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mrsfancyferrari · 2 months ago

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Wild Imagination

Summary: You were just an interviewer for the Met Gala when you were able to meet the Sir Lewis Hamilton

Song: Brent Faiyaz - ALL MINE

Part 2

Author’s note: Longest story I've ever written! Comment if you want a part 2! Please like, reblog and share this! 🫶

Word count: 20.8k

MASTERLIST - F1

As the evening sun dipped below the horizon, casting a golden hue over the bustling streets of New York City, you found yourself standing outside the iconic Metropolitan Museum of Art, the venue for the illustrious Met Gala.

The air was thick with anticipation, and the excitement was palpable as celebrities and fashion icons prepared to make their grand entrances. As an interviewer for the event, you was tasked with capturing the essence of the night, and your own attire was a reflection of the glamour surrounding you.

You glanced down at your dress, a stunning creation that seemed to shimmer under the city lights. The fabric was a deep midnight blue, reminiscent of a starry sky, adorned with intricate silver embroidery that traced delicate constellations across the bodice.

The gown flowed elegantly to the floor, with a subtle train that added an air of sophistication. As you adjusted the delicate straps, you felt a sense of confidence wash over yourself.

“Wow, you look incredible!” exclaimed your colleague, Sarah, as she approached you with a camera in hand. “That dress is absolutely perfect for tonight!”

“Thank you!” you replied, a smile spreading across your face. “I wanted something that would stand out but still feel elegant. The theme this year is ‘In America: A Lexicon of Fashion,’ so I thought a classic silhouette with a modern twist would be fitting.”

Sarah nodded in agreement, her eyes sparkling with enthusiasm. “You definitely nailed it. I can’t wait to see the reactions when you interview the stars. They’re going to love your look!”

As we made our way toward the entrance, the sound of flashing cameras and excited chatter filled the air. The atmosphere was electric, and you could feel the adrenaline coursing through your veins.

We approached the red carpet, where a line of glamorous attendees awaited their moment in the spotlight.

“Remember to ask them about their outfits!” Sarah reminded me, adjusting her camera settings. “Fashion is the heart of this event.”

“Absolutely,” you replied, your mind racing with questions. “I want to know what inspired their looks and how they interpret the theme.”

You had just finished getting your makeup touched up, the final brush strokes adding a touch of glamour before you stepped into the whirlwind of the Met Gala again.

Surprisingly, you felt a sense of calm wash over you. The thought of interviewing celebrities didn’t make your heart race; instead, you found comfort in picturing them as ordinary individuals with extraordinary talents.

“Just remember to smile and engage with the celebrities,” your manager, David, instructed, his tone a mix of seriousness and playful urgency. “I’m counting on you to shine tonight. A stellar performance could mean a nice little bonus for me.”

“Sure thing, David,” you replied, glancing at your phone, half-listening as you mentally prepared for the night ahead.

“Good! Now go out there and do whatever it takes to go viral—even if it means flirting a little,” he added with a wink before striding out of the room, leaving you to gather your thoughts.

As you stepped into the bustling atmosphere of the gala, the lights sparkled like stars, and the air buzzed with excitement. You took a deep breath, reminding yourself that these celebrities were just people, albeit with a flair for the dramatic.

You spotted a familiar face in the crowd—Naomi Elaine Campbell.

Summoning your courage, you approached her. “Hi Mrs. Campbell! I’m here with Buzz Feed. Can I grab a quick chat with you?”

The model turned, her smile brightening the room. “Of course! I love your work. What do you want to know?”

You felt a rush of adrenaline as you began the interview, asking about their latest project and what inspired them. The conversation flowed effortlessly, and you found yourself genuinely enjoying the exchange.

“By the way,” you said, leaning in slightly, “I’ve heard you’re quite the dancer. Any chance we’ll see you on the dance floor tonight?”

She laughed, a warm, infectious sound. “Only if you join me! I could use a partner who knows how to keep up.”

You grinned, feeling the energy of the moment. “Challenge accepted! But only if you promise to show me some of your moves.”

As the night continued, you mingled with more stars, each interaction building your confidence. You remembered David’s advice and made sure to smile, engage, and even throw in a playful flirt here and there.

“Hey, you’re really good at this!” a young reporter remarked as you both took a break from the chaos. “You’ve had to be doing for years now, you're such a professional!"

You smiled shyly at the reporter, "Just because I sound professional doesn't mean I'm not nervous to meet someone big like Naomi Campbell,"

"You were?" the reporter looked surprised.

"Of course I was, she's one of my biggest idols yet I kept my cool and spoke calmly, my mom always used to say 'treat celebrities like normal people with extraordinary abilities,"

David's voice crackled in your earpiece, urgent yet calm. "Y/N, you need to come back. More people are arriving."

You smiled at the young reporter, wrapping up your conversation. "Thanks for the chat! I hope to see you around soon." She waved goodbye as you turned to head back to your post.

As you mingled with other celebrities, the conversations felt surface-level, lacking the depth you craved. Perhaps it was because you didn’t know much about them, or maybe the atmosphere was just too frenetic.

Then, out of the crowd, you spotted him—Sir Lewis Hamilton, looking dapper in a suit tailored just for him. Your heart raced; you knew you had to find a way to speak with him.

To your surprise, after a few brief exchanges with others, he locked eyes with you. It was as if the world around you faded, and he began walking in your direction.

Panic bubbled up inside you, but you took a deep breath, willing yourself to stay composed.

"Well, if it isn't Sir Lewis Hamilton," you said, trying to keep your voice steady and a hint flirty. "We were all looking forward to your arrival this evening, and I must say, you look incredibly handsome in that suit."

Lewis flashed a charming grin, his eyes sparkling with warmth. "Thank you, Mrs. Y/N L/N. I'm delighted to finally meet you tonight. You look absolutely ravishing, as always."

You were taken aback. He knew your name?

The thought sent a thrill through you. "I’m flattered, really. I didn’t expect to be recognized by someone as renowned as you."

He chuckled softly, leaning in slightly. "I’ve heard a lot about you. Your work is impressive, and I admire your passion."

Your cheeks flushed at the compliment. "That means a lot coming from you. I’ve followed your career for years. Your dedication to racing and your advocacy off the track is truly inspiring."

Lewis nodded, his expression sincere. "Thank you. It’s important to me to use my platform for good. Speaking of which, I’d love to hear your thoughts on some of the initiatives you’re involved in."

You felt a rush of excitement. This was the deep conversation you had been longing for.

"Well, I’m currently working on a project for sustainability in sports. It’s a challenge, but I believe we can make a significant impact."

He listened intently, his interest evident. "It’s all about how we can reduce our carbon footprint and promote eco-friendly practices within the industry."

Lewis listened intently, his interest evident. "That’s fantastic! Sustainability is such a crucial topic, especially in motorsport. I’ve been trying to advocate for greener technologies in racing yourself. It’s a challenge, but it’s necessary."

You nodded, feeling a connection forming. "Exactly! It’s about finding innovative solutions and inspiring others to join the movement. I believe that if we can get more athletes on board, we can make a real difference."

He smiled, his enthusiasm infectious. "I’d love to collaborate on something. Maybe we could organize an event or a campaign together? It would be amazing to combine our efforts."

Your heart raced at the thought. "That would be incredible! I’d be honored to work with you. We could reach so many people and raise awareness."

As you spoke, the noise of the event faded into the background, and it felt like it was just the two of you in that moment. Lewis leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a more intimate tone.

"You know, I’ve always believed that passion is contagious. When you’re passionate about something, it inspires others to feel the same way."

You couldn’t help but smile, feeling a warmth spread through you. "I completely agree. It’s what drives me every day. And I can see that same passion in you, not just for racing but for making a difference."

He nodded, his gaze unwavering. "It’s what keeps me motivated, especially in a sport that can sometimes feel so disconnected from the real world. We have a responsibility to use our influence wisely."

Just then, David’s voice crackled in your earpiece again, pulling you back to reality. "Y/N, are you there? We need you back at the main stage."

You sighed, knowing you had to leave this captivating conversation. "I’m sorry, but it looks like I have to go. Duty calls."

Lewis's face fell slightly, a flicker of disappointment evident in his eyes. "I get it. But let’s make sure this isn’t our last conversation. I’d love to pick up where we left off."

He reached for your hand, gently brushing his knuckles against yours. "I hope so," you replied, a mix of hope and regret in your voice.

As you turned to leave, the bustling sounds of the event faded into the background, but the warmth of Lewis's touch lingered. You could feel the weight of unspoken words hanging in the air, and it made your heart race.

"Y/N!" David's voice broke through your thoughts again, more insistent this time. "We really need you here!"

You took a deep breath, glancing back at Lewis, who was watching you with an intensity that made your pulse quicken. "I’ll be back," you promised, your voice barely above a whisper.

It was as if the cosmos conspired against you that night, weaving a tapestry of misfortune that seemed almost deliberate.

The moment you finally stepped onto the red carpet, the atmosphere was charged with excitement, but the spotlight had already shifted, leaving you in its wake.

Lewis had already slipped away, retreating to the comfort of his home, far from the chaos of the event.

"I can't believe I was too late to talk to him again," you muttered to yourself, frustration bubbling beneath the surface like a pot about to boil over.

After all, who would wait around for an interviewer when the allure of a quiet evening beckoned?

You took a deep breath, trying to shake off the disappointment that clung to you like a shadow, as you mingled with the remaining stars who lingered for the after-party, their laughter echoing in the air like a bittersweet melody.

The atmosphere was electric, a vibrant tapestry woven from laughter, the clinking of glasses, and the soft hum of conversation.

You found yourself chatting with a dazzling array of celebrities, each one more captivating than the last, their stories and charisma drawing you in like moths to a flame.

As the night wore on, the excitement began to wane, and exhaustion settled in like a heavy fog.

The vibrant conversations around you started to blur, and you exchanged goodbyes with your team, their faces a mix of smiles and understanding.

Yet, your mind still wandered back to thoughts of Lewis, the insights you could have gleaned more from him.

"I really wanted to talk to him more," you sighed, glancing back at the vibrant scene one last time, the lights twinkling like stars in a night sky.

"Maybe next year," one of your colleagues reassured you, clapping you on the shoulder.

With a heavy heart, you stepped out into the cool night air, the thrill of the evening overshadowed by the lingering sense of what could have been. . . .

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Following the Met Gala, your encounter with Lewis Hamilton captured the public's attention, ultimately granting David the boost he had been hoping for—a raise, thanks to the newfound recognition his employee brought to the team.

The buzz surrounding your interaction was undeniable, and it seemed to elevate everyone's profile in the process.

Your thoughts, however, remained fixated on Lewis.

Intrigued by his world, you delved into the realm of Formula 1, immersing yourself in the races whenever your work schedule permitted.

The thrill of the sport captivated you, and you found yourself eagerly anticipating each event, drawn in by the excitement and the sheer talent on display.

The desire to attend a Grand Prix and witness Lewis in action grew stronger, yet your job constraints stood in the way.

The longing to experience the adrenaline of the race and cheer for him from the stands was palpable, but the demands of your career made it a distant dream, leaving you to navigate the balance between work and your newfound passion.

You just hoped that you would be able to see him soon or at next year's Met Gala and speak to him if he hasn't forgotten about you already. . . .

The year had dragged on, each day blending into the next, and here you were, still in the same position at work.

But this time, there was a twist: you had been chosen to attend the Met Gala again.

Your company had gone all out, pouring resources into crafting the perfect dress, all in hopes that you might cross paths with Lewis Hamilton again.

They were determined to make a lasting impression, especially after the unexpected chemistry that had sparked between you two the previous year. Yet, despite the excitement surrounding the event, you couldn’t shake the feeling of caution.

You reminded yourself not to get your hopes too high.

As the night of the gala approached, you found yourself standing in front of the mirror, adjusting the intricate details of your gown. The fabric shimmered under the light, and you couldn’t help but feel a mix of anticipation and anxiety.

“What if I see him?” you whispered to yourself, imagining the possibility of a second chance.

But then, a wave of doubt washed over you. “What if he doesn’t remember me?” you sighed, trying to quell the fluttering in your stomach.

You had replayed the moments from last year in your mind countless times, but the reality of the situation felt daunting.

Finally, the night arrived, and the atmosphere buzzed with excitement. As you navigated through the crowd, your heart raced at the thought of encountering Lewis again.

As you saunter through the bustling atmosphere of the Met Gala, your senses are alive with the vibrancy of creativity, fashion, and the hum of whispered conversations.

With a strategic focus on reconnecting with familiar faces and unearthing new celebrities, you interview designers, actors, and musicians, soaking in the anecdotes that dance on the tips of their tongues.

The glittering spectacle before you, adorned with high fashion and mesmerizing artworks, seamlessly blends creativity with prestige, encapsulating the very essence of the gala.

After immersing yourself in discussion after discussion, you finally take a moment to step back from the whirlwind of interviews. The moonlight spills through the glassy high-rise windows, casting a magical glow throughout the venue, offering you a fleeting glimpse of solace amidst the chaos.

Yet, just as the weight of the evening begins to settle on your shoulders, a voice, smooth and teasing, pierces the ambient noise.

"Well hello, Mrs. L/N. I hope you didn't forget about me," the voice calls out playfully from behind you, sending a shiver of electricity down your spine.

You pivot on your heels, your heart racing, to find Lewis Hamilton leaning against the elegant marble pillar just a few feet away, a devilish smirk tugging at the corners of his lips.

His tailored suit catches your eye immediately—a striking ensemble that marries classic style with modern flair. The deep emerald green fabric clings just perfectly to his athletic frame, the subtle sheen giving way to intricate patterns of silver-thread embroidery that weave through the fabric like a secret, shimmering constellation.

His shirt, unbuttoned at the collar, reveals just a hint of a crisp white undershirt, and the tailored trousers elongate his legs, finishing just above a pair of polished black brogues that gleam under the soft lighting.

"Of course not! How could I?" you respond, a sheepish smile tugging at your lips as you fully face him, memories of last year’s awkward encounter rushing back to the forefront of your mind.

It slips from your tongue before you can filter it: "I feel like I should apologize for what happened last year."

The lightness in the air shifts, as the shared past hangs momentarily between you like an unspoken agreement, a reminder of the unfulfilled promise of time spent together amidst the glamour.

Lewis, perceptive as ever, leans slightly closer, the teasing spark in his eyes twinkling mischievously.

"You should," he replies lightly, a playful lilt in his voice that somehow manages to mask the slight edge of disappointment beneath.

"I dutifully waited for you for hours until my manager dragged me out," he teases, the warmth of his laughter wrapping around you like a familiar embrace.

It's almost charming how he knows exactly the right buttons to push to evoke a blend of guilt and flattery within you, and as you meet his gaze, you feel partially exposed yet undeniably captivated by his charm.

The acknowledgment of that missed connection lingers in the air, juxtaposed against the festive backdrop of the gala, only intensifying the electric undercurrent of this reunion.

Desiring to ease the slight weight of remorse that his words brought upon you, you ponder for a moment, your mind racing to find a way to make it up to him.

"Is there a way to repay you?" you ask, a trace of shyness coloring your voice.

The question hangs between you, a delicate bridge inviting the possibility of rekindling what could have been, or perhaps igniting something entirely new.

Lewis glances at you, his smile broadening as if your inquiry brings a glimmer of hope, leaving you momentarily suspended in anticipation of his response.

"Maybe you can come support me in my home race?" he suggests, a hopeful grin lighting up his face, his eyes sparkling with enthusiasm as they glint like the glimmer of city lights outside.

Imagining the energy of the crowd and the thrill of the race makes your heart race as well, a promise of shared excitement glowing in the air between you.

The notion dances between you like an apparition, stirring both delight and trepidation as you weigh the spontaneity of joining him at such an exhilarating event.

In that moment, everything outside your immediate exchange blurs away, fading into a mere backdrop to this connection that seems to widen with every heartbeat, every shared glance.

Encouraged by the mutual thread of interest, you take a breath, aiming to find the right words to capture the mix of excitement and nerves that flutter within you.

"I'd love to do that, Lewis," you reply earnestly, letting the natural enthusiasm in your voice spill forth.

"Good, because I really wasn't ready to get rejected in front of national television," Lewis says with a playful chuckle, his eyes sparkling with amusement.

You almost forget that you are sitting surrounded by cameras and a live audience, as the warmth of his personality envelops you. The realization washes over you, pulling you back to the present—a stark reminder of the interview’s stakes.

Despite the gravity of the situation, the lightness that Lewis brings shifts the atmosphere entirely.

His ability to make you feel at ease is admirable, reminiscent of a good friend rather than a celebrity caught in the relentless spotlight of fame.

At that moment, you feel a twinge of guilt for your initial intentions, which were focused solely on extracting professional insights for your audience.

However, it’s hard to resist the magnetic pull of this engaging banter—dare you say, it’s not only entertaining but also enlightening in its own right.

"Oh my gosh, I forgot this was being recorded," you exclaim, shock radiating across your face as you instinctively cover your mouth, stifling a laugh.

You glanced nervously at the cameras, suddenly aware of the audience who is watching you in real time, likely captivated by the unexpected turn the interview has taken.

Lewis's laughter rings out, melodic and infectious, easing the tension that had begun to creep back into the room. You can’t help but join in, the rhythmic cadence of his joy sweeping you back into the moment.

In the midst of the laughter, you suddenly remember your earpiece, which had fallen silent during your break from obligations.

When you pop it back in, the first sound you hear is David's irate voice cutting through your bubble of enjoyment, chiding you for being unprofessional.

You yank it out again, a frown furrowing your brow as frustration surges within.

Who needs a producer barking orders when you're in the middle of something special?

Perhaps today needs to be more about being present in the moment rather than sticking rigidly to a script. The mention of professionalism seems a distant concern, a faint echo overshadowed by the authentic experiences happening right in front of you.

You’re ready to take ownership of your interview and allow it to unfold in a way that feels honest and true, something organic that resonates with both you and the audience watching from their living rooms.

The lights in the lavish venue dimmed slightly, casting a warm glow over the crowd as the murmurs faded into anticipation. The announcement echoed through the hall, calling all the celebrities to the main hall for a special presentation.

As the excitement buzzed around you, you felt a familiar pang of disappointment wash over you at the thought of leaving the company of Lewis.

His cocoa brown eyes met yours, and for a heartbeat, time seemed to stand still. "I guess they really know how to kill a moment, huh?" Lewis said with a cheeky grin, his fingers brushing against yours.

You could feel a warmth creeping up your cheeks, and you downplayed your shyness with a small laugh.

“I was really enjoying just… this," you admitted, gesturing between the two of you. "Don’t you think they could have waited a bit longer?”

Lewis chuckled softly, his demeanor effortlessly charming. "If only they listened to us, right?" He paused, a glint of mischief dancing in his eyes.

Then, with great care, he took your hand and pressed his lips gently against your knuckles, reminiscent of last year’s memorable encounter.

The sweet gesture made your heart flutter, igniting a mix of shyness and excitement that left you breathless.

“Lewis…” you started, your voice barely above a whisper, feeling butterflies taking flight in your stomach.

With a teasing wink, he pulled away slightly and reached into his pocket. “Before they whisk me away, I have something for you.”

He produced a small piece of paper and leaned closer, his breath warm against your ear. “It has my phone number on it. I’ll need to send you the tickets for the race.”

Your heart raced. “Tickets for the race? Wait, you were actually serious?”

“Of course. I wouldn’t want you to miss it. But… I might need a bit of company if you’re up for it,” he said, an inviting smile spreading across his face.

You felt an elated rush, realizing just how much this meant. “Lewis, I would love that. I’ve been wanting to see you at the races.”

“Good. Then it’s a date,” he said playfully, his tone shifting back to the more teasing side of him.

He leaned in again, his voice lowering conspiratorially. “Just don’t tell anybody else, alright? I have a reputation to maintain.”

You laughed, your heart swelling with affection. “Your secret’s safe with me! Just promise you won’t forget to text me.”

“I could never forget someone like you,” he replied, his eyes locking onto yours with sincere intensity.

You felt like you might burst from happiness.

Just then, the staff made their way toward you, nipping at the edges of your time together. Lewis took a step back, and the moment felt almost surreal.

He let go of your hand slowly, but not without lingering for a moment longer.

"Goodnight, Gorgeous." He said for only you to hear and grinned happily after your embarrassed reason.

You smiled saying your farewell before watching him turn back to the group gathering for the announcement.

You stood frozen, clutching the piece of paper, which felt like a small treasure in your hand. His number was your connection to a world you desperately wanted to be part of.

As you turned toward the camera, your face lit up with a mixture of surprise and glee, capturing the whole moment, you heard the voice of the host spilling out instructions for the event ahead.

You took a deep breath before speaking directly into the lens, the joy radiating from you unmistakable.

“So, looks like we’ll have some exciting plans coming up, folks! Stay tuned for my next race adventure with the Lewis Hamilton!”

With that, you ended the recording, your heart still racing from the whirlwind of emotions.

You glanced back, hoping to catch one last glimpse of him before he disappeared into the crowd, grateful for the serendipitous moment that brought you two together, albeit briefly, in the enchanting ambiance of the evening.

As you stepped out of the cool cascade of the shower, droplets glistening on your skin like tiny jewels, the atmosphere of the Met Gala still danced in your mind—a swirl of vibrant colors, laughter, and the intoxicating scent of sophistication.

You could still feel the weight of the glamorous gown clinging to your skin, a silken reminder of the enchanting evening spent amidst the brilliant and the bold.

Your heart fluttered as you sank onto the plush hotel bed, the soft sheets enveloping you in a cocoon of comfort.

This was the moment you had been waiting for, a delightful collision of excitement and anxiety, as your fingers nervously hovered over your phone.

After a deep breath, you checked for notifications and instantly spotted it—the notifications of the interview you had with Lewis Hamilton, his striking presence still echoing in your thoughts, his laughter resonating like a gentle melody.

Suddenly, in the ongoing reverie, a flutter of memory came rushing back, the way a gust of wind lifts scattered autumn leaves in a jubilant dance.

You could still picture the slick piece of paper he had handed you so casually, his fingers lingering a beat longer than necessary. It seemed so innocuous at the time—a simple slip of white with ink scrawled across it.

But the implications of that note buzzed loudly in your heart. He had mentioned his number, and despite the whispering doubts that David, your manager, planted in your mind, a seed of hope took root.

David's voice echoed menacingly: "Lewis Hamilton is doing all this to seem like a gentleman for the camera and to get more recognition, don’t think for a second that he actually likes you."

The warning replayed in an endless loop, threatening to cage your heart in cautious realism.

With shaking hands, you unfolded the paper, allowing the dim light of the room to illuminate the numbers scrawled across the page.

It was real. There it was, a string of digits that could unlock a connection or forever remain dormant within the realm of what-ifs.

Sitting there, caught in a whirlwind of emotions, adrenaline surged through you.

You took a moment to gather your thoughts, your eyes roaming the room—the opulent furnishings, the soft glow from the chandelier casting a romantic hue.

The allure of possibility mingled with your sense of self-preservation, and with a final resolve, you glanced at your reflection in the nearby mirror.

You looked stunning—and vulnerable.

It was time. In that instant, the logic of David's words fell away, leaving only the heart's whisper urging you forward.

You reached for your phone, fingers trembling as they danced across the screen, dialing the number that Lewis had provided.

Each ringing beep felt like a heartbeat, echoing loudly in the silence of the hotel room, rhythmically marking the passage of time laden with potential.

When the line connected, your heart raced, echoing in your ears as you swallowed hard against a wave of emotion.

"Mr. Hamilton?" you ventured tentatively, every syllable laden with weight, aware that the man on the other end could change everything in an instant.

An electric pause settled in the air before the sound of his laughter broke through, smooth and teasing, engulfing you like warm summer rain.

“Y/N, you don’t have to be so formal, there’s no cameras here,” he quipped, the intimacy of his tone sending shivers down your spine.

Those words settled comfortably in your thoughts, breaking down the walls you had so carefully erected. Suddenly, your fears seemed trivial in contrast to the warmth radiating through the phone, infusing your evening with a touch of magic.

The rhythm of your heart settled into a new cadence, emboldened by his playful demeanor. “So, are you still riding high from the Met Gala, or is it just a distant daydream now?” he asked, his voice dancing along with understated charisma.

A giggle slipped past your lips before you could catch it, the sound bubbling with shared memories and possibilities. “I think I might still be in shock,” you replied, the honesty of your words spilling out effortlessly.

“It was as surreal as I imagined, except I didn’t expect to meet someone like you.”

The connection felt raw and real—two souls uncovering potential amid elegant facades.

The conversation shifted effortlessly, weaving through laughter and shared dreams, as the moments stretched on, elongating time with each heartbeat that harmonized between you.

“So, about you coming to Silverstone to support me?” Lewis asked, his voice laced with a blend of curiosity and anticipation, sending a flutter through your heart.

You could almost picture that trademark smile of his, bright and infectious, the kind that made everything come alive around you.

His enthusiasm felt palpable, radiating through the phone, and you couldn’t help but huff a soft laugh, “Lewis, you really weren’t joking about you being there.”

It was almost absurd how serious he could be, yet here he was, weaving dreams of shared moments at the iconic racetrack, where the roar of engines mingled with cheers, and everything about racing seemed to spiral under the spotlight of your connection.

You admired his earnestness, how he effortlessly broke through the invisible barriers you had built around yourself, prodding at your heartstrings like an artist with a canvas.

“Of course not, I really want you to be there for me.” His words tumbled out so simply, yet they carried the weight of a thousand sentiments, causing warmth to blossom in your chest.

The flustered smile creeping onto your face could easily rival the glow of the sun itself, and you found solace in the fact that this was merely a voice call — nobody could see the way your cheeks burned at his declaration.

It was frustrating how quickly he could spin you into a whirlwind of feelings, leaving you breathless.

“I don’t know, Lewis, my work is very demanding and the income isn’t good enough to take a trip…” you replied hesitantly, a shadow of self-doubt creeping in.

You cursed yourself internally, lamenting over the constraints of your mundane job, longing for the freedom to jet off at a moment’s notice and bask in the thrill of England’s racing scene.

“Is that it? If that’s your only problem, then I can definitely sort something out,” Lewis said with unyielding assurance, his charm scrubbing away the veil of uncertainty clouding your thoughts.

His confidence made you pause, the wheels of your imagination racing.

It was surreal to think that Lewis Hamilton, the very face of resilience and determination in the racing world, was willing to go out of his way for you.

“Lewis…” you began, almost overwhelmed by the thought of him putting in so much effort on your behalf, unsure whether to be flattered or simply dazed by the enormity of the offer.

“Y/N, you just have to agree to come with me, and I’ll do the rest,” he reassured, the confidence in his tone wrapping around you like a warm embrace.

You couldn’t help but think that this might be a one-in-a-lifetime opportunity, the kind that stories are made of. Of course, you wanted to be there.

The thought of cheering him on, of sharing the adrenaline rush as he raced across the track, filled you with excitement. Yet, skepticism still lingered in your mind like a faint cloud.

You paused to ponder, “Is there a catch?” you asked, a glint of suspicion dancing in your voice despite the eagerness bubbling beneath it.

After all, magical opportunities often came with strings attached, or at least that was what your cautious heart believed.

Lewis laughed, the sound a soothing balm that seemed to wash away your hesitation. “I don’t think there is, unless making a beautiful woman fly over to England for you is a crime,” he replied teasingly, and you put your hand over your mouth, stifling a laugh while also trying to hide the giddy embarrassment swelling within you.

How could one man be both charming and utterly disarming?

His words dripped with sweetness as if he were seasoned in the art of affection, and you found yourself fighting a battle against your own defensiveness, the walls beginning to crumble at the sheer conviction in his voice.

“Okay, I accept your offer, Lewis,” you finally said, feeling a sense of liberation wash over you as the words flowed freely, like a torrent finally breaking through a dam.

You knew that this decision could change everything; it felt like a leap of faith that could lead to a world woven together by racing and shared dreams.

“Great! I’ll start getting your paddock pass ready for you,” he exclaimed, happiness echoing in his voice like a song, and you could almost visualize the way his eyes lit up, brimming with enthusiasm that could spark any dormant ambitions. . . .

The excitement in the air was palpable as you packed your suitcase, the warm glow of anticipation wrapping around you like a comforting blanket.

Lewis had called you just three days prior with the news that he would be flying you out to England on Thursday.

"You deserve a little adventure," he had said, his voice cheerful and encouraging. "Plus, I can’t wait to show you around."

"We'll have plenty of time to explore," you had replied, trying to sound nonchalant about the whole thing, but your heart raced at the thought of spending time with him.

The days rolled by in a blur, but Lewis kept you connected through our daily conversations.

"I just boarded my flight!" he texted one morning. you could almost hear his laughter through the screen as you pictured him boarding with his signature style.

Each update from him painted a vivid image—how he texted you from the paddock to show off his team outfit, a tailored suit that clung perfectly to his frame.

"Looking sharp as ever!" you texted back, your heart fluttering at the thought of our video calls, where we’d share laughs and glimpses of our lives, albeit from a distance.

Lewis had a twinkle in his eye as he held up his phone, the screen lighting up with your curious face. "I have someone who wants to meet you, Y/N," he announced suddenly one day, his voice brimming with excitement.

You were lounging on your bed, propped up on your elbows, intrigued by what he had in store.

"Who is it?" you inquired, your curiosity piqued as you leaned closer to the screen, eager to see what was coming next.

As Lewis adjusted the camera, it shifted downward, revealing the floor of his apartment. Suddenly, you heard the soft patter of tiny paws, and before you knew it, a bulldog strutted into view.

He seemed oblivious to the camera at first, but you couldn’t help but call out to him.

"Roscoe!" you exclaimed, your voice filled with warmth.

The moment he heard his name, the big pup spun around, his tail wagging furiously as he searched for you.

In the background, you could hear Lewis encouraging him, "Look at the phone, buddy!"

When Roscoe finally caught on, he erupted into a joyful bark, his tongue lolling out as he playfully licked the screen.

"Someone's excited to see me! It's you, Roscoe, such a good boy!" you laughed, your heart swelling with affection for the adorable dog.

The connection felt instant, as if you were already friends, and you couldn’t help but smile at the delightful scene unfolding before you.

Lewis watched with amusement, clearly enjoying the bond forming between you and his beloved pet.

"Are you sure you haven't seen Roscoe before, he seems to be acting very familiar with you," Lewis laughed as Roscoe was trying his best to get to you by rubbing his face into the phone.

"Nope, this is the first time I've seen him in person," You said, wishing that you were on the other side of the phone to give Roscoe a cuddle. "People say I'm very lovable, I didn't know it stretched to animals,"

"They weren't lying," Lewis muttered for only himself as he watched his son fall in love with you. . . .

Finally, Thursday arrived, and the world felt bright with possibility as you made your way to the airport.

Your phone buzzed with a message from Lewis. "Text me when you land and I'll pick you up."

You pouted slightly, knowing that you had insisted on making your own way to the hotel.

"You don’t have to, Lewis. I can take a cab. You’ve just had a long flight, and I don’t want to inconvenience you." you typed hurriedly, trying to dissuade him.

"Nonsense! You’re my guest, and I want to make sure you get settled in without any hassle. Just trust me, okay?" he replied, his tone playful yet firm, a reminder of his stubbornness that you had grown to admire.

With that, there was no arguing.

When you finally arrived, the familiar feeling of jittery excitement washed over you as you wove through the arrivals hall, scanning the crowd for his familiar face.

And then you spotted him—he looked effortlessly stylish, a radiant smile illuminating his features as he waved enthusiastically.

"Here she is!" he exclaimed, pulling you into a warm hug. you inhaled the familiar scent of his cologne, momentarily lost in the moment.

"Hi, Lewis! You didn’t have to come all this way," you said, trying to play it cool as you two pulled apart.

He shrugged, a playful grin spreading across his face. "I wouldn’t dream of missing this. Besides, it’s not every day I get to hang out with the most stunning woman I've seen."

"Flattery will get you nowhere," you teased back, but the warmth in your cheeks betrayed your amusement.

As you two walked to his car, our conversation flowed effortlessly, punctuated by light-hearted banter and lingering glances that held unspoken promises.

A part of you wondered if he felt the same tension underneath the surface, the way your heart raced each time our arms brushed against one another or how our laughter seemed to echo longer than the sounds around us.

"So, what do you want to do first in England?" Lewis asked as you two settled into the car. "There’s so much to see, and I’m more than ready to show you."

You considered this, excitement bubbling up within you. "Well, I definitely want to see the London Eye, but honestly, just being here with you is enough for me."

His eyes sparkled in the rearview mirror, and for a brief moment, you saw a flicker of something deeper—something that mirrored your own feelings. yet, it vanished just as quickly, replaced with his usual playful demeanor.

"Alright then! Just you wait, this will be a trip to remember."

Lewis drove you to the hotel where you would be staying for the week, the excitement of the upcoming events buzzing in the air. As you neared the hotel, you couldn't help but gaze out at the picturesque setting, your anticipation building.

The towering structure was surrounded by lush greenery, and the sun cast a warm glow over everything.

As he parked, Lewis turned to you with a gentle smile. “Welcome to your home away from home! Let me help with that,” he said, stepping out and grabbing your luggage before you had a chance to protest.

His demeanor was that of a true gentleman, and you appreciated how he always seemed to think of your comfort first.

You followed him into the lobby, the grandeur of the hotel taking your breath away. The high ceilings were adorned with intricate chandeliers, and the air was filled with an inviting warmth.

After a brief check-in, you made your way to your apartment suite, which felt more luxurious than you had expected. You unlocked the door and stepped inside, inviting Lewis to place your luggage down.

“Oh wow, Lewis! This is incredible,” you exclaimed, marveling at the spacious living area, which boasted a stunning view of the surrounding hills.

“You didn’t have to go this far for the hotel,” you muttered, still taking it all in.

Lewis chuckled, his eyes twinkling. “I wanted to, and it’s really close to Silverstone, so I can pick you up in the morning. I didn’t want you worrying about anything while you’re here.”

He set your suitcase down and turned to you, revealing a little envelope in his hand. “Also, here is your paddock pass,” he said, handing it over with a flourish.

You took the pass and looked at it in awe. “Wow, I can’t believe I’ll be in the paddock! This is going to be an unforgettable experience!” You looked up at him, your excitement practically radiating off you. “Thank you so much, Lewis. This means a lot.”

His smile broadened as he leaned against the doorframe. “Just doing my part. You’re going to have a great week; I promise. I’ll pick you up at ten? That gives you enough time to settle in?”

“Ten sounds perfect!” you replied, feeling a mix of gratitude and exhilaration. “But Lewis, I really can’t thank you enough for this. You’ve gone above and beyond.”

“It’s nothing,” he said, his voice earnest. “Besides, it’s my job to make sure you’re comfortable and ready for the weekend. Now, do you need help with anything else before I let you get settled?”

“Honestly, I think I’m good. I’ll just unpack and get a little rest before tomorrow. It’s been quite a journey,” you admitted, glancing around your new temporary home.

“Alright then, I won’t keep you,” Lewis said, stepping back towards the door. “Just remember, I’m just a text away if you need anything.”

He paused at the threshold, a playful grin on his face. “And I expect you to be ready on time. No wanderings through the hotel lobby!”

You laughed, shaking your head. “No worries, I won’t keep you waiting, I promise!”

With a final wave, he stepped out, leaving you in your luxurious suite, the thrill of the upcoming week washing over you like a tide.

As you looked out the window at the sunset painting the sky in hues of orange and pink, you couldn’t help but smile at how perfect everything seemed—and how grateful you were for Lewis being a part of it.

You stood in your newly unpacked bedroom, admiring the sight of your neatly arranged clothes in the wardrobe. Each piece had its place, a small reminder of home. You plopped down onto the bed, feeling a mix of fatigue and exhilaration.

You turned on the TV, wanting a familiar face to calm your nerves. The moment the screen flickered to life, you spotted him—Lewis, with that radiant smile of his, sitting confidently in the conference room.

My heart fluttered as you watched him engage with the journalist, animated and passionate.

“Why do I still get so nervous watching you?” you whispered to the screen, mirroring his expressions as he cracked a joke that made the whole room burst into laughter.

He seemed so at ease, so happy, and it made you grin. But as the conference continued, you noticed him glance at his watch, a familiar look of urgency flashing across his face.

To my surprise, he offered a quick farewell to the people in the room and hurriedly exited the room. You chuckled softly. “Always in a rush, aren’t you, Lewis?”

What you didn’t realize was that his departure meant he had something important to attend to—you.

The thought sent butterflies fluttering in you stomach as you recalled our last conversation.

“Text me when you land and I'll pick you up,” he had promised. He must have gotten your message and immediately left to pick you up.

The thought of that made butterflies erupt in your stomach.

He was just doing this for his reputation. You repeat to yourself, trying to get the thought of Lewis Hamilton liking you out of your head. . .

As the morning sun poured through the sheer curtains, casting a gentle glow upon your bedroom, you stirred from slumber at the soft chimes of your clock announcing that it was just 8 AM.

Yet, restlessness fluttered within you, an unyielding excitement mingling with the tremors of anticipation.

Today was not just any day; it was a moment poised on the cusp of something magical, something enveloped in the promise of romance.

You swung your legs over the edge of the bed, the cool touch of the wooden floor grounding you, and felt your heart race in sync with the rhythm of your eager thoughts.

Images of Lewis filled your mind—his charming smile, the way his laughter lit up the room, the aura of confidence he exuded in that unmistakable Mercedes uniform.

Selecting the perfect outfit was crucial; it had to embody elegance while echoing your growing infatuation with him.

You settled on a classic jet black dress, its fabric soft and flowing, perfectly mirroring the sleek tone of his Mercedes. The color seemed to beckon, much like the promise of adventure before you, stirring a wave of confidence within you.

You slipped the dress over your head, watching as it cascaded down to hug your curves in all the right places.

Standing before the mirror, you meticulously arranged your hair, letting soft waves frame your face, and applied makeup to accentuate your features—a subtle hint of romance in every brush stroke.

Time seemed to blur as your excitement melded with an anxious yearning for the text that would signal his arrival.

You checked your phone repeatedly, promising yourself it would be just moments away, but instead, an electrifying tap on your door startled you, pulling you out of your reverie.

Your heart raced even faster as you approached the door, curiosity dancing in your veins like fireflies in the twilight.

You hesitated briefly before swinging it open, your breath hitching at the sight of Lewis standing there in his pristine Mercedes uniform.

The black fabric contrasted sharply with his deep complexion, and you could see the hint of disbelief in his eyes as they traveled from your dress to your face, lingering longer than necessary, his lips slightly parted in awe.

For a fleeting moment, the world around you faded into oblivion, and you stood entranced by the magnetic pull between you.

A feeling of nervousness washed over you, choking back the words you longed to say, leading to a self-critical whisper, “Is it too much? Should I change?”

Your voice barely rose above a whisper as embarrassment washed over you, the vulnerability of a romantic moment sending your mind into a flurry of doubt.

To your surprise, Lewis snapped back into focus with a wide grin breaking across his face, illuminating the air between you with an unexpected warmth.

“No! I mean no, you look amazing,” he breathed, his voice flirtatiously laced with sincerity. “I was just stunned by your beauty.” Those simple words cascaded over you like a soothing balm, erasing your uncertainty as a rush of flustered energy surged through you.

With your heart fluttering like a captive bird ready for flight, you felt a smile spread across your face—a beautiful mirror to his.

You finally closed the door behind you, the sound muffled by the magic pulsating in the air, as you wrapped your fingers around the strong curve of Lewis’s arm that he offered to you.

The world beyond felt tantalizingly distant as your connection grew, a potent blend of eagerness and hope swirling between the two of you.

With your heart racing in rhythm to the hurried beats of the moment, Lewis guided you out of the hotel and towards his waiting car, a sleek Mercedes that gleamed under the gentle morning light.

The drive to the paddock was quick, just as Lewis had promised, yet each passing moment in his company felt like a fleeting treasure, leaving you yearning for just a little bit more.

As he maneuvered the car through the bustling streets, your laughter filled the air, mingling with the soft hum of the engine, and you found yourself hanging onto every word he said, equally as enthralled by the subtle charisma of his voice as by the depth of his stories.

The conversation was weaving a beautiful tapestry of shared interests and playful banter, with each anecdote revealing another layer of who he was.

But suddenly, with the gentle thump of the car coming to a stop, it felt painfully abrupt.

The heaviness of the moment rested on your chest; you wished you could linger in that bubble of warmth, just a moment longer, before reality ushered you both into the thrumming chaos of the paddock.

As he helped you out of the car, his touch was delicate yet firm, igniting a spark that coursed through your skin as you stepped onto the asphalt.

You both headed towards the paddock, your heart racing in anticipation—not just of the buzzing environment but also for the chance to stand beside him in this exhilarating world.

You flashed your pass at the entrance, the small piece of plastic suddenly feeling like a ticket to an uncharted adventure, and followed closely behind Lewis.

The way he waved to the adoring fans sent a rush of pride through your veins; you could see their surprised expressions when they realized who was accompanying him, an unexpected twist in the narrative that made your heart flutter with delightful mischief.

Once inside the garage, the atmosphere was electric, a spectacular blend of excitement and adrenaline as the staff bustled around, their dedicated energy palpable.

They were welcoming, treating you with kindness and warmth, probably because you were with Lewis.

Yet, as you absorbed the scene—the myriad of tools, the gleaming car, the stacked tires—there was a stillness inside you; you were no longer just a bystander but a part of this captivating world. You found a spot in front of the many TVs, each screen poised to bring the race to life, the anticipation tangling your nerves as you prepared for the spectacle.

You turned to Lewis, who began explaining the intricacies of the garage operations, and although you were a newcomer to the sport, his passion was infectious, igniting an eagerness deep within you.

"I got something for you, Y/N," he said, his eyes sparkling with a hint of mischief, breaking up the flood of information he had been sharing.

You blinked in surprise, leaning slightly forward, curiosity piqued. “What is it?” you asked eagerly, your heart flutterin.

Lewis shifted playfully, a smile dancing on his lips as he rummaged behind him and emerged with a black cap, resplendent with his signature emblazoned across the front.

In that instant, your face lit up with joy; his gesture felt intimate, something so personal yet shared openly with the world.

You thanked him, slipping the cap onto your head, feeling the weight of it ground you in reality, but also lift you into a new realm of possibility.

“How does it look?” you asked innocently, tilting your head playfully, seeking his validation, as if the cap itself carried the promise of his approval.

“Perfect,” he replied without hesitation, his gaze holding yours—warm, unwavering. You couldn’t help but blush at his compliment.

“Supporting me does suit you,” he added with a teasing smile, the playful banter making your heart race even faster than before.

In that moment, you realized how right he was; wearing this piece of him made you feel connected, almost like an extension of who he was in this dynamic world.

With a light-hearted push, you nudged him, the laughter escaping your lips in a gentle rhythm, creating a moment that people would kill to capture.

But before the magic could linger longer, a staff member called for him, signaling that it was time to prepare for the practice race. As you watched him walk away, every step taking him further into his world, a bittersweet feeling settled in your chest.

Just then, a cameraman approached, the lens of his camera zooming in as he directed his focus towards you.

As you caught sight of the camera, you instinctively smiled and waved, a mixture of shyness and excitement bubbling within you.

You were about to turn your attention back to the screens when, from the corner of your eye, you glimpsed the caption that flashed: your name followed by "Lewis Hamilton's partner."

The weight of that label struck you in that instant, a delightful shock that pierced through the air, echoing in your mind as both a chance happening and a beautiful reality.

You hadn’t anticipated the intimacy of that moment being broadcast to the world, yet it felt incredibly right, as if everything had aligned perfectly in that exhilarating chaos of the race world.

Suddenly, the noise around you faded, and in that moment, you felt an undeniable sense of belonging, as if you were no longer just a spectator but a pivotal part of a greater story unfolding in the dazzling world of Formula 1. . . .

You could feel the weight of disappointment lingering in the air as Lewis emerged from the chaotic hum of the paddock, his face betraying the inner turmoil that he tried so valiantly to mask.

While he adorned an exterior of calm confidence, tucking away the feelings of a seventh-place finish, his eyes spoke volumes—a glimmer of frustration intertwined with determination.

It was a moment that made your heart ache for him, a reminder that even the greatest champions wrestle with the trials of their passion.

As he stepped into the garage, you instinctively opened your arms, drawing him into a suffocating hug that melted away the façade for just a moment.

“You did good,” you whispered gently in his ear, as you could feel the tension gradually release from his shoulders, even though you knew he felt he could have done more. You held him tightly, relishing the warmth radiating from his body, allowing him a fleeting escape from the relentless world of competition.

Lewis lingered in your embrace longer than necessary, allowing his head to find refuge in the crook of your neck, seeking comfort amidst the storm of competitive disappointment.

In that fleeting bubble of intimacy, you felt your heart race, realizing that these simple moments—while overshadowed by the pressure of the race—were what truly mattered.

But as he reluctantly pulled away, a shadow of embarrassment flickered across his features, and he muttered an apology that hung in the air like a dewdrop clinging precariously to a petal.

“Sorry,” he said softly, and you could see that familiar streak of humility running through him, the man who, despite his victories, remained grounded amid the roar of accolades.

“Don’t apologize; you needed that,” you replied, your voice steady but affectionate, reassuring him that moments of vulnerability were not a sign of weakness, but rather a testament to the depth of his passion.

His faint nod reassured you that he was starting to let go, if only for an instant, of the relentless expectations he harbored for himself.

“Now, you change as fast as you can, we need to see the whole of London before Roscoe starts missing you too much,” you declared with a playful nudge, pushing him gently toward his driver’s room.

There was an infusion of excitement in your voice, a spark of adventure that contrasted with the somber ambiance of the paddock. The thought of showing him around the city ignited a new energy within you, one that suggested a fresh start, a break from the taxing intensity of competition.

Lewis responded with a half-smile, momentarily distracted from his earlier humdrum. “I’ll be back in a second, stay here,” he replied with a determined glint in his eyes, and you watched him retreat, feeling a pang of anticipation for the adventures that lay ahead, even if they were just fleeting moments of joy amidst the backdrop of grandiose skyscrapers and historic streets.

As you settled into a nearby chair, you watched the flurry of staff and mechanics bustle around his car, fine-tuning every minute detail as if it were a delicate piece of art being prepared for an unveiling.

The love for machinery and the intricacies of the racing world enveloped the space, yet your mind wandered aimlessly, drawn towards your phone in an attempt to find some levity amid the seriousness of the day.

A flicker of curiosity prompted you to dive into Twitter, where you scrolled through the effusive commentary of fans speculating about your relationship with Lewis.

What struck you was the mix of admiration and bewilderment, as many fervently debated whether you were merely a cousin, a relative, or something even more storied—his wife, perhaps?

A bubble of laughter escaped your lips at the absurdity of it all; “I wish,” you muttered under your breath, momentarily lost in a world of fantasy where the lines between reality and desire blurred enticingly.

But before you had too much time to dwell on your musings, a familiar voice broke through your reverie. “I’m back! Are you good to go?” Lewis announced, and your heart leapt at the sight of him clad in casual attire—a crisp black T-shirt fitted snugly against his chiseled frame, paired with dark denim jeans that accentuated his athletic stature effortlessly.

He looked remarkably different, stripped of the racing gear that had just a moment prior defined him, and instead exuding a relaxed charm that made your pulse quicken.

There was a mischievous sparkle in his eyes, an energy that seemed to dance with untold stories and adventures yet to unfold.

“Yep, let’s go!” you exclaimed, enthusiasm bubbling within you as you slid your phone into your bag, keen to prioritize the moments of spontaneity that awaited beyond the confines of the paddock.

Together, you made your way to the back exit, slipping away from the clamor of racing fans who thronged towards the main entrance.

A shiver of excitement coursed through your veins as you both stepped into his car, the sleek interior a stark contrast to the chaotic noise that defined the day thus far.

The familiar scent of his cologne enveloped you as the door clicked shut behind you, creating an intimacy that felt both safe and exhilarating.

Lewis turned to you, and you could see the remnants of his earlier disappointment beginning to fade, replaced by an electric anticipation that mirrored your own.

“Where do we start?” he asked with a sly grin, tilting his head, eager to soak up every ounce of the city he loved.

“The London Eye, obviously! We can stroll along the river and see the sights,” you suggested, your voice brimming with enthusiasm.

This was your chance to share a piece of yourself with him, to weave together the threads of your lives in a way that felt effortlessly beautiful.

As he pulled out onto the road, you caught the unmistakable glint of excitement in his eyes. Each moment held the promise of connection while the city unveiled its secrets before you.

As you both embarked on your little tour of London, sharing laughter and playful banter, it became clear that this day would be more than just a distraction; it was an invitation for intimacy and understanding, to forge a bond that danced in freedom, not tethered by the constraints of the race or its disappointments.

You could feel yourself beginning to drop the pretense of being just a friend—every exchange and subtle glance became charged with unspoken words and possibilities.

The world outside blurred, and for that brief moment, all that existed was you and Lewis, wandering together down streets lined with splendor while time unceremoniously slipped away.

And as you shared stories amidst the laughter, with each word and each shared memory, you couldn’t shake the feeling that perhaps, just perhaps, what started as a pitiful race day could lead to something woven with romance and dreams, a blossoming connection fueled by shared experiences that danced just beyond the horizon of a typical friendship.

As he told stories of past races and the whimsical incidents that peppered his illustrious career, your heart ached with admiration—not just for the racer he was but the man behind the helmet, someone with dreams as grand as the city itself, melding seamlessly into the rhythm of your own heartbeat.

In that moment, surrounded by the vibrant pulse of London, everything felt right.

As the sun began to dip below the horizon, painting the London sky in hues of orange and pink, Lewis and you made our way to the London Eye. It had been an exhilarating day exploring the city, but deep down, you had been eagerly anticipating this final adventure.

You had never been on a Ferris wheel before—not in the US, where I'd grown up, nor anywhere else for that matter.

The towering structure beckoned to you, its silhouette against the evening sky a symbol of the iconic moments that London had to offer. Yet, beneath the thrill of excitement bubbling within, you felt a familiar flutter of anxiety in the pit of your stomach—my fear of heights.

As you two stepped onto the glass capsule, your heart raced. The floor felt solid yet somehow surreal, and you instinctively reached out for Lewis's hand, clutching it tightly as the ride began its ascent.

The moment you two started elevating above the bustling streets, you felt a rush of panic wash over you. “Oh my gosh, it's so high!” you gasped, glancing down briefly. “Why did I agree to this?”

“Might be a little late for that realization.” Lewis chuckled softly, his warm smile radiating calmness.

He squeezed your hand reassuringly, and his gaze met yours, steady and encouraging. “Just look at the view. It will be worth it, trust me.”

You took a deep breath, forcing yourself to look out at the panorama unfolding before us. The Thames glimmered below, and the city lights began to twinkle, creating a beautiful tapestry.

“Okay, it is pretty amazing,” you admitted, feeling a sense of awe creeping in as you took in the landscape.

“See? Nothing to be scared of.” He flashed a grin before leaning in a little closer, his voice soft against the gentle hum of the ride. “Hey, let’s talk about your project—the one that reduces carbon footprint.”

You brightened at the mention of your project, the excitement momentarily overshadowing your trepidation. “Oh yeah! So, I’ve been researching this method of carbon capture using algae, which is fascinating!” you replied, your nerves diverting as you got lost in the details. “They absorb CO2 much more efficiently than trees...”

“Really? That sounds incredible! Algae might not be the first thing that comes to mind when you think about fighting climate change, but it makes so much sense.” Lewis’s interest was palpable, and you found comfort in sharing your passion, your earlier fears nearly forgotten.

“It does, right? And the best part is it can be grown in almost any environment. I mean, it could revolutionize how we approach carbon emissions!” you felt your enthusiasm grow as you spoke, and for a fleeting moment, you forgot about the height.

“I love that you’re so passionate about this,” Lewis said, nodding appreciatively. “It always makes me think about how we can all play our part, no matter how small. Like taking the tube instead of driving. It seems little but actually makes a huge difference.”

“Exactly! Every action counts. I just hope my project can inspire others to think about their impact on the environment, maybe even help spark a movement.”

Suddenly, the capsule paused at the top, and you felt your breath catch again as you glanced out. “Wow,” you whispered, the whole city laid out like a glimmering mosaic beneath you. “It’s... breathtaking.”

“See? You did it!” Lewis said, breaking into a proud smile. “You made it to the top. And look at how beautiful everything is! This is what you came for.”

You nodded slowly, finally able to appreciate the view without that tightening grip of fear. “You were right, Lewis. I’m so glad we did this.” I turned to him, realizing in that moment how grateful I was for his support. “Thanks for holding my hand through this.”

He laughed lightly, “Always. I think I’ll be holding your hand during the descent too, just in case.”

As you two finally began our gentle descent, you injected a playful note into the air. “If I scream, just remind me that I won’t fall.”

“I got you,” he replied, still holding your hand firmly. “We’ll conquer this fear together.”

As you both descended from the ferris wheel, your fingers remained interlaced, a testament to the bond that had formed between you.

Neither of you seemed willing to sever that connection, as if the thrill of the ride had woven an invisible thread that held you together. The vibrant lights of the fairground flickered around you, but your focus was solely on each other.

"I can't believe I actually did that," you remarked, glancing up at him with a mix of exhilaration and disbelief.

"Right? I thought you were going to scream the whole time," he replied, chuckling softly. His laughter was infectious, and you found yourself smiling wider.

The moment felt suspended in time, a perfect encapsulation of joy and companionship. As you approached Lewis' car, he gently squeezed your hand, and for a brief moment, you hesitated, reluctant to part ways.

"You know, I could get used to this," you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

He looked at you, his expression serious yet playful. "What, holding hands or riding ferris wheels?"

"Both," you admitted, your cheeks flushing slightly. Just then, Lewis opened the car door for you, and reluctantly, you released his hand, feeling a pang of loss as the warmth of his touch faded.

You stepped into the car, your heart racing with the promise of more adventures to come. . . .

The night seemed to conspire against your fatigue, offering no respite as your mind swirled with thoughts of Lewis, each cascading wave filled with warm anticipation.

As dawn broke, casting a soft golden glow through the hotel room window, you reluctantly opened your eyes, momentarily squinting at the light.

You felt more drained than you had the previous day, but excitement surged through you like electricity—today was the day Lewis would welcome you into his world and unite you with Roscoe, the bulldog whose playful spirit had captured your heart.

The thought of seeing him again put a spark in your step, propelling you from the comfort of your bed and urging you to prepare for a day filled with unknown joy and warmth.

You dashed into the bathroom, the cool water of the shower invigorating your senses, washing away the remnants of exhaustion.

After the steamy shower, you rummaged through your suitcase, determined to put together an outfit that would both thrill and impress. you finally settled on a flowing sundress in a soft, pastel blue that danced gently around your knees, perfect for the bright day ahead.

You paired it with a lightweight denim jacket, knowing you might need an extra layer later, and slid on your favorite ankle boots; they felt both casual and chic.

But the pièce de résistance was the signed hat—a structured wide-brimmed beauty that Lewis had gifted you just yesterday.

It sat atop your head, a charming reminder of the budding connection you two shared and added an air of confidence to your look.

As you admired yourself in the mirror, you twirled slightly, causing the dress to billow around you and your heart to flutter with the thought of Lewis.

The knock on the door snapped you back to reality. You opened it with a beaming smile, your excitement palpable.

Standing before you, Lewis appeared effortlessly handsome in his casual attire, a little rumpled from what you imagined must have been a busy morning.

His eyes lit up at the sight of you, and before you could think, you jokingly raised your arms and asked, “How do I look?” The way he regarded you, his gaze lingering and softening, filled you with a warmth that spread through your entire being.

“Breathtaking,” he replied, the sincerity in his voice catching you off guard.

You couldn’t help but shy away from his gaze momentarily. “Thank you, Lewis,” you managed to say, still caught in a delightful web of surprise as you stepped outside, leaving the hotel behind.

We walked towards his car, and as he opened the door for you, the small gesture felt steeped in kindness, a hint at the chivalrous man he was.

“I’m just describing what I’m seeing,” he said with a teasing smile as he helped you into his car.

You felt your heart leap at each word that rolled off his tongue—a simple admission that held a depth of meaning you longed to explore.

The drive to the paddock was punctuated by leisurely conversation, laughter spilling easily between you two, and soon you two were waving at enthusiastic fans along the route, their cheers only enhancing the thrill of the moment.

The sights and sounds of the racetrack felt familiar, yet each visit held a novel excitement, especially with him by your side.

Once you two arrived at the Mercedes garage, everything became a beehive of activity, each team member focused on the monumental task ahead: qualifying.

Lewis had mentioned that his dad was coming to watch him this weekend, and the thought made your heart flutter. You found yourself secretly hoping that you might get a chance to meet him, to see where the source of Lewis's passion and determination came from.

Watching Lewis slip into his racing gear was mesmerizing; he moved with a graceful urgency, each movement deliberate yet fluid, threading the air with palpable confidence.

You couldn’t help but admire how he transformed into this fierce competitor in mere moments, the ease with which he stepped into his role stirring an admiration deep within you.

“So, the qualifying—what do you think is going to happen?” You ventured, curious to discover the intricacies of his racing mentality.

Lewis paused, considering your question as he donned his helmet, the glint in his eyes suggesting a thrill of anticipation. “I just focus on each lap and trust your instincts. That’s all I can do. But having you here makes it feel even more special,” he said, his words wrapping around you like a warm embrace.

His admission settled into your chest, stirring something profoundly sweet, as you realized just how much our connection meant to him as well.

My fingers curled around the hem of your dress as you mulled over his words, excitement racing in tandem with your heartbeat.

Soon enough, the atmosphere was thick with anticipation as the time for qualifying drew near, and you could feel the electrifying energy in the air. Lewis, with his trademark confidence and undeniable charm, was whisked away into his car, the roar of the engine sending shivers down your spine.

You positioned yourself in your assigned seat, glued to the television screens that illuminated the bustling paddock.

Each moment that ticked by only heightened your excitement as you watched Lewis's car take to the track, maneuvering through each turn with grace and precision.

The tension built during Q1, your heart racing in sync with the telemetry data flashing across the screen.

Just as you thought you had reached the peak of your adrenaline, you felt a light tap on your shoulder, pulling you from your reverie.

Turning around, you were pleasantly surprised to see Lewis's dad, Anthony, standing there, a warm smile dancing on his lips.

You quickly removed your headphones, eager to engage with him, as he had always struck you as a genuinely kind person. “Hello, it’s wonderful to see you!” you greeted him, feeling a flutter of excitement.

Without hesitation, Anthony gestured for you to follow him into Lewis's driver room, filled with a hint of nervous energy.

As you two entered, Anthony’s playful demeanor sparked a hint of curiosity within you.

“I’ve been wondering who the beautiful woman your son has been with these days,” he remarked, and your heart skipped a beat at his words, suddenly feeling the heat rise to your cheeks.

Caught off guard, you stuttered a bit, completely flustered by the unexpected compliment. It was in that moment that you understood exactly where Lewis had inherited his flirtation and charm.

“Sorry it took so long to meet; Lewis has told me a lot of you,” you managed to say, your voice slightly trembling as you spoke.

Anthony chuckled, a twinkle in his eye that mirrored his son's playful spirit. “All good things, I hope?” he asked teasingly, his eyes narrowing with playful mischief, making you laugh softly in response.

The sincerity of his interest made the room feel instantly warmer, and you couldn't help but feel a newfound connection between you two.

“Of course! Your son is a true gentleman,” you assured him wholeheartedly, enthusiasm spilling from your lips as you recalled moments shared with Lewis.

Anthony’s eyes sparkled with the joy of a proud father listening to the praise he had longed to hear.

“I’ve heard. I also heard that he likes you,” he said, his expression shifting into one of intrigue, and suddenly, you felt the world around you fade into a haze of disbelief at his bold assertion.

My heart raced even faster at his comment, a whirlwind of emotions twisting within me. “No, I think that’s just a rumor—” you started to defend, yet your voice trailed off as you struggled to find the right words to counter his claim.

The fluttering possibility of Lewis harboring feelings for you sent a wave of warmth rushing to your cheeks, and the vulnerability in your tone revealed your genuine shock.

“Y/N, I think I know when my son likes a woman,” Anthony said with a straightforwardness that left you momentarily stunned.

You met his gaze, searching for signs of jest, but there was only sincerity written across his features.

“It’s complicated,” you finally admitted, your voice softening as you grasped the weight of his words. The prospect of a romance with Lewis was tantalizing yet terrifying at the same time, a dance on a precipice you had not anticipated.

As Anthony leaned against the wall, his expression shifted to one of fatherly approval, you could sense the protective warmth radiating from him.

“You don’t have to worry,” he continued, “Lewis is a good guy, and he deserves someone who appreciates him as much as he does.”

His assurance wrapped around you like a warm embrace, filling you with hope and possibility at a time when you was craving clarity about your burgeoning feelings for his son.

“Thank you, that means a lot to me,” you replied, your voice imbued with sincerity.

There was something reassuring about Anthony’s presence; it made the entire experience feel more sacred, as if love was being woven into the very fabric of the moment.

As you stood there, sharing glances with this kind-hearted man, you felt the weight of unspoken words — a bridge of understanding forming between parents and their children, and how love always finds a way to connect you in the most unexpected of circumstances.

“I just want to make sure he’s happy,” you added earnestly, your emotions surfacing as you reflected on the connection you felt with Lewis, leaving you hopeful for what lay ahead.

Lewis climbed out of his car, the roar of the engine fading as he removed his helmet. As he stepped away from the adrenaline-fueled world of motorsport, a wave of relief washed over him, the weight of the race lifting from his shoulders.

The cheers of the crowd echoed in the air, but at that moment, all he could see was you, standing there with a radiant smile that mirrored the joy in your heart.

Your arms opened wide in celebration, and when you enveloped him in a warm hug, it felt as if the two of you shared a world all your own, where victories were sweeter just because you were there to witness them.

“Congratulations,” you whispered, your voice a gentle caress amid the chaos surrounding you.

“Thanks,” Lewis replied, his eyes gleaming with both relief and happiness. But there was something else dancing in those hazel depths—an urgency, as if something unsaid lingered between you.

His gaze flickered past you, landing on a figure standing in the backdrop, and he asked, “Have you spoken to my father yet?”

The concern in his tone made your heart flutter. You turned slightly to follow his gaze, spotting Anthony engaged in conversation with some frantic staff members, his presence calm among the bustling chaos of the post-race scene.

“Yeah,” you said, your heart racing, not just from the excitement of the race but from the idea of what Anthony had shared with you.

“Y/N,” his father had said with a knowing smile, a glint of mischief in his eyes as he leaned closer, “I think I know when my son likes a woman.”

“Really?” Lewis asked, his voice laced with curiosity, his brow raised in intrigue. You couldn’t help but catch a hint of a smile tugging at his lips; the connection between father and son was palpable, and you could feel the warmth radiating from them.

“What was it about?” he probed, and there was a soft eagerness in his tone that made your heart skip.

You locked eyes with him, taking a breath to steady yourself before responding, knowing that the truth could weave its own spell between you.

“It’s a secret,” you said shyly, your voice barely escaping your lips as you playfully averted your gaze. The moment felt charged, filled with hidden meanings and unspoken promises, and you could feel the tension building in the air, drawing you closer to him.

“Well, it’s a secret I’d like to know,” he laughed lightly, teasing but genuine. “Can you at least give me a hint?”

The way he looked at you, with those warm, inviting eyes, made it hard to focus on anything other than the connection thrumming in your shared space.

You were enchanted by the way he seemed to lean in closer, as if straining to catch the secret that danced just on the tip of your tongue.

You could see the delight that shimmered in his features, a beautiful reminder that this incredible moment was shared between just the two of you.

“Alright,” you said, leaning closer, your voice dipping to a conspiratorial whisper, “I’ll give you a clue: it involves you.”

“Really Y/N?” Lewis said, sounding disappointed as he brushed a hand across his brow.

You nodded slowly, feeling the back of your cheeks heat up from the intimacy shared, the air thick with unspoken words and lingering possibilities.

"Can you be more specific for me?" Lewis asked, his curiosity getting the better of him and you were enjoying teasing the man.

"Nope, that's the point of a secret and don't be begging your father too. His lips are also sealed," You teased, wiping the beads of sweat from his chin with the cloth.

"I think I know how to get secrets out of my father," Lewis replied, taking the cloth out of your hands and wiping his neck. "Be right back,"

You watched him as he walked over to his father, who was looking proud of his son's achievements. Suddenly Anthony looked over to you and winked, knowing the secret was safe with him, you sighed in relief.

"You ready to go?" Lewis asked, a broad grin lighting up his face as he emerged from his room, now dressed in his casual attire. He sported a soft, navy blue hoodie that hung comfortably on his shoulders, paired with relaxed-fit dark jeans that accentuated his long legs.

The sneakers on his feet were a cool shade of gray, slightly scuffed but well-loved. It was a look that effortlessly combined comfort and style, making him seem approachable yet undeniably attractive.

"Yeah," you replied, glancing back at Anthony, who was gathering his things. "Goodbye, Anthony! It was great hanging out." Your words dripped with sincerity as you waved enthusiastically, a smile lingering on your lips.

As you turned back to Lewis, he chuckled softly, shaking his head in mock exasperation. "Looks like you've become best friends with my dad in just a few hours," he teased, throwing an arm casually around your shoulders as you strolled toward his car.

You nudged him playfully. "Don't be jealous, Lewis. He’s just funnier than you are!" you fired back, laughing at your own jab, the warmth of camaraderie wrapping around you like a cozy blanket.

"Don’t forget who brought you here," he reminded you with a smirk, opening the car door for you. His charming demeanor was hard to resist, and you felt a flutter of excitement in your stomach as you slipped into the passenger seat.

As he slid into the driver’s side, your memory kicked in. "Wait a minute," you said, turning to him with a sparkle in your eye. "We’re going to your house first, right? To meet Roscoe?"

A delighted grin spread across his face. "Are you ready to meet him?" he asked, his eyes twinkling with anticipation, as if he could read your mind.

"Yeah, I’ve prepared myself enough," you joked, pretending to brace yourself dramatically, eliciting a laugh from him.

You could practically feel the excitement bubbling within you at the thought of finally meeting Roscoe, the bulldog whose playful antics and silly personality had already captured your heart over countless phone calls.

The short drive to his apartment was filled with lighthearted chatter, laughter, and stolen glances. Soon, they arrived at his apartment complex, and Lewis parked. You both hopped out of the car, and he led the way, guiding you with a playful swagger toward the entrance.

Once inside, Lewis paused for a moment at his door, opening it with a flourish. "Ladies first," he said, bowing slightly in exaggerated manners. You giggled, stepping inside as he followed closely behind, closing the door with a soft click.

The first thing you noticed was the delightful chaos of the space—dog toys strewn about, a comfy couch in the corner, and the rich aroma of something baking wafting through the air.

But your attention was entirely diverted when you caught sight of Roscoe waddling toward you, big, expressive eyes capturing your gaze completely.

"There he is! Roscoe!" Lewis announced, his tone filled with pride. You crouched down, and the bulldog ambled up to you, his tail wagging like a propeller.

"Hey there, buddy!" you said, your heart swelling as you reached out to pet him. Roscoe responded with an enthusiastic nuzzle, planting his big, slobbery face against your palm.

"He definitely likes you," Lewis remarked, a knowing smile on his face.

You chuckled, scratching behind Roscoe's ears. "How could he not? Look at this guy! He’s adorable!"

Lewis watched as the two of you bonded, the moment feeling blissfully perfect. "I think we have a new best friend," he teased, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, enjoying the sight of you and Roscoe sharing a precious moment.

And in that instant, surrounded by laughter, joy, and an unexpected connection, you realized this was the beginning of something special—an afternoon filled with warmth and a bulldog that would soon have a permanent place in your heart.

As the last of the sunlight faded and shadows stretched across the cozy living room, Lewis glanced out the window and turned to you with a smile. “Since it’s already getting dark, I think it’d be best for you to stay for dinner before I drive you home.”

You looked at the glowing kitchen where the rich aroma of roasted vegetables drifted through the air. “Are you sure? I don’t want to impose.”

“Not at all. Besides,” he said, nodding toward Roscoe, who was wagging his tail with boundless enthusiasm. “Roscoe clearly doesn’t want you to leave yet. He’s taken quite a liking to you.”

With a soft laugh, you gave Roscoe a pat on the head as he rolled over, exposing his belly for all the affection you could give. “I suppose I could stay for a little longer. Right, buddy?” You scratched behind his ears, causing him to let out a joyful bark, as if to affirm your decision.

As you played with Roscoe, the rope toy caught his attention. You tossed it lightly across the room, and he bounded after it with a joyous bark, his energy infectious. But it didn’t take long before he returned, rope clenched tightly in his mouth, looking at you with those big, pleading eyes.

“Are you sure you don’t need help?” you asked, giggling as you wrestled the tug-of-war rope with Roscoe, who was determined to win. “He’s quite the little beast!”

“ Nope, you just relax and play with Roscoe,” Lewis called from the kitchen, chuckling as he chopped vegetables. “The food will be ready soon.”

You couldn’t help but admire the sight—the way Lewis moved in the kitchen with confidence, the casual ease in his posture. There was something about this moment that struck you as particularly domestic, almost as if you were a couple enjoying a quiet evening together with your dog. You felt a warmth spread through you, mixed with an unexpected shyness at the thought.

“Hey, Lewis?” You turned slightly to get his attention, cheeks faintly pink.

“Yeah?” He looked over his shoulder, a curious tilt to his head as he wiped his hands on a towel.

“Do you… do you do this often? You know, having someone over for dinner?” The question felt a bit bold, but the warm atmosphere encouraged you.

His smile widened, revealing a gleam of mischief in his eyes. “Only with special guests. Roscoe has very discerning taste when it comes to company. He’s quite the judge of character, you know.”

“Oh really?” You feigned surprise, which made him laugh.

“Absolutely. You passed the test. And I dare say, you’re his favorite human now,” he replied, leaning back against the counter, looking comfortable and at ease.

Roscoe, hearing his name, bounded over and dropped the rope at your feet, tail wagging furiously. “See? He’s demanding your attention!” Lewis teased.

You chuckled, grabbing the rope and giving it a playful tug. “Alright, Roscoe, what’s your strategy here? I need to understand your tactics if I’m going to beat you.” You tossed the rope again, and he darted after it, momentarily distracting you from your thoughts.

“You’re getting pretty good at that,” Lewis commented, watching you with an approving grin. “I think Roscoe might have finally met his match!”

After a few more rounds of tug-of-war, you flopped down onto the floor, breathless and laughing. “I never thought I’d be wrestling with a dog tonight.”

Lewis leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, his expression warm and inviting. “And yet, here we are. I’d say it’s a good night.”

You couldn’t help but nod in agreement. “Yeah, it really is.”

Just then, Roscoe curled up beside you, and you instinctively reached out to give him a gentle scratch behind the ears while glancing up at Lewis.

In that little domestic scene, something beautiful and simple brewed between you two, leaving you shy yet hopeful for more moments like this in the future.

"Foods ready," Lewis announced after setting Roscoe's bowl on the ground, a satisfied smile spreading across his face as he watched the eager dog bound over to his meal.

Roscoe sniffed at his food for a moment, tail wagging vigorously, before diving in with joyful determination. The playful afternoon had taken its toll on the dog, and it was evident he hadn’t just worked up an appetite; he had worked up a hunger.

As Roscoe happily chomped away, you stood up from your spot on the floor and made your way to where Lewis had set the table. The beautiful aromas of the dinner he had prepared wafted through the air, filling your senses with comfort and warmth.

“Wow, this smells amazing! What did you make?” you asked, looking at the colorful spread.

Lewis chuckled, a hint of pride in his voice. “I decided to whip up some pasta primavera with garlic bread. Figured we could use something hearty after our adventures outside.” His eyes twinkled as he gestured to the food, an inviting sight that made your mouth water.

You shook your head in disbelief, “You’re the best, Lewis. I can’t believe you cooked all this while I was chasing after Roscoe!” You glanced down at the dog, who was now taking a moment to indulge in a dramatic stretch before returning to his bowl.

He looked up, his mouth full, and let out an affectionate, if muffled, bark. “Are you jealous, Roscoe?” you teased. He tilted his head, responding with an innocent blink, as if he had no idea what you were talking about.

“Hey, I think he’s trying to tell you he deserves to be spoiled after all that running around,” Lewis chimed in, grinning. “But don’t worry, you’ll get your share of spoiling too right now.”

Placing a generous helping of pasta onto your plate, Lewis added, “And for dessert, I made chocolate mousse. It’s chilling in the fridge, waiting for you.” The mention of dessert made your stomach rumble in excitement, and you couldn’t help but smile.

“Seriously? Chocolate mousse? Okay, now you’re just trying to win my heart,” you said playfully, taking a seat at the table.

You noticed how Roscoe glanced up at you, licking his lips in anticipation. “And what about you, buddy? Don’t think you’re getting any chocolate. It’s all for us humans!”

“Just wait until I tell him ‘off’ when he tries to steal bites from your plate. He’s persistent,” Lewis laughed, shaking his head as he filled his own plate. “But I’ll keep him busy with his favorite toy until we’re done.”

As you both began to eat, the conversation flowed easily between bites. You shared stories about childhood memories, musings on the challenges of adulting, and hopes for the future, all while Roscoe settled under the table, letting out the occasional contented sigh as he savored his meal.

“Everything tastes even better when you share the kitchen with someone you enjoy,” you remarked, your fork raised in appreciation.

Lewis looked up, his expression softening. “I feel the same way. It’s nice to have someone to share these moments with.”

As dinner wound down, Lewis leaned back in his chair and sighed. “Alright, Roscoe, time for a little break. You did a great job eating, but now it’s our turn to indulge in dessert. Are you ready for the chocolate mousse?”

Roscoe’s ears perked up at the word 'chocolate,' but you shook your head with a smile. “Sorry, buddy, no chocolate for you. But I’ll make sure you get an extra treat tomorrow for being such a good boy tonight.”

"You'll come back tomorrow?" Lewis asked surprised.

"Of course I'll need to see my favourite dog before I go back to the States," you said easily, petting Roscoe in the ear.

Lewis' face fell in disappointment at your words, a reaction you might have missed if you weren't paying close attention. His eyes, which had been bright with anticipation just moments before, dimmed as the weight of your statement settled in.

The soft glow of the lamp cast a warm light over the room, illuminating the cozy mess of blankets and toys strewn across the carpet.

Roscoe with a perpetually wagging tail, lay sprawled in the middle, paws twitching as he dreamed. Lewis and you sat cross-legged on the floor, you attention divided between a tattered tennis ball and the dog’s joyful antics.

“Hey, Roscoe, catch!” you shouted, tossing the ball into the air. He sprang up as if launched by a spring, bounding after it with glee, his fur glistening in the light.

You laughed as he returned, the ball clutched triumphantly in his mouth. “Good boy!” you leaned down to scratch behind his ears, feeling the warmth of Lewis’ body close to yours.

“You've really got a way with dogs,” Lewis said, a hint of admiration in his voice as he watched you interact with Roscoe. You glanced up to meet his gaze, and the air between you shifted, thickening with unsaid words and fleeting glances.

There was a moment, a heartbeat, where it felt like the world had narrowed down to just you two — you, him, and the soft panting of Roscoe in between.

“Thanks,” you replied, your cheeks warming slightly. “But it’s really him that has all the charm.” As you spoke, you noticed how close Lewis had moved, his shoulder brushing against you.

Your heart skipped a beat, and you could feel your breath hitching slightly, the tension in the air almost electric. Your eyes locked, and for a moment, it seemed you would bridge the distance that separated the both of you.

But then, like a cold splash of water, David's voice echoed in your mind, warning you about Lewis.

“He doesn’t like you like that; it’s all for his reputation.” The thought made your stomach twist.

You abruptly pulled back, a rush of embarrassment flooding over you. “Um, I think I should…” you started, trying to formulate an excuse that wouldn’t make you sound foolish.

“Wait,” Lewis said, reaching out and gently grabbing your wrist. The warmth of his touch sent another jolt through you, but you couldn’t let it sway your thoughts.

“Where are you going?” There was genuine concern in his eyes, and it momentarily melted your resolve.

“I just… I need to go. It’s getting really late,” you stammered, fumbling to gather your scattered thoughts and the few belongings you had on the floor.

You stood up awkwardly, trying to shake off the weight of the moment you two had nearly shared.

“It’s dark out, though. At least let me take you home. It’s too dangerous to walk alone at night,” he pleaded, his expression earnest. You hesitated, the conflict within you swirling like a storm.

“Okay,” you finally nodded, still feeling the remnants of embarrassment prickling at your skin.

You grabbed your coat, offering Roscoe a quick goodbye. “See you later, buddy.” He tilted his head, as if sensing the shift in the mood.

The drive to your apartment was wrapped in an uncomfortable silence, the kind where every unspoken word hung heavily in the air. Lewis stole glances at you from the corner of his eye, and you pretended to focus on the passing streetlights, your heart still racing from what could have been.

Once you two reached the hotel, you turned to face him, trying to conjure a smile. “Thanks for the ride, Lewis,” you said, but your voice sounded hollow even to your own ears. You could see him searching your face, but you didn’t want to let him in.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked, his brow furrowing in concern. “You seem… distant.”

“I’m fine,” you replied quickly, the words barely leaving your lips before you hurriedly added, “Really.” you opened the car door, desperate to escape the tension that had built up like a pressure cooker.

“Okay… well, goodnight,” he said, a hint of disappointment in his voice.

“Goodnight,” you echoed, stepping out into the cool night air, trying to dispel the emotional turmoil churning within you.

As you made your way to the entrance, you could feel Lewis’ gaze following you until you slipped inside and shut the door.

The moment you were alone, the weight of everything hit you like a tidal wave. You stumbled to your bed and collapsed, the tears flowing freely as you processed the confusing whirlwind of emotions.

The hum of Roscoe’s playful energy, the lingering warmth of Lewis beside you, and the cruel reality of David's words conspired together, leaving you feeling fragile and broken.

When had things become so complicated? You buried your face in your hands, overwhelmed, as you tried to navigate this tangled web of friendship, affection, and fear. . .

“Did I ruin everything, Roscoe?” Lewis asked, his voice trembling slightly as he let out a sigh, collapsing onto the soft carpet of his living room.

The stark contrast of the vibrant colors around him seemed to amplify the weight of his emotions. He glanced at the door, half-expecting to see your radiant smile again, the same smile that had captivated him since the very first moment.

But that smile had been displaced by the heavy cloud of doubt that now loomed over him.

“What if she never looks at me the same way again?” he muttered, his thoughts swirling like autumn leaves caught in a brisk wind.

Roscoe trotted over, sensing the heaviness that enveloped Lewis. With soulful eyes, the bulldog placed his head on Lewis's lap, offering unspoken comfort as he met his gaze with an understanding that needed no words.

“I should have been more patient,” Lewis continued, running his fingers through Roscoe’s fur, his heart aching at the thought of losing you. “But she's just so beautiful, so full of life. It overwhelms me.”

The words flowed from his lips, each syllable a tender confession as he wrestled with his own fault lines.

The memory of you—your laughter ringing like sweet music, the way your eyes sparkled under the sun—danced in his mind, and he found himself yearning for the light you brought into his life.

“You love her too, right?” he asked Roscoe, his voice softening with vulnerability.

Roscoe responded with a joyful bark, an affirmation that seemed to echo the depth of Lewis’s feelings, as if to say, "Yes, she is the one."

Just thinking of your expression when you left, the flicker of fear in your eyes, made his chest tighten with regret.

Soft, fluttering memories spiraled in his imagination, each one highlighting the incredible moments shared—the warmth of your hand in his, the laughter echoing through his garage, the way the winter breeze intertwined with your soft, unguarded whispers.

Roscoe tilted his head, as though he understood the tempest within his owner’s heart, and Lewis chuckled bitterly.

“What do you know of love, Roscoe? You have your toys, your treats, and that’s that,” he said, but deep down, he recognized that beneath that simplicity lay a profound truth.

"If only it could be so simple for us,” he whispered, gazing into Roscoe's eyes, hoping for an answer, a spark of clarity that seemed to elude him.

Perhaps he didn't ruin everything. Perhaps this was his moment to reclaim what was rightfully his—the connection that had blossomed so beautifully between the two of you.

With newfound determination igniting within him, Lewis knelt beside Roscoe, taking in the loyal creature for a source of hope. “Let’s not give up,” he said, brushing his fingers through Roscoe’s fur one last time.

“Tomorrow, after the race I'll tell her. I’ll tell her how much she means to me.” The resolve in his voice steadfast, he looked into his companion’s eyes, feeling the unspoken promise echo between them.

Roscoe barked again, tail wagging, as if he could sense the shift around him. “Yeah, we’ll make this right.”

You knew today was going to be so awkward when you woke up and saw the dog treats scattered on the floor. Just yesterday, you'd been wrapped up in a whirlwind of emotions.

You and Lewis had almost kissed, but fear had held you back, leaving an unspoken tension that lingered in the air even now. Instead of leaning in, you had let him drive you home in silence, your heart thumping in your chest as you wrestled with what could have been.

As you stared at the mess on the floor, a part of you longed for a way out. You knew Lewis would be picking you up today for the grand prix, and your mind raced with thoughts of fabricating an elaborate story about being sick.

But deep down, you couldn't deny it—missing him already felt unbearable.

You didn’t want to miss the race, especially with the thrill of seeing him light up the track ahead of you. With a resigned sigh, you got out of bed and began your preparations, washing away the fears that clung to you like the morning fog.

Deciding on an outfit was an emotional balancing act itself. You wanted to feel cute yet comfortable, something that reflected your excitement and also the nervous energy bubbling beneath the surface.

Finally, you settled on a sleek Mercedes shirt that Lewis' father had gifted you just the day before, paired with a flirty mini skirt. As you looked in the mirror, you felt a mix of confidence and anxiety coursing through you.

Once you were ready, you hovered by the door, waiting for that inevitable knock. Your heart raced with anticipation as the seconds dragged on. Finally, there it was—a firm, familiar rap that resonated through your chest. Holding your bag tightly, you opened the door to greet him.

Lewis stood there, looking effortlessly amazing in a fitted black shirt and sleek joggers that accentuated his athletic frame. His braids were tousled just right, framing his face in a way that made you want to reach out and touch it.

The morning sun caught the gleam of his earring, enhancing the sparkle in his eyes. For a moment, you were speechless, lost in him.

You felt heat rise to your cheeks. “Is it too much?” you asked, suddenly self-conscious, glancing down at your outfit.

“Not at all,” he replied, stepping closer and meeting your gaze. “You look beautiful wearing my team's shirt.” It felt like a melody, the way he spoke, and you could hear the sincerity in his tone.

Your heart swelled at his words, gratitude washing over you like a warm blanket.

Neither of you mentioned last night, and that made you feel a strange sense of relief. Perhaps you both needed a little more time to navigate those uncharted waters.

Instead, you shifted the focus and talked about the race, discussing your hopes for the day and your excitement about the atmosphere at the track.

As you both climbed into his car, the tension felt lighter, almost playful. “So, do you think I can beat Max today?” he asked with that familiar cocky charm that always made you smile.

“Of course! With you behind the wheel, I wouldn’t bet against you for a second,” you replied, excitement bubbling in your voice.

“That’s what I like to hear,” he shot back, his eyes sparkling as he began to drive.

As the track came into view, the thrill of the day rushed in, pulling you both from the space of uncertainty. Today was about racing, adrenaline, and celebrating something that felt bigger than both of you.

And deep down, you knew that sooner or later, you would face what happened last night, but for now, in this moment, you were grateful just to be by his side. . . .

The roar of the crowd still echoed in your ears as the adrenaline from the race settled into a sweet, soothing buzz of triumph.

Lewis had just clinched his first win of the year at the British Grand Prix, and the atmosphere in the garage was electric with celebration.

Everyone was ecstatic—team members high-fived, some shed happy tears, and you felt an overwhelming rush of joy as you basked in the shared euphoria.

“Unbelievable, wasn’t it? He nailed that last lap!” one of the mechanics shouted over the celebratory din, clapping you on the back.

As the cheers continued, you turned to see Lewis’s dad beaming with pride as he approached you. “Come here!” he said, pulling you into a warm hug. “You’ve been a huge support for him. Thank you!”

With a genuine smile, you pulled away. “It’s all Lewis! He did it all today.” You followed the throng of people heading toward the paddock, eager to see where Lewis would park his car for a well-deserved celebration, but the crowd was thick, and progress was slow.

“Excuse me, coming through!” Bono, Lewis’s race engineer, called out, effortlessly parting the crowd with his presence. He glanced back at you and extended his hand. “Here, I’ve got you. Let’s get you to your driver.”

You gripped his hand tightly as he guided you through the throng of ecstatic fans and staff. The lush green of the paddock soon came into view, and excitement bubbled within you.

By the time you arrived at Lewis’s car, the atmosphere was jubilant. Lewis was already engulfed in hugs from his team, laughter and shouts blending into a chorus of celebration.

Amidst that lively chaos, Lewis’s eyes scanned the crowd, and when they finally landed on you, it was as if the world fell away.

A wide grin spread across his face, and he bounded over, leaving a trail of joy behind him.

He gave Bono a playful dap on the way past before enveloping you in a tight embrace that felt like a lifeline. Your heart raced, feeling his warmth and excitement radiate through you.

“I can’t believe it! You did it!” you exclaimed, your voice muffled against his shoulder.

“I know! I really can’t!” He chuckled, burying his face in your neck, his arms firmly around your waist as if scared to let go.

The excitement, the sweat, and the fear of losing this moment melded together in a glorious array of emotions you never wanted to end.

“I’m so proud of you, Lewis,” you whispered softly into his ear, your heart swelling with affection.

Finally, he pulled back, a radiant grin lighting up his face that could rival the sun itself. “Thank you! That means the world to me,” he said, locking his gaze with yours.

“Hey, can you meet me in my driver’s room later? I want to talk to you about something.”

Your heart raced anew, understanding the implication in his request. You nodded, unable to suppress the smile tugging at your lips. “Of course.”

Reluctantly, he let you go, his fingers lingering on your arm for a moment longer than necessary. “I need to go hug my dad and talk to everyone, but I can’t wait to see you later!”

Lewis called over his shoulder as he turned to rejoin his father, who was waving him over, still beaming with pride.

You watched him go, your heart fluttering. The thought of what was to come made your anticipation bubble over.

The air in Lewis' driver’s room felt charged with an electric tension, the kind that often accompanies moments that can alter the course of a friendship.

You glanced around the room, taking in the trophies and photos that celebrated his career achievements, but your mind was far from the accolades.

Your heart raced as you rehearsed the words in your head, wondering if they would even come out right. You had decided that today would be the day you finally told him about your feelings, no matter how nervous it made you.

“Hey Y/N,” a voice broke through your thoughts, sending a jolt of surprise through you.

You spun around to see Lewis leaning against the doorframe, a playful smile adorning his face. Despite the lighthearted demeanor, your pulse quickened even further.

“Lewis,” you managed to mutter, your voice barely above a whisper. “I need to tell you something.”

“What is it?” he asked, his brow furrowing slightly as curiosity replaced the playful glint in his eyes.

Taking a deep breath, you gathered your courage. “Well, I’m sorry I falling in love with you, okay? But it happened, and I can’t do anything about it.”

The words rushed out of your mouth in a torrent, fueled by a mix of urgency and rebellion.

You were leaving for the US today, after all; there would be no more consequences after this, at least none that you could face today.

Lewis blinked, his expression shifting from amusement to surprise. “You… What?” he stammered, processing your confession.

“Yeah, I know it sounds ridiculous but it's true,” you continued, feeling a strange mix of relief and anxiety wash over you. “I tried to ignore it, thinking it was just a crush or something, but it’s not. And I didn’t want to leave without being honest with you. So there it is.”

The silence that followed felt heavy, your heart pounding in your chest. You dared to meet his gaze, and for a moment, everything else faded away.

“I’ve always felt some sort of connection between us,” he finally said, his voice low and thoughtful. “But I didn’t know you felt this way.”

“I didn’t either for the longest time, Lewis.” You paced a little in the small room, your nerves still high. “But every moment we spent together, every laugh and the way you looked at me—it just made me realize how I felt.”

Lewis walked toward you with an intent look, his gaze steady as he noticed your anxious pacing. With a gentle grip, he stopped you in your tracks, firmly yet tenderly holding you in place.

The world around you faded momentarily, leaving just the two of you in a bubble filled with unspoken words.

"You're too nervous when you haven't heard my side yet," he said, his tone a mix of concern and amusement.

Your heart raced, and you finally mustered the courage to respond, your voice slightly trembling as you retorted, "Because I already know what your answer is." A flicker of mischief danced in his eyes, and you felt both exasperation and relief wash over you.

"Which is what? Does it include ‘I love you too’ in it?" Lewis teased, his grin widening as he caught the surprise etched on your face. His playful approach seemed like a lighthearted facade, but you could sense the underlying seriousness in his words.

“Lewis, you can’t just joke about that,” you said, attempting to push him away, as if wishing to distance yourself from the emotional weight of the moment. You were caught in a whirlwind of emotions, each more potent than the last.

"I'm being serious," Lewis insisted, his expression shifting as he stepped closer, momentarily silencing the protests echoing in your mind.

“You may be serious, but that doesn’t change the fact that you’ve made it impossible for me to figure out what I feel,” you admitted, your voice cracking ever so slightly and exposing the vulnerable truth you had hidden deep within.

The air felt thick, and your emotions swirled chaotically, battling against the desire for clarity and connection while grappling with fear and uncertainty.

He reached out, his finger softly lifting your chin, forcing your eyes to lock onto his. "Do you know why I called you here?" he asked, his voice low and sincere, almost as if he were sharing a cherished secret.

You shook your head slightly, unsure of what to say, the anticipation hanging fragilely between you. As he began to speak again, each word came out wrapped in a warmth that made your heart flutter.

“I wanted to tell you that I love you, to not leave today and stay more days with me. I was even going to try to bribe you by saying that Roscoe was going to miss you too much.”

With every few words, he inched closer, cupping your face, his thumb gently rubbing your cheek, igniting a fire within you that competed with the cold fear that had gripped you moments ago.

His declaration knocked the breath from your lungs, and the gravity of his confession anchored itself in your heart, rendering you momentarily speechless.

You had imagined this moment countless times, but hearing the words come from him felt alarmingly surreal.

“Don’t try and lie, Lewis,” you muttered, skepticism lacing your tone, disbelief lingering just beneath the surface. “You don’t love me.”

It was a desperate attempt to shield yourself from the potential heartbreak that could arise if what he was saying wasn’t genuine, and yet, deep down, you clung to a fragile hope that he meant every syllable.

"How can I prove it to you?" he asked, his earnestness brushing against the walls you had built around your heart.

A moment of silence enveloped you both, and as your mind raced, a spark of defiance ignited within you. You knew that if he was sincere, he would be willing to do anything to show you just how real his feelings were.

And before you could even think it through, the words tumbled out of your mouth: "Kiss me like you mean it."

You could hardly believe you had uttered those words, yet the challenge stirred a wild anticipation within you.

“As you wish,” Lewis murmured, a soft smile gracing his lips as he leaned in closer.

His lips brush against yours, hesitant at first, like the gentle caress of a spring breeze coaxing flowers to bloom. Your heart races as you lean into him, the warmth of his body igniting a spark within you, while his hands rest on your hips, firm yet gentle, pulling you closer as if he is attempting to steal your very breath.

The kiss deepens, each exploration of his mouth becoming a silent promise, a secret dance under the stars that are beginning to twinkle above.

You can feel the world around you fade away, leaving just the two of you, lost in the cocoon of your shared intimacy, a sanctuary born from the connection that feels electric and alive.

As the kiss evolves from slow and sweet to something fervent and consuming, there’s a delicious tension in the air, palpable and intoxicating.

The way Lewis responds to you, his hands gripping your hips with a barely contained urgency, sends shivers of delight cascading down your spine.

You wrap your arms around his neck, feeling the strength of him against you, grounding you as everything else blurs into insignificance.

Your heart thrums loudly in your chest, your thoughts scatter like leaves in the wind, and all that matters are his lips and the way they meld with yours, igniting a fire that burns brighter with every shared breath.

He pulls you closer, as if the distance between your souls is far too great, and you can’t help but giggle in the moment, playfully teasing him as you pull back slightly, searching his eyes for unspoken words and the desires that linger just below the surface.

Gazing into his deep eyes, you catch your breath, the avarice of the kiss leaving you dizzy with exhilaration. You notice the way Lewis' hands twitch at your sides, the unmistakable want radiating from him, begging for permission to explore further.

It’s endearing how respectful he is, yet you can sense the beast of longing within him, restrained but unable to disguise itself completely.

"Are you holding back?" you tease, tilting your head playfully as you meet his gaze, heart racing not from fear, but from the thrilling affection that dances between you.

His lips curve into a smile, warm and inviting, a secret shared between just the two of you, and he responds, his voice low and irresistibly charming,

“Maybe I am, but only because I don’t want to overwhelm you… yet.” The air between you hums with the unspoken promise of more, leaving both of you teetering on the edge of something exhilarating yet tender.

You can't help but press further, letting the playful context of the moment draw out his desires even more. "But you still need to prove it to me that you love me," you throw out, a challenge hanging between you like tantalizing mist, thick with expectation.

You watch as his brow furrows in mock seriousness, barely able to contain your laughter. “That kiss wasn't enough?” he asks, feigning confusion, yet you see the intensity in his eyes, a glimmer of amusement mixed with something deeper that pulls you in.

His hand started to move, fingers cascading over your mini skirt, tracing the delicate fabric as if mapping uncharted territory. The sensation sent shivers running down your spine, igniting a spark of desire that left your breath hitching.

"You have no idea how beautiful you look right now," he breathed, his voice a soft whisper that felt like velvet against your ear.

The intimacy of the moment enveloped you as you met his eyes, your heart racing in rhythm with his own. You could see the desire reflected in his gaze, and suddenly, the space between you closed like the cresting tide, pulling you both into the depths of a kiss that was tender, full of promise, and laden with the heat of anticipation.

Yet just as you began to lose yourself completely in the intoxicating haze of passion, a sudden knock on the door shattered the intimate cocoon you had woven together.

You jumped slightly, a startled gasp escaping your lips, but Lewis tightened his hold around you, grounding you in the present even amidst the intrusion.

“Lewis, everyone is looking for you to celebrate,” came George's voice from the other side, carrying an air of urgency that seemed to tug at the edges of your romantic bubble.

The weight of reality crashed in—a reminder of the outside world that waited just beyond the door—but you could feel Lewis’s breath against your cheek, warm and soothing, as he whispered softly, “Let them wait a moment longer. I’m not done with you yet.”

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helluvapoison · 1 year ago

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jealousy, jealousy

˚✧₊⁎ The Vees ⁎⁺˳✧༚

warnings: violence, off page murdah, suggestive themes, possessive behavior

18+ only

watch out for red flags in real life and read at your own discretion ♡

ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ

˚✧₊⁎ Vox ⁎⁺˳✧༚

• The least jealous of the three, but that doesn’t say much, does it?

• Running an enterprise goes hand in hand with being an Overlord. Vox prides himself on being everywhere at once but he knows his limits. If wants to keep this cushy life he built, and you safe, he can’t spread himself too thin. That means occasionally cutting back on distractions

• So go out, have your fun— playtoys even! He’s not worried. Vox has literal eyes on you 24/7, access to your phone and all its contents, your lifeline is constantly synced to his peripherals. Really! He’s not worried!

• The problem arises when Vox feels threatened or undermined. If he’s in the same room, no one should even be looking at you! And if some sorry soul dared to touch you!? That’d be the last time they have hands

• “I’ve been looking for you!” He says from behind as his claws creep around your shoulders. He’ll ignore the Sinner, bringing your attention to him as security drags them away. You don’t need to know how jealous he can get

˚✧₊⁎ Velvette ⁎⁺˳✧༚

• Sharing, shockingly, is not in her vocabulary! Not outfits, not credit, not the spotlight and fucking especially not you

• You’re her favorite project, she so lovingly calls you, which is a giant compliment. She dresses you every day so if— for some hellish reason— you left her side, she knows she has a visual claim on you. Vel quickly snaps and posts a pic of the two of you together before you go, just to remind her audience the fact you’re spoken for! Don’t you feel safe? And stylish?

• Unlike her partners, Velvette can multitask so having you around the studio can be an everyday treat! Unfortunately she has to split her focus, occasionally crashing the conversation to a stop so she can snap at someone

• Her eyes are sharp, they pick up on every little detail and seldom miss a thing. No one in her workshop would even think about approaching you, unless Vel asked, so it was all too easy to spot that new-nobody-model break his neck to check you out

• You’ve seen Velvette reduce even the oldest, most thick skinned to a puddle of piss in the street with her words. She doesn’t give anyone the chance to touch what’s hers. She’s shameless and loud, stopping the inappropriate behavior from across the room if she has to, “Oy! You! You’re fuckin’ fired, get the fuck out of here ‘fore I set you on fire!”

• As they run for the elevator, she debates if the clothes they’re wearing are worth keeping or not. With a glowing finger she swipes them off the model anyways, stripping them of her brand… and their dignity

• Velvette marks the occasion with a kiss to your cheek, stained with black lipstick, and another posted picture with a clever caption

˚✧₊⁎ Valentino ⁎⁺˳✧༚

• Val invented jealousy

• He handles it as well as everyone expects

• It’s not limited to you, either! Business partners, employees, friends (if he has any left), play things, he’ll be up and arms about anything that belongs to him. There’s only one way to cut the cord tethered to him, and he’s always the one to decide how and when

• Val may have a lot of toys but you’re not one of them. You’re special— precious, actually!

• He has tabs on you at all times. Tracker in your phone, jewelry with his name on it, a bodyguard if he’s feeling particularly paranoid that day!

• Val also loves showing you off. Love bites are his favorite mark of ownership, he’ll show off wherever is most recent so be prepared to swat his hands away. Everyone can look, but only he can touch. He has four hands, one of them is on you at all times in public

• No one should manage to get in spitting distance of you— but if somehow they did and had the gall to talk to you… he’ll break their nose on the spot. He’d make quicker work with a gun, but then he’d get blood on you and he doesn’t want that

• “You’re so fuckin’ hot tonight, baby, look how clumsy you’ve made this idiot!�� Val cackles, poorly masking his rage, “Seriously, I think you’re trying to get me riled up.” You open your mouth to deny it but he laughs again, carefully pulling you closer with both pairs of arms, “I’m only teasing!”

• Looming over you, Val shoots said idiot a murderous glare that gives them a five second head start. He’s yet to lose this game of chase. He always returns, clean as a crappy soap ad, to shower you in gifts in lieu of an apology for disappearing

#hazbin hotel imagine #hazbin hotel headcanon #the vees #the vees x reader #vox headcanons #vox imagine #vox x reader #hazbin hotel vox #hazbin hotel velvette #velvette x reader #velvette headanons #velvette imagine #valentino x reader #hazbin hotel valentino #valentino imagine #they’re all messy but i love them #except val he knows what he did

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krys4h · 3 months ago

Text

𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐎𝐋𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐄 ☆

summary◞﹒୧ After growing up together and dating as teenagers, you and Sae meet again three years after your breakup at your art exhibition. Why is he there? Incomprehension and painful romantic memories will arise, buried since he broke your heart.

contents◞﹒୧ 16.6k words, pov second person, fem!reader, aged up characters, forced proximity, fluff, hurt/comfort, angst, reader is a painter, no use of y/n (use ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚) second chance, happens in madrid, madrid trip, chigiri's sister is our bestie, we are close with rin, rin is a softie, itoshi brothers angst, meanie sae, sae has problems with feelings, tried to do the best characterization possible, smut, fingering, oral sex, slight choking, riding, missionary, vaginal sex, porn with feelings, english isn't my first language, alcohol, slow burnish, wedding, parties, art gallery, happy ending, minors dni.

────୨ৎ────

𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫 – 𝐣𝐡𝐞𝐧𝐞 𝐚𝐢𝐤𝐨

↻ ◁ || ▷ ↺

𖥸

The sun high in the sky and the blue sky announced a promising day. The light breeze of fresh air accompanied by the warm weather made you hope for a good number of visitors to your exhibition. It was with this positive mindset that you left your studio to go to your art gallery which hosted your project.

With a lot of preparations in advance, you had managed to make the room welcoming and warm, making sure to respect your artistic direction. Pale blue flowers, almost icy silver for the winter collection aisle, and bright and vibrant flowers in the spring and summer aisle. Since your entire exhibition had the seasons as a theme, it was important for you to follow your artistic ideas.

The opening was in less than an hour, you still had time to check a few small technical things. Your hand gently caressed the soft fabric on the tables serving as a mini buffet. The caterer in charge of bringing drinks and pastries had arrived early despite the traffic jams and you smelled the sweet and vanilla scent that escaped from the small pastries. Luck seemed to be smiling to you today.

You were eyeing the mini pink cupcakes when a female voice broke the soothing silence of the empty event room.

"It's so pretty!" exclaimed your best friend, contemplating the room with stars in her eyes, spinning around to observe the room in its entirety. You giggled softly, amused and touched by her enthusiasm. Her pink hair cascaded down her back and her smile lit up her face, her beauty striking you in the most innocuous moments.

"Wait, you haven't seen the rest of the show yet," you teased her, taking a small black remote control out of your pocket. In a few seconds and quick manipulations, the room was plunged into a subdued atmosphere, the brightness reduced. The only bright spots of light were small round spotlights of different colors that danced on the parquet floor. A purple glow passed over your face as you smiled at her.

“You really put your best foot forward, I’m sure a lot of people will come,” she declared with conviction as she sat down on one of the few chairs. Aside from your ex-boyfriend, your best friend was the only one in your circle who supported you so much. You had always been labeled as the eccentric of the family, and you spent too much time painting to socialize at school. She was a pillar, and you were grateful for all the encouragement she showed you.

“I even wanted to bring my brother, but I guess he’s too busy with soccer, he didn’t even answer me.” her thoughtfulness touches you a little, and you dismissed her idea with a smile.

“I doubt Chigiri would be interested in my amateur art exhibition...” you chuckled, arranging a few paintings around you.

“You don’t know, my brother is an intellectual, I’m sure he knows a lot of your references!” she looked convinced, so you believed her. “He’s the only athlete I see walking around here naturally, anyway. The others don’t seem to have the soul of an artist.”

Your hands on the wood of the frame froze. You knew someone who didn't need to know anything about art to always admire your creations, and even compliment them. He was pretty much ignorant about anything that didn't involve soccer, but when it came to you, he was attentive. Until he wasn't.

"Maybe..." You answered her in a less cheerful voice than before, suddenly pensive.

You had met Chigiri's older sister at a bar, shortly after you broke up with Sae. It was so surreal and ironic to meet the sister of another popular soccer player after having left one that you had quickly become great friends, the anecdote still making you laugh today. It was now three years ago.

Three years was more than enough time to recover from a breakup, so you shook your head, quickly repressing painful memories that would ruin such a beautiful day that had started. Last you heard, Sae was in Spain busy chasing his dreams, you couldn’t be the idiot who preferred to play nostalgic instead of doing the same thing as him.

As if to taunt you, your eyes land on the painting to your right, in the winter section. Your heart tightened at the sight of it. You wished you could throw it away, or at least not be able to exhibit it, but the beauty of this creation had not been matched since. It would have been a waste. It’s as if the pain Sae had caused you had sublimated your art in the most vicious way possible, and now he’s forcing you to show your pain to the whole world. You vividly remember when and how you painted this canvas, and what you felt at that moment. You were sure that if you looked at it for a little too long, it would suck you into a whirlwind of feelings that you had tried to ignore for three years.

You snapped out of your thoughts when your friend called you to sweep the floor one last time before the inauguration. You took a deep breath and turn away from the cursed painting. Today was the culmination of several months and over a year of work. Sae wasn’t going to ruin your day.

𖥸

Your exhibition was going well. The city of Tokyo was enjoying pleasant temperatures in the middle of July, so many people were out to enjoy the beautiful days. The aisles of the art gallery were populated with locals and tourists, you had chosen your day well. Seriously, everything was so perfect that you had a hard time believing it.

Seeing so many interested and admiring faces in front of your art healed something deep inside you. Sae was the only one who had the words to give you the courage to start posting some photos of your creations on the net, and he was the first to legitimize your passion. You came from a pragmatic family for whom art was only a diversion and not a vocation to make a career out of it, your dreams were ridiculed and never taken seriously by them. Your only safe place during childhood was to paint in the grass, not far from the soccer field where Sae practiced. The sounds of nature around you, the breeze of the wind and the exclamations of his opponents put you in a kind of creative bubble. His positive comments on your paintings gave even more meaning to everything you did.

You were young at that time and ignored all about the heartbreaks.

"The goal was to be able to represent each season without using the elements that characterize them." You explained in a clear and confident voice, showing with your hand one of the paintings from the spring collection to a small group of tourists, very interested in your creations. Pale green and pink lights hovered around you, lighting up your faces from time to time.

The painting you were pointing to was painted in an abstract style. No real object or element that we knew in our lifetime could be identified, but the technique, shapes and colors used gave the illusion of a field of flowers in full bloom. All the paintings were designated this way: to succeed in conveying the atmosphere of a season without explicitly drawing an element that would betray the special effect. The exhibition played on the use of all the senses, and the room was even filled with special diffusers according to the season's collection.

You obviously didn't have the money for a project of this magnitude. You were the proud winner of a competition that allowed you to exhibit your art for a week in one of the most sumptuous art galleries in Tokyo, all expenses paid. An opportunity like this was never going to come again for you, so you racked your brains to make the most of this offer and make a name for yourself in art. You were on the right track given the number of people present for just the first day of your project.

That's why it was so important to you, all those impressed faces in front of your art. You had already lost a competition three years ago, this was your revenge. That lost contest had taken away your self-confidence, and had even led you to want to stop painting forever. That contest had even been the trigger for your breakup with Sae. A painful time from which you recovered, and now you are a twenty-one year old young woman who is brilliantly starting her artistic career. You had recovered from that difficult time and had been able to bounce back, burying Sae and your failure in the past. Everything was going well now.

That's what you told yourself before your eyes caught sight of the ghost of your heart in the crowd, red locks escaping from his black cap that couldn't fool you.

You almost faltered, your explanation about the symbolism of spring and flowers interrupted. You blinked several times, thinking you were hallucinating but your nightmare was very real. Sae walked along the aisle of the winter collection, his hands in his pockets and his famous face hidden by his cap.

You tried to continue expressing yourself with a polite smile, putting aside the sudden tension that invaded your body. His vision had the effect of a slap. His presence filled the entire room at once, altering all your confidence in this day. It took you a superhuman effort to maintain eye contact with your interlocutors, your body waiting for one thing: to turn around and observe the iceman who inspired all your winter paintings.

He went unnoticed in the crowd with his cap and his neutral-toned clothes, but never for you. Maybe after three years without contact, after telling you that you had gotten over him, your brain wanted to taunt you, play with you. Show you that you were lying to yourself. What the hell was he doing here? He was a Real Madrid player. He had no business being in an art gallery in the middle of summer in Tokyo. Even less in your exhibition.

Despite your best efforts to keep your conversation going with the small group of tourists in front of you, your eyes and heart kept turning to the same person who had been monopolizing your attention since you were kids.

“Are you thinking of selling your painting? If so, how much do you value a single painting and an entire collection?” The young man in the group who seemed the most knowledgeable about art pulled out a notepad and pen, ready to write down any information you had to give him. The problem was that your heart was already struggling to beat at a normal speed, so all you could do was scan the room to try to find your best friend.

You couldn’t believe that someone was already interested in buying something and your heart was beating fast now for two reasons: Sae and excitement. Someone wanted to buy your paintings!! But the timing was so unlucky that the anxiety related to your ex-boyfriend took over everything.

You hadn't spoken to each other since your violent argument. He had no business being here. He was preventing you from concentrating and carrying out your project.

For a second, you stupidly thought that he was here especially for you, and that he had something to say about your breakup, but your stupidity quickly dissipated. You haven't forgotten who he is and why you broke up. He couldn’t be here for you, not after the horrors he said to you before disappearing from your life. The lights that illuminate small round spots on the floor span around you and made you dizzy.

"Miss?" You jumped. You came back to reality and turned your head towards the potential buyer who was interested in your creations. You wiped your hands that have become sweaty on your pants, and tried to regain some consistency.

"I'm sorry, what were you saying?" Your voice betrayed you, it faltered.

"The winter collection. The estimate." He readjusted his glasses, still intended to know the estimate of your collection. In a part of your heart not yet conquered by Sae, it touched you. It felt strange to have artistic value for someone after having wandered for years looking for an audience that admire you. There was a time when your audience was only made up of him.

"We're not at that stage yet, she's just started, but I can give you this so we can get back to you in the future!" A cheerful voice that you know well let you breathe a sigh of relief, a small part of your bodily tension vanishing. She held out one of her business cards, with all your contact information on it with a kind expression. You’d swear she’d be all the rage in the marketing industry.

A flicker of disappointment crossed the young man’s face but it quickly faded and he took the card your best friend handed him. As the group of tourists moved away from the two of you, you grabbed your only support here by the shoulders.

“He’s here.”

Her usually always smiling, sweet face frowned.

"Who?"

You give her an almost desperate expression, not wanting her to force you to spell his name. A flash of understanding crossed her, and she turned quickly to scan the crowd with her eyes, looking worried. You wiped your sweaty hands again on your jeans, he really managed to break any ounce of confidence in you today. You didn't know exactly what it was that made you anxious about him, but the mere sight of him made you falter.

Seeing him among the faces admiring your art caused something in your heart that you had trouble identifying, but disturbing enough to hate the feeling. You couldn't let yourself feel anything when it concerned him. It's been months, years now that you've tried not to think about him and everything he represents. Efforts shattered.

"He's with his agent..." She whispered in a breath, almost confused.

You were too obsessed with him to notice that. Your friend put her arm around your shoulders, holding you tight against her as she made you walk, hurrying as if she wanted to prevent something. "We have lots of visitors, we're not going to let that get us down anyway!" Her smile redecorated her face but it's a little forced this time and she tried to distract you but it's useless. Whether you refocused on your mission or not, your ex-boyfriend was still a few meters away from you.

And you understood what she prevented from happening when a voice behind you makes you stop all movement.

"Well, it was starting to get boring hanging around in the aisles."

That tone of voice. Low in the octaves, too monotonous to indicate any emotion and lacerated with nonchalance. A voice that made you melt every time he addressed words only to you, and spat insults at others. You and Rin were the few people who had been able to see Sae in another expression before his trip to Spain changed him completely. You had missed this voice horribly, and you want to hit yourself at the realization that yes, you wanted to hear it again and again.

"Mr. Itoshi, you can't talk to someone like that, come on..."

Your eyes met the second you turned around and you swallowed hard. It's not discomfort, nor anger that pierced you but pain. His intense teal pupils stared at you in his familiar coldness, a coldness that used to be synonymous with home for you. But today, you felt like you're facing a stranger. He seemed much more adult than the last time you saw him.

The man next to him was shorter than him, and all nervous. He scrutinized you with his big round glasses, you remembered he was his assistant. He was always afraid of being late, and always had to confront Sae's stubborn nature. He was probably only used for paperwork because when it came to decisions and advice, your ex-boyfriend only did what he wanted.

“Miss ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚, allow me to introduce myself more politely.” His assistant mumbled as he approached you, breaking the eye contact between you and Sae. You frowned, while Sae’s agent shook your hand. Your usually sociable best friend was silent, sensing your tension. “Me and Mr. Itoshi want to…”

“What are you doing here?”

You cut the little bespectacled man off in a sharp tone, addressing your ex-boyfriend directly. Your voice was too tense for the vulnerability to be heard in it. You were not used to being rude, and his agent surely didn’t deserve this treatment, but you urgently needed an answer to this question. Otherwise, your inner torment would never subside and you didn’t want to burst into pathetic tears in front of everyone, especially him.

Sae's face remained imperturbable, he had no reaction to your question, or even to seeing you again after so long. He sighed as if annoyed at having to explain his presence. Your body tensed, you hated how he seemed taller than you, richer and his smug air. As if he were just someone superior to you and you hadn't spoken as equals since childhood. Deep down, it hurt you. The hands in his pockets sank a little more, accentuating his bored look.

"That," he tilted his head with his usual phlegm towards the paintings to your right, the winter collection. "And pretty much everything else in the gallery, I want them all."

You nearly choked on your saliva, his announcement sending a shock wave through your body. You wondered if you misheard or if your hearing was playing tricks on you. The firm tone of his voice that accepted no argument to what he just said made you clench your fists.

“What the…”

“If you think someone will make a better offer than me,” he interrupted you, looking up at you with an annoyed look, “you’re still as stupid as before, ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚.”

Your body was torn between weakening at the way your name rolled off his tongue and tensing at his insult. This was what it feels like to have dated an Itoshi, you wouldn’t recommend him to anyone. Your friend frowned, wanting to intervene but you made a subtle gesture to stop her.

“It’s not about the money,” you mumble, uncomfortably, “you’re the last person I want to sell my creations to. And where does this urge come from anyway? You disappear for three years to want to buy my paintings now?” As much as you hate to admit it, there was pain in your voice. All of this hurt you. Seeing him again was the worst thing that could have happened to you today. He made you so vulnerable with just a few words.

The discussion took a more intimate and personal turn in your tone, and your best friend understood by herself that she should leave the two of you alone. With her biggest smile of a pro in sociability, she grabbed Sae's assistant by the elbow who has a panicked look while she dragged him away against his will, to give him a tour of the exhibition while you had to confront the ice prince.

His height towered over you, and without anyone around you, you were quickly helpless and more vulnerable. You wanted to cry, that's it. You didn’t understand why he wanted to inflict this on you. Forcing you to see him again when he left you with a broken heart years before, and coming back with his nonchalant air as if nothing had happened. Well, yes, you could understand. Sae has never shone for his empathy. And maybe it's even intentional, his way of acting. He knew the effect he had on you.

His eyes lingered for a few seconds on the necklace around your neck. A gold-plated chain enhanced by a butterfly pendant that sparkled with amethysts encrusted inside. You had worn it since middle school. He was there when you showed it to him, so proud of your parents' gift. You weaken as you remember it. You hated everything he reminds you of and just wanted him to disappear.

"Three fucking years Sae, and you show up like that without explaining yourself and you allow yourself to impose something like this on me?"

There was vulnerability and pain in your voice that you tried to hide with bitterness but he knew you all too well. He looked up at you.

"I don't have time to talk about this, I want you to work for me for a while" he said quietly, ignoring what you just said, as if it wasn't the craziest sentence he's ever said. No questions, no dialogue, just an "I want".

"What's wrong with you?" You frowned, your voice trembling, speechless at his audacity, starting to lose patience. You didn't understand what he was doing here, or why he was talking to you after so long, why he wanted your paintings so much.

He was always very abrupt in his manners, his compliments on your art were never to please you, but completely sincere and because he felt the need to say. That's why his approval always had a special value for you because you knew you could count on his honesty. But here, we went beyond the simple compliment. He wanted to buy all your collections for a reason you didn’t know.

He tilted his head to the other side, as if he wasn't interested in what you were saying and ignored what you just said, his gaze turned towards one of your paintings. You swore you could slap him. You clenched your fists.

“I didn't come to ask your opinion.”

What the hell was he doing here then? You're starting to get fed up.

“You can't impose what you want on me, these are my paintings, I don't even understand what's going on! You're no one to...”

Getting angry, you had moved closer to him without realizing it, and when he lowered his head towards you while adjusting his cap, your words died on your tongue. A few inches from his face, his perfume enveloped you.

“I need an artist for a charity ball to buy the paintings from. You’ve always been the most talented person for that.” He leaned his head even closer, the proximity far too close for exes. Your breath hitched. A charity ball?

“Do I fucking look like I like charity balls?” He mumbled, his expression hardening and you swallowed. “No,” he spits sharply, “So don’t waste my time.” He pulled away from you, a red lock falling in his eyes. Your brain was a mess with this pile of unanswered questions, but you felt incapable of facing him anymore so you don’t ask. Everything he says hurt and confused you, you just wanted him to go away.

He rubbed the back of his neck with a sigh, as if being with you was torture, before plunging his hands back into his pockets. Without even looking at you, he turned around and walked away without a word, leaving you in a state of incomprehension.

He walked on the earth as if he possessed all the riches in the world and was indifferent to them at the same time. You felt like you could breathe again when he walked away. Sae having a charity ball? That's the funniest announcement you've ever heard in your entire life. There must have been other elements that had to force him to participate for him to take the request seriously. But even thinking about it, you had a hard time imagining Sae forcing himself to do something he wasn't interested in. There had to be some other purpose that benefited him in all of this.

His whole person arose an unprecedented irritation in you, but the anger quickly subsided and the aftereffect of having spoken to him again overwhelmed you. You missed him. Arms hanging, you stared at his now blurred silhouette. A pain split your chest, and you scanned the room for your best friend.

────୨ৎ────

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐞𝐰𝐬 – 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐲𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭𝐝𝐨𝐨𝐫

↻ ◁ || ▷ ↺

𖥸

After talking with Sae, you had 2 questions: what was this story about a charity ball, and why had Sae specifically come to talk to you about it. You knew him, he wasn't the type to do something that bored him or travel for others. He could have sent you a letter with the description of his request, or let his agent take care of it.

But no, he was present in the crowd of admirers of your art and it left a strange bitter taste in your mouth when you thought about it.

Three weeks had passed since the incident, and you tried to pretend that you weren't still troubled by what had happened.

In the middle of August, you were at your parents' house, far away in the Tokyo countryside. Walking in the fields helping your parents, you distracted yourself by turning potatoes in the dirt, wiping your sweaty forehead. You weren’t particularly fond of gardening, but it was a habit of coming to help them since they moved there a few years ago.

“Aren’t you doing anything tonight?” your mother asked you, crouching down next to you with a straw hat that protected her head from the sun’s rays.

“I don’t really know,” you mumbled, a little tired by the incessant sound of crickets in the grass around you and the sun beating down on your back when you bent down.

Your mother looked up at you, her eyes narrowed by the sun.

“I’d rather you go out with your friends than stay inside and paint.”

You sighed, already tired of the argument that would start if you reacted so you let it go. Your mother always had little comments like that to always remind you that she hated your passion. It was less violent than your father, whom he used to put you down all day long, saying that you were wasting your life, though.

“You should work instead and-”

“You forgot some weeds,” you cut her off, not wanting to get into a debate where you fought for her to recognize your art as work and not just a teenage lobby.

She was hurtful, and you didn’t need her causing more tension in your body.

Sae was the complete opposite when you thought about it. He was on the verge of calling you lazy if you didn’t pick up a paintbrush for more than three days, treating art like another sport that deserved daily practice. He was kind of right, but it made you chuckle that he behaved like that.

A sad expression flashed across your face before you caught yourself and silently cursed him as you turned over the remaining potatoes.

“By the way, you have mail,” your mother pointed out nonchalantly as you opened your eyes wide.

Only Naho knew that you were at your parents' this summer, the person who had sent this must have been well informed and that was worrying.

"Are you sure?" you asked, frowning.

She nods and doesn't say more, busy with her potatoes. It was only when you got home that you hurried into the living room, running to the limit towards the pile of mail, looking for yours. You opened the envelope hastily, eager to know.

Inside, there was an invitation book and an explanatory letter. Your eyebrows furrowed as you read the letter. Sae was indeed invited to a charity ball, but it was an event that brought together dozens of famous high-level athletes, there was even Aiku Oliver as a guest. The letter explained that each guest had to bring an artist with them, and Sae had chosen you. You were invited to the ball at the end of August, and you could bring your paintings. The ball was in Madrid, in a famous event hall. It was a golden opportunity for your career, but knowing that it was given to you by Sae left a bitter taste in your mouth.

“I can’t stay this summer, I’m invited to a charity ball,” you grumbled, your mother nearby. She stopped in the living room, hands on her hips, looking surprised.

“For what reason?”

“…”

You shifted, uncomfortably.

“Sae m…”

“SAE?!”

You tensed up at her excitement, she adored Sae, and it seemed like the breakup had hurt her too. It was something you struggled to understand, since Sae had a career far removed from your parents’ demands, but maybe it was normal for a mother to appreciate her daughter dating a millionaire footballer.

“There’s nothing between us anymore, it’s just for work,” you breathed, turning around.

Her eyes shining with excitement made you feel sick.

“This will be a chance to make up.”

“Mom.”

“Young people these days can’t handle the ups and downs of being in a relationship, seriously,” she mumbled, wiping her hands on her thighs as she headed to the kitchen. “You can tell him hello for me.”

You didn't even have time to tell her that it was for your art that all this was organized, but you held back because she would never have understood, and would never understand your passion. You didn't need her bitterness about your life choices to ruin an opportunity like this.

𖥸

"Wow," Naho whispered, her glass close to her lips. "He could have explained everything to you on the spot instead of insulting you," she rolled her eyes.

"Yeah," I stared at my cocktail, my gaze empty.

A few weeks had passed since you received the letter, and you found yourself in a bar with Naho to debrief. She was happy for you because it was an opportunity, but criticized the form.

"Diplomacy is not his strong point."

You chuckled.

“We’re talking about Sae,” you smiled, playing with your drink.

You looked around, watching people enter the luxurious bar. It was a beautiful summer evening, the atmosphere was soft. The dim lights of the bar gave an intimate atmosphere to the place. You couldn’t afford a place like this, but Naho liked to take advantage of her fiancé’s money, a rich banker. It made you laugh every time she took out her credit card and invited you to go shopping with her.

“It’s coming soon,” you pointed at her engagement rings with a sincere smile. “Ready?”

She smiled wide, bringing her hand in front of her, her diamond sparkling in the glow of the bar lights.

“I can’t wait, everything’s ready!”

Just like she helped you prepare for your exhibition, you helped her prepare for her wedding. She was your best friend and you wanted to support her at all costs for the most important day of her life.

“I still don’t have my hairstyle for the big day,” you grimaced, still undecided.

You were thinking about making a sophisticated bun by slicking your hair back or going to the hairdresser to ask for a completely different cut. Luckily, your dress was already ready as were those of the other ladies in waiting.

“No matter what you choose, you’ll look stunning.”

You giggled.

“Says the bride herself. You’ll be the star of the evening.”

She gave a small knowing smile while taking a sip of her cocktail. Just then, your phone vibrated in your pocket. You took it out, apologized to your friend and brought it to your ear.

“Hello?”

“Hi,” a familiar deep voice rang out on the other end of the line.

“Rin?” your eyes widened, surprised to hear him. You lowered your head, swirling the spoon in your drink. “Do you need anything?”

Rin and you weren’t best friends, but close enough nonetheless. The three of you had always been close throughout your childhood, even after the breakup, you had kept in touch. Your relationship was the perfect balance between brother and sister and close friends. He could confide in you, just as you could confide in him.

“…”

You sensed from the silence on the other end of the line that this was going to be important, and nodded to Naho, getting up from your seat. With an apologetic look, you left the soft warmth of the bar to lean against a wall outside, the cool evening air enveloping your neck.

“I’m all alone, you can talk to me.”

He hesitated, his voice uncertain and lacking the confidence he usually had.

“I heard you were going to Sae’s ball.”

“Yeah,” you sighed, not too thrilled. “He kind of forced it on me,” you laughed bitterly into the phone.

“Really?”

“He really showed up at my exhibition unannounced and ordered my paintings.”

He was silent for a few seconds. “Sae was in Tokyo?” his voice was hurried, impatient.

“Yeah. I still don’t know why he came to see me directly instead of sending me an email through his agent or something.”

You could hear him scratching his head on the other end of the line.

“Maybe he just wanted to see you.”

“Have you been drinking?”

He let out a small chuckle.

“You’re the only one he came to see anyway,” he said in a cold voice. “Understand what you want.”

“Why did you call me Rin?”

He paused for a moment, silence on the phone. Rin was a mysterious boy who was hard to figure out, but he didn’t fool you. You knew when something touched him through his fake coldness, or when something was bothering him. You considered him a bit like your little brother to a certain extent, you had grown up with him and had seen Sae raise him to become the man he is today. He had no secrets from you.

“You…” he began, his voice hesitant. A silence again. He swallowed hard and launched into it. “You can tell him to call me when you see, please. I’ve been trying to reach him for years.”

You soften.

“Why do you want to talk to him Rin, you know he…”

“Just ask him to call me,” he interrupted you in a firm voice. “You know we both have stuff to work out.”

“I’m just trying to protect you.”

“I know,” he sighed.

You looked at the trees around you before answering in a soft voice.

“I will, don’t worry Rin.”

“Thank you,” he said in an almost shy voice.

You continued your call by asking how he was doing. Rin was the star of the Japanese team, which didn’t surprise you given all the sacrifices he had made to get there. What worried you more, however, was still the fervor with which he clung to his desire to beat his brother. He wasn’t living his life for himself yet but for his brother, and it hurt your heart to notice it again after years.

You ended the call with a smile, happy to have heard from Rin. You cared a lot about him. You watched the wind that made the leaves of the trees swirl around you, walking back to the bar. You breathed deeply. You needed strength for the days to come, because your departure for Madrid was tomorrow morning.

────୨ৎ────

𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝 – 𝐣𝐡𝐞𝐧𝐞 𝐚𝐢𝐤𝐨

↻ ◁ || ▷ ↺

𖥸

“You’re talented, there’s no point in going to school,” he says honestly, his eyes fixed on your paintings scattered on the grass. You chuckled, touched by the compliment, continuing to varnish your works.

“My parents still want me to study. I don’t know, I’ll probably take a science major...”

He tightened his ball in his hands, shaking his head disapprovingly.

“It’s no use to you,” he repeated, stubborn. “Just do an exhibition. Even art school is useless, I don’t know what else you’ll learn.”

You rolled your eyes.

“You don’t know anything about art, Sae. I could draw a dog turd, if the shadows look a little complicated, you’ll be impressed. »

He threw his soccer ball right at your stomach and, unbalanced, you fell back into the grass, laughing out loud. He wasn’t laughing, though.

“You have to be really stupid to waste your time like that,” he swung, looking at you with a bored look. You raised yourself slightly on your elbows. Your gazes challenged each other.

“I’m not free like you,” you answered with a sigh, brushing the dirt off your shorts. He made a small insolent noise.

“I’m not free, I’m just determined. I’m going to Spain at the end of the summer, to play for the team. You think that’s freedom? You’re the one with free artistic spirit or whatever you call your shit.”

You tilted your head, observing his pink hair that was shining in the sun. You had tried to fix his bad haircut, but Sae seemed to like his disastrous haircut. It was quite stylish.

“Spain?”

“Yeah,” he said simply, sitting down across from you. Just that. He felt like it was even logical and normal this meteoric rise. He was a prodigal after all.

“You’re going to become even more stupid and ignorant if you stop school at 13,” you chuckled.

He gave you an emotionless look, kicking you, finding your joke anything but funny. He wasn’t going to stop school completely, but it was true that he didn’t really care about his homework and preferred to practice for his matches.

“And you’ll become useless if you let your parents choose everything for you. I’ll be the best striker Japan will ever see, and you’ll still be doing everything to please them, without having accomplished anything. Luckwarm.”

The surety in his voice hurt your heart.

“I won’t be a failure.”

“You already are.”

“Sae,” you tensed. The harsh truth behind his voice squeezed your heart even more. You didn’t want to end up like those artists, forced to work repetitive jobs devoid of creativity. You were still young and could still dream, but you already knew that your parents would put obstacles in your way. The carefree childhood was already starting to evaporate. He sighed, as if he were the one who was disturbed.

“I’ll stop saying that when you actually do something with your paintings. It’s not like I care anyway.” If you like being useless,” he said nonchalantly, laying down on the grass with his arms behind his head and his eyes closed.

You moved closer so that you could rest his head on your thighs, playing with his pink locks.

“Liar.”

He didn't answer, but he let you brush your fingers over his skin, his cheeks and his hair. The peaceful look on his face contrasted with the harshness of the words that could come out of his mouth, and the strength of determination that animated him.

"If... If one day I hold my exhibition like I dream of doing one, you promise me that you will come see it?" you whispered, your hands following the shape of his eyebrows. He slowly opened his eyes, looking at you without saying anything for a moment.

"I'll be too busy traveling the world for my matches, no time for that," he answered arrogantly. You rolled your eyes, pulling him closer to you. He let you do it without saying anything.

"You will be my guest of honor."

He chuckled.

"Promise. Even if we will talk less when you are in Spain. Just promise me."

His gaze darkened.

“You still care too much about my approval, ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚.”

It was true. No one had your back. His support was a breath of fresh air, a lifeline. You held him a little tighter, tense.

“It’s just...”

“Of course I’ll come, but you’re not doing it for me, are you?”

You avoided his gaze, looking instead at your painting to your right. He pulled you closer to him, tugging at the collar of your t-shirt, his breath fanning over your face.

“Right?”

His voice was firmer, colder. You swallowed hard, forced to look into his green gaze. Sometimes his eyes reminded you of an ocean, but not in the metaphorical beauty, in the anguish of a density that you were unable to match.

“...”

A breeze of wind passed between the two of you.

“Yes,” you forced yourself to answer, even if you lacked conviction. “I will do it without thinking about you, or hoping that you will come. Just for… Me.”

He released your collar. It was the first time in your life that your stomach had twisted in a pleasant way.

“Good.” He let you go. He was completely unaware of the heat that invaded your body.

𖥸

You woke up from your nap on the plane with a knot in your stomach. You had just dreamed of a distant memory, dating back to a few years ago. An old promise, which he – with surprise – had kept. He had really come to your exhibition. Was that why he had moved on purpose? It wasn’t like him to take children’s promises to heart like that, even though he was the type to follow through on his goals. In fact, it was very like him after all, and you didn’t know how you should feel about that.

You were collecting your luggage in the airport, your mind in thought. Your dream had awakened painful memories, and you were distracted by your thoughts instead of enjoying the warm air of Spain. Your eyes roamed your surroundings, admiring the sophisticated architecture of the airport and the world that swarmed there. As you stepped out, you took a deep breath as you observed the city in front of you, populated with people.

It was sunny, and very hot. You took off your cardigan, walking towards your Uber while rolling your suitcase. Your skin glowed in the sun, and you already knew that for the time you were going to be in Spain, you were going to get a tan. The lack of moisture in the air intensified the already high temperature.

As you sat down in your Uber, you received a call from an unknown number. Curious, you answered it while putting on your seatbelt.

“Are you here yet?”

Your hairs stood on end at the sound of Sae's voice, and you frowned. Several questions clashed in your mind. From 1) why did he still have your number? 2) how the hell did he know what time you were arriving in Madrid? 3) what did he want from you?

"Sae?" you mumbled, your voice nervous. The driver started driving, looking at you from time to time in the rearview mirror, curious.

"Whoever you want it to be, ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚?"

You tensed up.

"No, I mean..." you hesitated for a few seconds. "What do you want, well why are you calling me, how did you get my number?"

"We were a couple as far as I know," he remarked casually and your tension increased in your body. “I still have your number.”

“I thought I had you blocked.”

“I guess you didn’t.”

You hated his smug tone, it was already getting on your nerves. You stayed silent for a moment, glancing at the scenery passing before your eyes.

"First, you send me a letter when I'm at my parents', and now you know exactly when my plane lands. You're creepy."

He huffed.

"You always go to your parents' in the summer, I just have a good memory."

"That doesn't answer my second question."

"There were no questions in your sentence."

"Are you being so annoying on purpose?" you grumbled, annoyed. "Answer, damn it."

The driver smirked, amused by the conversation but he remained discreet.

"Your paintings arrived in the event room as planned," he changed the subject. "They're intact, and ready for the exhibition."

The new subject piqued your interest although the way he ignored you annoyed you.

"Why are you telling me this?" you mumbled impatiently, playing with the zipper of your vest in your hands.

"Just like that, I thought you would have wanted to know that they were safe."

His attention made your heart race for a moment but you quickly recovered and cleared your throat.

"Is that all you had to tell me?" you lowered your head, fiddling with your vest.

"Do you want to visit Madrid with me?"

You nearly swallowed your saliva the wrong way.

"W-What?"

He sighed on the other end of the line, as if you were exhausting him just by talking.

"I'll meet you at 2pm at the San Miguel market."

And he suddenly hung up like that, without another word. Dumbfounded, you stared at your phone in your hands for a few seconds without saying anything. Not only had he ignored your questions, but he allowed himself to hang up on you and make decisions without your consent. And what was this about showing you around Madrid? Had he forgotten that he had rejected you like an old sock when you needed him the most? Why was he acting like you were on good terms.

Your mind full of questions, you rested your head against the car window and watched the streets go by, pensive.

𖥸

You arrived at your hotel around noon, which was the last bit of time you had before seeing your ex-boyfriend. Because yes, you were of course going to come to his suspicious meeting. You had nothing else to do anyway, and you really wanted to have answers to your questions today.

You rushed to the shower once you got to your room, getting rid of your filth. You stood still in the shower, feeling the water trickle down your body, taking the opportunity to cool off. You took your time to lotion yourself, choosing a vanilla-scented body lotion. You perfumed yourself, and put on your jewelry. You put on simple jeans and a tank top that was a little low-cut to survive the heat of Spain. You applied treatments to your hair, taking more time than usual and you didn't want to think about what that meant. Yes, you were getting dolled up to go see your ex, let's be honest. You put on white sneakers, and grabbed your handbag.

You were going to unpack your things later, you wanted to have time to figure out how to navigate the Spanish metro and walk around a bit before meeting Sae where he had told you.

If you had been told that Sae was going to play tour guide for you two months ago you would have burst out laughing but now this was your reality.

𖥸

You arrived on time at the San Miguel market. The market was bustling with people, and you had taken the time to stroll through the streets before coming. The sunny streets were filled with trees, it was nice to hang out there. The San Miguel market was a long avenue filled with different food stalls. Some sold takeaways, others spices, others olives. A pleasant spicy smell enveloped the market and guided you inside.

It didn't take long for you to spot red locks that you knew well under a cap. Your breath caught when your eyes met. He wore a white shirt with the top two buttons open, and simple jeans. A luxury watch on his wrist, he smelled of money. Hands in his pockets, he stood nonchalantly against a wall near the market.

His gaze roamed your body for a long time before they went back up to your eyes, and he nodded to you.

You swallowed, and took a few steps to join him.

"You have to stop deciding everything like that without even asking my opinion," you mumbled, reaching his height.

"Is that a Japanese way of saying hello?" He sighed, pushing his hands further into his pockets. You noticed that he sighed very often when he spoke to you and it annoyed you.

"You forget that you're Japanese too."

He rolled his eyes.

"Come on," he walked towards the inside of the market without even waiting for you. You followed suit, already grumpy.

"What did I just tell you? Stop ignoring me and choose for..."

"I don't remember if you like olives or not," he interrupted you, pointing at an olive stand. You crossed your arms over your chest, inhaling deeply. This was going to be a long day.

"Sae."

"Or you can try the meat skewers. Or chili."

With a wave of his hand, he pointed to the different stands as you walked side by side. You glared at him.

"You're doing it on purpose, huh?"

"Maybe," a smirk crossed his lips and left you speechless. Was he teasing you? Like it was nothing? You rubbed your arms, feeling weird.

"We're not a couple anymore, why are you acting like..."

"Skewers or olives?"

You groaned, fed up with his behavior.

"Sae!"

He moved faster without waiting for you, and you almost lost him in the crowd. You zigzagged through the mass of people to join him. He had stopped at a meat stand that sold the skewers he was talking about, and you joined him, out of breath from having to follow him. It was going to be a long day.

𖥸

"I can't believe we're having a drink together."

"Life is full of surprises."

"No, seriously, what's wrong with you Sae?"

He sighed - for the thousandth time that day -, he still had that don't-care look he wore as if everything took energy from him, and that expression was starting to get on your nerves.

"And stop looking so bored, it's unpleasant."

"It's natural."

You rolled your eyes.

You had been sitting on a terrace for about fifteen minutes, and you struggled to find answers to your many questions. Sae acted as if nothing was wrong, not seeing the absurdity of the situation. And the worst part was that you weren't having a bad time. He had taken you to his favorite places in Madrid, showed you parks, and you were amazed by the beauty of the Spanish city. Sometimes, Sae's eyes lingered on his, as if to check that you were enjoying the moment, and in those moments you turned your head away, unable to meet his gaze.

"I really don't understand what's going on," you grumbled as you sipped your cocktail. "We're not friends Sae."

"Really?"

Your eyes widened at his casual tone and how he looked at you smugly.

"Well yeah, should I remind you how we broke up or what? I'm not your friend, you're an idiot to even think otherwise," you had your cocktail in one quick gulp, choking a little as you coughed. Sae stared at you choking without saying anything, and you cursed him inwardly.

“I just thought you might want to visit the city,” he stated nonchalantly, his eyes falling back on his expensive watch. “I’ll leave you, I’ve arranged a taxi that will take you back to your hotel.”

“You’re stalking me, how do you know the address of my hotel?” your eyebrows furrowed, your face wary before you remembered your main question. “And for the letter to my parents…”

“See you tomorrow at the charity gala,” he adjusted his cap on his head and stood up without a goodbye, his hands in his pockets. He took a hand out of his pocket to place a large bill on the table before leaving without a word. You watched him walk away, speechless.

He was annoying, unbearable and so rude. But deep down, your heart tightened as you thought back to that day that you had enjoyed. You had enjoyed visiting the city, discovering Madrid, and Sae's favorite places. In a way, you had enjoyed his company, although it took a superhuman effort to admit it to yourself. The more time you spent with him, the more you realized that you missed him terribly. Even his flaws. Even his smug and nonchalant air. Everything that made him a person, ultimately.

You were silent during your taxi ride. Sae made your heart confused. Nothing forced him to spend the day with you, yet he had done so. You were also not blind to his many insistent glances, eyes hidden under his red locks in front of his face. At someone else's, it would have been cute to show his favorite spots to someone who doesn't know the city, but this action for Sae gave rise to incomprehension and immense unease. It was none of his business, and you struggled to understand his real intentions. He had even gone so far as to prepare a taxi for you so that you could return home safely, seriously what was he thinking? Your stupid side whispered to your heart that he was surely trying to make up for it, and it would have been plausible if we weren't talking about the ice prince, Sae Itoshi.

With a confused heart and a knot in your stomach, you rested your head against the window, admiring the landscapes of the favorite city of the boy you had once been madly in love with.

────୨ৎ────

𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐢𝐭 – 𝟐𝟏 𝐬𝐚𝐯𝐚𝐠𝐞

↻ ◁ || ▷ ↺

𖥸

You sprayed yourself for the thousandth time with your favorite perfume, taking care to put it everywhere, and on your long dress. Dressed in a sophisticated way, you wore a long black dress with a backless and bare shoulders, with many golden jewels like you love them. You always loved jewelry, and especially painting them. Playing with shades of yellow and orange was your hobby when you were younger. Sae often lent you his golden medals so that you could paint them, because he knew that you loved it.

Speaking of Sae, you had made a mental note to finally have answers to your questions today, and not to let yourself be distracted by his actions. Today, you decided to have the power in your relationship, if we could still say that you had one.

You were choosing which bag to wear when your phone vibrated.

"Naho, I missed you," you exclaimed on the phone when you saw who called. Your enthusiasm was followed by a chuckle on the other end of the line.

“So, how’s the future star of the evening?”

“Don’t start, I’m pretty stressed,” you sighed, walking nervously around your apartment while talking to your best friend. “I have a black dress, should I take a small red bag or a small silver bag?”

“Red. The silver one won’t go with your jewelry,” your girlfriend answered confidently. You nodded and slung your small red leather bag over your shoulder.

“You’ll never guess what happened yesterday?”

“Did you fall under the spell of a Spanish guy?”

You chuckled, rolling your eyes.

“Worse than that.”

You began to explain everything that happened yesterday with Sae. She listened attentively without interrupting you, before leaving a long silence.

“That’s weird,” she only said and you could only nod.

“Yeah, I don’t know what to think?”

“You know he didn’t date anyone after you broke up? I was kind of mad at him when he left you, so I kind of followed everything he did to curse him in secret,” she admitted with a laugh, you couldn’t help but burst out laughing.

It felt good to have a friend like her by your side, always there to make you laugh and support you.

“I’m not surprised, I’m the only one who was stupid enough to keep up with his bullshit.”

“Or does it just mean he’s still in love with you?”

You freeze.

“What the fuck?” you stared at the ground, frowning.

“I mean… If we’re being objective, he does a lot of thoughtful things. Picking you for the bal, introducing you to the city, spending time with you, arranging a taxi to take you home…”

“We’re talking about Sae, Naho,” you interrupted her, your voice a little dry, as if you were on the defensive.

“I know, I know. But think about it. You know him well, he wouldn’t do that to just anyone.”

“He probably wants something in return, I don’t see any other explanation.”

“I think he wants to come back to you, but he just doesn’t know how to do it.”

You started laughing again, finding her idea absurd.

"I have time to die four times before Sae regrets his choices and tries something with me again, Naho," you shook your head with a sigh. "Let's stop talking about him, it's giving me a headache."

"Whatever you want, but just think about it."

𖥸

The event hall was packed. From a distance, you could tell it was a wedding given the rich decorations, the numerous bouquets of flowers, and the sophisticated outfits of the guests. You recognized several celebrities just by arriving, and you were starting to feel out of place. Everyone invited here had some kind of notoriety, you were just a nobody.

"Can I get you something?" A waiter offered you champagne, but you politely declined, fixing your dress with your hands.

Your paintings blended perfectly with the decor, and you couldn't help but feel a little pride in displaying them for others to see. You walked over to one of the paintings, touching them delicately, feeling the relief of the brushstrokes under your hand. It was a golden opportunity to have your collection here, you were grateful to have had this opportunity, but knowing that you had gotten it thanks to Sae left a bitter taste in your mouth.

Your eyes wandered over the crowd of people, looking for Sae. You quickly found him, he was surrounded by journalists and had a bored expression. He was dressed simply, but sophisticatedly. A white shirt, black suit pants, and loafers. He wasn't wearing his usual glasses and cap, his face was on display for everyone to see. He bent down to sign an autograph for a child, and straightened up, signaling to the journalists to leave him alone. He was about to pick up his glass from the buffet before looking up and meeting your gaze.

As every time he looked at you, your body was riddled with electricity and you fought internally against the urge to turn your head, unable to hold his gaze. His eyes wandered along your silhouette, impassive. They lingered on your curves, and you hated the heat that was released in your stomach at his eye contact. Your body felt hot under his gaze on you, every part of your body felt the weight of it. His eyes said things that you didn't want to know, but that your body demanded to hear.

You lifted your dress a little and began to walk towards him, maintaining his gaze. The world around you didn't matter anymore, you had two goals today: to solve the mystery of Sae's behavior, and to get noticed by someone important with your art. And now, you were walking towards your first objective.

He leaned against a wall, his hands in the pockets of his classy pants, his eyes fixed on you. You concentrated on not tripping because his eyes were destabilizing. When you reached his height, you were enveloped by the addictive scent of his cologne.

"This is the first time I've seen you dressed like this," he brought his glass back to his lips, his eyes lingering on the curve of your hip molded by the fabric of your dress. Your heart was pounding under his gaze.

"I didn't have a chance before, when we were together" you leaned against the wall next to him, crossing your fingers on your stomach.

“It suits you.” He looked away and sipped his drink.

You nearly choked at his compliment, it was so out of character for him to say something like that.

“Are you drunk?”

He scoffed and shook his head. His red locks waved at the nape of his neck.

“I’m not into that.”

You nearly laughed at his response, he seemed personally outraged that you would think he was intoxicated.

“Relax, I didn’t call you an alcoholic,” you chuckled, wrinkling your dress before freezing.

Were you seriously joking with him? Since you had spent the day with him in Madrid, your long-built barriers were becoming weaker and weaker and if you didn’t look closely enough at what you were doing, you fell back into a comfortable intimacy with him that you had when you were a couple. It wasn’t normal, nor what you wanted, you had to pull yourself together, you had questions to ask him.

Prove it by 21 Savage and Summer Walker was playing in the big speakers of the event room, it was a soft and a bit romantic sound, absolutely everything you didn’t need right now. You took a deep breath before launching yourself.

“Sae, we have to talk.”

“About what?”

“Us.”

“So there’s an us again, huh?” He raised an eyebrow and his green gaze landed on you and you swallowed.

“You know exactly what I mean, don’t play with my words.” To manage your nervousness, you played with one of the bouquets of roses next to you and lost your gaze in the crowd in front of you. “You’re the one who acts like there’s always been a ‘us’.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He continued to sip his drink.

You rolled your eyes.

“Answer my questions in order first. Why did you come to see my exhibition?”

He stirred his glass, and said nothing for a few seconds.

“Wasn’t that what we agreed on?” he finally said in a nonchalant tone, as if he hadn’t just confirmed that he cared about you, and your promise.

“Are you talking about our promise before you went to Spain?” you asked to be sure, your heart pounding.

“You finally decided to stop being a failure, I had to see what you had achieved.”

Your heart skipped a beat.

“Is this your way of telling me that you’re happy and proud that I didn’t get discouraged after losing my first contest?”

“Yeah.” His voice was low, like a whisper.

A breeze of wind passed between you, and you didn’t know what to do with the frantic beating of your heart. He was transforming your nervousness into a feeling that you had forbidden yourself to feel for someone again.

“Second question: How did you know I was at my parents’ to send the letter?”

He leaned against the wall, and glanced at you, his face impassive.

“You always go to your parents’ in the summer. There was no point in sending it to you if you were going to receive it later.”

Your heart was going to burst out of your chest. Why did it make you so happy that he remembered that?

“Third question: Why did you spend the day with me last time?”

“I need a reason for that?”

“Of course, Sae. Don’t tell me you just wanted to see me and spend time with me?”

“What if I told you that was the case?”

Another missed heartbeat.

“You must be drunk, this can’t be…” You shook your head.

You swore you saw the hint of a half-smile on his lips for a second before his impassive mask regained control of his expression.

“I’m lost, Sae.”

“That’s because you’re stupid.”

He was so… How can I say it? Annoying? Exhausting? Funny?

“Thank you for those lovely words, but I’m serious. I’m lost. One moment you act like an asshole, the next you…”

You looked at him, daring the words that stayed shyly in your mouth.

“You act like you want me back in your life.”

He paused, staying still for a moment before slowly turning his head towards you. For a few seconds, you said nothing and stared at each other. You didn’t pay attention to the noise of the crowd of people, and the music, completely focused on his green eyes.

“And what if that was the case?”

That’s it, those were the words he shouldn’t say. Especially not, because your heart couldn’t take it. Not now, not like this. Not after all the hurt he had done to you. It didn’t make sense.

“Don’t...”

“Excuse me, are you the painter of these paintings?”

A small, plump woman with a fancy bun interrupted you, and Sae looked away. You desperately wanted to tell this woman that you were busy, but she seemed very interested in your work. You glanced at Sae, who had his eyes glued to her phone now, then managed to smile at the woman in front of you.

“It’s me, can I help you?”

What followed was a conversation you had dreamed of having your entire life. The woman was the director of a luxury interior design company, and was looking for partners. She was a fan of your work, and wanted you to work for her. She showered you with compliments and seemed enthusiastic about the idea of collaborating with you. It was the opportunity of a lifetime, but there was a problem.

"I would be very happy to work with you, but I don't live in Spain, I'm from Tokyo," you apologized with a polite and sorry smile.

"It's not a problem, we can collaborate very well remotely. It's rare to find talents like yours, I wouldn't like to miss this golden opportunity!"

Her compliments warmed your heart and a heat rose to your cheeks. You didn't know how to react to someone who was such an admirer of your work, you weren't used to it. She explained to you how to proceed, and asked for your contacts to send you all the information about the collaboration. She handed you her business card, and your hands were about to shake. This was the opportunity of a lifetime. It was going to take off your career, and it was all thanks to Sae. As she left, you turned your head to get ready to talk to him but he had disappeared.

𖥸

Your mind was dizzy.

You were drunk from all the glasses of champagne you had drunk, and you had trouble standing. The charity ball was over, but the night continued in a luxurious bar, like an after party. You hadn't found Sae all night, and your head was going to explode with all the questions you had.

You were so drunk that you hadn't noticed it when you had collapsed on the first couch you had found. Tired, you had rubbed yourself against what you thought was the leather, ready to fall asleep. It was only when you opened your eyes slightly, yawning, that you met his piercing green irises above you. The air in your lungs emptied immediately. You had just understood where the disturbing but pleasant softness underneath you was coming from.

You could get up but you blinked several times, incredulous, unable to move.

"Sae, what are you.."

You had so many things to ask him.

Your brain was too flat to grasp the situation, you swallowed with difficulty, still motionless. Your body weighed a ton, the slightest movement cost you considerable energy.

His hands went along your waist to pass under your hips, lifting you slightly so that he could get up from the couch, and released you roughly - literally turning you over on the couch. The image of his back made your eyes widen.

"Did you just..."

He moved forward with his hands in his pockets. You got up with difficulty, your body numb, swearing under your breath.

“What the hell is wrong with you? Wait,” you struggled to articulate, the first step off the couch nearly spraining your ankle.

His figure seemed to flee from you, sinking ever further away. The further he went, the more your eyes blurred. You wanted to talk to him. Ask him some questions.

Your feet continued to walk, following him at an almost desperate pace. You just wanted to ask him what he meant by 'maybe it was', if he really meant it. Why was he acting so cold with you now when he seemed different a few hours ago. Why was he was being hot and cold?

"Wait, please, I just want to..."

He didn't slow down, maybe he was speeding up, hands digging deeper into his pockets. You didn't even pay attention to the music and the people around you, your legs focused on his, ready to follow him wherever he went. As usual.

He walked through a door, not bothering to close it, as if he was waiting for you to follow. You rushed into the room, not even caring where you were. It was immediately quieter, as if you were in a private room, away from the cacophony of the party.

“Sae, I…”

He turned around, his usual impassive face.

You stood awkwardly against the wall, not even knowing what to say anymore. The swirl of emotions inside your heart and the alcohol in your blood was a dangerous cocktail that was never going to lead to a healthy and cordial conversation, especially not with Sae.

“You want me back in your life? I don’t understand, you’re the one who left me,” you pointed out in a low and hesitant voice.

He shoved his hands in his pockets and stared at you silently for a few seconds without saying anything before he tilted his head to one side.

“You don’t want to talk about this in my hotel room? I don’t want to be disturbed here.”

You swallowed, considering the idea. You hated how desperate you were acting, but alcohol and Sae didn't mix well on you. As much as it hurt you to admit it, you were still in love with him. Just his gaze had an effect on you, it was dishonest not to realize that. He made you relive feelings and emotions that had been buried for a long time.

You nodded slowly with reluctance, ready to finally answer your questions, and perhaps unravel the mysteries of his heart.

────୨ৎ────

𝐥𝐞 𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐞 - 𝐥𝐮𝐢𝐝𝐣𝐢

↻ ◁ || ▷ ↺

𖥸

𝐒𝐀𝐄’𝐬 𝐏𝐎𝐈𝐍𝐓 𝐎𝐅 𝐕𝐈𝐄𝐖

The drive to his hotel was silent, Sae staring out the window as she stared at her hands, which she was playing with nervously. Sae glanced at her from time to time to admire her. She had never been so pretty and dressed up, he thought. The dress hugged her curves perfectly, and the neckline highlighted her chest and shoulders. He was unable to look anywhere else when she was near him, a bit like before. Artists have muses, Sae was an unconditional fan of hers. Always, and even after their breakup.

Speaking of breakups, Sae didn't know how he was going to handle this situation. He wasn't good at talking about his feelings, or his emotions. For the first time in his life, he was off guard. How was he going to explain to her what he felt? He would have liked her to be able to read him and guess on her own, but it was impossible. He was too impassive and neutral for her to decipher his silences. Sae was an enigma, and for the first time in his life, he wished he were someone else, someone who could say everything with a look.

The driver stopped in front of the hotel. Sae got out first and came to his ex-girlfriend's door and opened it. She looked at him puzzled, probably surprised that he would make such a gallant gesture, but he had to put all the chances on his side if he wanted to get her back tonight. She got out of the car, lifting her dress a little. Sae waved goodbye to the driver and began to walk towards the hotel entrance, her hands in her pockets. She followed him slowly, and looked around. They were in a luxurious area of Madrid. There were chic restaurants next to the hotel.

The silence was heavy. She followed him into the lobby and into the elevator. Once in the elevator, she stared at her feet, nervous. Sae didn't take his eyes off her, it had been three years since he had been deprived of her beauty, he wanted to mentally record the curves of her body and the details of her beautiful face so he would never forget, although she had an unforgettable beauty.

He used his pass to enter his hotel room, but let you go in first. His room was simple and luxurious, everything was tidy and clean. She turned to him and looked at him hesitantly.

"So..."

"Yeah?"

Sae took off her watch and placed it on his wooden dresser.

"My head is spinning," she sat on the sofa, massaging her temples. "I'm sorry if I'm not making sense."

"No problem, do you want some water?" »

She nodded slowly, still puzzled by how nice he was to her.

He handed her a bottle of cold water, and she thanked him. She took a few sips in silence, and looked around the room. There was a large king-sized bed, lots of plants in fancy and classy pots. They were in the "living room" area, where there was a leather couch and a giant television. It smelled like money.

"You know, Rin would like you to answer his messages and talk to him," she started the conversation cautiously.

Sae scoffed and sat on the couch with you, your thighs touching.

« Unlike you, my fool brother is still a failure, I have nothing to say to him. »

She frowned.

“You’re mean. He’s very important to the Japanese team, he’s not a failure at all.”

“He plays soccer to challenge me, not for himself. That’s what I call being a failure,” he leaned his back against the backrest of the couch, and turned his head to her. “You stopped putting me at the center of your passion, that’s why I came to your exhibition. I wanted to see what you were capable of when you stopped thinking about being validated by others.”

He didn’t know when the atmosphere had shifted between them, where they had gone from annoyed and irritated looks to being able to talk openly and calmly. Maybe it was since their day in Madrid or during the charity ball. He saw in her eyes that she was starting too and lowering the barriers she had put around her heart to protect herself from him, and to be vulnerable.

She lowered her head, looking at her water bottle.

"So, if I understand correctly, you want me back in your life because I have evolved and stopped being insecure? You throw me away when I am not to your liking and when it suits you, you want me back?" She spat, her hands clenched.

Maybe he had spoken too quickly. Maybe there were still barriers around her heart and irritation. He rested his head on the backrest, and looked at the ceiling.

"It's not like that," His voice was lower, softer.

"It is like that, Sae. I am not the only one who has been discouraged in his life. Do you want me to remind you of what happened in Spain? It's human to get discouraged sometimes, the most important thing is to be able to bounce back."

Her whole body tensed up when she talked about when he left Japan at a young age to go play in Spain.

"Don't compare yourself to me, we have nothing in common."

His voice was hard, he crossed his hands on his chest.

"Oh yes we are alike Sae. You know, I think you left me because you saw yourself in me. You saw a person losing to others, and ready to give up everything, and it reminded you of yourself."

"You're talking nonsense." Sae closed his eyes, his head still facing the ceiling.

She didn't take her eyes off him and he swore he felt her staring at him even with his eyes closed. She could read him, he knew it.

“You left me when I needed you the most, and now that I’ve moved on, you come back into my life to take me back without apology.” Her eyes burnt him. “Don’t you see the problem?”

He stays silent for a few seconds, and opened his eyes.

“It wasn’t healthy between us,” he tilted his head at her. “You did everything for me, you had no self-confidence anymore. I refuse to be your motivation. You have to fight alone.”

“You blame me for losing confidence in myself while you changed your dream because of the others’ performance in Spain. We are the same, Sae. Two idiots who lost confidence in themselves, and we should have been there for each other.”

He shook his head gently.

“It pushed me to be better somewhere else and work without giving up, while you wanted to stop art completely after losing your contest. We aren’t the same.”

He had a point. Sae hadn’t given up and had worked even harder to achieve his goals while she had given up and was completely paralyzed in her creation.

“It doesn’t change that you had to be there for me instead of abandoning me.” Her voice was a little shaky, Sae saw the vulnerability in her eyes, and he sighed. He leaned against her, closer to her.

“It was necessary. You needed to be alone to be able to regain your self-confidence. I wasn’t…”

His face was inches from hers.

“I wasn’t okay in my head at that time, I needed you too but you were too devastated by your competition. I had to leave. It was what was best for us at that moment.”

She saw the sincerity in his eyes, and her eyes were starting to tear up.

“I didn’t… I never thought you would need me at that moment. I was too… I’m sorry, Sae.” A tear rolled down her cheek, and Sae lifted a finger to wipe the tear away.

“I know, I don’t blame you for that. I just...”

His eyes fell to her lips. His breath caressed her face.

“I just think, now, it’s the right time for us.”

𝐎𝐌𝐍𝐈𝐒𝐂𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐏𝐎𝐈𝐍𝐓 𝐎𝐅 𝐕𝐈𝐄𝐖

You didn’t remember how you ended up on his bed, you just remembered the soft touch of his lips against yours. It had happened so slowly. He had bent down cautiously, questioning your eyes if he had the right to. You nodded, your heart racing. You weren’t in your normal state, the alcohol and the vulnerability of the conversation were making you lose your mind. But you knew that you craved his touch. Right now in his hotel room, you wanted to feel him against you, and don’t think about something else. All the desire buried for years resurfaced in a lightning wave in your body.

He captured your bottom lip between his lips, his tongue sliding over it. He pressed his forehead against yours, and you let out a soft sigh.

“I don’t think this is a good idea,” you murmured against his lips, “I’m drunk.”

“I think this is a really good idea,” he wrapped his arms around your butt, and lifted you, “the best idea I’ve had.”

He carried you to his king size bed, and placed you delicately on it. You sat, arms back. He leaned down, and pressed soft kisses against your neck, kissing the goosebumps.

“You know, I don’t forgive you for the horrors you said to me that night,” you moved your head to let him more space.

“I know,” he bit your skin, grabbing the flesh between his teeth. You flinched, and your heart raced.

“I still think you were asshole that day.”

“I know,” his lips found yours and they glided over each others, his mouth was hesitant, testing the waters. But he gained confidence and his tongue traced your teeth as he leaned more against you, his body flushing against yours. He kissed you with gentle motions, his tongue teasing and curious. You leaned back, on your elbows.

He dreamed of this. Having you in his arms, tasting your lips. He had missed all that. He loved you, more than you could think.

“At least forgive me tonight,” he whispered against your lips.

“Sex can’t resolve us,” you closed your eyes, kissing him back with the same slowness.

“I can resolve us,” he unbuttoned the first buttons of his shirt, “let me resolve us.”

His nose nuzzled yours, and the motion looked like an Eskimo kiss, and you couldn't help but smile against his lips.

“Idiot.”

“That’s my line,” He finished unbuttoning the buttons of his shirt, and his muscular torso was free. You opened your eyes, and glanced down at his abs.

“You’re more muscular than before,” you whispered while your hands wandered on his abdomen.

“I would be damned if that wasn’t the case. It’s been three years.”

You chuckled softly and continued to caress his torso. You didn’t know why but the tension you felt in his presence had dissipated. Everything was calm and tender between you two. He pressed his forehead again against yours.

“Will you let me resolve us?”

His voice was so soft, you couldn’t remember a time you heard it like that.

“I can repair everything. I can give you what you need now. I won’t let you down like before.”

He lifted his head and pressed a kiss on your forehead.

“I’m proud of you for your art exhibition, by the way. It’s amazing.”

Your eyes watered, and you sniffled, your body tense.

“Don’t do that to me, Sae.”

“Do what?”

He gently laid you down on the bed, his figure hovering over you.

“Saying everything I wanted to hear,” you let him take off your dress as you tried to dry your tears but they continue to flow down your cheeks. He kissed every tears, his mouth wet.

“I’m glad I’m doing the good thing, then,” his lips traced your collar bones, “I've already messed up enough.”

The cold air hit your skin as he undressed you while kissing down your body. His lips traced every lines of your rib cage, his breath caressing your skin. Your skin tingled with shivers every time his mouth landed on you. You dipped your hands in his soft hair, stroking it.

“You were so pretty today,” his tongue flicked around your navel, “I feel blessed to be allowed to look at you.”

Heat came in your face and you were flustered by his words. Your nails grazed at the back of his neck and he let out a soft sigh at the sensation. He trailed kisses down your belly and your hip and he lifted your legs to place your thigh against his cheek and your knuckles on his shoulders. Your heart raced with anticipation as your hands tensed on his hair. A sigh escaped you when he kissed your inner thigh and worked toward your intimate parts. He raised his head, his eyes lingered on yours.

“You didn’t respond.”

“At what?”

“Resolve us. Repair us. Rebuild us,” his fingered slid into you, and you let out a low moan at his motions. His index and middle finger traced circles on your sweet spot, and his eyes were full of desire as he looked at you being riled up.

“I can do better, give you more than you could think,” he thrust his two fingers in you, and he bent down to kiss you and swallowed all of your moans. “I can buy you all the flowers you missed all these years,” he breathed against your lips.

His thumb rubbed against your clit as his fingers moved in and out of you, he closed his eyes while kissing you.

“I can give you everything you want now, I promise.”

You were flustered and didn’t know what to respond at what he was saying. You said everything you wanted to say to him, but you were full of doubts. Could you really forgive him and restart a relationship with him? Will he be there for you when you needed it, there when you would be the most vulnerable?

“I can’t say yes now, Sae,” you wrapped your arms around his neck, “it’s fast for me, but…”

You leaned down, your lips near his ears.

“I can let you resolve us for today,” you whispered, your soft breath brushing his neck.

It was the signal he wanted, needed. He nodded, and began to unbutton his jeans, your slick on his hands. His eyes roamed over your body, and he admired you, lying there, all ready for him. There was a burning desire in his gaze that made you shiver. After taking off his pants, he put his knees on the ground, his face at the level of your crotch, your stomach clenched at the sight. He was so pretty with his eyes shining and his hair undone because of you.

With his callous hands, he grabbed your thighs and spread them in front of him, heat came in your face as you shyly opened your legs for him. It’s been years since you saw him between your thighs. You still remember when you did your first time together, teenagers awkward and hesitant. Now, you were full grow adults, and there was no more awkwardness to your moves.

He began slowly, his fingers parting your folds, his mouth careful and teasing as he licked your arousal. You clenched your thighs and dipped again your hands in his hair. You pushed his head to your cunt, and moaned softly as the tip of tongue wiggled through you. He lifted his eyes, his gaze never leaving you as he slowly buried his nose and mouth deep into your wet folds.

His nose rubbed against your clit as he thrust his tongue in you, and exploring every inch of your twitching hole. You were in heaven, he wasn’t shy with it, but deep in it, his eyes closed, savoring your taste. He was a real eater, he took pleasure seeing you riled up as he fucked you with his tongue.

“Just like that,” you whimpered, lifting your hips in the air, rocking your lower body against him, your hands tugging desperately at his hair.

He plunged his head deeper in you, your slick dripping his chin, and continued his exploration with his tongue. He ate you like you were the best meal in his life, he was so eager. His hands gripped your thighs tightly to keep you from moving too much. You threw your head back in the mattress as you moaned, it’s been fucking three years since you had sex. You were in need, and you grind your cunt into his mouth without embarrassment, you needed it so much. Sae was the only man you fucked with, and it’s stayed that way when you broke up for two reason. One, you didn't believe in love after Sae, and two, nobody could fuck you better than him. He knew everything about you, from where to press his tongue, where to lick, how to suck your clit. He knew everything about you, and was an expert at pleasing you.

When your pussy clenched around his mouth, he knew your orgasm approached. He stopped using his tongue and focused only on your clit which he sucked vigorously, making your legs shake against his head. He made lewd sounds, you were dripping with arousal. As you were seeing stars and your orgasm traveled your body and left you without energy, he stood up and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

“You look beautiful like this, ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚,” he took off his boxer and placed a knuckle on the bed, “sit on me.”

“Sit on you?”

“Yeah,” he sat on the bed and looked at you intently.

You stood up on your elbows, and tilted your head.

“You want me to ride you?”

He nodded, and grabbed your arms to pull you onto his lap. You looked down, he was already hard, his cock brushed your entrance as you were sat on his lap. He pulled a condom out of his bedside table and passed it to you to put on. As you wrapped the condom around his cock, you remembered how the cowgirl was his favorite position, and obviously still the case.

“Why do you love this position so much?” you chuckled as you lifted you ass and sank into him while closing your eyes.

He wrapped his arms around you, and pulled you closer, “I love looking at you.”

“Liar, you’re just lazy,” you teased him and rocked your hips against him.

He scoffed and grabbed your hips.

“Shut up,” he pushed down on your hips, making you take fully his length and you placed your head on his shoulders, sighing softly.

“No,” he lifted one hand to wrap it around your throat, “look at me.”

You were forced to look at him, and you got lost in his gaze. Your eyes were telling everything you couldn’t say, they were convey your feelings. They were telling all the doubts you had in your heart, your fear about the future, and the love you had for him, even though it was buried deep in you for three years. It was so intimate. He caressed your neck as he gently gripped at it, his eyes never leaving you. You loved being handled by him, leaving the control to him, letting him take the lead even though you were the one on top of him.

Like a slow dance, you rode him, undulating your hips on him, your left hand on the one that was on your neck, the right on shoulders. He didn't take his eyes off you as you rocked your hips against him, you were the most beautiful thing in his life. His gaze on you electrified your senses, you loved how his eyes were feverish, craving you. You felt sexy in his eyes, and it’s been a while since you felt that way.

You bounced your ass up and down, and he released your throat to lean back on his elbows, his hands on your hips. He thrust into you, plunging in and out, and you lost balance.

“Hey,” you fell on his torso, but he didn’t stop his motions, and lifted his hips to fuck you more intensely. You placed your hand over your mouth to muffle your moans, but it was in vain, anyone who passed by the room would hear your shaky voice and understand what was happening.

He grabbed your ass and pulled you even more closer to him, sinking his cock in you. It felt so good, your nails scratched his bare torso as you whimpered every time his cock brushed your cervix. He was so focused on fucking that he made no noise. You tilted your head, looking at him.

“You know I love when you make noise, don’t stay silent.”

“You want me to say “you’re so pretty” ten million times tonight like an idiot?”

You chuckled.

“Yeah,” you smiled softly, “I would like that.”

“Pfff,” he rolled his eyes, but he captured your hips in his hands and turned you over so you were on your back.

“You’re so pretty,” he said the first time as he plunged his cock into you, and his breath hitched. You wanted to wrap your legs around his waist but he shook his head and grabbed your thighs to put them on his shoulders. The new angle made his thrusts deeper and more intense and you gasped his name.

“You’re so pretty,” he panted out the second time as he rutted into you, his cock stretching you to his size. Your hands gripped the pillow behind you, and you moaned uncontrollably, completely oblivious to the possibility of anyone hearing you. You felt his breath on your face as he panted softly in your ears.

“You’re so pretty” he whispered a third time, against you lips as he kissed you while fucking you slowly. He pushed in his cock back in you with a measured rhythm, focusing on the sensation rather than jackhammering you. He pressed his forehead against yours, looking at you with a tender gaze.

“I missed you.”

“I missed you too,” you inhaled, gasping for breath. “I love you.”

He closed his eyes.

“Me too,” his voice was soft, like a whisper. And in that moment, you felt that the whisper came from his heart.

𝐄𝐏𝐈𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐔𝐄

────୨ৎ────

𝐛𝐢𝐫𝐝𝐬 ��𝐟 𝐟𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 – 𝐛𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐞 𝐞𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐡

↻ ◁ || ▷ ↺

𖥸

It had been three weeks since your night with Sae and you were back in Tokyo for your best friend Naho's wedding. You hadn't spoken to Sae since because you had asked him for time to think about it all.

Standing in the line of bridemaids, you stood straight and smiling, your heart softened by the sight of your best friend in her wedding dress, while her father guided her to her husband who had the same big smile as you when he saw his future wife.

It was a sunny day, the sky was blue and the weather was perfect for this ceremony. You had spent hours getting ready, it was as much an important day for you as it was for your best friend. You had been through so much together, you wished her nothing but happiness with her future husband. She was a pillar in your life, you would never have missed such an important day for her.

Everyone had respected the dress code: white and pink. All the bridemaids wore long pink strapless dresses with a slit, and a high sophisticated bun. Even the men had played along, and the garden of the castle where the wedding was held was filled with white and pink roses. You had of course participated in the decoration, just as Naho had helped you with your art exhibition.

You constantly had a smile on your face, your mind at ease. Everyone was in a good mood, there were only smiles and laughter while you ate, and tears of joy when they said "yes" to each other.

You wondered what it felt like to be married. To love someone so much that you would bear their name, and you chose to be bound together forever. What it felt like to wear the ring that symbolized your love, what it felt like to walk up to the priest, bouquet of flowers in hand, eyes fixed on you.

When she threw her bouquet of flowers behind her, you were the one to pick it up. And at that precise moment, your hands holding the bride's bouquet of flowers, you noticed that Sae was walking towards you.

You blinked several times, thinking you were dreaming, forgetting the world around you. But it was real. Dressed in a pink suit and a white shirt, he was walking towards you, his eyes fixed on you. His agent was following behind him.

Whispers rose in the garden, no one expected a celebrity to be present at the wedding. You looked for Naho, then when your eyes met, she winked at you, and that's when you understood. She had planned everything for you, even on her wedding day, she was thinking of you.

Sae stopped in front of you, and you couldn't help but admire how handsome he was with his hair moving because of the wind, his tie a little loose and his bright green eyes. He looked like a prince, and for once, he didn't have that ice prince look anymore. He was carrying a bouquet of flowers in his hand, the roses were your favorite color.

You swallowed, nervous to see him. You took a few steps forward, a few inches away from him.

“Sae?” you whispered, still feeling like you were in a dream, “What are you doing here?”

“I was invited,” he handed you his bouquet of flowers, “though I’m not here for the bride.”

You took his bouquet, hands shaking. You didn’t know what to think. You had dodged his messages after your passionate night, needing to think. But now, he was in front of you, and you couldn’t dodge anymore.

“Can we go somewhere quiet?” He held out his elbow to you.

Everyone was looking at you, whispering speculations in your ear.

“Of course,” you took his elbow, intertwining your arms together.

You walked towards the castle, your heart racing. You didn’t know what to say to him, or what to discuss. You wanted to tell him that he was handsome, smelled good, and left you speechless, but nothing came out of your mouth.

"So..."

"Yeah, so..." you cleared your throat.

“How’s it going with the interior designer?” he started with a light topic of discussion.

You smiled.

“Good, I’m going back to see her in two weeks in Madrid,” you answered him proudly.

“Good,” he nodded.

You stopped near the castle, and he let go of your elbow to stand in front of you.

"I have a gift for you," he pulled a small box out of his pocket.

Your heartbeat quickened.

"A gift?"

"Yes, hold out your hand."

You held out your hand to him, your body tense because of your nervousness. He opened the box, and took out a thin ring with small diamonds all around it. You opened your eyes wide, not expecting that.

"It's a promise ring," he gently took your hand in his to slip the ring on your finger. “If I can’t propose to you now, I promise to never hurt you like I did before.”

Your eyes stung and watered, you were speechless. He brought your hand to his lips and pressed a soft kiss on it.

“Have you thought about it? I mean, both of us.”

“Yes, I have,” you nodded softly and wiped away the few tears that fell with your other hand, “damn it, my makeup.”

He came closer to you, and leaned down to kiss your cheeks, where the tears fell, intercepting them. His touch was so soft, so sweet and so pleasant, you closed your eyes for a moment.

“And…?”

“I…”

His lips were placing kisses all over your face, and moving up to your forehead.

“I’m still scared.”

“I know.”

“But…”

You looked up at him, and gave him a soft smile.

“I’m ready to trust you again.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” he murmured against your forehead.

He wrapped his arms around your waist and looked at you with a tender gaze.

“I feel like I’m turning into a marshmallow because of you.”

You chuckled softly.

“I’m glad to hear that,” your smile grew, and you ran your hands through his hair.

He leaned down and pressed his forehead to yours.

“So there is an us?”

You nodded, still smiling.

"You better draw a summer solstice, we're not in the winter solstice anymore."

You tilted your head, confused.

"What are you talking about?"

He tightened his embrace around you. "Your 'winter solstice' painting that you made during our breakup. I refuse to let it be your last creation about us. Things have changed between us. I have changed."

Your heart was filled with indescribable emotions, and you felt your eyes moisten again.

"No more dull colors, no more sinister winters. Only sunny days, happy faces and bright colors. A summer solstice."

You closed your eyes, and you imagined yourself walking with your wedding dress, bouquet of flowers in hand, towards Sae, and it felt good, right. You still needed to talk to him about so many things, to talk about the future and the past, but you had all the time in the world.

And on this sunny day, it was now your turn to tell him your "yes".

𓍯 𝐤𝐫𝐲𝐬

#𐙚 writings 𓍢ִ🌸˙#sae itoshi #sae x reader #sae itoshi x reader #bllk x reader #bllk smut #sae x you #sae x y/n #sae itoshi x you #sae itoshi x y/n #bllk x you #bllk x female reader #sae bllk #blue lock x reader #blue lock x you #blue lock x y/n #blue lock x female reader #itoshi sae #sae itoshi smut

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aceday · 1 month ago

Text

Agatha Harkness x Reader and Rio Vidal x Reader

summary: you’re but an innocent young actor slightly in over your head filming a movie opposite rio vidal, directed by milf extraordinaire agatha harkness. what could possibly go wrong and what could possibly go right?

warnings: age gap, slight dub/non!con themes, fingering, oral, slight exhibitionist themes, public sex

*afab gender neutral reader

@covenofagatha @d-z20

i guess i straight fucking lied when i said i don’t do this last time bc here we are again whoop de fucking doo

The Director’s Cut

With a satisfying pop, Rio Vidal’s fingers slip out of your mouth. The fingers of her other hand tighten around your throat, wrangling a strangled moan from your lips, and she pushes you back onto the mattress. Your fingertips scratch desperately at her forearm, tears pricking the corners of your eyes as you fight for breath, and Rio’s knee shoves your legs open.

“Got something to say now, hmm?”

You shake your head fervently, a plea in your eyes. Rio releases your throat and you gasp, only for her mouth to be on yours immediately, smothering you, her hands greedily grabbing at your hips, sides, ribs. Her mouth detaches from yours only to find itself immediately at your neck, her hands now attempting to tear your shirt off of you.

“Professor,” you gasp out, voice strained with blissed pain, with velvet panic. With some frantic struggle the shirt is wrenched off of you and the air nips at your skin. The hair on the back of your neck lifts. Rio finally stills for one cold, heavy moment, to stare at you under her, her face contorted in a cool sort of snarl, her eyes sharp.

“You act up, you play by my rules.” Her hand grabs your face, squeezing your jaw painfully. “Understood?”

“I-”

“CUT.”

A scatter of voices and murmurs arise immediately. Rio lets you go and heaves a barely-restrained sigh.

“Cut!” The voice of the director demands again, and both you and your co-star sit up on the mattress. You scratch awkwardly at your throat and look around for your costume shirt somewhere in the sheets.

“It’s wrong, really. Wrong. Fuck.” Agatha Harkness steps onto the set. You squint against the spotlights, feeling your face burn. You and Rio exchange a glance. “The energy, the dynamics. We’re going to have to totally rework this.” She paces furiously. Rio stands from the bed and grabs your shirt, which had apparently been tossed off in the heat of the scene. She hands it to you and you nod gratefully, pulling it back over your head. Agatha has been in an awful mood all day. “We’re going to take twenty. I want everybody to go splash cold water on themselves and get their heads out of their asses.”

You can’t conceal your exhausted sigh as you wriggle awkwardly off the bed. You’re about to go get some water when Agatha snaps her fingers at you, freezing you in your place. With an inward groan and your heart going a million miles a minute, you turn dejectedly to your director.

“Not you. You’re going to meet me in my trailer, asap.” You stare at her for a moment with bald-faced shock, but she’s already turned to her assistant director and is complaining her ear off. You swallow your… so many things, your pride, shame, embarrassment, fury, and stomp off set to the trailer lot.

You don’t bother waiting for Agatha to catch up to throw open the door and walk inside, toeing off your shoes. You’ve never been in her trailer before. It’s not as sterile as you would have imagined; there’s stacks of books and papers and binders and folders and a whole bunch of other boring shit on every flat surface, along with more than a few half-full mugs of what seems to be black coffee.

You slouch doggedly onto her couch, rubbing your eyes. It hasn’t been your best work, you know, but you’re certain you haven’t been bad enough to quite warrant getting chewed out in private. You stare out the small square window. It could be worse, you suppose, she could be chewing you out in public. This is easier to manage, even though you hate the thought of your director being unimpressed with you, but you might as well cut your losses now and move on.

As you sit and stew, the door flies open. Agatha marches in, doused in all black, the sleeves of her button up pushed up to her elbows and her hair tied up into a messy ponytail. She seems to have calmed down a little, a very little amount, well, maybe not at all, actually, maybe she looks angrier than she did before-

The door slams shut and knocks you out of your thoughts. There’s a sizzling silence. A huge knot forms in your throat.

“What was that back there, hmm?”

You don’t know what to say. You cried that take. “I cried that take.” It’s impossible to hide the desperate edge to your voice.

Agatha holds out a finger and your mouth snaps shut. “No excuses,” she hisses, “your face is fine, more than fine, but you act like you’ve never been fucked before.” A huge, violent, and deep blush spreads immediately from your collarbones up. You look away quickly. “You’re simultaneously stiff as a board and loose like a slinky. You wanna look like a slinky out there?”

Agatha has such a way with words. You shake your head. “No, I do not want to look like a slinky out there.”

Agatha doesn’t seem to notice nor care that you’ve spoken. The heat in your face burns brighter as she paces exasperatedly in front of you. Your fingers begin to scratch anxiously at your jeans. “Rio Vidal is a hot young woman. I can’t imagine that she’s not your type. And yet- hours of intimacy coordination later and we’re still at square one.” That’s firstly not true and secondly a bewilderingly unfair thing to say. The rejection stings. Tears well in your eyes and you blink them away furiously, adamant on keeping a tough front for your director. She paces furiously, dizzyingly, back and forth and back and forth. “Seriously, kid. Hours of intimacy coordination and talking and talking and going over the movements step by step. I could do your part in my sleep by now. And maybe I will!” She whirls on you, then pauses. You can’t imagine what you look like right now, your body unnaturally still to keep your leg from bouncing, feeling neon you’re blushing so hard, your jaw clenched, your eyes narrowed and wet.

Agatha has always had a way of being four steps ahead of you, always in the know before there’s even anything to know, so you shouldn’t be surprised when she takes one look at you and suddenly declares, “You’re a virgin,” as if it is the most obvious truth in the world. You look away, trying hard, desperately hard, to maintain your composure. But what can you do? She’s right, for the most part.

Agatha’s eyes narrow when you don’t reply. The manic air about her stills, and you’re suddenly wishing for her fiery temper instead of the cold, calculating dread that suddenly sits heavy between you two. She crosses her arms and continues pacing, but slowly this time, less like she’s being whipped around by her own anger and more like she’s a shark circling something tender and bloody.

“Well,” she says, gesturing lazily in the air, “do you have anything to say for yourself?”

“It’s not a bad thing.” You sound defensive. It’s because you are.

Agatha appears to be lost in thought, “No, no,” she hums. “Nothing bad about a little prude ruining my film, hmm?”

Well. That shuts you up. Your mouth is closed, your eyes are a little wide in disbelief, you’re pretty sure this kind of talk violates some sort of workers rights something, and upon seeing your speechless state, the ghost of a smirk tugs at Agatha’s lips. A shiver runs down your spine.

In stunned silence you flounder, opening and closing your mouth like a fish, while Agatha waits, leveling you with her knowing stare, sizing you up, her eyes tracing up and down your frigid form, for you to say something.

“I’m sorry?”

Are you apologizing or asking “Excuse me?” - you hardly know. Agatha steps in closer to you, your knees almost touching her legs, what is she thinking? Really, what could she possibly be thinking?

“Are you?” Maybe? Agatha sighs and sits next to you on the couch, an arm slung behind you. “How about I propose something for you, for us, hmm?” She turns to look at you, and you’re suddenly caught in the narrowed ice of her eyes as if under a blinding spotlight. She’s always had one of those absolutely shriveling stares that you can’t tear away from. You nod for her to continue, and a smile crawls on her lips. Something brushes your arm and you flinch, only to realize that her fingertips are floating lightly up and down your bicep.

“Tell you what, kid. I’m having a shit day, I’m definitely making it your shit day, and you’re a little prig that needs to loosen up.” She leans in closer to you, far enough away, but you can feel the heat of her breath, can see each delicate flick of her eyes around your face. Her voice drops to a whisper. “Why don’t I fuck you silly here in my trailer, blow a little steam, and teach you what it looks like to feel so, so, impossibly good?”

You blanch. A terrifying expanse of heat sears down your stomach, not out of embarrassment this time. “E-Excuse me?”

“Tell me, kid. What do you think about when you touch yourself?”

“Agatha, I-”

“And don’t pretend like you don’t sneak glances down my shirt every chance you get. I see the way you look at me. The way you’ve been looking at me.”

“No, no, I-”

“Then I’m wrong?”

She’s so close to you now, her mouth hovering just above yours, eyes drifting lazily across your face. The worst part, the worst part about it, is that she’s not wrong, she’s not, you do stare, you do imagine, and even now you can feel sharp tendrils of lust unfurling inside of you, dampening your underwear.

“Come on, kid,” a low whisper, her voice like the trembling string dangling the carrot of her offer in front of your face. “Tell me what you want.”

Breathless: “I…” you shake your head, “I want-” to your infinite surprise, you cut yourself off, pushing your mouth against Agatha’s, your body propelling forward almost as if of its own accord. Agatha hums in delight. She wastes no time.

She climbs on top of you, pushing you back down onto the couch and straddling your hips. Her tongue slides between your lips and, hesitant, your mouth opens, and the kiss grows sloppy, wet, Agatha’s tongue and teeth and lips on and against and in you. You whimper, your hands finding her ribs, your hips bucking involuntarily as her knee slides between your thighs. Your muted breaths melt into a high pitched moan as her knee presses against your cunt.

“I knew it,” Agatha whispers when her mouth breaks from yours, and her head dips down to the soft space between your neck and shoulder. She bites, hard and fast, not enough to leave a mark but enough to send a pained spasm through your body. You tense and dig your fingertips into her sides, and Agatha chuckles.

“Come on, kid,” Agatha says, pushing up on her palms to look down at you. Your lips sting, your chest rising and falling heavily, your breathing audible, not quite gasping, but stuttering. “Pay attention, okay?”

You nod, and Agatha pushes your shirt to your collarbones. She kisses down your naval, down your stomach, her thumbs brushing your nipples and mouth hot beneath your belly button. She looks up at you, eyelashes dark, eyes pale and sharp.

“Are you watching?”

“Yes,” you breathe, and Agatha’s fingers undo your jeans. Your heart clenches at the soft snap of the button being released from its denim hold, a cold sweat at the back of your neck as you hear the zipper being pulled down. Agatha looks slowly up and down, between your eyes and each new inch of skin revealed underneath your clothes.

She tugs your jeans off of you, your underwear going with it, the bits of your costume being shed from your body. Agatha sighs, relieved, the way a dog does curling up in a warm patch of sunlight, and your skin dances at the gust of breath crawling up your body.

“I needed this, kid. Let me tell you.” She leans close to your cunt, you already know you’re dripping, you’ve been dripping, but Agatha doesn’t remark on your pathetic state. Instead she hovers close and inhales deeply. “Fuck,” she whispers, barely audible, and your head falls back, a whimper dislodging from your throat.

Her tensed tongue licks slowly through your folds, the tip circling carefully around your clit, and the shudder you release grips your entire body. Your hands, which had, up until this point, been white knuckling the cushions of the couch, fly to your mouth, and Agatha is suddenly on you, lips and tongue breathing pleasure into you like a gust of wind, like fire from a dragon’s belly, and it’s intense, intense. You’ve been fingered a few lackluster times by lackluster people, but Agatha runs hot, runs feverish, and everything feels scalding, your pleasure, your — Agatha scratches down your sides — your pain, and you want more and more and more.

“Agatha,” you mutter. Your voice sounds like it’s being forcefully pulled from your throat. “Agatha.”

Agatha’s fingers play against your folds, joined with her tongue, and your hands thread through her hair. She lifts her head to look at you, and you can see the glisten of yourself on her chin. Her fingers work you, slowly, in tidal beckoning motions. Your pleasure, vague, dazzling waves, suddenly straightens, taut and defined, and you can feel your orgasm inching into you. Your breath becomes shallow.

“Let’s see,” Agatha murmurs, “how did the coordinator do this? Rio has you pinned, she’s being a little violent, there are tears in your eyes, and when she fucks you, she fucks you rough.” Agatha stuffs three fingers into you, setting a brutally slow and violently deep pace. Your yelp sounds more like a cry and Agatha narrows a cold glare at you. “Shut it, kid, I don’t want to have to do it myself.” You bring a hand to your mouth, stifling each staccato whimper to the tune of Agatha’s thrusts. “And I’m sure you don’t want that either.”

Strung with pain, your skin shivering, your heels digging into the cushions, Agatha’s pace finally relents, slows, and she studies you maliciously. “In the next sex scene, our Professor acquiesces, takes pity on her disobedient but young student,” she pulls your thighs over her shoulders. Her fingers slip out of you, and though your body aches with relief, the wavering string of your pleasure keens for more. Agatha chuckles. “This is my favorite part.” She licks a broad stripe against you. You shiver. “You should see the way Rio looks at you when we film this part. It’s perfect every time.”

Agatha crawls up, your knees still hooked around her shoulders, and you whimper, feeling impossibly small as two of her fingers bury gently into you, stroking gently against your walls, her thumb brushing a light touch against your clit. The beaten, puppeted orgasm you’ve been chasing swells once more against you, rearing, an animal about to pounce.

Agatha kisses you, and you’re ready, your lips parted and waiting for her tongue, which slips eagerly between your teeth. You taste yourself. You think of Rio, stripping you on that damn bed, all hard touches and stinging words and dark, velvet eyes, and Agatha behind the camera, in her all black outfit, blending into the shadows behind the key light like a predator, biting the knuckle of her pointer finger, watching and watching. Fuck. It’s hot. It’s so hot. Agatha’s fingertips curl against what you can only imagine is your g-spot and you gasp against her mouth, earning a quick nip of your bottom lip in response.

“You gonna come for me, kid? It’s about time. Just like you do for Rio right about now, hmm?” Your body teeters slowly, achingly slowly, into an orgasm, its golden edges fizzing like a pot about to boil over. You thrash against Agatha, your hands clawing desperately at her back but your body still trapped in the curled contortion she has you pinned in. “Good, good. Much better, right? You’ll be perfect in front of that camera. Just like that, kid. Perfect.”

The thread snaps. Your orgasm douses you. You throw your head back, the cry in your throat wrangled out of you, unbidden, until Agatha slaps a hand over your mouth. “Don’t ruin your pretty voice, kid,” she purrs wickedly, “Save it for the camera.”

Agatha holds you while you shudder through your orgasm, your vision blurred at the edges, eyes unfocused, and she gently frees your legs from her shoulders, kissing you softly. Your hard panting mellows, evening out steadily. Agatha checks her watch and clucks her tongue.

“You made good time, kid. Are you going to remember this?” You nod, running your fingers through your hair. Agatha rights your jeans and helps straighten your shirt, pressing a kiss to your head as you wriggle into your costume.

“Good, because we’re getting right in it. Be ready to run the scene in ten.” A knot of shock flashes through you. Director Agatha is still director Agatha.

“But don’t I…”

“Don’t you what? Smell like sex? Still sensitive in your cunt and legs? That’s the goal, kid. Now get out of my trailer.” She waves you off. You gulp, cursing silently in your head but undeniably relishing in the hot flush at your cheeks. You stuff your feet into your shoes and let the door swing shut loudly behind you.

The team is in motion, cameras adjusting, the boom guy talking with Rio, who has her arms crossed. She casts her gaze briefly to the side and catches sight of you. She pauses. Her eyes narrow. Your stomach flips, but before you can think of what that look could possibly mean, someone grabs your arm. You whip around and face your makeup designer.

“I’ve been looking all over for you! I-” she cuts herself off. You must look a little like a mess, flushed, wet-eyed. If you had to guess, you probably look like Agatha spent the entire break chewing you out. Chewing, no. Eating, on the other hand…

You chuckle dryly, and your designer takes a step back. “Nevermind,” she says, waving a hand dismissively. “You look perfect. Break a leg.”

“Alright everybody. Places.” Agatha’s voice cuts like a knife over the noisy bustle. There’s immediate quiet as everyone hustles to their designated spots. “We’re starting from ‘Got something to say now’.”

You situate yourself on the bed. Rio climbs on top of you. A shudder runs unprompted down your spine. With horror, you realize that you are still sensitive. Violently sensitive. Above you, Rio’s eyes narrow. She inhales deeply. You think she’s sighing, but a treacherous thought flickers through your mind that maybe she smells you, smells Agatha, smells you on Agatha on you. Rio’s eyes trace down your body, seeming to clock every unfortunate and incriminating detail. Your messed up hair, your hot skin, your shaking legs.

You’re not sure if it’s to your relief or distress, but Rio chuckles lowly. “Extra lesson, hmm?”

You swallow. “S-Sorry?”

She leans down close to your ear. Her hands wrap slowly around your wrists, pressing them above your head. This wasn’t in the intimacy coordination. “That’s fine. If you’re going to get a little extra help, maybe we can have a little fun, right?”

A knot forms in your throat. Your ears feel hot. “I think-”

Agatha’s voice, booming, as if from heaven. “Scene 30. Take 7. And… action!”

Rio grabs quickly at your throat. You feel dazed, but vaguely remember your blocking and shakily hold onto her forearm. Rio flashes you a toothy smile, a creepy, toothy smile that hollows out your chest. “Got something to say now, hmm?”

You shake your head quickly, and to your surprise, instead of releasing your throat, Rio shoves a knee between your legs, knocking against your clit. You gasp out your next line, “Professor-” and Rio’s fingertips dig harder into the sides of your throat. Her other hand finds your wrist, slamming it above your head, her grip tight. “Professor,” you choke out again, finding Rio’s gaze, the wild, manic look in her eyes shooting guilty sparks of pleasure down your spine. “Please,” you beg, off-script, and this time, Rio relents.

She releases your neck. Your hand flies up to it, your breath scraping down your throat, heavy, but Rio catches your other wrist and shoves it down with the other. “You act up,” she hisses, “you play by my rules.” She gathers both wrists with one hand and strokes a manicured nail down your jaw. You strain your face away, breath light and fluttering.

“Understood?”

At the word, she grabs your jaw sharply, forcing you to meet her eyes. There’s something of a challenge in her gaze. You’d probably break if you weren’t so fucking turned on, but your own arousal dampens your underwear. You feel hot everywhere.

“I understand, Professor,” you whisper. A well timed tear traces from the corner of your eye down your temple. “Please, don’t go too hard.” You blink pathetically up at her. “I didn’t mean to.”

The double meaning is more than received. Rio laughs loudly. “Didn’t mean to? Yeah right.” Her knee pushes up into your hot cunt and you whimper loudly, your eyes rolling back. The hand squeezing your jaw drops down between your legs. You whine and buck your hips. Rio scoffs, shaking her head. It’s miserably clear to her that you’re not acting anymore.

“Pathetic,” she sneers. Her hand quickly unbuttons your jeans and sinks beneath your waistband. Usually, she doesn’t come close to touching you. The jeans are low-rise and loose, but this time, Rio has no qualms about pressing her fingertips against your underwear, no doubt feeling the hot, soaked cloth. She groans and curses.

“Professor,” you gasp, choked. Your tears flow freely now. Her fingertips dig blindly against your cunt, feeling through the fabric your folds, your clit, warm and sensitive. You feel raw from the orgasm you just had, so violently raw, and even the lightest touch sends a dark pleasure scattering through you. You jerk uncontrollably, writhing beneath Rio, feeling an orgasm, a fucking orgasm, climbing panicked below your stomach.

Rio’s mouth crashes down onto yours, as if trying, and failing, to mute each desperate noise that crawls from your throat. The result is you moaning wildly into the kiss, choking around her tongue, her fingers kneading into the cloth and sending you sputtering into a lingering orgasm that you’re not sure ever fully evaporated - a fact Rio seems to be well aware of.

Your body tenses and you careen through the waves of pleasure splashing in you, swallowing you whole. Rio pulls her mouth off of yours to watch the bliss bloom across your face and the cry that erupts from your throat is somehow both a whimper and a howl.

“Much better,” Rio whispers, pulling her hand from your jeans, kissing down your neck and stroking your cheek with her thumb. You can smell yourself on her fingers. You lay there dumbly, shivering through the dregs of your orgasm, sighing into an exhaustion you’ve never known. “That was good, that was really good,” Rio hums, pleased.

When your eyes meet, there’s a bit of tentativeness. This got out of hand. The smile you give her is, you hope, both wayward and reassuring.

“Did I-” you’ve started your line while still out of breath, and interrupt yourself to take a deep breath, “Did I do okay, Professor?” A phrase carrying a triple meaning, at this point. You’d give anything to look at Agatha right now, but manage to stay in character, keep your gaze trained on Rio’s glazed eyes.

“You were amazing,” she whispers, kissing you softly.

“Cut!”

Both Rio and you jolt in surprise. She peels off of you, lightly intertwining your fingers with hers, and you sit up, looking towards Agatha. You only see the camera, and in the darkness, her dark form slides from behind it. Her outline becomes slowly visible as she takes a few steps closer towards you two, though shadows still cut across her. You can see a smile stretch across her face.

“Now that,” she says. “Was perfect.” Agatha turns to face the crew. “On that note, that’s a wrap for today. Everybody go take a cold shower.” Agatha then steps fully into the light. The look on her face is indescribably malicious, a smile that could be angry or just evil, pale eyes glinting. You exchange a glance with Rio and notice a soft heat on her cheeks. “You two, meet me in my trailer first.” Agatha’s eyes narrow. “I want to discuss some notes with you.”

#agatha all along #agatha harkness #agatha harkness x reader #rio vidal x reader #agatha harkness x rio vidal x reader #agatha all along fanfic #agatha all along smut #agatha x reader #rio x reader

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winxanity-ii · 4 months ago

Text

LIKE WHAT YOU SEE?

ship: fashion designer!gojo x fem!model!reader warnings: nsfw 🔞 (fem. receiving hand-job/fingering; overstimualtion; p in v ; creampie, wrap before you tap kiddos) word count: 6.6k (i'm gagged cuz i swear it wasn't that many words as i was typing 😭😭💀) A/N: Hey, bubbly-bear! just wanted to let you know i've moved from my my alt account to my main one, so i'm posting your request here…

Request:Hello! I had a lil gojo x reader idea but if you aren’t vibing with it please dont feel like you have to write it, or change it how you see fit! BUT I feel like Guess (ft. Billie E.) By Charlie xcx is so Gojo coded and I would love to see a fic based off of it if possible :)

p.s. mwaaaaahhhhh, thx you so much for being my first request, hope i did you justice 😩✨

This line from the song just stood out to me and i just had to write it:

I wanna try it, bite it, lick it, spit it Pull it to the side and get all up in it Kiss it, ride it, can I fit it?

★·.·´🇯‌🇺‌🇯‌🇺‌🇹‌🇸‌🇺‌ 🇰‌🇦‌🇮‌🇸‌🇪‌🇳‌ 🇲‌🇦‌🇸‌🇹‌🇪‌🇷‌🇱‌🇮‌🇸‌🇹‌`·.·★

"Turn your head like that—yes, perfect! Raise your chin a little more. Hold it!" The head photographer's voice cut through the organized chaos, every word precise and demanding. "Lighting! Can we adjust the back light, it's catching too much glare!" Another barked command as assistants scurried to fix the harsh spotlight casting an overexposed halo on you. "Makeup! Fix the lipstick; it's smudged." The pace had been relentless, as it always was on set. The camera had clicked, capturing each second of your endurance, but all you could focus on was the way your body ached.

Your feet, crammed into designer heels, screamed for relief, and your back burned from holding poses longer than it felt natural. You shifted your weight slightly, hoping no one noticed as the clicks of the camera went on like rapid fire.

"Alright, people, ten-minute break!" Finally, the head photographer clapped his hands, giving everyone the much-needed signal to stop.

A bell rang faintly in the background, and your shoulders slumped as you let out a groan.

You dropped the strained pose you had been holding for what felt like an eternity. You rolled your neck, feeling the tension snap and release in your joints.

The lights dimmed slightly as Kugisaki Nobara and Itadori Yuji sauntered over from the swimwear shoot, and you couldn't help but notice how their outfits screamed for attention—both in completely different ways.

Nobara was in a skimpy two-piece swimsuit, the top barely enough to cover her small bust, accentuating her slim waist. The delicate straps dug into her skin as she pulled at them, clearly annoyed, though the outfit highlighted her toned frame with every step she took.

The bottom piece clung to her hips, just barely covering enough to maintain some modesty, with high-cut sides that emphasized her long legs.

Despite the discomfort written across her face, Nobara moved with confidence, her slender figure not going unnoticed by the photographers still milling around.

She scrunched her nose. "This swimsuit is killing me," she muttered, fingers fidgeting with the ties around her waist. "Honestly, whose idea was it to make swimwear this uncomfortable?"

Yuji, in contrast, had an air of ease about him, rocking a pair of matching swim trunks that coordinated with Nobara's outfit—an intentional design that somehow made their shoot feel like a playful, couples-themed editorial.

His bare chest gleamed under the studio lights, each of his perfectly sculpted abs on display as though carved by a sculptor. His body was toned yet muscular, the kind of physique that didn’t need fancy clothes to stand out.

With sun-kissed skin and that infectious grin, Yuji could have made wearing anything look effortless.

"C'mon, Nobara, we don't have that much longer. Besides, you look great," Yuji said, his voice lighthearted as always.

Nobara rolled her eyes. "Yeah, yeah, says the guy who could wear a trash bag and still smile like it's no big deal."

You let out a quiet chuckle as Yuji gave you a wink before being called away to review some of the shots. He shot you a playful smile over his shoulder as he walked off, his broad back flexing slightly under the pressure of moving around in the hot lights.

"Ugh, I swear, if Yuji keeps this up, I'm going to barf," Nobara muttered, shaking her head as she sidled up next to you, arms crossed over her chest.

The two of you made your way toward the refreshments table, where the scattered models and assistants buzzed like bees around a honey pot.

You could feel the material of your own outfit shift as you moved, the delicate knitted vest you wore slightly hugging your upper body. It was all part of the 'clean girl' aesthetic your stylist had chosen for you—a knitted cream-colored vest over a crisp white blouse, paired with a pleated schoolgirl skirt that swayed with every step.

It was simple, yet chic—the kind of outfit that made you feel both elegant and casual at the same time.

Yet, despite its light, airy look, the long hours standing in the heels were starting to make your feet scream. The snug fit of the vest only heightened the strain on your tired muscles, adding to the sense of exhaustion.

Nobara leaned in closer, her eyes gleaming as if she was about to share the juiciest tidbit of gossip she had yet. "So, did you hear about Kaori and that photographer? Apparently, they got caught in one of the back dressing rooms."

You raised a brow, barely hiding your amusement. "Kaori? The one who's been eyeing everyone since day one?."

"Oh, and you didn't hear this from me," Nobara continued, lowering her voice even more, "but Sumi told me that Yuji's been getting cozy with that new model, Megumi. You know, the quiet one? Well, they—"

You groaned, cutting her off. "Don't you ever get tired of knowing all the messy things?"

Nobara rolled her eyes dramatically, her lips curling into a smirk. "Never~" she said, before nodding toward the side entrance. Her voice took on a mischievous edge as she added, "Just like I know you never get tired of denying that your new stylist wants to fuck you."

You practically choked, your eyes widening as the words hit you. "W-What?" you sputtered, your face heating up. You let out a shaky laugh, then coughed, trying to gather yourself. "Stop saying that…"

Nobara's smirk only grew wider, clearly enjoying your discomfort. "Oh, come on. The man practically undresses you with his eyes every time he's around. You can't tell me you don't notice the way he looks at you. The man's got designs on more than just your clothes, babe."

The heat in your cheeks deepened, and you averted your gaze, unsure how to respond.

It was hard to deny that your stylist's hands lingered just a bit too long during fittings, or that his gaze seemed a little too intense when he adjusted the fabrics on your body.

The clean, tailored looks he designed for you always felt more intimate than the pieces he created for other models. But surely, it was just part of his meticulous nature, right?

"I-It's just professional," you stammered, glancing down at the drink in your hand, trying to focus on something—anything—other than the growing knot in your stomach. "He's focused on the designs, Nobara. That's it."

Nobara snorted, giving you a knowing look. "Yeah, okay. If by ‘designs’ you mean figuring out how to get under your clothes, then sure. But I mean, I'm not complaining. If I were in your shoes, I'd fuck him."

Before you could respond, a shadow fell over you both, and you didn't need to look up to know who it was. You felt his presence before you saw him.

There, leaning casually against the side of the refreshment table, was Gojo Satoru, the man in question.

His signature smirk played on his lips as those piercing, ice-blue eyes of his scanned over you over his shades, and you could practically feel the heat of his gaze as it lingered on your skirt.

"Ladies," Satoru drawled, his voice smooth and dripping with charm. "Hope I'm not interrupting anything too scandalous?"

Nobara raised an eyebrow, giving you a teasing look before stepping back. "Oh no, nothing at all. We were just talking about your... designs," she said with a sly grin before stepping back. "Guess, I'll leave you two to it," she teased, nudging you as she walked away.

And just like that, you were left alone with him, heart racing as you met his eyes. His grin only widened, as if he knew exactly what you were thinking.

"So..." Satoru murmured, his voice low and teasing as he leaned in slightly. "Anything you'd like to confess?"

Your throat went dry, and you could only shake your head, praying that he hadn't overheard Nobara's playful remarks.

But judging by the gleam in his eyes, you had a feeling he probably had.

Your heart raced as you tried to compose yourself, swallowing back the nerves rising in your throat. You forced a smile, though it felt shaky at best. "I don't have anything to confess," you said, attempting to keep your voice light. "Is there anything you need help with?"

Satoru's smirk deepened, his eyes gleaming as he straightened up, his hands casually slipping into the pockets of his perfectly tailored trousers. "As a matter of fact," he drawled, "you could help me with something."

You blinked, caught off guard by the shift in his tone. Before you could ask what he meant, two of Satoru's assistants appeared at his side, as if on cue, each one wearing the kind of professionalism that didn't quite mask the urgency in their steps.

Without explanation, they began to gently but firmly usher you toward the changing quarters.

"W-Wait—what's going on?" you stammered, glancing over your shoulder at Satoru, who followed behind leisurely, his long strides giving him an air of complete control. "Why am I changing? I thought my shoot was almost over?"

"Oh, nothing much," Satoru sing-songed, his lips pulling into a mischievous grin. "I just had a chat with the higher-ups about pushing up the date for a few of our theme releases. Ya'know, rearranging which models get which looks."

Your confusion only deepened, and you blinked owlishly, trying to make sense of his words as you were guided toward a small room at the end of the hallway. "But—what does that have to do with—"

You trailed off as you stepped into the changing room and saw the mannequin sitting in the center. It was draped in an outfit that made your breath catch in your throat. A short leather miniskirt, sleek and shimmering, paired with a crop bodycon top that clung to the mannequin’s torso like a second skin

The entire ensemble was a bold combination of black and silver, with metallic bangles adorning the arms and a choker embedded with silver and black accents.

But what truly caught your attention was the soft sheen of baby blue that ran through the outfit—a shade that was eerily similar to the blue of Satoru's eyes.

You stared at the outfit for a moment, taking in the platform boots that completed the look, their towering heels intimidating yet alluring. The whole ensemble screamed nightlife, clubbing, a world of flashing lights and pulsing music.

It was striking, to say the least.

The assistants wasted no time, setting down various items on a nearby table while preparing the room for your quick change. But you stood frozen, blinking again as realization slowly dawned.

Satoru leaned against the doorframe, watching you with an almost lazy amusement.

"You're joking," you muttered, half in disbelief.

Satoru raised an eyebrow, his grin widening. "Do I look like I'm joking?"

You glanced back at the mannequin, the black and silver catching the light in a way that made the outfit seem even more eye-catching.

The baby blue accents shimmered faintly, bringing your thoughts right back to Satoru, his confident smirk and those eyes that seemed to follow your every move.

The outfit looked like it had been designed for you—and only you.

The assistants were already moving around, gesturing for you to start changing, but your mind was still reeling. "You... moved up the schedule?"

"Had a feeling this look was perfect for you," Satoru said casually, pushing off the doorframe and walking further into the room. "Wanted to see it on you sooner rather than later."

You bit your lip, nerves fluttering in your chest as you stared at the mannequin once more.

The way Satoru's gaze lingered on you sent a shiver down your spine.

It was as if this entire thing had been orchestrated just for his amusement, his design, his vision.

The assistants handed you the top, a fitted crop that shimmered in the light, the baby blue accents standing out against the metallic silver.

You reluctantly grabbed it from them as they moved off to remove the other pieces from the mannequin.

The room felt warmer all of a sudden, like the air had thickened, and you couldn’t shake the tension prickling at the back of your neck.

You lifted your gaze only to find Satoru already staring at you, his eyes locked on yours in a way that made your breath hitch. You cleared your throat, your voice shaky as you tried to break the spell. "Shouldn't you leave? I need to change."

Instead of moving, his lips curved into that trademark smirk that always made your stomach flip. "I'll have to stay and oversee things. You know, just to make sure nothing goes wrong. I can swoop in and fix anything if needed."

Your face burned, heat rushing to your cheeks as his words lingered in the air.

You weren't naïve. You'd worked with dozens of stylists before, all of them meticulous, always staying to make sure the fit was perfect. But none of them ever made your skin tingle the way Satoru did.

None of them ever watched you like they were imagining a thousand different things beneath the clothes. And none of them ever made you feel like you were burning alive from the inside out with just a look.

Heart pounding, you turned away, hoping to escape his gaze. You began undressing, slipping out of your current outfit.

Each movement felt amplified, like you could feel the air around you, charged with tension. You reached behind yourself, trying to steady your breathing as you fumbled with the zipper.

You could practically feel his eyes on you, mapping out your body, lingering on every curve as if he could see right through the fabric.

Your skin prickled, the sensation of his gaze making it hard to even think straight. Every breath felt labored, every second stretched too long.

As you reached behind to unclip your bralette, your fingers trembling slightly, you felt a pair of hands cover yours—large, warm, and deliberate.

The shock froze you in place, your breath catching in your throat.

"Allow me to help you with that…" His voice was low, velvety, and it sent a shiver down your spine as he leaned in closer, his breath ghosting over your ear.

The world narrowed to that moment, the heat of his presence overwhelming your senses. His fingers gently brushed against yours as he unhooked your bralette, the touch feather-light but filled with an unspoken promise.

You couldn't move, couldn't breathe, the room suddenly too small, too hot, with Satoru towering behind you, his hands so close, too close.

Every nerve in your body screamed in protest, but your heart betrayed you, hammering in your chest as a low pulse of desire curled through your veins.

His hands slid away as he stepped back, giving you room, but the mark of his touch lingered long after he'd let go.

It left you breathless, the space between you charged with something dangerous, something unspoken that hung heavy in the air.

Satoru's smirk never wavered, his eyes still locked onto yours in the reflection of the mirror. "There..." he murmured, his voice smooth as silk. "...All done."

You stuttered out a soft, breathless, "Thank you," barely able to get the words out before Satoru turned on his heel. His presence seemed to consume the room, but as he barked an order to one of his assistants, the pressure finally lifted.

"Adjust the lighting for the next setup! And I want the backdrop changed in five minutes!" Satoru's voice rang out, sharp and authoritative. With one last glance over his shoulder at you, he strode away, leaving the room in a whirlwind of activity.

As soon as he was gone, it felt like you could finally breathe again. The air in the room cooled, the weight of his lingering presence fading, though not entirely.

Your fingers trembled slightly as you pulled the leather skirt up over your hips, the fabric snug against your skin. Satoru's assistant helped you with the bodycon top, tugging it into place, adjusting the hem and smoothing out the fabric as it clung to your curves.

The outfit was bold—almost too bold—but it fit like a second skin, highlighting every line of your body in the way only Satoru's designs could.

The rest of the day passed in a blur of camera clicks, flashing lights, and endless posing. Hours slipped by, the sun gradually lowering as the shoot continued, stretching longer than expected.

Nanami Kento, the photographer overseeing everything, was a perfectionist. His no-nonsense attitude left no room for error, and his eye for detail was unmatched.

He had insisted on waiting for the natural dusk light, arguing that it would complement the metallic sheen of your outfit and bring out the best in the overall composition.

You had worked with Kento before. His bluntness and unwavering pursuit of perfection made him a tough taskmaster, but he was one of the best in the industry.

Shoots paired with him always led to increased success. His images captured not just the clothes, but the mood, the essence of the model wearing them.

He and Satoru were at the top of their game right now, the dynamic power duo behind many successful campaigns, and you couldn't deny how they both pushed you further than anyone else ever had.

"…And… that's a wrap!" Kento's voice finally cut through the endless camera clicks, sharp and definitive. The faint ring of a bell followed, signaling the end of the shoot.

You exhaled a long, relieved breath, feeling the weight of the day lift off your shoulders.

The shoot had taken the remainder of the day, from midday to the last golden rays of dusk.

The combination of Satoru's exacting demands—making you pose in just the right way to show off the outfit—and Kento's insistence on perfect lighting meant you'd spent hours standing, twisting, and holding uncomfortable poses.

The tightness in your back and shoulders made it clear how long you had been at it. Your feet ached in the platform boots, and your muscles screamed for rest.

As the assistants began to pack away the equipment, the space slowly emptied out. The other models and staff had long since finished their own shoots and left, leaving only you and a skeleton crew behind.

The studio, once alive with chaos, was now eerily quiet, the low hum of final tasks being completed the only sound in the background.

You peeled yourself away from the set and made your way back to the dressing room, feeling the tightness of the leather skirt with every step.

The corridors were deserted now, with most of the team having wrapped up hours ago. The silence was almost jarring after the noise and flurry of the day.

You were exhausted, every muscle in your body protesting as you moved.

Finally, you reached your dressing room, the door creaking slightly as you pushed it open. The sight of the empty space—the vanity mirror now bare, clothes and shoes scattered—was a welcome relief.

The day had been long, but now you could unwind.

As you closed the door behind you, the quiet settled over you like a blanket, offering you the peace you desperately needed.

You stumbled into the room, barely keeping yourself upright as exhaustion weighed down your limbs. Practically dead on your feet, you began peeling off the clothes that had felt glued to your body for the last several hours.

The crop top slipped off first, falling to the floor with a soft thud.

You didn't care where it landed as you walked over to the couch in the center of the room, facing a large squared mirror. Each step felt like a weight being lifted from your sore muscles.

A cool draft brushed against your bare torso, making you shiver slightly as it passed over the sheen of sweat from the long day. Your fingers worked at the accessories next, unfastening the bangles around your wrists and dropping them carelessly.

The metal clanked against the floor, loud in the otherwise quiet space. You massaged your sore wrists, the cool air soothing the raw skin where the jewelry had pressed tight against you.

Your fingers then moved to the choker at your neck, tugging it free and letting it fall beside the rest, relieved to feel the soft touch of air against your throat.

Your mind began to drift, wandering somewhere far away from the chaos of the day. You thought about what you'd do when you got home.

Maybe snack on those yogurt bites you found at the grocery store earlier that week. Or maybe you can finally binge-watch that series you'd been meaning to catch up on.

The thought made you feel a little lighter.

Hell, you can even spend tomorrow doing absolutely nothing, you have nothing booked!

You were right in the middle of imagining your lazy day ahead, fingers working the clasp of your bralette, when the door creaked open behind you.

"Hey! I'm—" Your arms instinctively rose to catch your slipping bra before it could fall completely. Your heart raced, embarrassment flooding your cheeks.

You looked up at the large mirror in front of you, eyes wide, only to lock gazes with Satoru, lounging casually against the doorway as if he had all the time in the world.

"—undressing," you finished, your voice dropping to a shaky whisper.

Satoru's lips curved into a faint smirk, his gaze shameless as it raked over your disheveled appearance. He tilted his head slightly, looking over his shades at the scattered accessories and top on the floor. "You know," he said, his voice light with a playful edge, "you really shouldn't leave my designs lying around like that. It's almost disrespectful."

For a moment, you thought he'd bend down to pick up the items—his creations, after all. But instead, he strolled right past them, making his way toward you.

Your breath hitched, your body freezing in place as his steps closed the distance between you.

Satoru's eyes, usually filled with playful mischief, were darker now, more intense as they followed the lines of your form.

He moved with the kind of confidence that left no room for doubt. And as he reached your side, standing just behind you, his presence loomed, filling the small space with the heat of his gaze.

Your heart pounded in your chest, the cool draft that had once been a relief now doing little to cool the flush rising across your skin.

Satoru stepped even closer, the heat radiating from him making the cool draft on your bare skin feel like a distant memory. His presence was overwhelming, filling the small room until all you could focus on was the warmth seeping from him and the way his gaze lingered on your reflection in the mirror.

"You know," he began, his voice soft, almost idle, "a lot of my best designs… they're not the ones I spend weeks perfecting." His words drifted through the air like a secret. He raised a hand, his fingertips brushing lightly against the faint indents the choker had left on your neck. The touch was barely there, yet it sent a shiver running down your spine. "No… the ones that really stand out," he continued, "are the ones that light up in my mind every time you fall into my vision."

You swallowed hard, your breath hitching as he leaned in closer, his chest now just inches from your back.

The heat from his body wrapped around you like a second skin, and you watched him through the mirror, mesmerized by the intensity in his eyes as he spoke.

His hand, warm and deliberate, trailed slowly down your arm, his fingers brushing your skin with a tenderness that felt both comforting and dangerous.

"You're my muse," he said, almost as if speaking to himself, lost in the thought. "Every second I spend watching you, seeing you wear my designs, it's nothing but inspiration." His hand continued to drift lower, his fingers wrapping gently around your wrist before sliding back up, pulling you just slightly, coaxing your body into his.

Your breath grew heavier, chest rising and falling with each shallow inhale as you were drawn back against him, the solid warmth of his chest pressing into your bare back.

Your gaze flickered to the mirror, watching the scene unfold before you—his hand resting lightly on your waist, his eyes tracing the outline of your form as if committing every curve, every inch of you, to memory.

You could feel his breath, warm and steady, fanning against your ear, and it made your head spin, your thoughts running wild.

"Every touch," he murmured, his lips brushing just above your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. "Every glance…" His voice dropped, becoming something darker, heavier. "I can't stop thinking about how perfectly you fit into my designs. Like you were made for them—or maybe… they were made for you."

His hand trailed down your arm, leaving a trail of heat in their wake, and you watched him in the mirror, breath hitching in your throat. Then, his lips ghosted over your ear again, the warmth of his breath making you tremble as he purred, "But you know… I keep thinking about something else…"

Your eyes widened slightly, and you felt him shift closer, his chest now flush against your back. The air between you crackled with tension, thick and almost suffocating, and yet you couldn't pull away—you didn't want to.

His hands pressed against your waist as he lowered his voice to something almost sinful. "…How perfectly you'll fit around me."

The words slipped from his lips, dripping with raw, undeniable desire, every word reverberating through your skin, hitting you like a tidal wave. Your breath stilled in your lungs, heat coursing through your body as your mind raced.

Wait a minute—what's… b-but—

His arms tightened around you as his mouth hovered near your neck, his breath hot against your skin. "Tell me you feel it too," he groaned, his voice low, growling with need as his fingers dug into your hips. "Tell me you want it… just as badly as I do."

Finally, your mouth seemed to catch up with your thoughts. "S-Satoru—"

Your voice once again falls away as Satoru's arms tightened around you, his breath hot and heavy against your ear. You felt his chest rise and fall rapidly, pressing into your back, his grip around your waist possessive, firm.

Then, in a voice so raw, so desperate it sent a shiver down your spine, he whispered, "Can I... have you?"

The words tumbled from his lips in a near whimper, laden with a hunger that bordered on pleading. His breath hitched, his forehead brushing against the back of your neck as if even he was losing control of the space between you.

Your heart hammered in your chest, your mind trying to process everything, yet failing to hold onto any coherent thought. His words, the way they sounded so needy, left you breathless.

You watched him in the mirror, his reflection almost ghostly in the low light of the room. His eyes were half-lidded, clouded with lust as they lingered on your form, and his lips, parted slightly, looked dangerously close to speaking something sinful, something that would push you over the edge.

The room was silent except for his panting breaths in your ear. You could feel his need in the way his arms wrapped around you, in the way his fingers pressed just a little too tightly into your skin.

"Say yes..." he breathed, his voice low and pleading, his lips now trailing down the side of your neck, leaving a trail of heat with every soft, almost teasing touch. "Please... just say yes."

Your breath caught in your throat, your body frozen in place as your mind blocking out everything else but Satoru.

The sound of him, the feel of him, the way his voice came out in that almost whimpering tone—it consumed you, leaving no room for anything else but him.

Finally, a breathless, barely audible "yes" escaped your lips, the word trembling from your mouth like a whimper, your resolve crumbling under the intensity of the moment.

It was as if a switch had been flipped in Satoru. His wicked smirk grew, a gleam in his eyes as he dipped his head lower, pressing a soft kiss to your neck before dragging his tongue in a slow, deliberate stripe up your skin.

The heat of his breath against your neck sent shivers racing down your spine, making your entire body tense.

"Good girl~" he purred softly into your ear, his voice dripping with satisfaction.

Before you could even catch your breath, he pulled you down onto the couch, his movements fluid and effortless. You landed in his lap, your back pressed firmly against his chest, legs bent and pulled up on either side of him, facing the mirror.

our thighs immediately began to burn from the stretch, the leather skirt you wore sliding up all the way, exposing the lace underwear beneath—the same light blue that matched the bralette you'd worn earlier.

The delicate fabric contrasted sharply with the heat of the moment, and your face flushed in embarrassment as your eyes caught the sight of a small wet patch there.

Your heart raced as you tried instinctively to close your legs, but before you could, he gently tapped your thighs with his fingers, his smirk never faltering. "Aht aht," he scolded lightly, his tone playful but firm, making it clear that he was in control.

His arms slid under your legs, lifting them slightly and pulling them farther apart.

The stretch made you gasp, thighs burning as he forced you all the way back against his chest, your body now fully reclined into him.

His grip was strong but not painful, holding you in place as his breath ghosted over the side of your face.

In the mirror, you saw it all—your legs spread wide, your flushed face, and Satoru's darkened gaze fixed on you, his expression one of total control. His was voice, low and teasing, rumbling against your ear. "Look at you... perfect," he murmured, holding you tightly against him, his arms securing you in place, his presence overwhelming.

The reflection showed more than just your vulnerability—it was the power he had over you, and the way he reveled in every second of it.

Satoru's left hand slowly trailed down your body, his touch feather-light at first, but purposeful. The cool air kissed your skin as his fingers slid beneath the waistband of your underwear, his hand pressing firmly against your most sensitive spot without pulling the fabric to the side.

The sensation made your breath hitch, and your entire body tensed as his fingers began to move, rubbing slow, deliberate circles along your slit, teasing and drawing out every bit of tension you’d been holding inside.

His fingers trailed gently up and down, gliding over your skin as if he were mapping you out, testing your every reaction. He found your clit with ease, rubbing small, teasing circles that sent jolts of heat through you, the slow rhythm making it impossible to think straight.

Your thighs twitched, the stretch around him making the sensation even more intense. The heat of embarrassment flooded through you as your body reacted, and when you turned your face away, unable to watch the reflection of what he was doing to you.

Satoru clicked his tongue softly in disapproval. "Uh-uh," he murmured, his voice dark with command. "Eyes on the mirror. Watch what I do to you."

You swallowed hard, your throat dry as your gaze reluctantly shifted back to the mirror.

His hand kept moving, the slow rhythm intensifying, the way he touched you sending waves of pleasure through your entire body. His reflection was smug, pleased, as he watched you fight to keep your eyes open and focused on what he was doing.

It was an order, and disobeying felt impossible.

When his finger slipped inside you, your body jolted slightly, your breath coming in short, shallow gasps. His movements were slow, deliberate, each stroke inside you making it harder to think.

One became two, both pumping in and out of your clenching heat with a slow, deep rhythm. He kept his other arm wrapped securely around your waist, holding you in place against his chest as he worked his fingers deeper.

His breath was hot against your ear as his grip on your body tightened, his voice a low groan as he spoke. "You know what I can't wait to do?" His words sent a new rush of heat through you, and he chuckled softly at your reaction. "I can't wait to taste you... spend hours learning every inch of my muse's body. Watching you come undone again and again and again."

The promise in his voice made your mind reel, the intensity of his touch and his words leaving you breathless, your chest heaving as your pulse raced.

A particularly well-angled thrust had your back arching, a breathy moan slipping free. "That's it..." he praised, curling his fingers so they can brush against your G-spot again. "You're so wet for me... So responsive."

His thumb joined the fray, rubbing firmer circles over your clit that had your hips rolling mindlessly to meet his touch. He worked you higher and higher, stoking the flames of your pleasure until you were teetering right on the edge.

And still, he demanded you watch. Compelled you to observe the wanton display you made, his dark gaze devouring you from over your shoulder.

"Come for me," Satoru growled against your lips, his fingers pumping furiously now. "Let go. Now."

Your orgasm crashed over you like a tidal wave, stealing your breath and whiting out your vision. You shook and shuddered in his hold, a cry of ecstasy torn from your throat as he wrung every last bit of pleasure from your spasming body.

Satoru swallowed the sound with his mouth, kissing you deeply as he continued his ministrations.

Only when you collapsed bonelessly against him did Satoru still his hand, drawing his glistening fingers from your depths. He brought them to his mouth, maintaining eye contact through the mirror as he licked them clean with a shameless moan.

"Delicious~" he purred, voice rough with satisfaction. "My perfect muse."

You felt weightless, the tension from the day—hell, the whole week—melting into nothingness as the lingering echoes of your orgasm left you in a daze. Your body felt loose, relaxed, like all the stress had finally evaporated, and for a moment, you simply existed, floating in the aftermath.

Then, you felt your thighs shift wider, and a small, confused sound escaped you before you even realized it.

Satoru's low chuckle filled the quiet room, dark and amused. "You didn’t think that was it, did you?" His voice dripped with mischief as his hands moved to adjust you in his lap. He shifted beneath you, pulling his pants down slightly as he repositioned you, pulling you higher onto his lap.

The movement pressed you closer to him, allowing you to fully feel him underneath you, hard and insistent. His hand returned to your underwear, the long digits returning to rub away at you.

The sudden pressure made your back arch instinctively, a small whimper escaping your lips from the mix of sensation—equal parts pleasure and the discomfort of being played with beyond your limit.

"Silly girl," he tutted softly into your ear, his breath warm against your skin. His hand returned to your waist, the grip firm yet tender, as he tugged your underwear to the side, filling you in one stroke.

You both froze for different reasons—your legs trembled as you felt the stretch, trying to stay tethered because he had to be the biggest you'd ever had, while Satoru groaned, overwhelmed by the tightness that enveloped him.

"F-Fuck," he groaned, his head falling back against the couch, eyes fluttering closed.

You let out a broken whimper, arms growing weak and giving out beneath you. You collapsed slightly forward, your forehead resting against his thighs as you tried to adjust, to find some relief from the pressure.

Satoru growled softly at the sight, his hands gripping your waist with more purpose. He pulled you fully down onto him, your hips flush against his.

"S-Satoru..." you moaned, your voice shaking, tears welling in your eyes as the sensation became overwhelming.

His hips jerked forward in short, deliberate movements, and your body responded, helpless to the rhythm he set. "T-that's right, baby, say my name..." he groaned, his voice thick with need as his hands guided you, pulling you back down with each upward thrust.

He lifted his hips to speed up the movements. You could only cling to his thighs, breathless and powerless against the force of his desire.

Satoru kept going, your name spilling from his lips like a prayer, filthy words laced with desire. His grip on your waist was tight, almost bruising, as he held you firmly in place.

The sounds of your bodies moving together filled the room—wet, slick noises and the rhythmic squelching with every movement.

The intensity of the moment wrapped around you, heightening every sensation, your body overwhelmed by the pressure building inside you.

Your second orgasm was approaching too quickly, the wave of pleasure rising fast, almost too much to handle. Desperation washed over you, and you tried to scoot forward, to slow things down, but Satoru's response was immediate—he went faster, his thrusts growing erratic.

You let out a choked cry, begging for him to slow down, but he only groaned in response, his pace relentless.

The sensation was overwhelming, and then it hit you, like you were thrown over the edge. Your eyes fluttered closed as the blinding pleasure rocked your entire frame.

Your body shook, every nerve alight as the intensity consumed you. You could hear Satoru cursing under his breath as you trembled in his arms, your body a quivering mess in the aftermath.

And then you felt it—the heat of him filling you, spreading through your lower body in a rush of warmth. Satoru let out a long, drawn-out groan, pressing himself flush against you as he reached his climax. His breathing was ragged, chest heaving as he stayed close, savoring the feeling.

Before you could catch your breath or say anything, Satoru moved again. He pulled you back slightly, and you gasped, the sudden movement sending a mix of pain and pleasure shooting through you.

His hands snaked under your thighs, lifting you carefully from his lap. He groaned softly as he watched his release spilling from you, leaking out as he admired the sight.

Satoru gave a low whistle, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction. "What a sight to see," he hummed, his voice thick with amusement. One of his hands trailed down to your entrance, his thumb gently grazing over the sensitive skin.

He played with your sticky entrance, his fingers teasing, before pressing back to plug up the fallen release. Your thighs twitched in response, a shiver running through you at the sudden sensation.

You called out his name for what felt like the third time, your voice weak but pleading. "Satoru..."

He let out a tired but satisfied chuckle, his hand pulling away as he finally relented. "Fine, fine," he murmured, lifting you effortlessly in his arms. He settled you down on his lap again, this time pulling you close to his chest, cradling you as his arms wrapped securely around you.

The warmth of his body pressed against yours, his breathing slowing as he rested his chin on the top of your head.

The night grew quiet, the tension fading into a comfortable stillness, but even as you relaxed against him, your mind wandered.

As the night went on, you couldn't help but think: Nobara was fucking right.

A/N: lolol, sorry for the influx of smut guys, promise this won't be like an everyday thinjg.... 👀 anyways, hope this was up to your standards and wasn't too bad bubbly-bear, i tried my best to make it work to the song...😭

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brynn-lear · 5 months ago

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Sugar Pills (Yandere!Capitano/Reader)

Questionable Overview: You're getting real tired of Dottore's theatrics. Which is a great shame, considering how it's only now that Capitano learns the value of surface acting and masking. (from my series: #Capitano's So-Called Liability)

CW/Tags: there is no "real" age gaps since this is a Howl's Moving Castle scenario, slowburn/soft yandere themes, afab!reader, mild violence. While this fic isn't "too dark", the reader isn't mentally stable. Please prioritize your mental health first, you matter.

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When coming up with a proposal, you've learned that it's best to approach a harbinger when they're in the middle of an arms race. It's been ages since you've applied this knowledge, but luckily, dusting off memories of yesteryears isn't challenging.

"Can't even spare me a proper welcome?" You yawned, dropping a beaten and dead fatuus just inches away from an unforgettable metal-laced shoe. The sound of their empty vision clunked on the hard floor. "I might not be as much in the spotlight these days, dear, but isn't it good manners to greet your elders properly when they visit?"

The aforementioned shoe brushed the body away. "Hah. You make a terrible habit of flaunting that cosmetic age of yours."

And yet, there you stood, glaring with a smug head up high. No ordinaire can don the demeanor you flaunt in front of the second-ranked harbinger. You'll always keep the cloak-and-dagger act. Dramatics are second nature to those who earn their keep through blood money. You only saw it right to greet him with a more appropriate entrance. Bold and unfaltering in resolve.

"And you have a great habit of looking younger with each passing day," you feigned a chirpy tone. "Isn't that right, Doctor?"

Behind a crow's mask, crimson eyes bore holes into your very being.

Since you received that "birthday present" from him, he had sent out men to secretly nag you behind the Captain's back. They ask you why you haven't taken the medicine at best and attempt to drug you at worst. This rendezvous had been going on for weeks. Enough times that could manifest anger and murderous intent out of you until it did.

After reaching the limit of your patience, you murdered the last person to spike your perfectly fine water, took his vision and portable waypoint, and teleported to his master harbinger's base. Too much work just to get someone to stop pestering you.

The feeling is mutual. Il Dottore— the last of his perspective— also found your presence troublesome.

The second-ranked harbinger spent his "free" time in a painfully bright, pale room. He likes to dub this phase a "recovery state." Typically, there would be plenty of "him" to go around— but striking a deal for a gnosis always beckons a great deal of self-sacrifice. Or self-sacrifice-s.

Hence why you pushed to visit him this instance. Despite his placid demeanor, you're confident he's eager to prove that there's a method to his madness. Oneself is always the greatest competitor.

A proper arms race.

"You know very well that I do not take youth as a compliment," he retorted, though his tone was considerably friendly. He made repeated tapping motions on his armchair, almost impatiently. "What trivial matter have you dared to interrupt my brainstorming session with? Speak now— I'll let you know I'm engaged with matters of greater significance."

"I've done my due diligence of personally replying to your last letter." You glared down at your last victim. "Consider this my thanks."

Without tearing your gaze away, you fished the medicine from your coat and threw it at his chest with all your might. The bottle shattered on the floor.

Greatly "offended" by your rude antics, Dottore defeatedly abandoned his scrawls and turned to properly look at you.

"You decided to skip the pills. How delightfully reckless of you, Granny (Y/n)." He sardonically smiled.

At least he has the decency to name you correctly.

You rolled your eyes as you approached. Once you were just a foot away, you stabbed the corpse's head once more with your cane's pointed base— the force harsh enough to splatter the livor mortis flesh and brain matter on the floor of his beloved laboratory.

What an unnecessarily extreme scene, befitting of your old title.

"I grow tired of your games, Zandik." You spat back. "Must you constantly send your men to make futile attempts to lace my food with your de-aging concoction? I don't appreciate discarding their bodies— much less some perfectly fine meals."

If Capitano were here, he would've made a vague comment about how your value on human life is concerning.

But he doesn't have to know about this interaction.

"You complain about my work, yet I vaguely recall an era in your life in which you'd routinely wake up screaming like a rooster in the morning." Dottore shrugged and pointed to himself. "And who provided you with a cure-all for those night terrors? Go on. I would be enthused to know."

You crossed your arms. The jaded look in your eyes heightened his interest. Hence, Dottore stood up, his footsteps crunching the shattered glass strewn about.

"Let me wager a proper hypothesis for this ...irrational behavior. A possible psychological or existential leaning toward death may be at the root of the patient's ongoing resistance to the recommended treatment." He craned his head like a bird inspecting its prey. "In simpler terms for meager minds like yours to understand: you're not accepting my charity since you wish to die. Is that right?"

Dottore is a reasonable man. Disarmingly charming, even.

This particular segment just hates you.

You smiled back, returning the same malice.

"Who knows?" You tapped the beak of his mask. "Doesn't matter. I didn't come here to get psycho-analyzed. I came here because I want to strike a deal."

Dottore paused.

"I had a prediction that you would ensnare me with a gambit. No small wonder that Omega has found you a captivating individual, (Y/n)."

Many miss the fact that the good Doctor has a "seductive" air about him. He has a charisma that people will either dismiss in fear or fall victim to. You're part of the secret third group— the coworkers immune to his antics.

"Yes, well, I do pride myself on hosting the best picnics by the meadows of Ardravi Valley." You spoke, voice oozing with the same playful banter you once reserved for his deceased copy. "I've got no abundance in lifespan like you. I'd dare say I'm selling myself at a very limited-time offer."

However, this Dottore was not the one you befriended. This was his murderer.

"Playing the card of wisdom with that appearance may fool the world, but you can't dissuade me." Dottore clicked his tongue. "Are you mimicking Sohreh?"

What a surprisingly plain question.

You shrugged. "Am I?"

Feigning impassivity while he could, the Doctor placed a hand on your shoulder.

"Talk."

"I've only one wish, which is for you to stop being such a nuisance." You scoffed. "What can I do to get you to stop trying to make me your side experiment, Doctor?"

Intuition rarely fails you. You knew that this was a matter that could be reasoned with. The problem is that you needed to figure out what your bargaining chip would be. But by the look on his face, he had already sorted that out minutes, maybe even months, before you arrived.

His hand that once hovered on your shoulder slowly snaked towards your neck.

"I have a proposal," Dottore spoke softly.

You hardened your expression. "Spill."

"I can assist you in experiencing that honorable death you craved so much— at the right time and place." Using his thumb, he applied mild pressure against your throat. "However, I'll need you to befriend the upcoming tourists in Natlan."

You blinked.

… What a strange request.

"Befriend… The tourists?" You grabbed his intrusive hand, yanking it away. "What are you on about?"

"Under favorable circumstances, I would have had a copy extract these, but the old conventional tools are unavailable."

"But why?" You raised an eyebrow. "Dear, I just can't quite wrap my head around why this is the gamble you're betting your chips on—"

"And that is precisely why The Tsaritsa dubbed you La Ruffiana and not a respectable title," Dottore smirked, chuckling lowly. "Hence, I'll gladly elucidate you with brief guide questions in a language you're sure to comprehend."

"I'd rather we both save time by revealing the answer, pronto."

Since you had forgotten to let go of his wrist, he used your grip to pull you closer to him.

"Tell me, (Y/n), during the Sumeru fiasco…" With faces just inches away from each other, he tilted and teased your ear with his breath. "Who, indeed, served as the paramount subject in my quest to engineer a being that transcends even the might of the archons?"

… Who?

You placed a hand on his chin to create a respectable distance. "Child, I really hate to say this, but the world doesn't just spin around you and your little experiments. I wouldn't know a thing about that poor, nameless puppet you're on about. But if I had to take a wild guess, you're talking about that man you went and turned into a sorry excuse for an All-Knowing God, aren't you?"

Dottore grinned, baring his sharp teeth.

"I perceive that our memories from that period have been tampered with. Nevertheless, your hypothesis remains merely superficial. There exists an individual whom I regard as the genuine subject of this experiment. Would you toss one last conjecture?"

…

You let out a strangled air, unable to properly articulate your disbelief.

It's the traveler. Of course, it's her.

Dottore aspires to transform humans into gods, yet his attempts have thus far been in vain. Save for one young woman who sought refuge in both Mondstadt and Sumeru, all subjects have perished during testing. In your days as a harbinger, you've watched others toil over the vulneraries and prosthetics the Doctor would jam into them. Your visit to certain hospitals by the desert is your testimony to his apathy. He is driven by relentless curiosity, never pausing for the ethical implications of his research, but would spend hours on the feasibility of his experiments.

You were relieved when you heard he used an inorganic lifeform in his last experiment. But if that was a mere dud, then…

"Don't tell me— all this time, your real goal revolved around how the traveler could ascend into Godhood?" You gawked. "So whatever that puppet was, is nothing more than a self-fulfilling prophecy in failure? Your experiments in blasphemy will always find new ways to make me utterly sick."

You flinched as Dottore caressed your cheek. It wasn't the contact that shocked you.

It was the respect in his eyes.

"Hmm... About a year ago, you'd make conscious efforts to bite your tongue. I must remark that I am fascinated with the concerning spike of confidence your senile age brings."

"Things change." You mocked him. "You should try growing older. About a year ago, I wouldn't have this deal with you, too."

With that, the verbal contract was set into motion.

"We'll keep in touch."

He pulled away.

You scoffed. "If I believed in Celestia, I would've prayed you'd become a decent person."

"How unfortunate that you'll need a stronger God to achieve that ambition," Dottore laughed. "And materializing a stronger God is precisely part of my current objectives."

This heretic.

"I see now why you and Capitano are far too different to be colleagues."

You glared.

"Have your glory. You may receive everything— the ego in victory— the spoils of war. Celestia may even watch you steal the blessings of ascension. But you have no honor. You live with no happiness."

You grumbled while you walked away. The erratic sound of your cane reflected the rhythm of your anger and disgust. Before you left, you gave him one high note to end on.

"You dance with no music."

As soon as you were out of the vicinity, Dottore quickly returned to his near-incoherent scrawling.

"I'd rather be a fool who performs for no one," he grinned, his stomach tucking in from stifled laughter. "Than a blabbering grandmother scared of sugar pills."

"(Y/N)!!!"

Upon your supposedly quiet return to the inn, you were greeted by a pair of large hands squeezing your cheeks with trembling worry.

"I told you to call me Granny—"

"Where have you been?!" He tilted your head, inspecting for wounds like an incompetent father. His strength would usually cause grief, but you've grown used to this. It's a sensation that's hard to hate.

His hands are rough but not unkind.

"When I awoke, I realized you were not in your room." He spoke, evident that he was reeling himself from rambling. Been a long while since you saw his long and gorgeous hair this messy. "Had I not instructed you not to wander alone without one of our men at your side."

The inn's staff whispered among themselves while his men stiffly avoided gazing at you two. You cringe at everyone's bloodshot eyes. There's more room to pity the Natlan locals— they didn't ask to be involved. Capitano ordered a search party this late on your behalf when there was zero need for it. The attention was getting embarrassing.

You should've known that he'd notice your absence.

Damn it. You were barely gone for half an hour.

"Steel yourself, child. I don't need your men to coddle me." Months have passed, and he has yet to accept that you do not have a respectable position as a personal assistant. "I can wander around Natlan as safe as I please, kid. Are you seriously doubting my strength?"

That dirty tactic sobered him up.

"You know that isn't so." Capitano sighed, letting you go. "I know you're plenty capable, however..."

"Need I remind you that before the incident, I was originally the Harbinger tasked with retrieving the pyro gnosis?" You shook your head, feigning disappointment. "You should know by now that I've studied this place's typography and wildlife. No encounter could shock and harm me— even with these old bones."

"It's precisely why I worry over you," Capitano glared slightly. "With your curse, you could've been marked by foes out there."

"I didn't go anywhere far. I was just sightseeing."

"That explanation doesn't wash. I saw the glow of a portable waypoint when you came back."

… How observant. That's the first ranked harbinger for ya, you supposed.

"Okay, maybe I went home for a bit, so what?" You pouted. "It's a bit too warm in here for my liking."

The inn's staff immediately froze up.

"N-Not that it's bad, of course!" You laughed nervously. Ah, shit, let's not involve them. "It's my fault 'cause I didn't raise that concern with them. Old ladies such as myself are so stubborn. Hmm, hmm!"

Gradually, Capitano relaxed.

"I understand. At least, I'll choose to understand your fib for now."

"Not quite out of the cage yet, am I?" You joked.

"Not at all." Capitano exhaled softly, a hand barely covering his gentle smile. His voice made it painfully apparent that you're off the hook.

He's such a terrible liar.

Before you could comment on this, Capitano reached out his hand.

"Come with me." He wagged his fingers towards him, beckoning you to come closer. "Let's continue our conversation somewhere private."

Out of the 11 harbingers and those who had come and gone, you know Capitano the most.

"I didn't realize Natlan nights can be cold." You spoke thoughtlessly.

He stared at you blankly. "Cold enough to prevent you from running back home, clearly."

"Ah."

And likewise, he knows you best as well.

You digressed in an instant. "Why did you bring me here, Little Captain?"

You stood by a cliff, staring at the quiet night in the humble town. There's a noticeable increase of guards on patrol since the Fatui arrived in Natlan, but with Capitano as the lead, you saw no reason for their alarm. Obviously, Capitano didn't bring you here to make that observation. Judging from how his stare is on the ground and not the beautiful sight, public perception is pushed at the back of his mind.

"Your cane…" He whispered.

"What about it?"

"You forgot to wash the blood away."

Inspecting the cane without lifting it, you realize what he meant.

"Oh."

"Who was it?" His voice sounded a bit more stern.

Your eyebrows furrowed. "Who was what?"

There was a shift in the air.

"Who attacked you?"

…

You laughed uncontrollably.

"W-What?! Pfft— puh-lease! No one attacked me." You poked his helmet. He stared you down, unamused. "No-bo-dy."

Capitano has yet to let his anger go. He spoke steadily, but he wasn't fooling you. "I'll ask once more: who attacked you?"

"Don't tell me your memory is worse than this old lady's," you clicked your tongue. "I just told you, it's nobody."

Capitano shifted his foot down slightly. "Elena reported that you were assaulting a fatuus with your cane in an isolated dining area."

Curses. You thought you were alone. To be caught by Elena, of all people? Your senses must be dulling.

"Well, one of your men— I suppose— was disrespecting their elders."

"I ordered a headcount. None of my men have gone missing." Capitano crossed his arms. "Besides, they know better than aggravating my most prized assistant."

Should've known that lie won't fly.

"Okay, maybe it wasn't one of your men." Obviously it was Dottore's, but you bit your tongue. "But you should know I'm a polarizing figure in the Fatui. I heard someone say that getting rid of me is a noble act cause they'd be removing your right from employing an absolute loser."

"(Y/n), where did you get those ideas?"

Honestly? Straight out of your 'lovely' imagination. If not inspired by Pantalone's past remarks as well— just cruder.

It’s almost commendable how easy it is to assume everyone is out to get you. The work environment certainly helps. A strange grin or remark is sufficient to validate any doubts. Probably illogical for you to live life this way. You're aware enough that not every whisper is about you and that not every grin hides some hidden agenda, yet the uncertainties still seep in so effortlessly that it almost seems like breathing.

You've yet to find someone who will prove your inherent distrust wrong. That body you hurled at Dottore earlier was no exception.

"Whoever attacked me doesn't matter; I got rid of them."

"I know you did. I don't reserve any doubt whatsoever. That is not the issue at hand." Capitano shook his head, his last words hiding a slight growl. "What I am perturbed by is how you had hidden this from me."

Your eyes widened.

"I-I'm sorry, forgive me, Capitano." You fumbled. "It was genuinely not as big as you think it is. A traitor was in the mist, and I took care of it."

"You were targeted, (Y/n)," Capitano said, nearly whispering as he gently took your hands. No matter how callous he was or how much his skin resembled etched maps, they held yours with great care.

His eyelids drooped slightly, hiding unspoken grief. "You were attacked when I made an oath that I would protect you while you are under my care..."

Capitano's tone softened further, almost withdrawn from hurt.

"I should have been there..."

You've never been one to immediately process emotions in a snap. When you and Capitano share ideas, theories intersect like constellations on Teyvat nights. But that look in his eye? You can't read what he's thinking.

"Why do you fret over it, dearie? Death is but a doorbell away for me." You hummed with a wide smile. "I'll be claimed soon enough. Maybe tonight might even be the night. Oh, honey, it's no skin off the Tsaritsa's back if an old gal like me bites the dust."

…

You have a feeling you said the worst thing imaginable at that moment.

…

Capitano said nothing.

In fact, you'd wager that was on purpose.

There's a glint in his eye. A look that you couldn't place— a dangerous thought you can't hear. It ringed endlessly in his ears, and the slight tremor in his fingertips proved it. His blue eyes stared straight into your soul.

A revelation. An epiphany. A newfound raison d'etre that he refused to let anyone know— you specifically.

Something about him drastically changed.

But that look vanished in an instant.

Capitano's mouth curled upward.

The smile did not reach his eyes.

"I prefer if it's kind sleep who takes you tonight," Capitano muttered. "Death is far too early for a woman like you."

"A woman like me?" You chuckled. "You meant grandmother, right? And what do you mean by that?"

"A woman like you deserves all the time in the world, not to be taken prematurely. Your spirit is far too bright to be dimmed so soon." He took off his cloak. "Because a woman like you is a woman loved by many."

Capitano wrapped his cloak around you before you realized it. As you looked down, you noticed how much larger his frame was than yours. The cloak reached the floor when you donned it. Though it was night, the cologne he put on reminded you of sun-drenched clothes and steel— but it's possible that this was just Capitano's natural scent.

"I should add cloaks as an interest for your late birthday present." You could practically hear the smile on his face as he said, "It suits you."

Something about the way he sounded was way off now.

The weariness from your conversations with Dottore seemingly washed away. You grabbed a fistful of the cloak and raised it. "I think every tailor in Teyvat would beg to differ."

Capitano chuckled. "Respectfully, they wouldn't know any better."

"And you do?" You raised an eyebrow, but that grin on your face is too difficult to wipe off. "I don't think you know me well, little Captain."

You continued.

"Anyone can learn to like me, but to love me…"

Is devastating.

You trailed off, eyes back on the quiet streets. You've always admired those who teased on the edge of retirement and eternal sleep, their bravery surpassing the young's. They act on reckless abandon, unburdened by the opinions of others. Alice saw this in you, and she knew— deep in her heart— that she'd be more than willing to help you embrace that freedom in whatever form that may take.

Since you became a "grandmother", seemingly everything and nothing has changed. You've pushed away those who pretended to care, only to find that no soul can stand to be with you. Maybe it was a glorious boon or just as the witch said— a desperate cry for help, nothing more. The experience so far taught you things you already knew you hated about yourself that you wondered if this were all for the sake of mastery. Have you destroyed yourself for nothing? Who knows. But you'll continue to take solace that maybe, just maybe, death may end the loneliness you've endured for so long.

But if you so badly chase for death…

"████████."

You looked at him.

"Can I ask for a favor?"

You're going to do it right.

Taglist: @macaronilovingracoon, @lucienbarkbark, @meimeimeirin, @notthefib987, @meowmeowakutagawa

#Capitano's So-Called Liability #yandere capitano x reader #capitano x reader #yandere genshin impact #yandere genshin #yandere genshin impact x reader #yandere genshin imagines #yandere genshin x reader #yandere genshin x you #yandere capitano #fatui harbingers #dottore #columbina #capitano #genshin #genshin impact #yanderecore #yandere imagines #soft yandere

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honeyhae-svt · 29 days ago

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hiii, I love your works so much and I couldn't help but to read them over and over! so may I please req actor reader x actor jeonghan but if you don't want to do it it's fine it's up to you but if you're going to do it I'm going to thank you very much!, ily🤍

Second Lead, First Choice

Yoon Jeonghan x F!Reader

Genre: smut, actor x actor, second lead x male lead, rivals to lovers(?), fake friends, unrequited love, jealousy, angst, dark romance, modern au, slowburn, toxic relationships, obsession, manipulation, betrayal, power imbalance, nsfw (18+), forbidden romance, possessive behavior, softdom!jeonghan, sub!reader, fluff (?), revenge, and emotional turmoil. (minors are NOT welcome. stay out.) warnings: explicit smut (18+), obsessive behavior, manipulation, mild dub-con, filming without consent (non-public), unhealthy relationships, slowburn tension, power dynamics, jealousy, angst-heavy themes, dark plot twists, possessive behavior, and mentions of betrayal. smut warnings: explicit sexual content, public/semi-public sex, fingering, vaginal penetration, oral fixation (kissing, biting), dom/sub dynamics (soft dom jeonghan, sub reader), overstimulation, multiple orgasms, slight breeding kink implications (mentions of cumming inside), slight cockwarming, mild praise kink ("good girl"), use of dirty talk, mentions of squirting and unproctected sex (wrap that boner !!) preview: You never expected to find yourself locking horns with Yoon Jeonghan, the nation’s beloved leading man. Being cast as the second lead was bad enough, but sharing the screen—and off-camera moments—with him tests every ounce of your patience. Jeonghan is intoxicating, infuriating, and far too good at blurring the lines between acting and reality. His touch lingers longer than it should, his whispers send shivers down your spine, and his smirk hides secrets you’re desperate to uncover. But behind the glamour lies a dark game of power, manipulation, and obsession that threatens to unravel everything you’ve worked for. It was never just about the spotlight—or even revenge. Now, every glance, every word, and every forbidden kiss carries consequences neither of you are ready to face. wc: 7773 a/n: im sorry it took me months to finish ! i hope i make it up to you by this, and please do enjoy. (i write too many stuffs before getting to the real stuffs. sorry not sorry lmao) THANK YOU FOR REQUESTING !

"CUT!" the director's voice boomed across the set, signaling the end of the take. Jeonghan pulled back from the female lead, Hye-soo, his face carefully neutral despite the exhaustion tugging at his features. He tried not to grimace as he stepped away, running a hand through his styled hair. The bright lights, the endless retakes, and the physical closeness—it was all too much for him today.

On the sidelines, you sat perched on a folding chair, clapping your hands softly in a show of support. "Good work!" you called out cheerfully, your voice cutting through the hum of the bustling set. You'd wrapped your own scene hours ago, but instead of heading home to rest, you stayed to watch him.

Jeonghan noticed you immediately. It didn't matter that there were dozens of people milling about—his gaze found yours like a magnet. And for the first time all day, he felt a flicker of relief. If only you were the female lead. If only it were you standing in front of the camera with him, sharing the screen and the story. The thought had crossed his mind far too often, lingering in ways he wasn't sure he could hide anymore.

He walked toward you, his usual easygoing smile faltering at the edges. It was subtle, but you caught it. Even through his perfectly sculpted persona, you could tell he wasn't feeling his best.

"You did well," you said when he reached you, your voice softer now. Your hand lightly brushed against his as you stood, the gesture so casual and natural that no one else might have noticed. But he did.

Jeonghan looked at you, his heart thudding a little harder at the warmth in your expression. You were smiling sweeter than usual—just a tiny shift, but enough to send his thoughts spinning. He knew that look, the way your eyes sparkled when you wanted something.

Without saying a word, he took your hand, holding it for just a second longer than necessary before his lips curved into a faint smirk. "You're too nice to me," he teased lightly, though his voice was quieter than usual.

"You deserve it," you replied simply, squeezing his hand.

Jeonghan tilted his head slightly, leaning just enough so that your faces were closer. His voice dropped lower, almost conspiratorial. "You're the main character of my life," he murmured, the words slipping out before he could stop them.

The confession hung in the air, delicate and fragile, but he didn't give you the chance to respond. Instead, he gently tugged you by the wrist, leading you toward a nearby hallway where the noise of the set faded into the background.

He pushed open the door to an empty dressing room and pulled you inside, your lips quirked into a small grin as you cast a glance over your shoulder. There, just outside the hallway, you caught sight of Hye-soo, her expression a mixture of irritation and disbelief as she watched Jeonghan whisk you away, before he shut the door softly behind you.

The satisfaction was instant, your grin widening as you turned your attention back to Jeonghan. His eyes searched yours, an unspoken question lingering in their depths.

"Someone's jealous," you whispered, a playful lilt in your tone.

"Let her be," Jeonghan replied, his gaze dropping briefly to where your hand still rested against his arm. "I only care about you."

Jeonghan caught your lips into a deep, deep kiss. His hands finding your waist, kissing you hungrily like he's never before. You gladly let him, kissing back with precision, catching up with his desperate kisses.

Four months ago, the welcoming party was an elaborate spectacle where actors who are casted and crews, glittering lights and clinking glasses, an unspoken contest of charisma and charm playing out in every corner of the opulent ballroom. Jeonghan stood near the director, his expression schooled into polite interest as Hye-soo's melodic laughter rang out beside him. She had been holding court all evening, effortlessly drawing attention to herself, her hand resting possessively on Jeonghan's arm like it was her rightful place.

But Jeonghan barely noticed her.

From the moment you stepped into the room, late enough to make an entrance but not so late as to be rude, his attention was a prisoner to your presence. You hadn't done anything dramatic—there was no sweeping motion or grand gesture. It was simply the way you carried yourself. The flow of your dress, the way it seemed to move with you like an extension of your being. The quiet confidence in your steps, your head held high but your smile understated, as if you knew you didn't need to demand attention; it came to you on its own.

It wasn't just beauty—though you had that in spades. It was something deeper, more magnetic. A natural ease, the kind of charisma that didn't shout for recognition but instead whispered for it, softly and irresistibly.

Jeonghan felt it before he could stop himself—the tightening of his chest, the way his eyes betrayed him by seeking you out even as Hye-soo leaned closer, brushing her arm against his as she spoke. He forced a polite laugh, nodding at whatever she was saying, but his focus was across the room.

And you, as if sensing his gaze, looked up.

Your eyes met his, and for a brief moment, the noise of the ballroom faded into nothingness. You didn't smile right away; you just held his gaze, the faintest quirk of your lips following as though you knew exactly what you were doing to him. It was infuriating, how effortlessly you dismantled his composure with nothing but a look.

Hye-soo's hand on his arm tightened, her laugh becoming just a touch louder as if trying to pull him back. But Jeonghan's thoughts were already elsewhere, his mind circling a question that had been nagging him since the cast list was announced.

Why were you the second lead?

You had everything—beauty that could silence a room, talent that elevated every scene you touched, and a presence so commanding it didn't just complement a story; it shaped it. He'd even asked the director about it once, in a moment of unguarded curiosity.

"She's too perfect," the director had said, a bemused smile on his face. "We needed someone who could challenge stereotypes. Beauty isn't everything, and we're trying to show that. It's about balance, Jeonghan. She's our second lead because she'll redefine what it means to be one."

At the time, Jeonghan had accepted the explanation. It even made sense—logically. But now, watching you glide through the room like you owned it, he couldn't shake the thought that the story needed you at its heart.

As the evening wore on, his fascination deepened. He wasn't the only one who noticed you, of course. By the time he'd taken a sip of his champagne, you were already surrounded. First, a well-known photographer approached, gesturing animatedly as you listened with that soft, knowing smile of yours. Then a manager from a major modeling agency joined the conversation, their posture deferential despite their stature in the industry.

You handled it all with ease, laughing lightly here, tilting your head thoughtfully there, your charisma weaving a web that no one seemed able to resist. Jeonghan felt something strange stir within him—a mixture of pride, admiration, and something heavier, something unfamiliar.

"You should go talk to her," the director said suddenly, his voice breaking through Jeonghan's thoughts.

Jeonghan blinked, glancing at the older man. "What?"

"You've been staring all night," the director said with a chuckle, clapping him on the shoulder. "Might as well make an introduction."

Before Jeonghan could protest, the director was already leading him across the room. Hye-soo followed, her expression tight as she trailed behind, her earlier ease replaced with something sharper.

When they reached you, the director spoke your name warmly, introducing Jeonghan with a familiarity that suggested he'd been waiting for this moment. You turned to face Jeonghan fully, and for the second time that night, his world narrowed to just you.

"It's nice to finally meet you," you said, your voice smooth and melodic, the kind that lingered in the air even after the words had faded.

Jeonghan opened his mouth to respond, but for a brief, embarrassing moment, nothing came out. You smiled at that, a real smile this time, not the polite ones you'd been giving all evening. It was a little crooked, a little playful, and it hit him harder than he wanted to admit.

"Likewise," he managed, his voice quieter than intended.

Hye-soo stepped forward then, her smile a touch too bright, her hand reaching out to touch your arm as she offered some polite compliment. You accepted it graciously, your demeanor unchanging, but Jeonghan saw the way your eyes flickered—sharp, assessing, taking in every detail of her performance.

He didn't know what passed between you in that silent exchange, but when your gaze shifted back to him, something about your expression had changed. It was softer, more amused, like you'd already decided he wasn't worth sharing.

And for the first time that night, Jeonghan smiled—a real one, small and almost shy, but real. Because for reasons he couldn't yet explain, he wanted nothing more than to be worthy of the attention you'd just given him.

The door to the dressing room clicked shut behind you, the muffled chaos of the set fading into a distant hum. Jeonghan's gaze was dark and focused, his usual easygoing demeanor replaced by something more raw, more consuming. You barely had time to catch your breath before his hands found your waist, pulling you flush against him as his lips claimed yours with a fervor that sent your head spinning.

It was a whirlwind—a blur of heat and longing. His fingers slid under the fabric of your top, skimming the bare skin beneath, his touch both electrifying and soothing. You gasped against his lips, your arms instinctively wrapping around his neck, anchoring yourself to him as your knees threatened to give out. Jeonghan was gorgeous, unbearably so, and in moments like these, he felt almost unreal.

Your heart pounded wildly, each beat echoing in your ears. It was impossible to reconcile this moment with the doubts you'd carried when you first met him. Back then, you thought he'd barely notice you, that someone like Jeonghan—dazzling, untouchable—would never look at you twice. Yet here you were, his hands roaming your body like he couldn't get enough, his lips moving against yours like you were the air he needed to breathe.

You broke away for a moment, your chest heaving as you tried to steady yourself. But Jeonghan didn't let you get far. His hands tightened around your waist, pulling you back as his lips hovered over yours, the soft warmth of his breath brushing against your skin.

"I can't let her lips stay on mine too long," he murmured, his voice low and rough, a stark contrast to the teasing words. His nose brushed against yours as he leaned in closer, his lips grazing yours lightly before retreating just enough to make you ache for more.

A soft laugh escaped your lips, your fingers threading through his hair as you tilted his face toward yours. "I'll wash them off for you, my love," you whispered, your voice thick with both playfulness and desire. The words barely had time to settle between you before you captured his lips again, pulling him into a kiss that was deeper, hungrier, more desperate than before.

Your tongues tangled in a rhythm that felt instinctual, a dance of passion and unspoken words. His hands roamed freely, tracing the curve of your spine, brushing against the sensitive skin of your waist, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. You shivered under his touch, your body pressing closer to his as if proximity alone could satisfy the yearning that consumed you.

"Do you have any idea what you do to me?" Jeonghan whispered against your lips, his voice trembling just enough to reveal the depth of his emotions. His hands found your hips, gripping them firmly as his forehead pressed against yours. "You drive me insane."

A blush crept up your neck, heat pooling in your chest as you tried to catch your breath. "I could say the same about you," you replied, your voice breathless but steady, your eyes searching his. "You're impossible."

He smirked, that familiar glint of mischief returning to his gaze. "Impossible, huh?" His lips brushed the corner of your mouth, his hands slipping to the small of your back, pulling you impossibly closer. "You're the one who walked into my life and flipped everything upside down."

You wanted to respond, to tease him back, but the intensity in his eyes silenced you. It was a look that made your chest tighten, a look that spoke of feelings too complex to put into words. So instead, you kissed him again, pouring everything you couldn't say into the way your lips moved against his, the way your hands clung to him like he was your lifeline.

Minutes passed, maybe hours—it was impossible to tell. All you knew was the warmth of his touch, the softness of his lips, the way his presence consumed every inch of your awareness. For a fleeting moment, nothing else mattered. Not the set outside, not the chaos of your lives, not even the knowledge that this would complicate everything.

In this room, in his arms, it was just the two of you. And that was enough.

The two of you stepped out of the dressing room, the air between you still charged with the remnants of your stolen moment. Jeonghan's hair was slightly tousled, his lips swollen and redder than usual, while your soft pink lipstick was now smudged, leaving just enough evidence for the curious stares around the set. The whispers were immediate.

It didn't take long for someone to notice, and of course, it had to be Hye-soo. Her eyes darted between you and Jeonghan, narrowing with an intensity that made her look like she was plotting to leap and attack you. She clenched her jaw, her entire body radiating frustration. You, however, were perfectly unbothered.

Pausing mid-step, you turned to Jeonghan and tugged him gently by the arm, making him face you. With the utmost care (and an intentional touch of theatrics), you reached up to fix his disheveled hair.

"You're such a mess," you said playfully, brushing his bangs into place.

Jeonghan smirked, leaning down to your level as if he couldn't resist getting closer. "And whose fault is that?" he teased, swiping his thumb over your lips to clean up the smudged lipstick. The gesture was tender, but there was a flicker of something mischievous in his eyes as he added, "If you're trying to make a statement, you're doing a phenomenal job."

You glanced over your shoulder, catching sight of Hye-soo, who looked seconds away from exploading. "Putting on a show?" Jeonghan whispered, his hands finding your waist like it was second nature.

"Maybe," you replied with a sly smile, purposefully glancing in Hye-soo's direction. The minute your gaze met hers, her expression darkened, and she stormed out of the studio with a huff loud enough to make the crew turn and stare.

Jeonghan chuckled lowly, watching her retreat. "You're dangerous, you know that?"

You shrugged nonchalantly, turning back to him with a lighthearted grin. "Honestly? This isn't even about her anymore. It's about us." You punctuated your words with a quick kiss to his cheek, then pulled away before he could pull you back in.

Just as Jeonghan opened his mouth to respond, the unmistakable sound of someone clearing their throat cut through the air. The two of you turned, and there stood the director, his arms crossed and his eyes narrowing in disapproval.

"Woah," Jeonghan said, feigning surprise as he chuckled nervously. "How long have you been standing there, sir?"

"Long enough," the director replied, visibly irritated. "You two shouldn't be doing this in the middle of the studio. Get a room, will you?"

You suppressed a laugh, but Jeonghan, ever the troublemaker, grinned and replied, "We already did."

Your elbow jabbed him sharply in the stomach before he could elaborate further. "Ow!" he yelped, doubling over slightly, though he was still smirking.

The director pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling slowly like a parent scolding unruly children. "Do you two have any idea how much trouble this could cause for the production? I can already see the headlines: 'Male lead Yoon Jeonghan and second lead Y/N caught in scandalous affair!'" His tone was exasperated, though slightly melodramatic.

That was the final straw—you burst out laughing, the sound bright and carefree, echoing through the studio. Jeonghan froze, his gaze softening as he watched you. His irritation melted away entirely, replaced by a warmth that made him forget anyone else existed.

Your laughter was infectious, and even the director blinked, momentarily disarmed. The entire crew, who had paused to watch the scene unfold, also seemed captivated. It wasn't just Jeonghan who adored you—you had the entire set under your spell.

Jeonghan caught the lingering stares from some of the staff and cast members, their admiration for you clear as day. His expression darkened almost comically, his gaze sweeping the room as if to warn everyone, Back off—she's mine.

Finally regaining his composure, the director shook his head. "You're impossible," he muttered. "If this blows up, I'm blaming you two."

Smiling sweetly, you clasped your hands together like a picture of innocence. "We'll make sure that never happens, our best director-nim," you said, your voice as soothing as a lullaby. Somehow, even the director, who moments ago had been fuming, softened under your charm.

Jeonghan leaned in, muttering under his breath just loud enough for you to hear, "You could get away with murder if you wanted to."

You bit back a grin, glancing at him out of the corner of your eye. "Only if you're my partner in crime."

The air outside the studio felt heavy, the crisp breeze doing little to soothe your frayed nerves. You excused yourself from Jeonghan and the director, feigning the need for a breath of fresh air when, in truth, you were looking for her—Hye-soo. She'd been haunting your thoughts ever since the shoot began, her presence always a bitter reminder of the tangled history you shared. You weren't sure what you expected from this conversation, but you had to try. You always had to try.

You found her near the corner of the lot, scrolling on her phone with an air of detachment. Her perfectly styled hair caught the golden light, making her look like the picture-perfect heroine she was cast to be. The sight of her still brought a pang of nostalgia, even after everything. For a moment, you hesitated. Was this worth it? Would she even listen?

"Hye-soo," you called out, your voice steady but soft.

She turned, her expression cool and guarded the moment she saw you. "What do you want?" she asked, her tone sharp enough to cut.

"I just want to talk," you replied, taking a cautious step forward. "Can we please—can we try to fix this? Whatever happened between us, I—"

"Fix this?" she scoffed, lowering her phone to give you her full attention. Her eyes blazed with an anger you hadn't expected. "You think you can fix this? After everything?"

"I've been trying to," you said, your voice trembling slightly. "I've tried to reach out to you, to explain—"

"To explain what? That you're not guilty of anything? That you didn't go behind my back and let people pit us against each other?" She laughed bitterly. "You don't get it, do you? This isn't something you can just apologize for."

Your chest tightened, the weight of her words settling like a stone. "I never wanted any of that. I hated the comparisons, the rumors—it wasn't my fault. You were my best friend, Hye-soo. I didn't ask for any of this."

"And yet, here you are," she snapped, crossing her arms. "The second lead, with Jeonghan wrapped around your finger. Isn't that enough for you?"

Her words stung, but you held your ground. "This isn't about him. It's about us—about how we used to be. Don't you miss that?"

Hye-soo's expression faltered for a moment, a flicker of something soft and familiar crossing her face before it hardened again. "If you want to make it up to me," she said coldly, "then break up with him."

Her demand hit you like a slap. You stared at her, stunned, your heart racing as your blood began to boil. "That's not fair, and you know it," you said, your voice low and trembling with emotion.

"Fair?" she echoed, taking a step closer. "Nothing about this has ever been fair. You were handed everything—"

"I earned it!" you shot back, cutting her off. "You think my life has been easy? That I didn't work for every single thing I have? You know that's not true."

She glared at you, her jaw tightening before she turned on her heel and walked away without another word. You stood there, your chest heaving, your emotions swirling in a chaotic storm.

The memory of her retreating figure lingered as you stared into the distance, your hands balled into fists at your sides. The bitterness between you two hadn't always existed. Once upon a time, Hye-soo was your everything.

The flashback crept in like an unwelcome guest, bringing with it the bittersweet memory of your early days in the industry.

Back then, Hye-soo had been your anchor, your partner-in-crime. You two had been inseparable, bonded over sneaking snacks during strict diets and whispering secrets late into the night. She was the person you looked up to, admired, maybe even loved in a way that you didn't fully understand at the time.

She had always been magnetic—bright, charming, and full of life. It was impossible not to be drawn to her. And for a while, things had been perfect. Until the comparisons started.

It wasn't your fault. At least, that's what you told yourself. You couldn't control how the managers and producers favored you, how they praised your acting skills and visuals. But the more they built you up, the more they tore her down.

At first, Hye-soo acted like it didn't bother her. She'd laugh it off, telling you it was fine, that she didn't care. But you knew her too well. You saw the cracks in her facade, the way her smile didn't quite reach her eyes anymore.

You tried to confront her, to assure her that you didn't want the comparisons either, but the rumors had already started. Whispers about you sleeping with managers and producers to secure your roles spread like wildfire. It was cruel, baseless, and you hated every second of it. But the damage was done.

Hye-soo began pulling away, her warmth replaced by icy indifference. And then, when this project came along, you both fought for the spot. You knew she wanted the role for Jeonghan's sake—her feelings for him were no secret. But no amount of her family's wealth or influence could erase the connection you and Jeonghan had. Even as the second lead, you'd won a part of him that she never could.

The sound of footsteps snapped you back to the present. Turning, you saw Jeonghan approaching, his expression unreadable. He must have seen Hye-soo leaving—or rather, storming away.

He stopped in front of you, his gaze searching your face for answers. "Are you okay?"

You nodded, though the tightness in your chest said otherwise. "She doesn't want to talk."

Jeonghan's jaw tightened slightly, but he didn't press. Instead, he reached out, his hand brushing against your arm in silent comfort.

"I told you this would happen," you admitted quietly, your voice trembling. "That being with me would make everything worse."

Jeonghan shook his head, his gaze softening. "It's not your fault. None of this is."

For a moment, the weight of everything—the past, the present, the impossible tangle of emotions—felt a little lighter. With Jeonghan by your side, you felt a flicker of hope.

"She said I should break up with you," you confessed, your voice barely above a whisper.

"And?" Jeonghan asked, his lips curving into a faint smile.

You looked at him, your heart aching with the intensity of how much you loved him. "That's not an option."

Jeonghan's smile deepened, and there was a warmth in his eyes that made the air around you feel a little less suffocating. He took a small step closer, his presence grounding you in a way you couldn't fully explain. "Good. Because she's not the one you need to be worrying about right now."

You let out a shaky breath, glancing down at the ground for a moment, trying to gather yourself. It was hard to look at Jeonghan without feeling both a sense of relief and a twinge of guilt. Hye-soo's words kept echoing in your mind—If you want to make it up to me, break up with him—but you had already made your choice.

Looking back up at him, you smiled faintly. "I don't know what I expected, honestly. She's changed. We've changed. I never thought it would come to this."

Jeonghan's fingers brushed against your cheek, his touch so gentle that it almost felt like a promise. "Sometimes people change, but that doesn't mean you have to. You're not the person she's trying to make you out to be. Don't let her take away your peace."

His words were like a balm for the wound Hye-soo had left. You swallowed, feeling the weight on your chest slowly lift. Jeonghan was right—this wasn't your fault. But the pain of losing Hye-soo, of watching the bond you once shared with her unravel, still cut deeply.

"It's just... hard, you know? I never wanted to lose her." You looked up at him, your voice barely above a whisper. "But I don't think I can keep pretending that everything's okay when it's not."

Jeonghan's eyes softened even further, and he placed both hands on your shoulders, steadying you. "You don't have to pretend with me. And you don't have to do anything you don't want to do. You've got me, always."

For a moment, there was silence between you two. The weight of the past few months—the rumors, the lies, the rivalry, the betrayal—hung thick in the air, but Jeonghan's presence made it feel bearable. He wasn't just standing by you; he was anchoring you, in a way only he could.

"Do you want to talk about it?" he asked quietly, his gaze not leaving yours. "The rumors, the truth... whatever you need to say, I'm here."

You swallowed again; your throat tight with the emotions you'd kept hidden for so long. "I don't want to drag you into it... but it feels like everything I've worked for has been overshadowed by rumors that I can't control. I've done everything by the book, Jeonghan. I've worked so hard to get here, and now it feels like everyone's just waiting for me to fall."

Jeonghan shook his head, his hands gently cupping your face as he forced you to meet his gaze. "Listen to me. I know who you are. I know what you've been through. And I know how much you've sacrificed to get to this point. Don't let anyone's words—especially hers—make you doubt that. You're not alone in this. I'm not going anywhere."

Tears welled in your eyes, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you let them fall. You didn't care. Not anymore. Not when Jeonghan was holding you like this, as if you mattered more than anything else in the world.

"I just... I feel like everything's falling apart," you whispered, your voice breaking. "Hye-soo, the rumors, even my own family. I don't know who to trust anymore."

Jeonghan's thumb gently wiped away a tear, his expression soft but unwavering. "You trust me. And I trust you."

You leaned into his touch, closing your eyes as the weight of everything seemed to melt away, if only for a moment. His words were like a quiet promise, a reassurance that despite all the chaos around you, there was one thing you could count on—him.

You finally opened your eyes again, meeting his gaze with renewed resolve. "I'm sorry, Jeonghan. For everything."

He smiled, the corners of his lips curving up in that familiar, reassuring way. "There's nothing to apologize for. We're in this together. You don't have to face it alone."

For a long moment, you simply stood there, enveloped in his warmth, the world outside fading away. Hye-soo, the rumors, the industry—they all seemed distant now. Because right here, in this moment, you had Jeonghan. And that was all that mattered.

A few days later, you found yourself once again in the studio, the weight of the past still lingering, but a quiet sense of peace settling within you. Jeonghan had been right there by your side every step of the way, offering unwavering support when things felt impossible.

The shoot was going smoother now, though the tension with Hye-soo was still palpable. She avoided you at every turn, and the coldness between you two lingered in the air like an unspoken challenge. But you no longer cared.

As you prepared for the next scene, Jeonghan leaned in close, his lips brushing your ear. "You're amazing, you know that?"

You turned to face him, surprised by the sincerity in his voice. "You really think so?"

"I know so," he said softly, his fingers brushing against your hand. "Don't ever forget that."

The connection between you two was undeniable. And in that moment, as you shared a quiet, knowing smile, you realized that everything else could fall away—but this, this bond, was something that would never break.

The sound of bustling voices fades as you and Jeonghan slip away from the chaos of the shoot, finding yourselves in a secluded, dimly lit lounge area. The atmosphere is heavy with the weight of unsaid words, the quiet hum of the room pressing down on you both. You're sitting close on the couch, but the space between you seems like miles. The room smells faintly of leather and wood, the faint scent of cologne lingering in the air from where Jeonghan leans in a little too close.

You both start talking about the shoot, trying to keep things light, but the tension is palpable. It's as if every word you speak makes the air thicker, more suffocating. You catch him glancing at your lips a few too many times, but each time you meet his gaze, you notice how his eyes darken, his pupils dilating just a little. The subtle but undeniable spark between you two has always been there. Today, it's dangerously close to setting everything on fire.

You reach for your glass of water, your hand brushing against his as you both move at the same time. It's subtle. An innocent touch. But the moment your skin makes contact with his, everything changes.

His fingers freeze for a split second, the warmth from his hand making your skin burn. You pull away instinctively, but the damage has already been done. The soft touch, the heat from his hand, lingers on your skin like an invisible brand. You swear you can still feel it even though the touch is long gone. Your heart skips a beat, your breath catching slightly in your throat as you glance up to meet his gaze.

His hand is still hovering near where you touched. His chest rises and falls in shallow breaths, as if trying to regain control of the situation. His lips part slightly as if he's about to say something, but no words come out. Instead, there's just a sharp, silent acknowledgment in his eyes.

The tension between you two is unbearable now.

Jeonghan shifts slightly in his seat, and his gaze flicks down to your lips for a fraction of a second. It's as if he can't help it. He swallows hard, his jaw tightening. It's clear he's fighting something—fighting the urge to pull you in, to kiss you, to close the space between you that feels too far apart.

You don't move, frozen in the moment, feeling your body heat up in ways you hadn't expected. His breath hitches as he leans just a little closer, his body language unmistakable. You can't ignore it any longer. The undeniable pull between you two has taken on a life of its own, and you're both powerless to resist it.

"Jeonghan..." You whisper his name like it's a question, but it comes out more like an invitation.

His breath catches again, his lips barely an inch from your ear. You feel the heat of his body close to yours, the warmth radiating off him, as he leans in even further, his breath hot against your skin. His lips graze the shell of your ear as he whispers softly, "Do you feel it too?" His voice is low, barely a whisper, but it sends a thrill through you.

You don't answer him with words. Instead, you let your body answer for you, shifting slightly toward him, tilting your head back just enough to give him the opening he's been waiting for.

Jeonghan's lips brush against your neck, soft at first, but with a slow, deliberate pressure that sends shivers down your spine. He's testing the waters, sensing the way your body reacts to his touch, and it's driving you crazy.

He grabs the glass of water you were holding, placing it back on the table without pulling away from you or your body.

His hand moves from the edge of the couch where it had been resting, coming to rest on your thigh. He doesn't move it at first, just leaves it there, the pressure of his hand causing your skin to burn beneath the fabric. It's a gentle touch, but you feel it deep in your core, your body reacting almost involuntarily.

You shift slightly, your breath quickening as you feel him slowly inch his hand further up your thigh, his fingers brushing the sensitive skin there. Every small movement from him feels like an invitation, and you can't resist anymore. You lean forward just slightly, your lips finding his in a kiss that's soft at first but quickly grows deeper, more desperate.

His hand slides from your thigh to your waist, pulling you closer as he kisses you harder. You can taste the urgency on his lips, the need that's been building for far too long now.

His other hand moves to the back of your neck, threading through your hair and gently pulling your head back, exposing your throat to him. His lips follow, trailing soft kisses down your neck, before they return to your lips in another searing kiss.

You can feel his heart beating against your chest, and you can't help but want more, the desire building between you two like a slow burn that's finally breaking through.

Jeonghan's lips pull away from yours for a brief moment, his breath coming in shallow gasps. "Are you sure?" he asks, his voice rough with desire. It's a question, but his eyes already tell you he's certain of the answer. He doesn't need to hear the words; he can see it in your eyes, the way you're looking at him, the way you're holding him closer.

You nod, your fingers gripping his shirt as you pull him back toward you. Your lips meet again, this time more fiercely, more urgently. You're both hungry for each other, the restraint that had held you back now gone.

Jeonghan's hands are everywhere—on your back, your hips, your legs. His touch is both gentle and possessive, as if he wants to savor every inch of you but also claim you as his own. You can't help but respond to his every move, every touch, your body betraying you as you lean into him, giving him more of yourself.

His lips find their way back to your neck, trailing kisses along your jaw and down to your collarbone. The way his lips feel against your skin, the pressure of his touch, sends waves of pleasure through you. His hand moves lower, resting on your waist before slipping under your shirt, his fingers brushing against your bare skin.

You gasp as his hand moves higher up to the inner of your thighs, and you spread your legs open, his touch insistent but slow, savoring every moment. His lips return to yours, and the kiss deepens, filled with the hunger and need that you've both been holding back for far too long.

He moves your skirt up, now feeling the wetness of your underwear. You muffled in between kisses, with Jeonghan swallowing your every moans. He pulled the fabric off your legs and buried his fingers deep into your cunt, his thumb running circles on your clit.

You shivered under his touch, his fingers working to stretch your already soaked cunt. He fucked your pussy with his fingers well that you were squirming under his touch, sounds escaping from your lips louder.

Jeonghan had to shut you up with him kissing your lips. Once you reached your high, cumming all over his fingers, he unbuttons his pants down and you can see the tip of his cock glimmering with precum. "I'm going to put it in, stay quiet this time."

You swallowed hard before nodding. He placed his cock on your clit, giving it a few rubbing before slowly inserting it fully in your cunt. "F- fuck..." He grunted, his head spinning because the way he slid in you almost too easily was too hard to miss. You covered your mouth, not risking being caught by someone again like the last time.

"J- Just put it in," you muffled out, but Jeonghan didn't listen.

"Can't have you begging me to stop later," he whispered, his fingers stretching you out, making it impossible to hold out your moans. Jeonghan just had to kiss your sounds—as much as he wants to hear you make those sounds of pleasure, he just can't. Well, not at a public space like this. It's possible that someone will eventually step in.

As he pulled his fingers out, he pulls his pants down just enough for his cock to be freed. It was long, and hard as ever. Jeonghan places the tip of his cock on your clit, rubbing it in your pussy before entering you fully.

You moaned, with Jeonghan trying to quiet you down. "Shhh... Damn it."

"I- W- wait," you muffled, your cunt twitching on his cock. "I can't." Jeonghan replied, moving his hips in slow thrusts. "Your walls are swallowing me whole. You're awesome."

His hips moved a little faster this time. You were breathless. Jeonghan has you pinned down on the couch, fucking you now roughly while you hold back the sounds from coming out of your mouth.

The sound of skin slapping, your pussy squirming and squelching when you meet his hard thrusts, and muffled moans filling the room. When your walls started to tighten around his dick, that's when he lets out grunts.

Jeonghan thrusted in your cunt, burying himself inside you like never before. He was fighting hard to meet his highs, and yours too.

You cum all over his dick before him, but that wasn't enough for him to pull away. He ran circles on your clit, his tongue all over your neck as he finally reaches his own high.

Cumming, he lifted your shirt as he took his hot load on your stomach. Your cunt glistened with your own fluids.

"You're amazing," Jeonghan says as he looked at the quivering mess underneath him. Your hair disheveled, cheeks all red looking so pretty like that.

You pushed him before straddling on his lap. "Let me take care of you," you muttered, kissing him immediately right afterwards, leaving him no room to respond.

Him already hard cock springs up again and leaks with precum as you fucked him with your soft thighs. His cock twitching as you rocked your hips back in forth. Rubbing yourself on his cock, hips shaking as you overstimulate yourself above him.

And that's when you finally entered him. Your eyes rolling to the back of your head as Jeonghan looked at you with awe.

He lifted your shirt, unclipped your bra as he finds your nipples, kissing and nipping on the sensitive skin there, making you let out a moan. He didn't stop you this time. Who cares if you get caught.

You finally bounced on him, making Jeonghan pant breathlessly. His eyes focused on the way your tits were bouncing before him so sinfully—he loved how you took control over him. Especially when he knew you wouldn't do something like this in a public space.

Jeonghan kissed your lips as you grind yourself further into his cock, reaching the depths of heaven. Jeonghan held your hips in place before cumming inside you, the mix of your cum and his blending perfectly as it coated your walls.

Your head fell down on Jeonghan's shoulder. Catching your breath as he clips your bra back, cleaning your messy body. His fingers moving to the soft of your hair as if to soothe you off.

"You did well," he whispered, planting a kiss on your cheek. He didn't let you pull away from his cock just yet. He wanted to feel your warmth covering his cock. Just by the feeling of your gummy, hot pussy made him hard again, and your tried to squirm away, but Jeonghan didn't let you.

He rocked your hips slowly as he grunted with lust. Moaning as he felt you pussy twitching. "J- Jeonghan... Wait..." You called out, finding his shoulder to bite into his shoulder as he moves you a little faster now.

"Last... one..." He muttered; his breathing heavy as he slides in your cunt a little rougher.

With a few more pounds and squirms, he finally cums in you again, with you passing out on his arms right after you squirted three times on his cock.

The room was heavy with the aftermath of passion, the air thick with warmth and the lingering scent of Jeonghan's cologne mixed with your own. Your body was draped against him, utterly spent, your breathing shallow as you rested in his arms. His hands traced lazy patterns along your bare back, his touch possessive, yet oddly tender. You felt the faint thrum of his heartbeat against your cheek, steady and unhurried, as if he had all the time in the world.

Jeonghan, finally contended, ran his fingers through your hair, lulling you deeper to sleep as he uses your pussy to warm his cock.

You barely registered his quiet chuckle, the sound sending a faint shiver down your spine. Your mind was hazy, the weight of exhaustion pulling you under. You were vaguely aware of his body still connected to yours, his warmth anchoring you as your consciousness started to slip away.

"Good girl," he whispered, his voice low and laced with something darker, something triumphant. He brushed a strand of hair from your face, tucking it behind your ear as he studied you with an intensity that made your skin prickle, even in your half-dazed state.

You stirred faintly, murmuring something incoherent, but Jeonghan only smiled. "Shh," he cooed softly, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "You've worked so hard, my love. Rest now."

And you did, succumbing to the pull of sleep, blissfully unaware of the way his gaze shifted, how his expression turned from soft affection to something far more sinister.

The soft click of a door opening pulled Jeonghan's attention, though he didn't move. He didn't need to. He knew exactly who it was.

"Good job, Hyesoo," he called out casually, his voice smooth and unbothered. His fingers skimmed along your bare skin one last time before resting on your hip, his touch possessive as he glanced up.

Hyesoo stepped into the room, her face a carefully constructed mask of indifference. In her hands was a camera, and she held it out to him silently. Jeonghan smirked, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction as he took it, already eager to see the results.

"She's full of my scent," he murmured, his voice low and almost reverent as his gaze shifted back to your sleeping form. His pupils dilated as he took in every detail of you—the flush on your cheeks, the marks he'd left on your skin, the way your body was still connected to his, as if even in unconsciousness, you belonged to him. "I'll save this picture in my head forever."

Hyesoo said nothing, her jaw tightening slightly as she turned away. She didn't need to watch him replay the footage; she already knew what was there. She had filmed it herself, after all. Jeonghan's obsession was no secret to her—it never had been. And yet, she stayed by his side, playing her role in his elaborate scheme.

Jeonghan leaned back against the couch, his free hand absently brushing over your arm as he scrolled through the clips. Each one was a masterpiece to him, a testament to his control, his possession of you. He watched them over and over, his expression shifting between adoration and something far darker.

"You're mine," he whispered, more to himself than anyone else. The words were both a promise and a declaration, one he had ensured would be true no matter what.

Jeonghan's smirk deepened as he reviewed the footage one last time before setting the camera aside. Everything had gone exactly as he had planned.

From the moment he saw you, he had known you were meant to be his. But he also knew you wouldn't come to him willingly, not at first. So, he orchestrated everything—down to the finest detail.

Hyesoo had been a key player, pretending to be your friend, earning your trust only to betray it when the time was right. The rumors about you? All planted. The whispers about your connections to the higher-ups, the way people started to question your integrity—it had all been his doing. He needed you vulnerable, isolated, desperate enough to turn to him.

And it had worked. Every step, every move, had brought you closer to this moment. To him.

Even your role as the second lead in the film had been a calculated choice. He had pushed for it, knowing it would keep you close, knowing it would force you to rely on him as the chaos of the industry swirled around you.

"You really are perfect," he murmured, his fingers brushing over your cheek. "Even better than I imagined."

Hyesoo shifted uncomfortably in the corner of the room, her arms crossed as she avoided his gaze. She had agreed to help him, but even she hadn't anticipated the extent of his obsession. Watching it unfold, seeing the lengths he was willing to go—it made her stomach twist.

But she stayed silent. She always did.

Jeonghan glanced up at her, his smile sharp. "You've done well, Hyesoo," he said, his tone dripping with condescension. "Don't think I've forgotten how valuable you've been to me."

Hyesoo's jaw tightened, but she nodded, her expression betraying nothing. She knew better than to challenge him. Not when he held all the power.

As you slept peacefully in his arms, Jeonghan allowed himself a moment of indulgence. He had won. Everything he had ever wanted was now his.

And he wasn't about to let you go.

Not now. Not ever.

a/n: thank you for reading. the plot isnt plotting cause like.. wtf did i just do? i shouldve just put a smut with no actual plot lmao. anyhow i hope reader likes it ! lmk if i missed a few waqrnings or what i should add on the tags/genre. ty ! LY! ᓚᘏᗢ

also, huge thank you for @ririesna who requested for this fanfic idea (actor x actor). without her req, i wouldnt be able to post anything at all. im open for requests, if you want to leave some, i will be posting.

i just made a taglist for oneshots (general groups)? click this link if you want to be added ;)

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