and now, you weren't so sure if the pieces could be put back together.

you gatered some bravery and walked to the living room. Oscar was sitting on the couch, his head in his hands and his hair slightly disheveled, you stood at the door.

"so what? you think i don't care?" Oscar's voice cut suddenly, sharp and defensive. it wasn't the first time he'd asked the question tonight.

you watched him, your arms crossed tightly over your chest. "that's not what i said."

"it's what you're implying tho," he shot back, his tone cutting. he rarely talked like this with anyone, let alone with you. this wasn't the oscar you spent days cuddling with, the one who whispered reassecurations in your ear each time something was wrong.

you sighed, running a hand through your hair. "i'm not insinuating anything, oscar. i'm telling you how I feel. and how I feel is—forgotten."

his expression shifted, a flicker of guilt crossing his face before it was replaced by frustration. "forgotten? that's ridiculous, y/n. do you have any idea how much i think about you? how much i care about you?"

"thinking about me is not the same as being here, oscar," you said, your voice trembling despite your best attempts at keeping it even. "you're always somewhere else, with the team, on the track, doing interviews. and i get it, okay? i really do know how much your career means to you, and that's amazing. but when was the last time you really saw me? when was the last time we had a conversation that didn't revolve around your schedule or your next race?"

oscar winced with your words; his jaw flexed. "that's not fair."

"isn't it?"

the question just hung in the air, heavy and unanswered. oscar slumped slightly into himself, his frustration giving way to something more subdued. "i'm doing my best," he said quietly.

your laugh was bitter, like a knife across the silence. "your best? oscar, your best is killing me." you took a step closer to him.

he recoiled as if you had hit him, his eyes wide with hurt. for a moment, you almost thought he might walk away-that he might turn around and leave the room, leave you standing there with your heart in pieces. but he stayed, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides, like he was trying to keep himself from falling apart.

"what do you want me to do?" he asked finally, his voice strained. "tell me, because i don't know anymore. i'm trying to balance everything-my career, my life, you. i'm trying so hard. but it feels like no matter what i do, it's never enough."

"you never call me when you're away, only text me to tell me stupid shit instead of checking up on me. i can't be the only one doing that"

you felt the well of tears in your eyes, but you blinked them away, refusing to let them fall. "i don't need you to be perfect, oscar. i just need you to be here. to show me that i matter, that we matter." you sat next to him.

"you do matter," he said, facing you, his voice breaking on the words. "more than anything."

"then why don't I feel it?

the question came out a whisper, but it was enough to shatter whatever fragile truce had existed between you. oscar turned away, raking a hand through his hair as he let out a frustrated sigh.

"i don't know," he admitted, his back to you. "i don't know how to make you feel it. i thought i was doing everything right, but clearly i'm not."

you took a shaking breath, hands trembling at your sides. "it's not about you being right, Oscar-it's about us, about what we're losing."

he turned back to you then, his face open and raw. "i don't want to lose you," he whispered.

"neither do i,"you told him. "then fight for me," you shot back, voice breaking. "because I'm tired of being the only one fighting."

the words hung in the air, a challenge, and for one second you thought oscar might rise to it. but instead, he looked away, his shoulders sagging under everything that was left unsaid.

"i don't know if i can," he finally said, barely in a whisper.

that was your final blow. it was a punch in the gut, knocking the wind from your lungs. you stared at him, heart breaking all over again, feeling for the first time the full weight of what this fight had cost you.

"then what are we doing, oscar?" you asked, voice shaking, a tear falling from your eye. "if you can't fight for this-for us-then what's the point?

he didn't say anything, and the silence that followed was deafening.

you looked away, hands grasping onto the edges of the couch. outside, the rain again picked up, its sound a harsh backdrop to the chaos inside your head.

"i think i need some air," you said finally, your voice barely above your breath.

oscar looked at you, his face contorting with something almost like panic. "y/n, wait-"

but you were already in motion, snatching your coat from the chair beside the door and out into the rain, wich was heavier than you expected. maybe it was the wrong choice, going out there and leaving oscar alone. or maybe the wrong choice was even trying to confront him in the first place. maybe you should've just dropped him. cold drops pelted your skin, soaking through your clothes in seconds, but you didn't care. the storm inside was far worse.

you walked aimlessly, your feet carrying you down the empty street without any real direction. your mind was a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions, each one louder than the last.

how did you two wnd up like this? how had the love you once shared, the kind of love that felt undestructibl, turn into something so uncertain?

you remembered how oscar used to look at you, as if you were the center of his universe; you remembered your deep talks late at night, stolen kisses, and quiet times that made you believe you could go thru any storm as long as he was by your side.

but now, you thought of the missed calls, lonely nights, and the growing distance between you two. and no matter how much you tried, it was difficult to remove that feeling.

you didn't know how long you had walked around the neighborhood, but by the time you made your way back to the house, the rain had soaked through every layer of clothes. your hair was drenched and plastered to your face, and your fingers were numb from the cold.

oscar had been waiting for you when you walked through the door, watching as you came inside. he was sitting on the couch, still in the same position from before, looking up at you with a mix of relief and concern in his eyes.

"you're soaked," he said, quick to his feet to help you.

"i'm fine," you said dismissively, pushing past him toward the stairs.

"wait," he said, catching your wrist gently. "please, don't just walk away."

you turned to him, red-rimmed and tired, and said, "i don't know what else to do, Oscar."

his grip on your wrist tightened somewhat, his eyes pleading. "stay. talk to me. let's figure this out. please."

"we've been talking all night," you said, "and i still don't know where we stand."

He looked like he wanted to protest, but his hand fell instead to his side, slumping his shoulders in defeat.

"i love you," he whispered. "but i don't know if that's enough anymore."

it felt like someone had stabbed you in the chest, and for that moment, you weren't able to breathe. you looked at him, your heart breaking all over again, before you turned and went upstairs without saying another word.

you closed the door behind you and pressed your back against the wood. the tears came then, silent, without oscar to wipe them away, and you let them fall, your heart heavy with the weight of everything you'd brobably lost.

and for the first time ever, you weren't so sure if you and oscar would make it through.

© 2025 emmaxdelicate

[moonlight-alexia]

17 years old | a.p.

alexia putellas x teen!reader | 1.3k | you make your senior debut for barcelona

ˏˋ°•*⁀ this is part of the pollito universe. i hope you enjoy it :)

Standing on the sideline, waiting for your number to be put up on the board, you felt like your heart was about to beat out of your chest. You’d been ready for this day to come since you’d been invited to train with the first team. Though it still feels like time has gone by so quickly. It felt like just yesterday you were in the stands watching your mami on this very same pitch.

But that was four years ago now. Now you were older, your siblings were older, you weren’t that 13 year old watching her mami play. You were 17 now, about to step onto the same pitch that you had only dreamt about playing on. A world of responsibility was about to unfold the minute you stepped out, you weren’t just playing in the youth teams anymore, but about to play with the same players you’d grown to idolise.

It was a surreal feeling but one you were sure you were ready for. You’d watched your mami for years and everyone knows Alexia would’ve done everything she could to make sure you were as prepared, mentally and physically, as you could be for this moment. 

You knew you’d be making your debut in this match, despite having been on the matchday squad list for a fair few matches before this one. You also knew that your mami had been told as well, considering that you’d overheard her trying to get as many people as she could to come support you today. Your Tia Alba on the phone asking your mami what was so special about this match and then your mami’s hushed whispers were a dead giveaway to anyone who was overhearing.

The club saved Alexia’s number just for you, everyone knew you would definitely make your way through the teams to the first. There was never any doubt. Your passion for the game and your work ethic was identical to Alexia’s. There was a moment where you had second thoughts about taking the number eleven. But it was your mami’s legacy and you couldn’t stand the thought of anyone else wearing that number at this club.

Standing on the sideline, the number eleven with your name this time on your back, it didn’t feel as daunting as you always imagined it would. You were nervous, yes, but you knew no matter what happened today your mami was proud of you. Your family, your teammates, your mami’s teammates, the club, they were all already proud. Yes you had some big shoes to fill, you knew the expectations of the fans were going to be high, but you are a Putellas and you know you can do it.

You almost missed your number being shown on the board, being brought back to reality when arms were wrapped around you tightly, ‘Show them what you got kid. You’ve got this,’ Whispered in your ear during the embrace. A little nod of your head and a smile plastered across your face you ran onto the pitch. 

‘Pollito! Pollito!’ You didn’t need to look back at the stands to be able to hear Mapi’s voice over everyone else's.

‘Pollito, one day they’ll be chanting like that for you here,’ Mapi leaned over, pointing at the crowd that was chanting your mami’s name, ‘And I’ll be the first one,’ 

Coming on in the 80th minute, you really didn’t expect to be able to add a whole lot of importance to the match. You were just happy to be stepping onto the pitch, getting your first senior appearance. Though whoever was in charge of your script had other plans for you. Not many 17 year olds making their first appearance would have the confidence to take a shot like you did. 

Intercepting the ball midway between the half and 18 yard box, one quick glance up to see the keeper off their line and you didn’t take a second to think about taking the shot. Everything was a massive blur, your first touch was a goal and you hardly had any time to even think about it before you were being pulled into hugs and head pats by your teammates.Finishing the match with two goals in twelve minutes, a debut that no one was going to forget. 

‘Ale, watch out our little pollito already starting her goal count. Coming to take your top spot away from you if she keeps going like this,’ Mapi slung her arm around your shoulder bringing you in for a side hug. You laughed a little, shaking your head playfully. Your mami rolled her eyes. They’d all made their way down after the match, not wasting a second to come see you. You who was still in shock and not believing everything was real and ready to wake up realising it was all a dream. Eventually it would sink in.

‘You suck at celebrating,’ You laughed at your little brother, ‘All the time you seen me and my celebrations, I’d thought you’d learn a thing from me,’ Your brother was just like you and your mami, going through his own La Masia journey now, and you’d often found yourself practicing and playing football in the backyard together. You were both quite competitive with each other and Alexia has had to break up her fair share of fights and arguments between you both. But your closeness never faltered.

‘Hermano, you gotta teach me how you backflip,’ You smirked looking mostly at Alexia when you spoke to your brother within the group. You knew that if you even thought about trying something like that it would send your mami into a slight panic, the look in her eye now and the slight falter of her smile. You liked winding her up. A backflip celebration was definitely in your future, already planning it for a match you know your mami would be at.

‘Sí, celebrate in style pollito,’ Your tía Alba encouraging it, anything to annoy her sister

‘Eh, you’ll figure it out,’ Your mami pulled you in for a hug, you could see just how proud she was of you, ‘Maybe a less dangerous one, por favor,’ You laughed but made no effort to promise your mami that.

‘Hmm, I guess can’t have you growing more grey hairs,’ You playfully squinted while looking at your mami’s hair, Alexia gently slapping your hand away before you could point any out. 

‘If any, you lot are the reason for them,’ Alexia pointed towards the entire group that surrounded you. You all laughed, and somewhere during all the banter and the teasing you realised just how lucky you were. Seeing them all here together, you wouldn’t have made it this far without them.

Your mami turned you around so you were looking at her now front on, her hands gently holding the side of your head, ‘I’m so proud of you pollito,’ Words that you often heard from your mami but this time it felt different hearing it. A good kind of different. Alexia gave you a kiss on your forehead before, reluctantly, letting you go. Your mami still wishes you were that four year old who still fell over every time you tried to kick a ball, you grew too fast for her liking but she’s excited to watch your journey. She knows you’ll go far, mother’s intuition as she likes to tell you when you call her biased. 

Your little sister tugged at your shirt and you picked her up, she was small for her age so she still sat nicely on your hip just like she always has. You eventually broke away from your family, still holding your little sister while you went back to your teammates and went to some of the fans that were trying to get your attention.

Your mami watched from afar. Her little pollito wasn’t so little anymore, ‘The world is yours pollito,’

[safetypinxtales]

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

[lupinqs]

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.

[janitorhutcherson]

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.

[harryhighkey]

183.

hi! this is my first ever Lee Byung-Hun/The Frontman one shot! I hope u like it! this man has taken over my life !!!!!!!!!!

183.

That was the number that ticked over on the screen as the final vote was casted by Player 001. The people who voted to stay had won. You were in disbelief. Standing on the side of people who voted to leave this hell you were positive that this was the side that was going to win the vote.

How wrong you were.

183, this number was going to haunt you during your time here, which was ironic considering it was also the one that was labelled on your green tracksuit.

Now you stood in utter shock at this outcome. All 183 of them had witnessed the same brutal deaths that had only happened hours earlier, so how could they choose to stay?

You were frozen and your eyes were trained on the man who had been the 183rd vote. You kept watching as he turned to face everyone else. Half the room cheering and the other half disappointed. However, his expression was unique, a sinister smirk adorned his face that sent shivers down your spine.

------

The guards had demanded you had spent too much time in the bathroom and were making you return to the room the vote had taken place. It had been a long time, but you weren't doing anything wrong, you were so desperate for a moment alone to cry over your terrors which is exactly what you had been doing. You cursed yourself for not trying to do anything productive in looking for any chance to escape, there was a vent in the roof that you wanted to have a closer look at later.

Not wanting to draw attention to yourself as you walked back through the doorway, you kept your steps quick & quiet. You were about half way back to your bunk when you got stopped.

"Hey, now look at this pretty girl, I didn't notice you in the game today." Thanos. The purple haired, Player 230 had certainly let himself be noticed by everyone today.

"I was laying low, wouldn't you expect you to get it." You quipped back, keeping your head down due to the fact you could feel your eyes were puffy & were positive your nose was red from crying and you didn't need it pointed out.

"Why lay low, baby? We're here to have fun. We should have fun together!"

You scowled at the pet name and instantly snapped back, "I'm not interested in joining your tiny dick parade."

"Such a dirty mouth on a pretty girl! I'd like to know what else that mouth-"

Just as you were about to raise your voice and interrupt the unwelcomed comment by telling him to fuck off, someone beat you to it.

"Enough." It was another man's voice, this one much more commanding, not as loud but it was dominant.

Yourself & the purple haired man turned to who spoke up. It was him. The final voter. Player 001. You stood there with the only red 'X' on your green tracksuit out of the three of you yet he was coming to your aid, going against a fellow blue 'O.'

His eyes briefly landed on yours and you inhaled a sharp breath, you were so hyper-focused on him that you swore you noticed his face contort into a display of sympathy. Just as quickly as it had appeared, it was gone just as fast and Player 001 was stone faced once more as he looked back to Player 230.

You watched the interaction between the two men, had something happened whilst you were in the bathroom? They were only saying a few words to each other but the tension was so high.

"Leave her alone." Was how Player 001 ended the moment and this man shocked you yet again as he caused the most bold player to follow his order and walk away from the two of you. Once Thanos was gone he turned back to you. Your chest going tense at the eye contact. "Are you-"

"I don't need your help." You quickly cut him off, already walking away from him so he didn't get a chance to answer. This unknown man had just come to your rescue, but he was also the deciding vote for staying in this hell. If you hadn't of rushed off so quick maybe you would have paid more attention to how his face softened when looking at you and maybe paid attention to the fact that part of you noticed how nice that felt.

------

"There you are."

You were laying on your side and the voice came from behind you, but you already knew who it was without seeing them. You'd heard that same deep voice hours earlier when it had come to your rescue. The only difference this time it was more hushed and closer to your ear.

"Go away." You didn't turn over to look at Player 001, you stubbornly stayed in place.

"I would like to talk to you."

"I'm sleeping."

"And conversing?"

"Sleep talking exists."

"Yours is quite advanced." His tone was light-hearted, but you were still on the defence. It wasn't lost on you that you had to protect yourself, being a female and much younger than a lot of the other contestants here. Player 001 included.

"Wait until you see how I sleep hit." You suddenly waved an arm back towards his direction, only for a firm grip of his hand coming around your wrist that quickly halted your movements.

He used his hold around your wrist to pull you so you were flat on your back. The movement was so fast, your strength was no match for his and now you were face to face. If you lifted your head the slightest bit from your pillow, your nose would graze his and that had your heart racing. Surely just because you were scared, not for any other reason.

Acting fast, you went to grab his hand with your spare one to try and free yourself, but he was faster and easily caught your second hand in his own second hand, trapping them both.

"If you are going to make it out of here alive, you need to keep that attitude of yours under control." His tone was serious now, his fingers tightening ever so slightly. You were so vulnerable right now, your breath was coming out in quick pants, your wide-eyed gaze had become frightened as you were forced to look into his stern one.

"Please let go of me." Your voice came out shaky, tears began to well in your eyes. He had scared you. Your hands were freed and you swiftly moved to sit up and move to a corner of your little bed to put some space between you and this man.

His face softened, the same way it had when he looked at you earlier and would have noticed the after effects of crying being present on your face. "I didn't mean to frighten you."

"Well you did."

"I'm sorry." He apologised and you didn't know what to say. "May I sit for a moment?" He asked so politely, his tone now gentle. You took a second before nodding your head and he sat on the side of your bed, facing you. "I don't want you to die in here."

"I don't want to either. That's why I voted to leave." At that response, his eyes fell to the red 'X' labelled on your outfit before lifting to find your gaze once more.

"Let me help you in here."

"I don't need your-"

"You do." He cut you off, his words were impactful. You clenched your jaw.

"No I don't."

"Yes."

"No."

He huffed and dropped his head into his hand, rubbing his fingertips into his temples. "Stubborn girl."

You watched him silently, a million thoughts running through your head. Part of you still felt afraid, but another part of you was curious about him, you almost felt drawn to him. Your eyes were trained on his fingers massaging his own head and before you had a chance to think about what you were about to ask, you already blurted it out. "Can you rub my head like that?"

"What?" He paused his movements and looked at you again, an expression of confusion present on his face.

God, he had a handsome face.

"I know it's a weird request but I can't sleep and I'm exhausted. I'll never able to sleep here and I will obviously need energy for tomorrow and my head getting rubbed always makes me sleepy." You spoke fast, rambling your words out and you could feel your face heating up in embarrassment as he continued to stare at you in surprise. Which only got worse when he let out a quiet laugh which made you put your head in your hands and let out a little whine. "Forget it-"

"I'll do it." Yet again he cut you off and his response made your heart beat harder.

The two of you sat there looking at one another in silence. You were memorising the details of his face when he snapped you out of it.

"Are you going to lay down?"

"Oh, yes." You returned to your original position of laying down on your side, this time your back was leaning against his leg as he stayed in his spot.

When his fingers combed into your hair and made contact with your scalp, you took a deep breath at the soothing movements he began making.

"Like this?"

"Yes, just like that."

"Close your eyes." You finally listened to him without arguing back and fluttered your eyes closed.

The more you focused on the feeling of Player 001's fingers dancing such peaceful patterns along your scalp, the more you relaxed back against him and forgot about where you were. In your mind, only the two of you existed in this moment.

Maybe the next time he offered help, you wouldn't be so quick to fight back.

[thanosscross]

My Pain in the ass - Choi Seung-Hyun/T.O.P x reader part 1

Summary: You were Seung Hyun's personal pain in the ass, but what happens whenever he decides to throw you, the fans, and a talk show host through a plot twist?

Warnings: noneeee

Whenever you joined BigBang it sent waves through the K-pop industry, not only were you the first female, but you were taking one of the member's spots. At first it was hard, the fans still upset for awhile after the member left, but after seeing the chemistry you had on stage with the boys, it quickly changed to you being welcomed. The boys were the kindest to you, treating you like you had always been apart their family, you were grateful for it, showing it by finally warming up and letting your guards down whenever you were at the dorm with them all.

Seung Hyun and you had a different dynamic than the others, you were a lot more touchy with him, always having to have your hand holding his or touching him in some ways, he just calmed you somehow. While you were overly touchy with your friend, he was the opposite, never really wanting to be touched unless necessary. Despite his disliking to always being touched, Seung Hyun never really rejected your advances, sure he'd have little sarcastic or annoyed remarks about them, but he'd never turn you away.

As you entered the dorm excitedly, finally done with your half of recording, you noticed Seung Hyun reclined on the couch playing some video game with Ji-Yong. "Seunggg" You cheered tiredly, making your way over as he shot you a playful glare, shaking his head "Noo, stay away, I don't want you" He laughed as you kicked your shoes off "Too bad, I need a T.O.P hug" You huffed, Seung Hyun just continued to shake his head laughing "Noo! I want to play my game! Not be trapped by a clingy woman!" He whined as you flopped next to him on the couch, as he tried to lean away from you playfully you were quick to wrap your arms around him sighing "I won, now hug me" You huffed, laying your head on his chest with a sigh "You're a pain in my ass" He scoffed as he wrapped his arms around you tightly, placing a hand on the back of your head as he held you close, after feeling you take a long exhale he let go, grabbing the controller again before turning his attention back to the game. You stayed in your spot, using the excuse of Seung Hyun's arms being wrapped around you as he held the controller, to not move. As you started to focus on his heartbeat and whispers of frustration anytime he would die in the game, you felt yourself starting to doze, your grip on Seung Hyun's sides loosening as you lost your battle to sleep.

As they both finished up their game together, Ji-Yong was first to notice your passed out state, smiling brightly as he 'oo'ed teasingly towards his friend "You can't move now" He teased laughing as he stood up, flaunting to his friend the ability he had, that you were currently restricting Seung Hyun from having. The boys had an unspoken rule, if you had fallen asleep on them, they were frozen to that spot until you woke up again, usually that person being Seung Hyun. You were the youngest of the group, only just now turning twenty two while Dae-Sung was two years older, then Ji-Yong and Tae-Yang at 25, and Seung Hyun at 26, so they all treated you as the baby of their group. The nicknames worked perfectly for fans, especially with them always speculating on your and Seung Hyun's relationship, He acted like the baby of the group, and you were the baby of the group. "I can't just stay here all day, she sleeps like a cat! Will you at least get me a drink?" Seung Hyun asked reaching for his friend dramatically "I guesssss" He laughed, dragging out his words as he walked to the kitchen, Seung Hyun using the time alone to look down at you, moving the hair from your face gently as he took in your features.

You kept Seung Hyun trapped on the couch until around midnight, whenever you groggily woke up from what was supposed to be a nap, sitting up slowly to take in Seung Hyun laying next to you, hanging halfway off of the couch's edge, not wanting you to fall off in your sleep, he had moved over, using his body as a safety guard for you. Tiredly you rubbed your eyes, trying to find your phone or anything to indicate what time it was, as you searched around you felt an arm wrap around you and pull you back down onto the couch "Don't go, you're warm" You heard Seung Hyun mumbled in his sleep before turning onto his back, you couldn't help but blush brightly, placing a hand on his shoulder as you shook him lightly "Seung Hyun..Seung..Wake. Up" You huffed, smiling in victory whenever you saw him glare at you through tired eyes "Come on, go to your bed" You mumbled quietly, not wanting to wake up any of the other boys "Come on" You repeated, slowly and carefully trying to crawl over him, only for your foot to come in contact with your phone that sat on the floor, causing your foot to slip out from under you, sending you falling onto Seung Hyun, his hands quickly caught your waist, taking away some of the impact of your fall "S-Sorry" You mumbled, feeling nervous by his touch all of a sudden "You're fine, Aein, are you okay?" He asked, his voice still laced with sleep, you just nodded, attempting to get up again, this time being a lot more successful. As you took Seung Hyun's hand in yours, you tiredly led him towards the dorm room, five different beds spread throughout the room as three out of five of said beds were filled with your sleeping bandmates.

As you departed from each other, you felt colder almost, nonetheless you still crawled into your own bed, pulling your blankets over you before trying to fall back asleep. You laid there for what seemed like forever, before finally standing up making your way towards the door, moving to go to the living room, knowing you wouldn't be able to sleep now that you've already napped. As you went to go to the door you stopped, nervously glancing back at Seung Hyun, his back to you as you assumed he slept peacefully. "I can feel you staring" His deep voice was quiet, but you could still hear it over the snores from the others "Sorry...I just..can't sleep" You mumbled nervously, Seung Hyun huffed rolling over before lifting his arm open "Come here" He huffed rolling his eyes as you quickly made your way over to him, laying next to him, humming softly as he wrapped his arm around your waist tightly.

The next day you were immediately rushed off to a talk show performance, not really having any time to think about how you woke up. Your performance was a rather easy one, as soon as it ended, you giggled watching as Seung Hyun flop on the floor, panting softly as the others sat in their seats. You just sat next to him placing your hand on his arm gently as you listened to the host ask questions to each boy before making his way to you and Top "Are you two comfortable down there?" He asked laughing, watching as Seung Hyun playfully glared at you trying to shoo you away, you just stayed adamant, taking your hand in his tightly as you placed it in your lap "Yes, I am" You smiled sweetly, giggling as Seung Hyun muttered an "I'm not" "So! We need to know what is going on between you two!" He cheered looking at you both as the cameras panned in your direction. "To everybody's disappointment, Seung Hyun and I are just good friends, even if he won't admit it" You teased, kissing his cheek gently, Seung Hyun smirked, thinking to himself how funny it'd be to watch you get flustered and how funny it'd be if after all this time he just...Grabbing the back of your neck he kissed you softly, moving his lips against yours for a moment before finally pulling away, turning to look at the camera "Good friends" He smirked holding up his hand, his fingers in the shape of a heart.

After that you were clinging to him even more, trying to get him to explain further on why he kissed you, but all you got was a slight shrug and a 'I don't know, I wanted to'. As you chased after him into the dorm, he laughed trying to get away, locking himself in the bedroom as you whined and pounded on the door "Seung Hyun!! Please!" You groaned dropping your head against the door, you could hear his laughs through the door "No! My room!" He shouted flopping onto your bed "Ooo! Y/n's bed and pillows! Under my ass!" He shouted playfully, huffing as the door opened, knowing you had to of gotten the step stool to grab the key from the top of the door frame "You sir? An ass!" You shouted throwing one of his dirty shirts at him, he just caught it laughing "Why!?" He asked, standing up quickly as you charged at him, you didn't do much damage as you tried to shove him back, instead his arms just wrapping around you "Why would you kiss me like that on tv!? Why would you kiss me like that!?" You shouted in shock, he just smirked laughing harder, even though usually his laughs were like honey, sweet and smooth, but now they were frustrating you "What? Like this?" He asked cupping your cheeks before bringing his lips to yours again, smiling against your lips as you closed your eyes and kissed back this time, confirming what he had been thinking all along, your clinginess wasn't clinginess, it was a crush.

--

Lovelies!! you like?

--

@onyxmango

@ag02212023

@acehasmyheart

@mitchko11

@learninglinesintherainn

@seunghyunwifey

@alexandralibbre

@jajabro

@heartsforseo

@lilou-0401

@maenoakasuna

@ericityyy

@alexandralibbre

@jajabro

@heartsforseo

@frangiipanii

@seunghyunwifey

@sturnioloslut-b

@isssaaaa2111

[dulcescorderitas]

𝓼𝓮𝓪𝓼𝓸𝓷 3, 𝓮𝓹𝓲𝓼𝓸𝓭𝓮 13: 𝓖𝓱𝓸𝓼𝓽𝓯𝓪𝓬𝓮𝓻𝓼!

author's note: this is my first time writing based on an spn episode so please be kind :). i used their script to format the one-shot so when you see (int) that means a different scene/room!

warnings: none

the air in the house was thick with tension. every creak of the floorboards sent shivers up your spine. you, dean, and the rest of the crew were in the middle of an investigation gone wrong, and the house had turned into a nightmare. you were still trying to process everything—the creepy ghost stuff, the weird vibe—but the fact that dean was by your side made you feel a little more grounded.

"dean, this place is giving me the creeps," you muttered, keeping a close watch on the other members of the ghostfacers team. dean flashed you a reassuring grin, but there was something in his eyes that told you he wasn’t as confident as he tried to seem.

"yeah, i noticed," he said, his voice low, a trace of his usual smirk still on his face. he was trying to keep things light, but you could tell the situation was starting to get to him too.

the cameras from the ghostfacers were rolling, and dean had no intention of letting anything happen to you or the team. he stepped closer to you, his hand brushing against yours for a moment before his fingers laced through yours.

"stick close," he whispered, and you nodded, your grip tightening around his hand.

you glanced over to the others—harry, maggie, ed, and spruce—all busy with their own thing, clearly trying to keep their cool, but their unease was palpable. you’d been on hunts with dean before, but something about this one felt off. you weren’t sure if it was the eerie vibe of the place or the fact that the ghostfacers were... well, not the most professional crew.

suddenly, you heard a loud noise—someone shouted, and then everything erupted into chaos.

"dean!" you shouted, your heart pounding as the group scattered. you followed close behind him as he led you through the dark, narrow hallways of the morton house, looking for the others. he moved with that usual confidence, but you could see the worry flicker across his face every time the lights flickered or a distant scream echoed from another room.

"stay behind me," dean ordered, but you were already by his side, ready to back him up.

"sam!" dean shouted, his voice carrying through the dark hall. "sam!!!"

you could hear the others talking in the background, panic rising. suddenly, maggie and harry appeared, and you froze as you saw them... well, making out.

"God, i am so scared," maggie whispered between kisses, and harry just pulled her closer, trying to comfort her, but it was all a bit too much, even for them.

"uh, dean, what the hell?" you murmured, your lips curling into a half-smile despite the tension.

dean’s eyes narrowed, clearly annoyed. he turned toward the couple, raising his voice. “what the hell are you two doing? we’ve got bigger problems!”

"great," you muttered, watching ed burst into the scene, his voice cracking as he confronted harry. things got heated fast, and in the midst of all the chaos, you felt dean’s hand on your arm.

“not here,” he muttered, pulling you closer.

for a moment, everything seemed to blur. you didn’t even care about the ridiculousness of the situation. it was just you and dean, standing in a house full of ghosts and chaos, trying to stay focused on the task at hand.

but then, dean’s lips were on yours, his kiss urgent, as if he needed to reassure himself that you were still there. the world around you faded for just a moment, and it was just the two of you in the middle of this nightmare.

you pulled away just as quickly, your heart racing, but the urgency of the moment didn’t let up. “we can’t get distracted right now,” you said breathlessly, your fingers brushing against his cheek.

dean gave you a quick, serious nod, his jaw tense. “we’ll finish this. then we can talk.” his voice was low, but there was something in it that told you this wasn’t just about the case anymore.

the moment was cut short as ed and harry started arguing again, but for a brief second, everything felt right.

int. room in morton house - night

“corbett! where are you?” dean shouted, his frustration mounting as he turned the corner. you were right behind him, trying to keep up with the pace he set.

you caught sight of sam through the camera lens, trying to get to corbett, but it was too late. corbett was dead, and the entire room was filled with death and despair. dean ran into the room, his eyes flicking between you and sam.

“stay with me,” dean ordered, grabbing sam’s shoulder. “we’re not out of this yet.”

just as you thought things couldn’t get worse, ed rushed in, followed by maggie and harry. their frantic behavior only heightened the tension. the ghost of corbett, now a death echo, was stuck in a loop, and you couldn’t help but feel sorry for him.

“god, what have we done?” ed whispered, his voice filled with guilt as he stared at the ghost.

you were about to say something when dean pulled you aside. “stay close,” he muttered again. “we need to get to the basement.”

int. stairway, morton house - night

dean grabbed your hand again, pulling you toward the basement stairs, but the house seemed to come alive in a way that was impossible to ignore. the lights flickered, casting strange shadows that made it feel like something was right behind you.

“stay sharp,” dean said, his voice low and steady, but there was a clear edge of concern in his eyes. you could see he was trying to keep it together, but the pressure of the situation was weighing on him more than he let on.

you nodded, sticking close to him as you both made your way down the creaky stairs. the air in the basement felt colder, and it smelled like dust and decay, making the hairs on the back of your neck stand up.

when you reached the bottom, you heard it—a soft, eerie melody drifting from behind a wall. "what the hell?" dean muttered, clearly disturbed by the sound.

he moved toward the wall and shoved a cabinet out of the way, revealing a hidden passage behind it. "you really think he’s got a bomb shelter down here?" you asked, eyebrow raised.

dean shot you a look, half-smiling despite the tension. "guess we’re about to find out."

you followed him as he made his way through the passage, the music growing louder, and the chill in the air thickening. you could feel dean’s fingers brush against yours, almost instinctively, as if the proximity was the only thing keeping him from snapping under the pressure.

the door to the bomb shelter stood at the end of the narrow hall, locked and bolted shut. dean kicked it open, the heavy door creaking as it swung wide. inside, you saw the chaos—a dusty, old birthday table, an assortment of decaying corpses, and at the center, the newest addition to the party: corbett, now a ghostly figure frozen in time.

dean wasted no time. “sam!” he shouted, spotting his brother tied to a chair at the far end of the room. he rushed forward, grabbing the knife and cutting sam free. “you okay?” dean asked, his voice softer than usual.

sam shook his head slightly, still dazed. "yeah, but... corbett—he’s stuck. he’s stuck in the loop of his own death."

you stepped into the room, looking at the party table full of the dead bodies. it was all so wrong, the twisted form of loneliness and despair, but you couldn’t help but feel sympathy for corbett. dean’s grip on your hand tightened as he pulled you away from the ghastly scene.

“stay with me,” he whispered, his breath warm against your ear. the urgency in his voice made your heart race as you nodded again.

the situation only grew more chaotic from there. the door slammed behind you, cutting off your escape route. “what the hell?!” ed shouted from the other room, his voice rising in panic.

dean cursed under his breath. “it’s the house. it’s trying to separate us,” he said, looking at you with a level of concern that spoke volumes. “get in the circle. now.”

as the group scrambled, you and dean made your way to the salt circle that ed had hastily formed. dean leaned in close, his voice low, but firm. "stay in here. we’re gonna finish this."

you met his gaze, feeling the heat of his proximity. “we will,” you whispered, feeling a sense of calm wash over you in his presence.

int. basement, morton house - night

meanwhile, in the basement, the tension was mounting. spruce was filming everything, his camera shaking as the supernatural forces inside the house seemed to stir. dean’s voice could be heard faintly, instructing everyone to keep their distance and to stay inside the salt circle.

“corbett’s ghost... it’s stuck reliving the same thing over and over,” sam explained as dean paced around the bomb shelter, frustration evident in his movements. “we’ve got to figure out how to get him to move on.”

“that’s the problem,” dean muttered, rubbing his face. “it’s a death echo. he’s repeating the worst moment of his life. that’s why he’s stuck here.”

a sudden crashing noise startled everyone, and you jumped, turning to see corbett’s ghost flickering before you. you felt dean’s arm slip around your waist instinctively, pulling you close as the ghost’s appearance grew more intense.

“corbett!” ed yelled, stepping forward despite the salt line. “listen, man. i know you’re in pain. we can help you. you’re not alone anymore.”

dean stepped in front of you, his protective nature taking over as he shielded you. you could see the emotions swirling in his eyes—anger, sadness, and a deep understanding of the pain corbett was going through.

“you can’t keep doing this,” dean said, his voice firm. “we’re not leaving until we fix this.”

int. living room, morton house - night

back in the living room, harry and maggie were trying to maintain some level of control, but the room was still filled with chaos and confusion. you could hear their frantic voices as they tried to reason with ed.

“guys, it’s coming again!” maggie cried, as the air around them thickened. the lights flickered again, and suddenly, the ghost of corbett appeared once more.

“you have to let him go, ed,” you whispered, pulling dean closer to you, his presence a comfort in the midst of all the madness. “we’ll all be okay. we just have to finish this.”

dean’s lips brushed against your temple, a silent promise in the softness of the gesture. “we will,” he said quietly, pulling you into his side, the chaos of the house swirling around you both.

int. basement, morton house - night

dean glanced over at you briefly before his attention shifted to sam, who was still trying to recover from the chaotic events. “it’s almost over,” he muttered, his voice low, barely audible. his eyes never left sam as he moved closer, making sure his brother was okay. you stayed close to dean, knowing that he was constantly watching out for everyone, especially sam.

suddenly, the stillness in the room was broken by a faint sound. you turned just in time to see corbett’s ghost dart forward with sudden speed. the ghost lunged toward daggett, its movement swift and full of unrelenting energy. before anyone could react, corbett slammed into daggett, a violent clash of spirits.

the two of them struggled violently, their forms flickering and distorting as they fought. in a brilliant, blinding flash of light, both corbett and daggett disappeared from sight, leaving only an eerie silence behind them.

you let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, watching as the supernatural energy seemed to dissipate with them. it was over.

dean turned back to sam, who was now free from his restraints, and pulled him into a quick, relieved hug. you could see the tension easing in his shoulders, a look of gratitude passing between the two brothers. “we’re good,” dean said quietly, his voice steady, but with a depth of relief.

you stepped toward them, your eyes meeting dean’s. "we did it," you whispered, voice thick with emotion.

dean turned to you, his eyes softening as he stepped closer. he reached out, pulling you into his arms, and brushed his lips against your forehead, taking a moment to feel the safety of the moment. but then, the tension that had been building up all night broke. his lips found yours in a deep, lingering kiss—one that spoke of relief, promises, and a bond that couldn’t be broken, even by the chaos of the house.

when the kiss ended, you both remained close, still catching your breath, but not from the danger anymore. "yeah," dean murmured, his voice low but filled with affection. "we made it through. together."

taglist: @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @legalmente-loca @bluemerakis

[rosyblooom]

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

[laneywrld]

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

<3

[jenosbliss]

pairing. gn!reader x chenle | genre. enemies to lovers | wc. 1.6k | warnings. none | requested. here

Chenle had never been one to dwell on what-ifs.

He lived life with the confidence of someone who always knew the right thing to say, the perfect quip to lighten the mood or deflect attention. That’s what people liked about him—his charm, his humor, his ability to make you feel like the most important person in the room, even if only for a moment.

But with you, it was different.

From the moment you met, there was something about you that knocked him off balance. It wasn’t just your quick wit or the way you always seemed to see through his playful façade. It was the fire in your eyes, the way you met his banter head-on without ever backing down.

He liked you. He’d liked you from the start.

But when he realized you didn’t feel the same, that your heart was already spoken for, he buried those feelings deep. Better to turn his affection into irritation, to let his frustration fuel the constant sparring that had become the foundation of your relationship.

“Chenle’s staring at you again,” Yeri had whispered once, nudging your side during a group study session.

You didn’t even glance up from your notes. “He’s probably plotting my demise.”

“Or,” she teased, “he’s just obsessed with you.”

You rolled your eyes, dismissing the comment with a wave of your hand. Chenle? Obsessed with you? The idea was laughable.

He’d certainly never shown you anything but aggravation. Every interaction between you was laced with sarcasm and thinly veiled insults. He was the Literature major who mocked your essays, and you were the Toxicology student who criticized his lack of scientific knowledge. It was a game you’d been playing since the first week of university, and neither of you seemed willing to call a truce.

But beneath the barbs and jabs, there was something unspoken, something simmering just beneath the surface.

The shift came after your breakup.

Your ex had been toxic in every sense of the word. Manipulative, controlling, the kind of person who made you doubt your worth even as they claimed to love you. The end had been messy, leaving you raw and guarded.

Chenle knew about it, of course. Everyone in your friend group did. But while the others offered you quiet sympathy or avoided the topic altogether, Chenle treated you the same as always.

Or so it seemed.

The café was loud, filled with the hum of chatter and the clinking of cups. Your group of friends occupied a long table in the corner, half-eaten pastries and abandoned cups of coffee scattered across its surface.

You arrived late, sliding into the seat furthest from Chenle, only for him to notice immediately. “Don’t worry,” he said, raising his coffee cup with a smirk. “I’m not contagious.”

“Shame,” you shot back. “Maybe if you were, people would finally avoid you.”Your friends groaned in unison, half amused, half exasperated.

“Here we go again,” muttered Yeri, shaking her head. “Can you two go one day without trying to kill each other?”

“She started it,” Chenle said defensively, leaning back in his chair. “I’m finishing it,” you said, narrowing your eyes at him. His grin widened. “You wish.”

The meeting went on, but the tension between you and Chenle simmered beneath every conversation. At one point, he made a snide comment about your choice of coffee (“Basic, just like your taste in guys”), and you retaliated with a jab about his lack of emotional depth (“Makes sense, considering you’re incapable of forming meaningful connections”).

Your friends had learned to tune you out by now. After a while, the group began to disperse, one by one heading back to their dorms or classes. Soon, it was just you and Chenle left.

“Don’t you have somewhere else to be?” you asked, packing up your things. “Why? Am I ruining your day?” he asked, his smirk never wavering. “You ruin everyone’s day,” you snapped.

He chuckled, standing up and leaning on the table between you. “It’s hot when you talk back, you know that?” You froze, your brain short-circuiting for a moment before you glared at him. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

“Why not? You’re doing it for me.”

“God, you’re insufferable,” you muttered, slinging your bag over your shoulder. “Admit it,” he said, following you toward the exit. “You’d miss me if I weren’t around.”

You turned to face him, your annoyance bubbling over. “Not everything is a joke, Chenle.”

“Not everything has to be serious either,” he shot back, his tone sharper now.

“Why do you always do this?” you demanded. “Why do you always push and push until people can’t stand you?” His jaw tightened, the teasing edge in his eyes replaced by something darker. “Maybe I’m not the only one pushing,” he said.

You scoffed, brushing past him. “Whatever. I don’t have time for this.”

“Still not over him?” he asked, his tone cutting as you stopped in your tracks not turning to face him. “None of your business,” you shot back.

“Just saying,” he continued, his smirk unwavering. “Didn’t know you were this pathetic.” The comment stung, but what hurt more was the look in his eyes—like he wanted to take it back but didn’t know how.

You didn’t see the way his hands clenched into fists under the table, or how his smile faltered as you turned away and left.

The tension between you only grew worse after that. Every interaction felt like a battle, each of you throwing verbal punches that landed harder than you intended. Your friends noticed, but no one dared to intervene.

It all came to a head one night at a party. The party was a mistake.

The music was loud, the room packed with people. You’d come with your friends, hoping for a distraction, but the moment you saw Chenle across the room, you knew peace wasn’t in the cards.

He was leaning against the wall, laughing with someone you vaguely recognized. When his gaze landed on you, his smile faltered for a split second before returning, sharper than ever.

You ignored him, heading to the kitchen for a drink. But of course, he followed. “Thirsty?” he asked, his voice dripping with mock concern. “For alcohol, not your company,” you retorted, pouring yourself a drink.

He leaned against the counter, watching you with a smirk. “How’s life post-red flags?” Your grip on the cup tightened. “Toxicology major and still couldn’t see all those red flags?” he pressed, his tone infuriatingly smug.

You turned to him, your eyes blazing as you hissed. “Literature major and still couldn’t write yourself a happy ending?”

The words hung in the air, sharp and cutting.

Chenle’s smirk disappeared, his jaw tightening. “At least I don’t pretend I’m fine when I’m not,” he said, his voice low. Your breath caught, the weight of his words sinking in.

“Go to hell, Chenle,” you said, your voice shaking as you pushed past him.

He caught up with you in the hallway, his hand wrapping around your wrist as he pulled you into an empty room.

“What the hell is your problem?” you demanded, yanking your arm away. “My problem?” he repeated, his voice rising. “You’re the one who keeps acting like you’re untouchable, like nothing can hurt you.”

“Because I don’t have the luxury of falling apart!” you shot back. “Not everyone can just skate through life without consequences.”

“You think I don’t have consequences?” he asked, stepping closer. “You think I don’t feel things?” You laughed bitterly. “Feel what, Chenle? Annoyance? Pride? What could you possibly care about besides yourself?”

“You,” he said, the word exploding out of him like a confession. The room went silent, the air thick with unspoken tension. “What?” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

“All I want,” he said, his voice shaking with frustration, “is for you to look at me the way you look at them. The way you looked at him.” Your heart raced, his words cutting through every wall you’d built around yourself.

You looked away trying to protect those walls from breaking, nibbling down on your bottom lip as you tried to speak “Chenle—”

“If you bite your lip one more time,” he interrupted, his voice low and dangerous, “I’m going to do it for you.” Your breath caught, the electricity between you crackling like a live wire. “Then do it,” you whispered, the challenge slipping out before you could stop it.

He didn’t hesitate.

Chenle closed the distance between you, his lips crashing against yours in a kiss that was anything but gentle. It was raw, desperate, filled with all the frustration and longing you’d both been too afraid to acknowledge.

His hands gripped your waist, pulling you closer as you tangled your fingers in his hair, each of you pouring months of pent-up emotion into the kiss. His touch was soft unlike the way he kissed you — rough.

And when you finally pulled apart, your foreheads pressed together, the air between you felt charged, like the calm after a storm.

“This doesn’t change anything,” you said, your voice trembling. “Maybe not,” he replied, his lips brushing against yours again. “But it’s a start.”

The tension between you didn’t disappear after that night, but it shifted.

Your arguments were just as sharp, your banter just as biting. But there was something different now—an undercurrent of something deeper, something neither of you could put into words.

And as much as you hated to admit it, you didn’t want it to go away.

navigation.

masterlist. nct dream | nct 127 | wayv

[fics-and-quotes-andthelike]

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.