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neiptune · 7 months ago

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surreal, but nice

cw: 7k wc, female reader, strangers to lovers, osamu doesn't exactly know how to handle one of the most famous music artists in japan suddenly popping in onigiri miya, inspired by notting hill, my sappy entry for the romcom collab hosted by @bloompompom! thank you @yellow-sword-lily, this fic is also a little yours :)

Miya Osamu is a creature of habit.

He gets up fairly early, showers, never leaves the small apartment without fixing himself a nutritious breakfast, more or less knows and is therefore prepared to what to expect from each particular day.

Downstairs there’s his beloved shop, a dormant creature he gently stirs from sleep each morning. When he doesn’t have to head to the market to select and order the freshest products, Osamu starts the day by contacting all his suppliers and arranging the deliveries. He then checks the inventory, reviews reservations, welcomes the only other chef to discuss any special preparations or new experiments. It’s not unusual for him to check his emails, monitor the website and official social media of the shop, the one thing he actually hates doing because he knows damn well one negative comment will ruin his day, especially since there’s nothing he can do to rectify mistakes made days, sometimes weeks before.

He has a chef, one dishwasher, three servers, two food delivery drivers and that’s about it. Osamu Miya is the owner, manager, host, executive chef, server and cashier of onigiri Miya. He juggles management skills, culinary talent and business acumen just perfectly. He’s prepared and knows exactly what each day has in store for him.

Until you happen.

Osamu has been cooking for almost three hours by the time the shop officially opens at 11AM. It’s not unusual for new faces to come in from time to time, despite his clientele being more or less established, but it is rare to hear the little door chime ring so soon. Except if his dumb brother happens to be in town.

But you’re not his dumb brother. You’re a new and yet strangely familiar face, even hidden behind thick sunglasses and a beret that one could deem more appropriate to a parisian getaway rather than a Kansai one.

“Morning” you offer a little bow, hesitant by the door “you’re open, right?”

“Uh, sure” he smiles, still a little uncertain after a moment of astonishment “I don’t often have clients for breakfast. What can I get ya?”

“I’ve been told this is the best onigiri shop in town. I’ll let you decide”

You seem to consider your options for a moment, then decide to sit at the closest empty table. Osamu would usually provide more than a nod: he’d make conversation, ask questions. Forming bonds with whoever visits his shop and trusts his food is his favorite part of the day, as well as a great activity to engage in while his hands are busy putting the rice into molds.

“Close that mouth” is the only thing he utters under his breath, glancing at the server who set your table “yer catching flies”

“But it’s her!” Hiro squeaks as silently as humanly possible “I’m gonna ask for an autograph”

“You will do no such thing”

“We could hang it in the shop!”

“Go help in the kitchen, Minato called in sick today. I’ll handle this”

Hiro disappears behind closed doors but only after batting his freakishly long lashes to his boss, a heartbreaking disappointed look on his face.

Osamu takes a deep breath and squeezes the molds together, an action executed as gently as possible to keep the fluffy texture that makes his onigiri the best in town.

He knows you, of course he knows you. Not only your face was on any available surface for the entirety of the previous summer (posters, billboards, magazine covers to advertise your first ever concert in the Koshien stadium), he’s also pretty sure in high school Atsumu had perpetually ruined the walls of their shared room with some crappy adhesive squares used to hang your poster.

Osamu is not really a dedicated listener, he knows a couple of your most famous songs and that your success is damn near planetary. You have a house in Tokyo but spend most of the year in America, California if he recalls correctly, and you tour across Europe as well. Yet, it’s been easy to pick what to serve you. The gourmet options such as salmon roe or roast beef are off the table: they don’t make new clients feel special. What new clients need is a taste of authenticity, something that reminds them of home, and don’t you look just like the kind of person who could use some of that?

Osamu decides on pickled plum, tuna mayo and bonito flakes. One serving usually consists of three onigiri but he can’t resist adding an extra treat for you, a tenmusu onigiri. He’s recently perfected the recipe with an egg-free tempura batter that is still thick enough to absorb his special sauce.

He hopes it’s not creepy that he lingers by your table after he brings your meal: celebrity or not, you’re a new client. And Osamu can’t resist observing the wander taking over customers who are unfamiliar with his kitchen, as soon as they take the first bite. He hopes you are no exception.

“If this is an onigiri” you lock eyes with him and smile, glorious, radiant “what the hell have I been eating until now?”

“Probably not the best in town” he grins, proud, a slight blush already coating his cheeks. Damn it, he’s tempted to turn the baseball cap once more, let the brim shield his awkwardness. But that would be totally lame.

“Is it a family business?”

“No. It’s just… mine”

You hum, busy chewing on another bite. Then you swallow and ask another question, invite him to sit eventually, then apologize because he’s probably busy (he is) and has things to do (he does) but this is never going to happen again for Osamu, because he’s not Atsumu. And so he sits and makes conversation like a normal human being that definitely isn’t obsessively dwelling on how beautiful you are, how different your voice sounds when you’re not singing, how much he’d hate for a client to come in and pop that bubble. Which is exactly what happens and he doesn’t like it one bit how you interrupt your chuckle, lower your head, hunch your shoulders in an attempt to hide. He doesn’t like that he has to excuse himself, call Hiro back form the kitchen, make conversation with Suzuki-san, listen while he describes all his latest hospital visits in horrifying detail.

You look at him from time to time, the quiet shop owner suddenly turned chatty sparks your curiosity. He’s skilled with his hands and genuinely interested in what the person who must be an habitué has to say. He’s attractive, too. Especially as he tries to disguise the occasional glances directed your way or the disappointment that flashes in his eyes when you get up and start collecting your things.

“Can I get the check, please?” you approach the counter, pretend not to notice his hesitation. Osamu decides against indulging in the “it’s on the house” cliche, opts for treating you as any other client. With the exception of a small discount you won’t even notice.

“That was the best breakfast I had in a while” you collect the receipt and put in your pocket.

“You should come back, then. To have another” Osamu cringes internally as soon as the words leave his mouth and Suzuki-san’s chuckle makes him want to dig a hole to disappear into. But you smile, despite probably having heard the corny line a million other times, and tell him that you just might.

It would’ve been perfect: a beautiful ending to a glorious encounter. It could’ve been. If only you didn’t turn around so abruptly, a small shriek echoing across the shop as you came face to face with Mai, the sudden sound and panic causing her to jump and spill the fresh iced tea from the jug in her hand all over your painfully clean, crisp, starched, white button down.

You both freeze, your mouth open in a silent scream, an horrified look in Mai’s eyes that would’ve been comical on literally any other occasion. Osamu wishes he would’ve went with the ��it’s on the house” cliche.

“Oh my god! Oh god! It’s you! I mean, I’m sorry!” Mai’s voice comes out an octave too high “my god, I’m so sorry!”

“Well, this is great” you frantically grab a handful of napkins from the counter and attempt to dab the mess on your shirt “I have a meeting in half an hour!”

“Please, take my uniform! I will pay for the dry cleaning!”

“Actually” Osamu chimes in as politely as possible, trying his best not to let his anxiety get the best of him “don’t take this the wrong way but, uh, I live upstairs. You can get cleaned up and…”

“You’re kidding, right?” your astonished look is almost glacial. It makes him falter just slightly.

“Or ya can leave with a giant orange stain on yer wet, probably uncomfortably cold shirt?”

“Miya-san!” Mai’s hiss and your shocked expression make him think that sarcasm probably wasn’t a good idea. Osamu sighs.

“Listen, I’m really sorry. These are the keys, you can go on your own, I promise the bathroom’s clean”

You eye him for a few seconds more, then decide against grabbing the keys from his hand.

“I’m gonna need a change of clothes”

Osamu blinks a couple times, dumbfounded. His clothes? You’re asking to wear… his clothes?

“Sure! Yeah, sure. Come on” now his voice sounds uncharacteristically squeaky and he clears his throat as you follow him up the stairs, Suzuki-san’s good grief still ringing in his ears.

Thank god he cleaned the entire apartment just the day before. As much as he likes to brag about being the tidy twin, deep down he knows he’s just as messy as Atsumu.

Osamu tries hard not to look at you, leaning against the doorframe with your arms crossed while he rummages in his drawers in search of something that could fit you. He shortly wonders if it’d be a good idea to offer a complementary bento box to make up for the disaster Mai caused.

“I’m genuinely sorry” he starts rambling because the silence is unbearable and some of Atsumu’s genes really do take over sometimes “the worst incident we ever had at the shop was my brother almost choking on his dinner. I had to perform the heimlich maneuver, it wasn’t pretty” god, where the hell are this clean, not embarrassing shirts?

“Guess this one will go down in history” your voice is less sharp now, which relieves him.

“Oh, no. I will never tell anyone about this, ever. Mai and Suzuki-san will have to sign an nda. A proper, legally binding one”

The laugh you offer sounds weirdly intimate in the small space of his bedroom, it makes the tips of his ears hot. Finally, he’s able to dig out a decent, basic shirt you accept by thanking him softly. When you lock yourself in the bathroom, Osamu rushes to the kitchen to tidy up the mess he’s left behind after that morning’s breakfast. No time to concentrate on how you’re actually, genuinely in his home, cleaning yourself in the same bathroom he showered in, without a shirt on.

No one’s ever going to believe him. Hell, he may not believe it himself by the end of the day.

“Hey” he jumps at your voice, sudden and closer than expected. You look good in his basic shirt, it suits you somehow. Did you shove your own in one of the bags you left by the door?

“Hey” Osamu says back and cringes for the millionth time “are ya hungry?”

You smile when he shuts his eyes for a second, right after the silly question leaves his mouth.

“Not hungry”

“Right. Of course. Thirsty? I have really good tea, from Shizuoka. And orange juice” he pauses for a second, then adds “or water”

Your smile grows, almost melts into a giggle. “Not thirsty either”

“Okay” he clears his throat “how about dessert? I made some mitarashi dango just yesterday”

“I have a meeting to attend”

“Oh. Sure, yeah, that makes sense” he wants to bash his head against the wall “I’ll walk you out. To downstairs” thank fuck ‘Tsumu isn’t there, he’d never let him live this down. Jesus.

You precede him to the door, gather your bags, then softly thank him for the shirt.

“Nice meeting you, Osamu” he nearly explodes when you say his name, no honorifics whatsoever. How do you even know? He hasn’t carried a name tag on his shirt for years.

“It was nice to meet you too” there’s no time to dwell on dumb, pointless questions “surreal, but nice”

He thinks if your smile could conjure waves, he’d gladly give up all the oxygen in his lungs and drown in them. Has someone ever looked as beautiful while smiling at him? He doesn’t think so. He can’t think. Not when you’re leaning closer, not when your arms are suddenly wrapped around his neck, not when you’re pressing your lips to his. Holy shit. You’re pressing your lips to his. And he’s forgotten how to breathe, let alone kiss. Osamu just freezes, like a marble statue, like a teenager who’s never touched a woman before. Right as he’s about to swallow the shock and fucking move, you’re already pulling away, eyes not leaving his despite the slight self-consciousness swarming in those irises.

And then you disappear, just like the dream he believed you were, all that’s left is an empty spot by the door and his heart slamming against a pathetically ill-equipped ribcage.

La Suite is one of the most luxurious hotels in the prefecture and Osamu feels out of place with the 30 onigiri order he’s carrying past a french restaurant and a traditional japanese one, all soft carpeting, dim lights and wide windows. So different from his.

He timidly explains that he’s there to deliver an order to a certain Bennet-san, who for some reason insisted he’d be the one bringing it to her hotel. They look at him funny but let him through and give the coordinates: top floor, superior double room. A woman meets him the second he steps out of the elevator and sternly asks him to follow her, a silly part of him wonders if he’s about to get murdered in one of the top 25 hotels in Japan. But then she knocks on a door right before swinging it open and he doesn’t even get to explain that he’s not supposed to get inside, she can take the bloody bag and he’ll be on his merry way, but once again Osamu fails to determine what the day holds in store for him.

Once more, it’s you. A less preppy version, one that seems so small in such a gigantic room, the sea breeze blowing from the terrace gracefully lifting up the hem of a tennis skirt you immediately fight to keep down as you promptly get up from the couch.

“Hi” he says, so dumbfounded he barely notices the door closing behind him.

“Miya-san” you bow, keep your eyes down, no sign of a smile he could by now deem familiar “I’m sorry for the trouble, I know the hotel is pretty far from the restaurant and you must be busy. This will only take a second”

Osamu’s brows furrow, confusion evident in the way he cocks his head. You don’t catch it, because your eyes are glued to the floor. “I wanted to apologize for my behavior. I don’t know what came over me, I hope you can find it in yourself to forgive me”

His eyes soften as part of the tension leaves his shoulders. Truth is, Osamu is glad you’re apologizing: despite how beautiful and dreamy you may be, life is not quite a movie and he doesn’t exactly appreciate being blindsided by a stranger. He doesn’t really understand what made you think kissing him would be a good idea (was his awkardness interpreted the wrong way? Did his stare linger on your smile a second too long?) but he’s certain you meant no harm. A shitty person certainly wouldn’t take time out of her day to leave an autograph on a napkin, especially right after half a jug of iced tea was spilled on her shirt just minutes before. To Hiro, with love.

After a moment, he clears his throat. “Can ya look at me?”

You meet his gaze hesitantly, mouth a thin line of harsh disapproval directed at yourself. For a second, you remind him of someone and he almost breaks into a smile.

“Thank you for apologizing. We’re good”

“Are you certain?”

“Yeah!” he chuckles “you didn’t have to place such a big order”

You blink twice, then start nervously fiddling with your fingers “ah, actually I didn’t do it to… well, those onigiris are just really good. I wanted to take some extra ones with me”

“You’re leaving?” he doesn’t mean to sound disappointed, especially not while you’re so intentionally keeping your distance.

“Kinda. My record label rented a house in the countryside, I’ll spend most of the summer locked in, trying to finish my new album. I couldn’t do it in America, I missed being home but didn’t want to endure Tokyo’s chaos so I ended up picking Hyogo. Sorry, you didn’t ask to know all that” you chuckle tensely “we leave tomorrow and I didn’t want to go without apologizing first. That’s all. You may go now”

Osamu hums. “I may go? As in I’m excused?” he laughs when your painfully stoic expression melts into sheer horror.

“No! Of course not, I didn’t mean it like that!”

“You take yourself too seriously” he grins “I’m just messin’ with ya”

“That’s not very nice of you”

“Would you compare it to kissing a stranger out of the blue?”

“Oh god” you hide your overheated face in your hands “you said we’re good!”

“And we are” Osamu steps closer to gently place the bags still in his hands on the marble topped pedestal coffee table. It’s just fun to tease you, one of the many irritating habits he shares with his brother.

His brother. Osamu looks up, a risky desire taking shape in his head and threatening to spill over the tip of his tongue.

“I’m really sorry, Miya-san” you repeat and he doesn’t love that you’re now calling him that “uh, this is your shirt. Cleaned and ironed. Thank you for…”

“Whatcha doing tonight?”

You freeze, paper bag still in hand. “Uhm, nothing interesting”

“No packing?”

“My manager does that for me”

He chuckles. “Right. Chances you’d want to spend your last night in the city at an even less interesting birthday party?”

Osamu waits patiently while you weigh your options, recognizes the confusion in your hesitant stare but doesn’t quite understand why there’s a weary vibration to your voce when you accept, the slight disappointment that flashes across your features.

It’s only fair, you think as he parts from the room with a smile and the command to secure those onigiris in a fridge. If showing you off to his friends like some valuable conquest is the way he wants to even the score, you’re in no position to deny him. You’re the one at fault and you’ve been given a chance to make up for it by wearing the facade you wear best.

Then why does it feel so disheartening, this time?

When Shinsuke opens the door, he’s more surprised by your presence than the carefully wrapped gift in your hands. Not that he doubted Osamu: why send a message to the group chat telling everyone that a) he was bringing someone and b) they should’ve absolutely not behaved any differently than usual if not better (in bold), if he wasn’t actually going to show up with a plus one?

Still, a small part of him did wonder if Atsumu’s and Rintaro’s relentless teasing finally got the best of him. Shinsuke doesn’t think that his friend works too much or that he should start “looking around” before “his hair starts greying again only this once naturally”. He remembers Osamu rolling his eyes at his brother when he implied that at this rate he’s gonna have to tie the knot with the restaurant, only to then space out for most of the evening as everyone else found new topics to migrate toward.

In short, Shinsuke wondered if Osamu was going to come up with a last minute excuse to justify the empty spot next to him at the table. But it seems that spot is going to be taken after all, by you nonetheless.

“Nice to meet you, Kita-san” you smile after Osamu introduces you by your name and nothing else, not a wink, not even a subtle hint or a reasonable explanation “happy birthday”

Shinsuke accepts the gift with a polite thank you and he’s almost made sure you could preserve a nice, normal memory of stepping foot into his house for the first time, of course failing to consider the Hinata factor.

“Thank god, Osamu, I’m so hungry- holy shit! Is her your gift? I only brought a cap that says farm hair don’t care!” there’s a strange but seemingly friendly redhead looking at you with eyes so wide you fear they might roll out of their sockets.

“Shoyo, any chance you checked the chat today?” Osamu smiles at him widely but Kita recognizes the tension at the corners.

“What? Of course not, I was busy picking a cute gift” Hinata smiles too but his excitement is genuine “hello, nice to meet you! Please come in, you can help us set the table!”

You chuckle and meet Osamu’s horrified eyes for a second, his posture relaxes as your gentle reassurance puts him at ease. I’ll be in the other room, then. Leave it to Hinata to make a gigantic deal out of a special guest only to treat her as one of his buddies ten seconds later. You seemed comfortable, though, as one always feels whenever Shoyo happens to be around.

“Who is she?” Shinsuke doesn’t mean for his tone to be so conspiratorial but he keeps it low, just in case you might still hear them.

“A friend. Kinda. Ya wouldn’t believe me” Osamu takes his jacket off and hangs it by the door, then picks up the plethora of bags from the floor and makes his way into his friend’s kitchen.

“No, I mean… who is she? Why does Shoyo know her?” Shinsuke follows suit, intent on helping him distribute all the food he’s brought in the different plates he has prepared. Osamu shakes his initial surprise off with a chuckle.

“Only one of the most famous pop music artists in Japan”

Kita stills his movements for a second, then absorbs the new information with a simple nod. “Right. And you met her at the shop”

“How d’ya know?”

“Where else would you be meeting a pop music artist?”

“Don’t make it sound so obvious” Osamu pulls a face and Shinsuke’s eyes twinkle with mischief.

“Well, she’s here. With you. Is it like… a date?”

“No” the peremptory answer comes embarrassingly fast “it’s her last night in the city, she’s here because she didn’t have anything better planned”

“But you invited her”

“Yes”

“Because you like her”

“I don’t-” Osamu gestures vaguely with his hands “it’s not like that. ‘Tsumu used to have a poster of her face in our room, for fuck’s sake”

Kita hums. “So what you actually mean is it can’t be like that”

“I don’t see the difference”

“I do”

“Well-” a loud commotion Osamu has been trained for over two decades to instantly recognize as his brother’s voice, makes the words die in his throat. By the time him and Shinsuke return to the colorfully decorated living room (courtesy of an overly enthusiastic Hinata and one resigned Rintaro), Atsumu is already talking your ear off and seemingly invading your personal space multiple times as he follows you around the table you’re setting with Suna like a golden retriever on a sugar overload.

“Shoyo, you were supposed to keep her safe” Osamu glares at his brother and takes a mental note to scold Aran too, later. For snickering.

Hinata doesn’t get the chance to defend himself because of course Atsumu’s the only one who could outshine that intense excitement with his own.

“Samu! What the hell? If this is yer gift to Shin, what are ya plannin’ to get me exactly?”

“Can everyone stop assuming she’s here as a thing and not as a person?” it comes out harsher than intended and Osamu feels his face grow hot when all those present simply stare at him. When you stare at him.

Suna clears his throat.

“Cut him some slack, he came out of the bathroom and we could barely convince him she’s not a hallucination” you chuckle at that, which makes the ever stoic Rintaro look away with a faint blush blossoming on his pale cheeks.

“Wait” Atsumu looks at you, then at his brother and his brows become progressively furrowed “she’s here with you? As in, you invited her? And she said yes?”

Osamu wonders why he thought a simple admonishment in the group chat would be enough. He has half an idea of shoving an onigiri right into his brother’s loud mouth and not perform any maneuver whatsoever when the rice obstructs his airways.

“Actually, I wanted to come” you chime in so gently it takes a few moments for him to register the words “I’m leaving tomorrow and when Miya-san mentioned it was one of his friends’ birthday, I shamelessly asked if I could tag along. Hope I’m not a bother”

Kita is looking at you the same way Osamu is, puzzled. Hinata almost chokes on his coke and starts coughing profusely, so much that Aran has to lend him a napkin.

“A bother? No, of course not!” his nose might be on fire but by god, he physically cannot let you believe such nonsense for a second too long.

Atsumu’s mouth hangs wide open, brows still knit that make his expression overall hilarious “you make her call you Miya-san? Yikes, bro” he turns to you and makes a scene of slamming a hand on his chest “please, feel free to call me ‘Tsumu. I think we’re intimate enough by now”

“Given that we took five selfies and you made me sign my name on your abs, I also think we’re intimate enough” your grin seems genuine, which only startles Osamu more.

“Ya made her do what?” oh, there are probably not enough words in the japanese vocabulary for the way he’ll have to apologize at the end of the night.

“It’s fine, I didn’t mind” you shrug “but if I could ask everyone a small favor…”

“Sure, anything!” Atsumu’s interruption only makes your smile grow wider “I’d really like to celebrate Kita-san’s birthday like you’d normally do. Please don’t make a big deal out of me, it’s his night after all”

“She’s asking not to be treated like a circus act” Aran whispers to Hinata, who blinks his big brown eyes in quiet understanding.

“Done!” Atsumu’s fist hits his chest right where the heart is as he solemnly declares “you’re one of the boys now, consider yourself a pal”

“Thanks, ‘Tsumu” he tries to keep his composure but nearly implodes as you direct your attention to Shoyo “no, Hinata-san, this doesn’t mean we won’t be taking that picture I promised. Don’t worry” your wink is the prettiest, most wonderful thing he’s ever witnessed and thank fuck he’s done drinking that coke because his airways suddenly feel clogged.

Kita thinks this is already the most entertaining birthday he’s ever celebrated.

And celebrate his birthday you all do. Normally, as per your request. You sit between Rintaro and Osamu at dinner and masterfully divert the attention from yourself whenever the questions start piling up. The uno reverse technique works well: your curiosity feels flattering and everyone is happy to satisfy it. The questions you direct are extremely specific, your laugh echoes alongside everyone else’s and Osamu can’t help but think that, in some odd way, you fit in seamlessly.

Keeping his eyes off of you isn’t but a strenuous fight with himself, it’d be lovely if looking would be the only activity he’d be allowed to engage in. It’s not hard to guess why hordes of fans and admirers are so enamoured: you’re such a natural. Polite, poised, funny, charismatic. Making you laugh feels like a privilege, having your brows raise in interest makes the story one’s recounting instantly fascinating. And yet you’re not doing any of that on purpose, he can tell. The one thing you’re being intentionally careful about is avoiding his gaze and making sure your arm doesn’t accidentally brush against his.

Osamu wants to ask himself why but also refuses to indulge in childish fantasies. What, he thought you liked him? Part of him believed you’d accepted to come to some stranger’s birthday party purely to spend an evening with him. Bullshit. Everyone in the world knows who you are and he simply owns an onigiri shop in Hyogo, one you happened to visit by sheer chance. He’s the guy you are so embarrassed to be seen with, you had to come up with a lie to justify your presence at the very same table that seems to adore you.

But when he jokingly throws a grain of rice at Aran, you hide your chuckle behind your hand. If he speaks, you always turn to look. Osamu doesn’t remember a social gathering where he tried to come up with just as many things to say, desperately conjuring genes that always weigh heavier in Atsumu. Unfortunately, the one person he could always count on, his dear friend and trusty supplier, decides his birthday night is the perfect occasion to stab him in the back.

“I’m sorry, I just need to ask” Kita refills your glass with fresh wine from across the table before retracting to his seat once more “your encounter with Osamu, how did it happen exactly?”

“Yeah, was his onigiri so good you wanted to-”

“Do not finish that sentence, Shoyo” Aran clears his throat as Suna, next to you, has a hard time swallowing his stir fry noodles.

“She heard my shop was the best in town, which it is, came to try it. That’s the story” Osamu wishes he could disappear into his kitchen as he often does when things at the restaurant get uncomfortable.

“I don’t buy it” Shinsuke shrugs “is that really the whole story?”

Kita’s knowing stare really hasn’t changed since high school and it seems you’re affected by it just as much as every other human. His eyes bore right into yours, trained to detect hesitation or even the hint of a lie, giving you no escape. Goddamn it, he’s still the team captain, there’s no running from him.

“Well” you gently swirl the glass in your hand, suddenly very much focused on the crimson liquid swooshing inside “I also kissed him”

This time someone does actually choke and, of course, it’s Atsumu. Right as Rintaro utters an ever quiet holy shit, he explodes in a coughing fit and Aran promptly strikes between his shoulder blades with the heel of his hand, perhaps with more force than needed. Thankfully, Atsumu manages to swallow his bite and, despite the tears threatening to run down his cheeks in all their shimmering glory, still conjures the energy needed to point an intimidating finger at his brother “ya bastard!”

“That’s a joke, right?” Hinata’s eyes have once again grown three sizes.

Kita doesn’t ask, the answer is written all over Osamu’s crimson red face. He was right, no one would’ve believed him.

“No, I really did” you take a sip from your glass and now everyone is looking at you like you’re some kind of alien. Except for Atsumu, who’s still glaring daggers at his brother.

“So this is… a date for you two?” Suna’s just as shocked as everyone else but seems to be the only person currently able to string words together.

“Oh, no” you brush the question off with a gracious wave of the hand “I just did it to thank him”

This time the silence stretches for a moment too long. Atsumu seems on the verge of passing out.

“You kissed him to thank him?” Kita cocks his head.

“Yeah. I mean, he was very kind. Have you never kissed someone to thank them?”

“Uh… no. I don’t think so”

“Really?”

“Do you…” Aran hopes to the gods that the words don’t come out the wrong way “do that often?”

“Aran” as much as Osamu wishes the earth could swallow him whole, he doesn’t want you to think his friends may be implying something they’re really not.

“I didn’t mean it like that!”

“It’s okay” you let our a nervous chuckle and because Osamu is sitting so close, he hears the shaky breath too “I know it was wrong. I tend to forget that’s not what normal people are used to. I apologized and now we’re good, right, Miya-san?” your eyes meet his and he feels his heart drop right into his stomach.

“Why are you used to that?” he asks instead of replying to your question and you just. Freeze.

“Yeah…” Hinata quietly chimes in “that doesn’t sound like something anyone should be used to”

For the first time, you don’t know how to respond. Osamu senses your panic, can read it in your eyes, but is too baffled to think of something smart or chivalrous to say.

“Holy shit, ya know what that means?” Atsumu slams both his hands on the table and both you and everyone else jump “it means she thinks I’m hot! In another life, I’d have a chance! Sorry, Shin, I know it’s yer birthday but I think this is the best night of my life!”

A quiet, astonished moment follows, then the table erupts in genuine laughter. You’re giggling so much you have to hold your stomach, Kita is shaking his head in resignation, Suna rolls his eyes with affection. Osamu settles for a smile as he relaxes against his chair once more. His brother may be loud and annoyingly inopportune, but his quiet support never once faltered throughout the years. One doesn’t need to be an old acquaintance to be taken under Miya Atsumu’s wing: if he senses as much as the hint of unease, his charismatic idiocy is summoned right away at the service of whoever may need it. Yet his loyalty remains unshakeable: Osamu knows that, in his stupid head, you’re already forbidden territory.

His mind is dizzy with confusion he doesn’t know how to properly address. As Kita blows out the candles on the cake he’s made, Osamu feels a wave of affection inundate his heart. He remembers that are nights like this that are worth being present, even if he has to get up at dawn or his sink is full of dirty dishes and he’s exhausted. Life only ever feels right when he’s with his friends or his family. It’s a routine he’s trained hard to get used to: work, work, work, carve out small moments to spend with those who come and go. It’s important for him to be there, when they come.

Osamu almost misses it, too focused on cleaning an extra plate or two in the kitchen, to make sure the birthday boy can get to relax once they leave. And then you call for him, a small crack in that poised facade of yours when his name almost slips out. You rush into the kitchen and urge him to hurry up, they’re already singing happy birthday to Kita-san. Come on, you’re missing it!

You probably wanted to go for his sleeve and found his hand instead, dragged him out of the room so quickly Osamu barely had the time to put the towel down. For some reason, once in the living room you don’t let go right away and neither does he. You only do so to clap with everyone else and even then it’s not entirely possible to establish who lets go first. Regardless, Osamu gives your hand a light squeeze and hopes you notice, despite there being no signs to indicate that.

You’re the first two people to excuse themselves: he refuses to let you go back to your hotel on your own, doesn’t give two shits that you have a driver or could well afford a cab because it’s a beautiful evening and Osamu is itching to have as little as ten minutes alone with you. He watches as you formally offer a hand to Suna and he grins as he shakes it, gently taking it in between his in a respectful attempt at suggesting that there’s no need to be so ceremonious.

You exchange quick hugs with everyone else, take the picture promised to Hinata, chuckle lightly when Atsumu timidly asks for a kiss on the cheek just because “it’s the american way of saying goodbye!” and of course you accomodate the request. Osamu is almost willing to bet you genuinely had fun but he also can’t seem to shake off the odd feeling suggesting you’ve somehow taken it upon yourself to just… appease everyone for the entire evening. Like some kind of duty. He doesn’t want you to think back to this evening like a task that had to be carried out.

“Oh my god, I cannot fucking believe it!” Atsumu’s shriek echoes loud and clear in the empty street as soon as Kita shuts the door and you meet Osamu’s exasperated glare.

“I’m genuinely not sure what I should start apologizing for” he runs a hand through his brown hair and his stress makes you smile as you fall into a comfortable walking pace.

“I should start by thanking you for inviting me. Can’t remember the last time I had such a normal night”

“My friends are many things but I don’t know if they really fall into the normal category”

You laugh at that. “I think they’re really nice. It was fun. I didn’t know there were two of you”

Osamu grimaces, lightly shaking his head “good call, he’s the thing I should start apologizing for”

“I liked Atsumu” of course you did, don’t they all? “you’re lucky to have such good friends and a brother. Is it true what they say about weird connections us twinless mortals wouldn’t get?”

He sighs. As much as Osamu hates stereotypes and all the disadvantages that come with not being able to be his own person, the curse of always being considered nothing but part of a set, he knows the bond with Atsumu is just as rare and irreplaceable as people make it out to be.

“Well, I can pretty much always read his mind. But it’s not a twin thing, s’just an Atsumu thing” he shrugs “most transparent, honest person on earth”

“You’re both very kind” your observation strikes him. It hits the nail on the head: he does his best but it’s unusual for someone to notice ‘Tsumu’s selflessness right away.

“Could say the same about ya” he’s eager to direct the topic to the thing he’s really interested in, the one person who refused every bit of attention directed her way throughout the night “that tea collection must’ve costed a fortune. Shinsuke loves tea, yer manager picked well”

You hum, gaze focused on your feet. “Actually, I picked it”

Another thing Osamu has in common with his brother, the ability to royally fuck up in such a short amount of time.

“Oh, I didn’t-”

“It’s okay, happens all the time”

“What happens?”

“People assuming things” you’re not mad, there’s just a sad vibration to your voice. If he could punch himself in the face, he would.

“I’m sorry”

“Don’t be” Osamu hates the smile you toss at him. He hates it so much he stops in the middle of the sidewalk and watches you turn around, confusion flashing in your disenchanted eyes.

“There’s a pretty cool park ‘round the corner. How about a detour? If you’re not too tired”

You hum in agreement, ask him to lead the way. Careful, Osamu, you’d like to say. This same polite regard is what got me in trouble the first time.

The park, which is more of a garden really, is a slice of eden in the jungle that any city inevitably ends up feeling like. Lowlands, an abundance of irregular but colorful flowerbeds that seem to glow in the dark, the warm air of the evening saturated with the sweet scent of lime trees, a gravel path you both follow all the way to a small, wooden playground. It’s only natural to gravitate toward the swings, relish in the comfort of the stillness the evening offers. It always feels like the earth rotates slower, pace decelerating to give you more time to enjoy the things it’s hard to appreciate during your hectic days.

Osamu approaches the swing like an old friend, takes hold of the chains with both hands. He lightly pushes off the ground with his feet while pulling back, giving you a perfect view of his perfect profile.

“I don’t want to assume” he says quietly “so is it okay if I ask?”

“Yeah” you rest your head on the chain you’re holding, still looking at him who won’t look at you.

“Why did you tell ‘Tsumu you asked me to come tonight?” the actual question dies in his throat. Were you that embarrassed of being there with me?

“You seemed pretty self-conscious. I didn’t want you to feel uncomfortable” and I guess that way, you got to seem cooler.

Osamu almost chokes on his own spit from how surprised he is by your answer. What the fuck.

“I wasn’t-” not for the reason you seem to believe “I didn’t want you to feel uncomfortable!”

You smile, patiently waiting for the moment where he’ll finally turn to meet your gaze instead of persistently staring at his feet. “I don’t think I ever felt that comfortable in a room filled with men”

“That shouldn’t be an exceptional occurrence”

“Right. But it is”

He spends a few moments trying to come up with the right words, a handful of seconds spent with part of his brain wishing he could have a talk with all the men who made you feel unsafe. How many? Where, why? Are they the reason why Osamu wants to get so desperately close and yet keep a respectful distance, not to scare you off, not to be another name added to the list of creeps you surely hate?

“Why did you kiss me?” those are far from being the right, considerate words he was trying to summon, but they bubble up from his throat before he can stop them.

You hum, pensive “I don’t know. You’re pretty, you’re gentle, I thought t’was what you expected to happen. It’s what men usually expect in return”

“In return for what?” he fights the urge to keep his eyes down, confident that the darkness will conceal the redness of his cheeks. You think he’s pretty and the first thing his dumb brain is able to link the revelation to, is Atsumu. Shit, he was right, this means you do find him attractive as well.

“Anything, really” your chuckle is devoid of actual humor “I know this night was supposed to make up for it but I didn’t expect to have so much fun. Regardless, I hope we’re even now”

Osamu furrows his brows.

“Ya think that’s why I invited ya?”

“Why else?”

He almost laughs, incredulous. You hide that mistrust really well, Osamu has to give it you. It feels unfair that life has given someone who seemingly has everything, so many reasons to think you can only be seen as an empty shell, some trophy with the sole purpose of being flaunted.

“You said you were leaving. I didn’t like the idea of not seeing you again”

“Really?” your lips curl into a small smile “the weird girl who jumped you on your first meeting?”

“You’re weird” he concedes “and selfless. Intelligent. Maybe jokes are not your forte but, hey, ya get to look like that” your laugh compliments his really well and Osamu can’t help but think he’d like to sit in a park, in the middle of the night, and talk and laugh and be with you just once more.

You briefly wonder if the man sitting so close to you is aware of just how devastatingly charming he is. Part of you wishes he’d want to take you out on a proper date, let you meet his friends on different occasions, include a weird stranger in such a well balanced life. Part of you also knows you’d never want to ruin that for him. Not for someone like Osamu. People who are unfortunate enough to stumble across you are almost always harassed away, it’s a life you’re used to and can’t bring yourself to run from. It’s who you are and, most importantly, all you have. It’d be too dangerous for your heart to desire anything different.

But he’s looking at you as if you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, land emerged from the sea millions of years ago for his eyes only to experience such a sight. No one’s ever looked at you with such wonder.

“I don’t want to assume” he holds your gaze locked to his, swing dangling lightly as he leans closer “so is it okay if I ask?”

“Yes” you utter a little too breathlessly.

“Can I kiss ya?”

You hum in affirmation and close your eyes, heart beating a little faster than what you’re used to as you sense his proximity. He smells nice, radiates warmth and his soft hair tickles a little when his lips gently press to your cheek.

Osamu smiles when he catches a glimpse of disappointment flashing over your features, the first of many clues he wants to learn how to interpret correctly. The cracks in a facade he’d make his personal mission to tear down.

“I know you have to go away tomorrow” he gently moves a strand of hair away from your forehead “but I wondered, if you didn’t, whether you might let me see ya a little. Or a lot, maybe”

You lean into his touch, calloused fingertips still barely grazing your skin.

“A lot sounds good”

#osamu x reader #osamu x you #osamu miya x reader #osamu miya x you #miya osamu x reader #haikyuu x reder #romcomcollab

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motorsportbarbie13 · 2 months ago

Text

Me? A Princess? SHUT. UP.

In which you become a princess for the night.

Warnings: Just a fluffy Halloween fic Pairing: Charles LeClerc X Girlfriend!Reader Word Count: 1k

Masterlist

If there was one thing you should have warned Charles about before you started dating, it would have been how much you were obsessed with Halloween. Ever since you were a little girl, you had been head over heels for the holiday, spending hours upon hours thinking about and then creating the perfect costume that year. You would never be caught dead in a mass market pre-made costume either.

You got your love for the holiday from your mother, who had dressed you in homemade costumes every year since your first Halloween at six months old. It became a tradition from then on, first your mother always hand sewing your costumes until you were in your teens, when you finally took over the responsibility. Halloween had been the sole reason you had begged your grandmother to teach you how to sew: so you could take over the job of creating fabulous and intricate costumes when you were old enough.

When you started dating Charles, you probably should have warned him that part of dating you during the month of October would include being roped into a couples costume. The first year you were together, Charles had gone as Lighting McQueen and you as Sally. The second year, you had convinced Charles to dress as Linguini from ‘Ratatouille’ while you had been Remy. But this year? This year you were absolutely tickled at the costume you had convinced Charles to do with you and couldn’t wait to debut it at the driver’s annual Halloween party ahead of the race in Brazil.

“This may just be the best costume I’ve ever come up with.” You gush, looking at your reflection in the mirror as Charles came up behind you, rolling his eyes.

“I look ridiculous.” He says, tugging at the shaggy wig you had somehow convinced him to wear.

“You do not, now where is your keyboard?”

Charles points to the bed in your hotel room where the blow up keyboard sits, ready to be slung around his neck. “What’s my name again?”

You huff, adjusting the tiara that sits on the top of your head. “You’re Michael. How many times have we watched that movie since we started dating?”

“I lost count after the 36th time.” Charles deadpans.

Charles may be giving you a hard time, but just below his prickly exterior he’s secretly thrilled at this costume you’ve come up with. It’s easy for him: a pair of khakis, blue button up, tie and sport coat, backwards turned hat and pair of sunglasses. The only thing he could possibly complain about was the messy mop of a wig you insisted he wear but only because it was slightly itchy. The blowup keyboard that had M&M’s glued to the keys were a nice touch, he had to admit.

“You’re such a liar, you love that movie and both sequels!” You swat at his arm, knowing that whatever couples costume idea you came up with, he would have gone along with no questions asked.

Now it’s your boyfriend’s turn to roll his eyes. “You could have at least given me a real keyboard. I can play the piano, after all.”

“If you’re going to complain all night, I’m leaving you here and have Franco be my bodyguard instead. I’m certain he’ll play along and that costume would be easy to put together.” You smirk, knowing how Charles feels about how…friendly the young Argentinian has been with all of the WAGs.

Charles grabs you around the waist, hauling you to him. “Don’t you dare, mon amor.” He murmurs, lips a breath away from yours.

“Then stop complaining and let’s go. Rebecca just sent me a text, her and Carlos are already downstairs.” You give Charles a kiss on the cheek, leaving behind a bright red kiss print, one that he doesn’t even bother wiping off.

You grab the pair of wired headphones and tiny black sunglasses that complete your look and hustle out the door. George and Carmen had rented out the hotel’s entire restaurant tonight to throw their famous Halloween party, and had invited the entire grid along with most everyone from every garage on pit row. You knew it was going to get rowdy and you couldn’t wait. It was coming up on the end of a brutal triple header and these kinds of parties were always fun, but considering this was Halloween? You knew it was going to be one of your favorites of the entire year.

Charles follows dutifully behind, blow up keyboard secured around his neck, as the two of you walk into the restaurant that night. There are a lot of people already there but it doesn’t take you long to find Kika and Pierre, who are dressed as Boo and Sully from Monster’s Inc.

“Oh my God! Your Royal Highness!” Kika squeals when she sees you in your costume, sweeping into a low curtsey before throwing her arms around you. “You look so cute.”

You laugh, hugging your friend back, pleased that she was able to recognize your costume without missing a beat. Behind you, Charles chuckles and pulls a few M&Ms out of his pocket, offering a few to Pierre who was dressed in a fuzzy blue and purple onesie.

“The things we do for our women.” Pierre grouses, although just like Charles, Pierre would have dressed up as anything Kika had asked him to and the both of them knew it.

The rest of the night is spent dancing, drinking, and taking a plethora of photos for social media. Everyone you encounter fawns over your costume and laughs when they realize who Charles is to your Princess. At the end of the night, you and Charles even take home the coveted ‘Best Costume’ award that has become somewhat of an infamous thing on the grid over the last few years.

When the pair of you finally tumble into bed hours later, your feet throb from the stilettos but you have to admit, this was one of the best Halloween’s you’ve ever had. As you curl yourself into Charles, both of you almost instantly dropping off to sleep ahead of tomorrow’s busy media day, you can’t help but be thankful that you’ve somehow managed to become your own real life version of Princess Amelia Mignonette Grimaldi Thermopolis Renaldo.

Tag List: @anilovessadbooks, @shelbyteller, @formulaal, @martygraciesversion381, @longhairkoo, @samantha-chicago, @stelena-klayley @dark-night-sky-99 @luckylampzonkland, @chlmtfilms , @inarabee @aykxz98 @forensicheart @cheer-bear-go-vroom @charlesgirl16

#charles leclerc #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc fluff #charles leclerc imagine #f1 fluff

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sofiadzzle · 10 months ago

Text

Magnetic Force of a Man

smut 18+ mdni

Pairing: ceo!Jay x worker!Y/N

"Do you know why I require all of my assistants to have Masters degrees?” he asked as he stood up and began to walk slowly around his desk.

"It's because I find educated women incredibly sexy," he said softly, leaning down close to my ear.

Warnings: smut, 18+, MDNI, dom!Jay, impregnation, dirty talk, fingering, pussy fucking, female masturbation, age gap (4 years), exhibitionism, breeding, unprotected sex, creampie

Word Count: 5.4k

"You have got to be fucking kidding me!” I cursed as I stared down at the tear in my brand new sheer pantyhose. "Run-proof my ass! "

Shaking my head in dismay, I quickly looked around the large underground parking garage, praying to God that no one could see or hear me as I hurriedly positioned myself between my front door and the driver's seat of my beige sedan, hiking my lavender pencil skirt up to my ass, and then slid the ruined pair of hose the rest of the way down my legs.

Thankfully, I packed an extra pair!

I sat down on the side of the car seat and removed my violet high heels, almost like I was pulling out the replacements, taking them from the packing and quickly began slipping my feet inside.

The voice of a man said abruptly, "Yes, that's right."

My breath caught in my throat, I paused and turned to see the source of the voice. I was stunned by what I saw and halted abruptly, my new pantyhose halfway up my legs.

He had a great appearance. He was sitting at least fifty feet away from me, yet I could still see the platinum shine of his watch as he raised his left arm to check the time. He was dressed elegantly in a navy blue suit. His shiny black low-cut hair must have reached at least five eleven" in height.

With a dark satchel clasped in his right hand, he confidently walked towards the elevator labeled "PRIVATE." His broad shoulders, confident gait, and commanding presence evoked the image of a male model seen in GQ publications. His whole demeanor was confident.

I could tell that he was chatting to someone else and not about me or my pantyhose dilemma when a blue light blinked next to his ear. He never even gave me a sidelong glance.

I eventually snapped back to reality as he slid behind one of the pillars and finished pulling on my pantyhose. I tucked my skirt in and put my stilettos back on, eager to begin my first day of training as an executive assistant for Park Industries within the enormous, imposing Park Business building. (It seems the corporation required more than one because it was so large.)

I'd never seen or heard of Jay Park, the CEO of the company, before applying for this job. Even though I had looked him up online, all the pictures I could find of him included him wearing dark sunglasses and hats, which made me think he was probably a very secretive person. It appeared that he would much rather maintain a very low profile than be in the spotlight.

Nothing could have prepared me for the day I visited the Park Building for the first time, even though I had finished an internship at a Fortune 500 corporation close to my college campus.

My first interview had been with a woman named Son Eunsaem. She'd had a highly professional appearance and a no-nonsense attitude. She hadn't smiled once during the interview.

I was surprised when I got a call back for a second interview. That was where I met the other executive assistants. Park Industries had an executive assistant for each and every department in the company, and I had applied to the marketing department.

And I started working on the actual job today. At nine o'clock, I had my official orientation meeting, and then I was meant to meet with Jay Park, the company's CEO.

On their first day of work, all new hires were required to meet with the CEO, who was said to like having face-to-face meetings with each and every one of his staff members. I'll admit that I was anxious, but I was also interested to see this billionaire's true appearance.

The thirty-story building housed the marketing department on its twenty-fifth floor. At the orientation, there was another new hire in addition to me. Ryu Hanbin was his name, and he had been employed in the software department.

At orientation, our ID cards were issued to each of us. We were granted entry to the elevators, break facilities, and exits reserved for employees only. My heart started to race inside my chest as the orientation was coming to a conclusion.

Hanbin and I were taken to a private employee elevator and showed how to use our ID cards to operate it. Jay Park's office was on the top floor, and that's where our orientation leader, a middle-aged woman named Won Chaerin, led us up.

As the elevator door opened at the pinnacle floor, we had been greeted with the aid of using a short, stout, but very neat and well-groomed bald guy with a cleanly-shaven face in a vibrant purple pantsuit.

"Welcome to Park Land,” he stated with a welcoming grin as he reached out to shake our hands. "That's what we name the pinnacle floor, right here." He appeared to laugh after each sentence he spoke. “My call is Jinyoung, however all of us right here calls me Jin.” Another laugh.

What a unusual guy, I thought.

He led us down a hallway that ended with a reception table and a small living room area. There had been high-returned black leather-based chairs and a large flat-display tv withinside the ready area. There additionally regarded to be a bar of a few kind in the back of the reception table.

"Y'all can simply make yourselves comfortable whilst I allow Mr. Park recognize you are right here,” he instructed us with every other laugh earlier than sashaying returned to his spot in the back of the reception table.

"Thank you,” I instructed him as I took a seat in one of the leather-based chairs and crossed my legs.

As I sat ready, my heart commenced to overcome so rapid that it felt like it'd leap up out of my throat at any second. A stolen look over at Hanbin noticed his foot nervously tapping in opposition to the carpeted floor, and I felt relieved that I wasn't the simplest worried individual withinside the room.

A second later, the telephone on Jin's table rang, and he spoke back it on speaker.

"Send Ms. Y/L/N in first,” the voice said in a deep, authoritative tone.

"Right away, sir," Jin answered as he glanced over towards me.

I stood up and accompanied him down but every other lengthy hallway, with stylish artwork lining the partitions and porcelain statues each few feet.

At the quit of the hall, there has been a fancy-searching door with a platinum door knob.

"Knock, knock,” Jin said in a singsong-like voice as he knocked on it twice before turning the knob and pushing it open. “Ms. Y/L/N, meet Mr. Jay Park.”

He waited for me to step inside the large, elaborately decorated office before shutting the door behind me.

I stood there, with my back to the door and my orientation folder in my hand, not sure what to do next. Mr. Park had his head down and was doing something on his phone, but as soon as the door closed, he looked directly up at me, and my jaw almost hit the floor in utter awe.

Jay Park was none other than the sexy, model-esque man who'd been walking through the employee parking garage earlier.

I knew I was staring, but I didn't care. The man was a real-life Adonis.

"It's nice to meet you, Ms. Y/L/N. Come. Have a seat.”

It was more of an order than a request, but I didn't mind. He had the most hypnotizing pair of eyes. They were a deep, dark br, and I felt as if I could get lost in them if I stared too long.

He didn't smile, but he didn't frown. He was eyeing me curiously as I made my way over to the chair in front of his huge, rectangular desk. I felt as if he was sizing me up for something... something other than just this job position.

"So, Ms. Y/L/N, you are twenty-four and you have an MS in Business Management. Impressive. What are your plans in the next five years?”

I felt completely on the spot. I cleared my throat before speaking.

"Well, I'm hoping to be working a job I love, maybe get promoted, and start moving up in the ranks."

"Hmm," he said quietly.

I leaned forward a bit and noticed that he had a folder open with my resume, cover letter, and some photos of me inside.

"Do you know why I require all of my assistants to have Masters degrees?” he asked as he stood up and began to walk slowly around his desk.

My heart sped up and began to beat harder than ever. He had removed his suit jacket, and his white silk shirt hugged his toned upper body with flair, accenting the broadness of his shoulders.

I shook my head and swallowed hard as my body temperature began to rise. No man had ever had such a profound effect on me. I could actually feel heat starting to build within my core and a noticeable tingling between my thighs.

He walked around to the back of my chair and stood behind me. My heart was beating a billion beats per minute.

"It's because I find educated women incredibly sexy," he said softly, leaning down close to my ear.

I shuddered at the feel of his breath against my lobe. My body was completely on fire for this man, and he hadn't even touched me. I was at a loss for words.

I wanted to glance up at him, but I was frozen in place like a stone statue, and all I could do was sit there facing forward as I waited to see what was going to happen next. From behind me, I heard him inhale deeply and then exhale slowly.

“Ahh, your perfume is intoxicating, but I sense something else about you, Ms. Y/L/N. You are in your prime,” he stated sensuously, his voice barely more than a whisper.

His lips were so close to my neck that his breath felt hot against my skin. It caused a shiver to run down my spine, and I had to muster every ounce of strength to keep a moan from escaping my lips.

Then, suddenly, he stood straight up and walked back around to the other side of his desk, and his demeanor had returned to a strictly professional one.

"Mrs. Son was quite impressed with you and spoke very highly of your interview," he said plainly as he sat back down in his chair.

"Really? Wow," I replied.

"You sound surprised," he said with a slight grin. "I know she can come across as somewhat ‘rigid, but it's all just part of how she does her job. She's extremely professional and would make an excellent poker player, no doubt.”

He chuckled slightly at his comment, and I uttered a small giggle as well.

"Well, I'm certain you'll be a definite asset to Park Industries, Ms. Y/L/N. Welcome to the team,” he said with a smile.

His smile revealed a set of the most perfect pearly whites I had ever seen up close. While staring at them, I almost missed the fact that he'd also extended his hand to me.

"Thank you, Mr. Park,” I said nervously, returning his smile with one of my own.

"You have a lovely smile, Ms. Y/L/N," he stated softly, still holding onto my hand after I'd stopped shaking it.

“Thanks,” I said coyly, tearing my eyes away from his before I became completely lost in them.

He ran his thumb slowly across the side of my hand before finally letting it go. That small, simple touch from him only added more fuel to the fire that was already building in my loins.

“Ms. Y/L/N? ”He called out to me just as I was about to leave his office.

"Yes?" I replied, turning around to look at him one more time.

"I'm having a small meeting this evening at the Italy Garden restaurant. The dress code is semi-formal. Can you be ready by 7:00?”

"Uhh, yes. Certainly, Mr. Park,” I replied, caught completely off guard.

"Great. I'll send a car to your place at 7:00, then.”

I left his office feeling flustered in more ways than one. It had been more than a year since I'd last had sex, and my attraction to Mr. Park was anything but subtle. He had a magnetic effect on me, one that I knew I was incapable of fighting.

I walked swiftly down the hall, past the small lounge where Hanbin was still seated, and into the ladies' restroom directly adjacent to Jin's reception desk. Breathing hard, I went into one of the stalls, set my folder down on the back of the commode, hiked my skirt up to my waist, and yanked my pants down to my thighs.

Panting like an animal in heat, I sat down on the seat and spread my legs.

"Mmm," I muttered as I closed my eyes and placed my right hand on the crotch of my thin satin pants.

Yanking my pants to the side, I exposed my moist, partially-swollen bud and began to massage it. Another moan escaped my lips as I bucked my hips and rubbed my pussy faster and harder.

I imagined that Mr. Park was in the bathroom stall with me and that he had pulled my pants to the side. It was his lips and tongue against my throbbing, swollen bulb, causing sighs and moans of delight to escape my mouth and sending me into a frenzy of pleasure.

“Ohhh,” I murmured softly as I pictured him rubbing the head of his hard, pulsating cock against my slick, hot slit.

I imagined his hands grabbing my ass cheeks and squeezing them hard in a fit of primal, uncontrollable passion. I pictured him entering me slowly at first, until his rock-hard dick was deep inside my pussy, stretching me to the limit.

"Fuuuck," I whispered as I plunged my fingers as deep into my warm, wet tunnel as they would go. "Yesss! Fuck me, Mr. Park!"

I imagined his cock moving in and out of me, faster and harder, fucking like wild animals as we both got closer and closer to our climaxes. Completely and totally engulfed in how unbelievably good the sex felt, neither one of us even cared that we were fucking unprotected.

"I want you to cum inside me, Mr. Park,” I imagined telling him. “Oh fuck, yessss! Cum in my pussy! Fill me up with your cum."

I didn't even care if I got pregnant or not; I just needed to feel his hot cum inside of me.

I was right on the brink of my orgasm, and I could already tell it was going to be a really good one. As I bit down on my bottom lip to keep from crying out in pleasure, I pictured myself biting down on Mr. Park's ear to stifle my passion-filled moans.

My legs began to shake, and my hips bucked uncontrollably as a powerful climax wracked my entire body. I imagined Mr. Park squeezing my ass cheeks hard as his cock squirted into my cunt, filling me to the brim.

"Ohhh," I whispered, uttering a sigh of satisfaction as my orgasm began to wane.

After taking a moment to enjoy the afterglow, I quickly cleaned myself up, left the restroom, and headed back down to the 25th floor to finish out my workday.

I had just finished putting on my makeup when I noticed it was 6:45. The dress I had selected for tonight's meeting was a long, form-fitting silver cocktail gown I'd bought last spring. It was elegant, with a touch of sex appeal. The back dipped below the waist, and the front wrapped around the neck.

At 6:54, I heard a horn blow outside of my apartment. I slid into a pair of silver stiletto sandals, grabbed a small silver purse, and headed outside.

"Wow!" I exclaimed when I saw the pearly white stretch limousine waiting at the curb.

A tuxedo-clad chauffer opened my door for me and helped me into the back seat.

The inside of the limousine was immaculate! There was a fully-stocked bar with liquor, wine, and champagne. There were wine glasses on a glass shelf next to the bar. There was also a small fridge with fruits, cheeses, and other exotic-looking snack foods.

I helped myself to a glass of champagne and turned on the satellite radio to listen to on the way to the restaurant.

When we arrived about twenty minutes later, the chauffeur helped me out of the limo, and I walked inside. An older male host in a black and white suit was standing at a podium near the entrance.

"Good evening, Madam. Welcome to the Italy Garden restaurant. Do you have a reservation?” he asked.

“Umm, yes. My name is Y/N Y/L/N. I'm here for a dinner meeting with Mr. Jay Park,” I replied anxiously, trying hard to hide how nervous I truly was.

The five-star dining facility was way out of my league and price range. I had never been in a place so upscale and fancy. There were scores of expensive-looking pictures hanging on the walls and exquisite artifacts and statues in and around the corners.

I followed the host to a luxurious VIP balcony area where Jay Park was already seated and waiting for me.

"You look amazing, Ms. Y/L/N," he said, flashing that billion-dollar smile that made me want to melt right where I stood.

"Thank you," I replied shyly, returning a smile his way.

The host pulled out my chair, and I sat down.

"I've taken the liberty to order us a bottle of the finest champagne this place has to offer,” he told me with a grin. “What are you in the mood for?”

I couldn't pronounce a single dish on the menu.

"I'll have whatever you're having," I said softly, closing my menu and setting it to the side. I didn't want to risk embarrassing myself in front of our waiter.

"This champagne is delightful," I exclaimed before taking another sip.

"Only the best for a woman as perfect as you, Y/N," Jay stated sweetly.

It was the first time he'd ever called me by my first name. I could feel my cheeks reddening as I smiled somewhat sheepishly.

"So where are the rest of the meeting attendees?” I asked inquisitively as I glanced around the area we were seated in.

"This meeting is just for you and me, Y/N," Jay said in a sultry tone of voice. "There's something about you, Y/N, that drives me crazy. Ever since you walked into my office, I haven't been able to get you out of my mind."

I felt the same way about him. He was definitely the most attractive, magnetic, and alluring man I had ever met. I was just too shy to tell him so.

Dinner was absolutely incredible. The food was delicious, and I'd probably had a bit more champagne than I'd actually intended to drink. After a perfect meal, Jay led me back out to the limousine, and we both got into the backseat.

As we talked about our backgrounds, childhoods, and future plans while drinking top shelf champagne, I suddenly remembered that I hadn't even asked him where we were headed. Before I could even form the words to inquire, the limo slowed to a stop.

"Where are we?" I asked, just as the chauffeur opened the door.

“My place,” Jay replied with a grin. “I hope that's okay with you. There's something I want to show you."

Normally, I would have thought twice about going to the home of a man I'd just met, but there was just something about Jay that made him all but irresistible to me.

His house was beyond magnificent. The outside of it took up damned-near an entire city block, and the front yard stretched out around the sides of the house. There was a huge, circular, paved driveway at the front, and the limo had stopped directly in the middle.

I couldn't even imagine what it was he wanted to show me. I felt both excited and anxious simultaneously.

Taking my hand inside his, he proceeded to lead me through his humongous residence, showing me all of the different paintings and other extraordinary decor and informing me of the countries from which they'd been ordered. Finally, we came to this nice, dimly lit room with a beautiful faux fireplace against the rear wall. My eyes widened in amazement as we entered the romantic-looking space hand-in-hand.

"Wowww!" I exclaimed, as I had done several hundred times since we'd first gotten out of the limo. "This room is so..."

“Enchanting? ”Jay stated in a questioning tone, finishing my exclamation for me.

"Yeah! Definitely!” I agreed as I looked around in bewilderment.

There was a bar counter in the far left area of the room and what appeared to be a fully-stocked mini bar behind it. A lavish-looking cream-colored sectional sofa was in the middle of the space, facing the fireplace, and there was a huge matching rug laid out in front of it.

Just as I was about to remove my shoes out of respect for the rug, the lights suddenly dimmed lower, and about a hundred faux candles all lit up simultaneously. Also, smooth, relaxing, slow music immediately began to play. The candlelight appeared to dance to the beat of the music.

I was totally speechless and utterly astonished. I had never seen anything like it before. I glanced over at Jay, who had already removed his own shoes and was filling two wine glasses at the built-in mini bar.

"Please, have a seat, Y/N,” he said amorously, nodding toward the sectional.

I sat down and continued to enjoy the ambiance of the supremely romantic setting until he soon came over to join me and placed a glass of champagne in my hand.

"So? Do you like it?" he asked after taking a sip of his drink.

"Like it? This is absolutely amazing!" I said with a huge grin.

"I'm glad you think so. I've never brought any woman into this room until tonight.

"I find that extremely hard to believe,” I said honestly."

I may be a lot of things, Y/N, but I am definitely not a liar,” he asserted. “Men like me don't have to be in order to get what we want."

“Now that, I absolutely do believe,” I replied with a grin. “So, what is it that you want with me? ”

"Ahh, the billion-dollar question," he said sultrily.

Just then, a very popular song began to play.

"Ohh, I love this song!" he said excitedly as he stood up and held out his hand. “Dance with me.”

I didn't refuse. He pulled me upward and into his strong arms, and I wrapped mine around his neck. The scent of his cologne was intoxicating. I closed my eyes and pressed my body against his as we swayed to the music. Caught up in the moment, I felt like I could stay in his arms like that forever.

Then, suddenly, he pulled away for a moment and looked deep into my eyes.

“Y/N, you have it all. I adore your womanly physique, your stunningly bright brown eyes, and the fact that you are a very intelligent young woman. You are damned-near flawless. From the very first moment you walked into my office, I have had an undeniable, overwhelming attraction to you, and I know you feel it too."

I was completely speechless. I mean, what was I supposed to say? How do you even reply to a statement like that?

In all honesty, I was just as attracted to him as he was to me, but with him being both my boss and such a wealthy, sophisticated man, I think I felt a little bit intimidated. I'd never imagined myself being wined and dined with a billionaire Adonis like him.

I just kind of stood there, gazing into his tantalizing eyes like a giddy schoolgirl with a crush.

"Y/N,” he whispered as he suddenly spun me around so that he was behind me and wrapped his arms around my waist.

"Yes," I whispered back to him as the feeling of his warm breath against the nape of my neck instantly made me moist between my thighs.

I moaned as his soft lips brushed against the lobe of my him,. My body was instantaneously on fire for him and he had barely touched me.

"I want you," he whispered as his manly hands found my breasts and cupped them through the thin fabric of my cocktail dress.

The tips of his fingers found my nipples, causing another moan to escape my mouth. I felt his hand on the back of my neck, and then suddenly, my dress slid carelessly to the floor. I was braless, and this seemed to turn Jay on even more.

He groaned as I felt his manhood begin to stiffen against my ass.

"Y/N, you're fucking perfect,” he said gruffly, his voice raspy against my ear. “I want you. And you want me, too, don't you?

"Yes, Jay, yes," I moaned.

His hands squeezed my breasts, and I sighed loudly, arching my back. I felt his stiffening cock twitch in his pants.

"I'm twenty-eight years old, and I'm not getting any younger, Y/N. I've been looking for the right woman to bear my offspring, and you are the perfect specimen. I know you probably walked into the Park building today with your own plans and aspirations for your career and whatnot, but I have to be honest with you; I want you to bear my children.”

It was a lot to take in. He had certainly said a mouthful. I wasn't so sure about having kids with a man I'd just met, but he was definitely different from any other man I'd ever met, and odds were that I'd probably never meet anyone quite like him again.

His right hand slid down my midsection and into the front of my satin pants. I hissed with delight, biting down on my lip to stifle my cry of pleasure. He was applying just the right amount of pressure to my bud, and I was grinding my crotch against his hand.

"Don't hold back, Y/N,” he ordered in a breathy voice. “Let it all out!”

With that, he slid two fingers inside my dripping-wet pussy. I thrust my hips forward and let out a cry.

“Fuck, your pussy is already so wet for me! ”He declared with a grunt, pressing his erection against my ass.

Just as I was about to climax, he stopped, pulled his fingers out of my pants, and turned me around to face him. He put his fingers in his mouth and sucked my excitement out of them. My face flushed with need.

Then he pushed me down onto my knees as he undid his pants, releasing his stiff, throbbing cock. It was large—larger than I'd expected. It was definitely the biggest dick I'd ever seen in my twenty-four years on this earth. But I didn't care. I was going to try my damnedest to swallow it whole.

I caressed the shaft as I slid my tongue around the tip of his cock, teasing it gently, and then sliding it down into my mouth as far as it would go. I sucked it slowly and easily at first, and then I took my hand and used it with the rhythm of my mouth, sucking it as hard and fast as I could.

Groans fell from Jay's lips as he grabbed my hair and fucked my mouth. Then suddenly, he stopped me.

Easing the rest of the way out of his pants, he pulled me up toward him again and kissed me passionately, using his tongue to invade my mouth hungrily. I moaned as he began to trail his lips and tongue down my neck, pausing to lick, suck, and fondle both of my breasts, and then continuing down my belly until he reached the top of my pants.

With his teeth, he worked my pants down over my hips and buttocks, letting them drop to the floor near my dress. He parted my thighs slightly, using his fingers to slide my folds apart and massage my bud. Then, his lips replaced his fingers against my moist, pulsating pussy, and I cried out in sheer passion.

He was so skilled and talented—his tongue was like a fucking vibrating sex toy! He grabbed and squeezed my ass with one hand and used the other to slide two fingers back inside my pussy. I couldn't take it anymore!

"Fucckkk, I'm going to cum, Jay! I'm going to cum...so...fucking..." I couldn't even finish my sentence. His fingers pressed against my g-spot, and his tongue darted fast and hard against my pussy, sending me completely over the edge with the most powerful, intense, earth-shattering orgasm I had ever experienced.

My entire body shuddered and shook, and my legs tensed up. I grabbed his head as my crotch jerked forward uncontrollably against his face.

"Shiiiiittt! Oh fuuuuck!" I screamed loudly, unable to speak any other words.

When my climax finally began to wane, just as I was about to catch my breath, Jay suddenly lifted my legs up on his shoulders and gently pushed me down onto the soft, cream-colored rug lying me down on my back.

Not wasting a second, he slid his huge, hard cock into me slowly, with my legs still hoisted up on his shoulders.

I moaned long and hard as he stretched me to my limit, sliding deeper into my pussy than any other man had ever been.

“Fuck, Y/N, your pussy's so tight and wet! ," he exclaimed, moaning as he began to thrust in and out of me, going deeper with every stroke.

I was moaning so loudly that I could barely even hear the music playing anymore. His own groans became louder and longer with every thrust of his burly hips.

I reached up and wrapped my hands around his neck as he started fucking me harder and faster. It wasn't long before I felt a second orgasm building, getting closer and closer...

I still wasn't exactly certain about letting him impregnate me and make me the mother of his children, but the sex was fucking earth-shattering. I had never been fucked so good before! I felt his huge, stiff cock plunging in and out of me as I cried out in delirious pleasure.

Just as I was about to scream out loud, having reached my second powerful orgasm, he let out a loud, long groan, and I knew he was there, too. We were climaxing together simultaneously, and for a brief moment, it was like the two of us became one in our own world of bliss.

I felt his cock spurting his hot cum deep inside of me, filling my pussy to the brim, but it felt so fucking wonderful that I didn't give a shit. Besides, he was rich and handsome and could fuck like a damn machine.

As we finally came back to our senses, Jay kissed my lips as he slid out of me and plopped down on the rug beside me. The fake fire was still going, and the lights and music were still playing.

"That was, by far, the best sex I've ever had in my life,” I said breathily as I looked over at him.

"Me too," he said sultrily as he slid his arm beneath my neck.

With that, his eyes closed, as did mine, and we both drifted off into a satisfied slumber.

Jay and I continued to fuck like rabbits over the next few weeks, having hot, steamy, amazing sex every chance we got. And every time he came, he shot his hot cum deep inside of me.

Three weeks later, my pregnancy test came back positive. Jay was ecstatic, of course. At first, I had mixed emotions. I was going to become a mother. Was I really ready?

He immediately made me quit my job and put me in a beautiful condo with a view that overlooked the entire city. He found me the best doctors in the area and accompanied me to all of my prenatal appointments.

So I wouldn't be able to work for a while. I mean, babies don't stay babies. They eventually grow up into adults who can take care of themselves. Who knows? Once I've raised my kids, perhaps I'll still want to go back into the workforce.

For now, though, I think I'll just enjoy swelling with Jay's seed, growing rounder and riper by the day.

#enhypen smut #enhypen #enhypen jay #jay smut #park jongseong #park jay #jay park #jay x reader #enhypen jay smut #jay enhypen smut #18+ mdni

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ataraxiaspainting · 1 year ago

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Careless Whisper.

Yan Gojo x F Reader.

Synopsis: After a long game of playing hard to get, Satoru finally gets you to go on a date with him. But you didn’t expect him to choose a farmer’s market of all places for it to happen.

Warnings: Yandere themes, threats of kidnapping, manipulation, and stalking.

Continuation of There is an Uproar.

Word Count: 1.6k.

Ten Songs Like This Piece:

This Could Be Us by Rae Sremmurd

Get Up by NewJeans

Supermassive Black Hole by Muse

Bathroom by Montell Fish

Hotel by Montell Fish

Money Trees by Kendrick Lamar (feat. Jay Rock)

After Hours by The Weeknd

Government Hooker by Lady Gaga

Do I Wanna Know? by Arctic Monkeys

The Walls by Chase Atlantic

“You’re killing me; don’t you see that you’re the winner of the game?” – Benét, Killing Eve

*~*~*~*

You hold onto the basket like a lifeline.

You grasp the handle so tightly it leaves a mark on your palm and the inner parts of your fingers, and you can practically feel splinters impaling them.

They say the devil takes on many forms, and if it were said that the devil could take the form of a white-haired man with sunglasses in whatever religious texts you were given in your childhood, you would believe that without question.

The identity of whoever or whatever forced you on this little outing is not human. You know this. He can’t be. If he is, your view of humanity will decrease tenfold from where it once was.

Should you pray to all the higher powers and heavens above that he is or is not?

“Come on, let’s get moving!” They say monsters speak in either honeyed, calm, and sweet voices or grimy and croaky ones; but this one is neither. “I kinda want to pet a chicken.”

*~*~*~*

“There’s my girlie!”

You were not surprised in the slightest when Satoru pulled up to your door with a Rolls-Royce. At the sight and the called-out nickname, you even roll your eyes and cross your arms, much to the driver’s amusement. The car is adorned with lamb's wool carpets, embellished with stunning wood and milled aluminum accents, and encased in box grain leather. Only the highest quality materials for the all-high and mighty Satoru Gojo. It is the topmost privilege for a mere mortal like you to even see it.

“You ready?” As you ever will be.

“Yeah.” Your response is quick and to the point. “You still haven’t even told me where we are going for this… date.”

The smirk that appears on his face instantly gives you the impulse to slap it off. But he is stronger, and will most likely not let you, because he is the one in control and not you. So, as he beckons you closer, you close the car door behind you and sit down on the leather seat. The drive to hit him still stands for as long as you anticipated. You just look out the window and hope it goes away.

It is nice outside. Though if Satoru’s foot was not on the peddle, you would have liked it more.

It’s spring now. The grass is bright green and tall, and you could swear that you can smell it. Tiny circles of flowers are there now and then. Dandelions and daffodils mostly. You could count them if Satoru was not driving so damn fast you think he is speeding.

He put your purse and phone in the back seat because, of course, he would want no distractions to stop you from paying attention to him.

He starts talking about how nice your dress looks and how happy he is to have you as his girlfriend.

You want to puke.

It would take at least two weeks for the smell to go away. He would have to clean it up because you would refuse to. Any damage done to his ego no matter how small is a win in your book.

You could picture it now. Satoru, long plastic gloves on his hands and wearing an apron, scrubbing the expensive carpet stained with bile and looking disgusted with you. Maybe he would give up on you then.

You almost laugh at the thought but decide against it when he starts talking with a smile that does not exactly reach his eyes.

*~*~*~*

He is tailing behind you like a grim reaper.

The black turtleneck he is wearing you suppose could count as a cloak. His face is white enough to be a skull, his hair helping you see it in your mind. All the expectations he has for you could be considered a guillotine’s blade that is ready to be let loose at any moment. Maybe a scythe. Don’t lose your head. That is what you keep telling yourself as you go down the aisles of sewn aprons and freshly baked bread and chickens wandering not too far off from the butcher’s cutting board. Don’t lose your head.

So, you keep walking to not be the victim of Satoru’s wrath.

“They’re so cute!” He exclaims, bending down to get a better look at the rabbits that are trapped within the confines of the barbed fence. “I just want to take one home! It would be like having another you around!”

His cooing makes you want to stab your eardrums out with the plastic fork you were given along with a free sample of chicken pot pie.

But you can’t ignore him either, he yearns for your responses like an addict.

“I’m not a rabbit.” You roll your eyes. Satoru responds by turning his head at you and then turning it again to make a visibly confused expression. “I’m a human. Not a pet. Not something to… lock up.” As his countenance turns somber and a hint of amusement lingers, the playful aura dissipates. Your breathing hastens, and your heart races. Perhaps voicing your thoughts was an ill-advised choice. Maybe an alternate utterance would have been wiser. Any alternative, for that expression, is one you wish to never witness again.

As you struggle to catch your breath, Satoru's steady grip on your shoulder brings a faint awareness to your hyperventilation. He calls out your name repeatedly, trying to reach through the haze of tears in your eyes. However, his words offer no solace or relief.

“Come on! Of course, you are.”

Maybe you will puke after all. But not on purpose like you originally intended.

His smile feels like a stab to the chest. Everything he does feels that way.

“...What do you mean?” What exactly does he have planned for you?

How far back do they go? Days, months, years, decades?

“You’ll see. You’ll like them, I know you will.” His hand clasps over your free one like a noose. “Either when you first know them or further down the line. I’ll be with you every step of the way no matter what you think. But just know I only have your best intentions at heart, okay? I can promise you that at least.”

“...Mmhmm. Let’s just… get moving.” Once again, you are off within a labyrinth of stalls.

You liked farmer’s markets during the warmer months, with your family and friends during school breaks and vacation times. Is that why he chose this place? Maybe. Maybe not. Maybe he also likes them. However, you cannot process the words Satoru and farmer’s market in the same sentence.

You pictured him bringing you to some nightclub and forcing you to dance under disco lights and loud music until you nearly faint from exhaustion. As much as you don’t want to admit it, maybe this is the better option.

You can’t imagine any other option. It could be worse. Those threats of his can easily become true, he could just lock you up in his penthouse and refuse to let you leave.

So, you don’t complain. You don’t want Satoru to get upset, even if you haven’t seen him that way.

“We’ll eventually move in together. Get married further down the line. Maybe have a kid or two, if we are really up to it, though I don’t mind if it is just the two of us.”

For once, you hope Satoru chooses his initial thought. You don’t want to bring any child into this hell.

“Romantic, right?”

“Uh-huh.”

His finger traces the bridge of your nose downward and the tip of it presses on its end.

“Boop!”

“Sigh…”

He does it again.

“So cute…”

“Let’s just continue.” You try so hard not to seethe. “I heard at this specific market they have good lentil soup. Focaccia too. Let’s go.”

He nods.

“Okay! We’re off!”

There is no escape, is there?

“It should be by the coffee stalls if I remember correctly.” You don’t get to finish because of course Satoru found a brand new interest to fixate on.

Aprons. Specifically, the pink lacy one that he is holding gently like a baby. “[First]! Look! You should wear it. It suits you!”

You shake your head immediately. To this, Satoru frowns. You’re hungry after being hauled around from stall to stall for the past hour or so. Can’t he understand that?

He holds the apron up closer to your face.

You turn away from it. Satoru only puts it closer. He really can be stubborn. That is what got you in this situation in the first place. As stubborn as you sometimes are, you can hardly compare to him. But that is with most things.

Money, power, influence, he will always have more than you will, won’t he? Damn it. No escape. Not from him.

Not from him.

But you can try, can’t you? You can at least try. “Come on! It would look so cute on you.” You shake your head. His frown only deepens and he sighs.

Then he shoots you a look again. The look demanding of you to be good or else. The look that gets you to obey him every time he uses it. Every time he puts his foot down.

Don’t lose your head.

Evade the blade.

“Good,” He says, handing you the apron with the smile you unsurprisingly prefer over the hellish expression he just showed you. “Go.”

You do.

Damn it. As long as Satoru keeps toying with you, you won’t ever be able to find peace. No escape. Damn it.

You slip the apron on as he watches, grinning like the Cheshire Cat.

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dreamauri · 15 days ago

Text

♪ — 𝗜𝗡𝗗𝗢𝗠𝗜𝗧𝗔𝗕𝗟𝗘 - chapter three fernando alonso x fem! driver! reader ( fluff -> angst ) series summary . . . a mortal who dared to defy the impossible. Of grit forged in fire, and dreams that refused to yield. In a world where heroes are born, and few rise to become legends. You are a force to be reckoned with. Unshakable. Unstoppable. Indomitable. (4.5k words)

( fic master list | general master list ) ( requests ) ( previous | next )

III - PAPER SOLDIER Your fourth to seventh years in Formula One, 2015 -> 2018

content warning . . . ( contains non-descriptive smut, Yn is 23 years in the beginning of the chapter and 25 by the end, really fucking long ass chapter )

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

When the 2015 season began, you couldn’t help but feel the absence of Jenson Button. Walking into the McLaren garage without him felt wrong—like something essential had been ripped away. Jenson had been more than a teammate; he was your anchor in a sport that constantly threatened to drown you.

But Fernando Alonso didn’t try to replace Jenson, and somehow, that made things easier. Instead of trying to mimic the camaraderie you’d had with Jenson, Fernando brought his own brand of companionship. He didn’t hover or press; he simply existed, radiating his unique mix of confidence and charisma, until you realized how much you enjoyed having him around.

By the second race of the season, you were surprised to find yourself laughing more than you had in months. Whether it was during strategy meetings or post-race celebrations, Fernando had a way of lightening the mood with his dry humour and his sly, knowing glances.

“You don’t always have to overtake on the outside, you know,” he teased one afternoon, smirking over his coffee. “But I suppose drama is part of your brand.”

“And I suppose being smug is part of yours,” you shot back, grinning.

It didn’t take long for the two of you to hit your stride. On track, you were ruthless and synchronised. “Chaotic villains,” the press called you, and you secretly loved it. You weren’t just teammates; you were a nightmare for the rest of the grid. Fernando’s ability to anticipate your moves was uncanny, and together, you executed overtakes that left even seasoned commentators stunned.

Off the track, things were somehow even better. McLaren’s marketing team, notorious for shoving drivers into cringeworthy advertisements, suddenly had gold on their hands. You and Fernando—two drivers who hated scripted lines and staged smiles—were unexpectedly brilliant together.

The first time they made you film a commercial, you groaned audibly when the director explained the concept. Something about racing through a supermarket with shopping carts full of McLaren-branded products.

“I hate this already,” you muttered under your breath.

Fernando, standing beside you, gave you a sidelong glance. “Tranquila, we’ll make it good.”

And somehow, he did. By the third take, the two of you were hamming it up, racing down aisles, tossing products back and forth, and laughing so hard you almost forgot the cameras were there.

“Did you see her face when I threw the cereal?” Fernando joked afterward, his eyes glinting with mischief.

“I saw your face when it hit the floor and exploded everywhere,” you retorted. “Pure panic.”

From then on, every commercial and promotional shoot turned into a competition to see who could make the other laugh first. Whether it was fake arguments over who got to drive a McLaren P1 in an ad or Fernando trying to convince the camera crew to let him wear sunglasses indoors, you found yourself looking forward to those dreaded filming days.

“Por favor, it’s not about the lighting,” Fernando argued one day, slipping on his sunglasses mid-shoot. “It’s about the vibe.”

“The vibe is you looking like a smug Bond villain,” you quipped, trying to suppress a giggle.

“And yet,” he said, gesturing dramatically, “the director hasn’t stopped me.”

The chemistry between you was undeniable, and it extended beyond work. Post-race dinners, gym sessions, and late-night debriefs all became opportunities for the two of you to poke fun at each other, share stories, and build a bond that felt effortless. You had been so sure that McLaren would feel hollow without Jenson, but with Fernando, it felt alive—different, but in the best way.

“Why do you even put up with me?” you asked him one night after a particularly gruelling race.

Fernando leaned back in his chair, his smirk softening into something more sincere. “Because you make everything more fun,” he said simply. “And because I know, no matter what, you’ve got my back.”

His words lingered, making your chest feel tight in a way you couldn’t quite name. You didn’t know it yet, but Fernando had already carved out a place for himself in your life—one that no one else could fill.

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The first time with Fernando, everything felt different—electric and uncharted. It wasn’t just the post-race champagne that made your head spin; it was him. His presence was commanding yet soft, every movement deliberate, every touch reverent. It wasn’t just the circumstances—a blur of adrenaline and post-race champagne after a double podium—it was him.

It started simply. His hand lingered on your lower back as you laughed about your overtakes, his eyes soft yet unreadable in a way that made your pulse quicken. When you turned toward him, it felt natural, as if every unsaid word between you had been leading to this.

His hands started at your waist, fingers splaying as if he needed to ground himself before pulling you closer. Your breath hitched when his lips found yours—warm, firm, and unyielding yet unhurried. With Jenson, it was always rushed, a blur of need fueled by adrenaline or alcohol. But Fernando . . . Fernando took his time.

When his hand brushed against yours that night, there wasn’t hesitation. His fingers closed around yours, a silent question, and you answered by lacing your own through his. You followed him to his hotel room, and the atmosphere shifted the moment the door clicked shut.

When his hands slipped beneath your shirt, his fingers brushing against your bare skin, you shivered. He didn’t tear your clothes off in a frenzy like Jenson often did. Instead, Fernando paused, peeling your top away like unwrapping something fragile. His dark eyes studied you, lingering in a way that made your cheeks burn and your heart race.

"Beautiful," he murmured, the word barely audible, like it was meant for him more than you.

Your breaths mingled as he lowered you onto the bed, his weight settling over you. He kissed you again, slower this time, the stubble on his jaw grazing your skin as his lips travelled to your neck, then your collarbone. Each kiss was deliberate, a silent declaration that this wasn’t just about the act—it was about you.

With Jenson, it was playful, almost careless, both of you seeking a quick fix for the emptiness racing couldn’t fill. But Fernando didn’t let you hide behind that. He demanded you be present, dragging you into the moment with the sheer intensity of his focus.

When his lips found your stomach, you felt your breath catch. He'd knelt before you, his hands steady on your hips, his touch grounding yet reverent. Then he paused, looking up at you, his voice low and steady.

“¿Puedo?” he asked. can i

The question caught you off guard. Permission. Fernando was asking for permission. He asked for it like it mattered, like you mattered. No one had ever done that before. Jenson never stopped to ask; he assumed, and you never thought to mind. But Fernando’s request made your cheeks flush, a heat spreading across your skin that had nothing to do with desire and everything to do with how he treated you. Like you mattered.

You hesitated for a moment, flustered by the simplicity of his question. You nodded, then realized he probably couldn’t see in the dark. “Yes,” you whispered. “Yes, Fernando.”

His lips quirked into a soft smile, a barely-there acknowledgment, before he leaned forward again. His touch was featherlight, a stark contrast to Jenson’s rough, teasing movements. Fernando didn’t just touch; he felt—explored, cherished.

When he finally joined you fully, his body pressed flush against yours, it felt like he was pouring himself into every movement. His hips met yours in a rhythm that wasn’t rushed but deliberate, a steady, consuming pace that left you breathless. He intertwined his fingers with yours, pinning them above your head as he leaned down to kiss you, the connection sparking something deep in your chest.

It wasn’t the hurried, animalistic need you’d come to expect with Jenson. Jenson was fun, a rush, a release—but Fernando? Fernando was something entirely different. His touch carried weight, his movements spoke volumes, and his whispered praises in Spanish felt like poetry meant just for you.

When the pleasure crested, it was overwhelming, almost too much. Tears pricked at your eyes as you clung to him, your breaths shaky as he slowed his movements, his forehead pressing against yours. every sensation was heightened. His fingers brushed against yours again, and before you knew it, he was threading them together, holding your hand like it was second nature. You squeezed his hand back, unsure why the simple touch sent a pang through your chest and left you breathless.

It wasn’t just his touch—it was the way he looked at you. His eyes held something you couldn’t quite name, something you don't quite recognizing. It made you feel exposed, stripped down to your core. And when the emotions started to bubble up, you bit your lip to keep them at bay.

But it didn’t work. As his hands soothed over you and his words melted into your skin, you felt a tear slip down your cheek. It wasn’t from sadness or even overwhelm—it was the feelings, the emotions he poured into you, the way he made you feel like the only person in the world in that moment. It consumed you, swallowed you whole, and left you small, tiny.

"Estás llorando," he murmured softly, his voice laced with concern. “Cariño,” His thumbs brushed your cheeks, wiping away the tears as they fell. you're crying

“I . . .” You swallowed hard, trying to find the words. “It’s just . . . It’s a lot. I'm fine.”

His lips quirked into a gentle smile, his hand trailing to your hair, brushing it back tenderly. “It’s supposed to be,” he whispered. “It’s okay to not be okay. I'll be here anyway.”

Afterward, he didn’t pull away. He stayed close, his body pressed to yours, his hands never leaving your skin. He whispered softly in Spanish, words you couldn’t fully understand but felt in your chest. His touch was tender, reverent, as he cleaned you up, smoothing your hair and holding you close.

Jenson never stayed like this. He’d always drift away, detached even in the quiet moments. But Fernando? He stayed. He always stayed. And that, you realized, was what made him different.

“Estás bien?” he asked after a while, his voice soft against your hair.

You nodded against his chest. “I’m fine,” you murmured, even as your voice wavered.

His fingers stilled, and he tilted your chin up gently so he could see your face. “¿Segura? You don’t have to be fine.”

His words unravelled you. For once, you didn’t feel the need to pretend. Tucking your face into the crook of his neck, you let yourself feel small. Let yourself feel cared for. Let yourself feel.

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

It was well past midnight, and the McLaren motorhome was almost eerily quiet. You were sprawled out on one of the sofas, still in your team polo, watching Fernando pace back and forth in front of the whiteboard. He was ranting about tyre degradation, gesturing wildly as if the problem could be solved with enough hand movements.

“You know,” you interrupted, stretching your legs out, “normal people sleep at this hour.”

“Normal people don’t win races,” he shot back without missing a beat, his accent thick and his tone just a little exasperated.

You propped yourself up on one elbow, grinning. “You really think the medium stint was the problem?”

“I know it was,” he said, turning to face you. His expression softened slightly when he saw your teasing smile. “What? You don’t agree?”

“Oh, I agree,” you said, sitting up fully. “I just think it’s cute how worked up you get over it.”

Fernando groaned, but there was no real annoyance behind it. He sat down beside you, pulling the marker cap off with his teeth and twirling the pen between his fingers. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re obsessed,” you countered, leaning your head on the back of the sofa. “But fine. What’s your genius solution?”

For the next hour, he explained his strategy tweaks with the same passion he reserved for the track. And even though you didn’t need convincing, you let him go on, chiming in with questions just to see that fire in his eyes. By the time he was finished, you were half-asleep, but you’d never felt more at ease.

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The garage was buzzing with energy after another podium. Mechanics cheered, the smell of champagne hung in the air, and you were positively glowing. Fernando was beside you, leaning against a stack of tires with his arms crossed, watching you with that familiar amused smirk.

“You really had to squeeze me on Turn 4?” you teased, nudging his shoulder. “I thought we were supposed to be teammates.”

Fernando raised an eyebrow, feigning innocence. “Teammates, yes. Babysitters, no.”

“Oh, come on!” You laughed, swiping at the water bottle he was holding. “I gave you all the space in the world.”

“All the space?” he repeated, tilting his head dramatically. “You practically left me in the gravel.”

Your grin widened. “And yet, here you are. P2. You’re welcome.”

He chuckled, shaking his head, and for a moment, the world seemed to narrow to just the two of you. “One day,” he said softly, his voice dipping just enough to make you pause, “you’ll regret not letting me win.”

You leaned in, your smile turning mischievous. “Doubt it.”

And just like that, the moment was gone, replaced by laughter and playful jabs. But later, when you replayed the race in your head, you’d think about the way Fernando’s eyes had softened, just for a second, like he was seeing something in you that you weren’t quite ready to see yourself.

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“Okay, but why am I the one wearing the ridiculous hat?” you asked, glaring at the oversized cowboy hat the wardrobe team had handed you.

Fernando was already laughing, holding a matching hat in his hands. “Because you lost the coin toss.”

“You cheated,” you accused, crossing your arms.

He held up his hands in mock surrender. “How can I cheat at a coin toss?”

“Don’t know, but you did.”

The director waved you both onto set before you could argue further, and the next thing you knew, you were filming an ad for some sponsor neither of you cared about, wearing cowboy hats and pretending to “race” toy cars on a fake racetrack.

Halfway through, Fernando purposely crashed his car into yours, sending it flying off the track. “Oops,” he said innocently, his smirk betraying him.

You burst out laughing, breaking character completely. “Oops? You did that on purpose!”

The director groaned, calling for another take, but neither of you could stop laughing. When the shoot finally wrapped, Fernando walked over, placing his ridiculous hat on your head. “You wore it better,” he said with a grin.

You rolled your eyes but didn’t take it off. “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet,” he replied, leaning in slightly, “you keep me around.”

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The race in Canada had been cancelled due to an unexpected snowstorm, and the team was stuck in the hotel for the weekend. You and Fernando were in the lobby, staring out at the swirling snow through the massive glass windows.

“Well, this is boring,” you said, pulling your jacket tighter around you.

Fernando smirked, his hands tucked into his pockets. “Only because you have no imagination.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Oh, really? And what’s your brilliant plan, Mr. Imagination?”

Five minutes later, the two of you were outside, bundled up and attempting to build the world’s worst snowman. Fernando had decided it needed to wear a McLaren cap, and you were busy shoving chunks of snow at him every time he turned his back.

“You’re terrible at this,” he said, laughing as he dodged another snowball.

“Better than you!” you shot back, lobbing another one straight at his chest.

The next thing you knew, he was tackling you into a snowbank, both of you laughing so hard you could barely breathe. When you finally got back inside, shivering and soaked, the warmth of his hand on your arm lingered longer than it should have.

“Come to my room tonight, hmm,” He whispers in your ear with his sweet sweet and loving smile. You could only smack his chest, flustered out of your body.

“Why should I wait till tonight when I can take you right now?” He countered himself, throwing you over his shoulder and walking to the elevator.

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The next four years were a golden era for you and Fernando. While the big teams—Mercedes, Ferrari, and Red Bull—scrambled to one-up each other with upgrades and strategy, the two of you were a well-oiled machine. Every weekend was a masterclass in teamwork. You took turns holding off competitors, crafting daring overtakes, and, more often than not, splitting the podium between the two of you.

Fernando was always just behind you—or sometimes ahead—playing the perfect wingman when needed and pushing you to your limits when it mattered most. Together, you broke records. Four Constructors’ Championships in a row. Dozens of wins. But 2017 was different.

That was your year.

The sunset painted the Yas Marina Circuit in hues of orange and pink as you sat in your car, the weight of the championship within reach. Fernando had radioed you a few laps earlier.

“Message from Fernando, Yn; You’ve got this,” Your race engineer tells you, his voice steady, but there was an edge of emotion there, one he couldn’t quite hide. “Just bring it home.”

When you crossed the finish line, the sound of the crowd was deafening, but all you could hear was your own breathing. Heavy. Disbelieving.

“World Champion!” Your race engineer’s voice crackled through the radio. “You’ve done it, Yn! You’re the World Champion! For the second time!”

You let out a sob, laughing through the tears as you brought the car to a stop on the start-finish straight. The adrenaline coursed through you, but it wasn’t until Fernando’s car pulled up beside yours that it really hit you when you both did donuts togther.

He climbed out first, crossing the short distance between your cars with purpose. When you stepped out, he was there, arms wide, pulling you into a hug so tight it knocked the breath out of you.

“Campeona del mundo,” he whispered, his voice thick, breaking with emotion. His helmet was off, and when you pulled back to look at him, you saw tears glistening in his eyes.

“You helped me get here,” you said, clutching his shoulders, your voice trembling with gratitude. “Don’t forget that.”

His smile was small but genuine, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’ll never forget it,” he said softly. “Not a second of it.”

The crowd roared, the flashes of cameras creating a dizzying strobe effect as the two of you stood there, sharing a moment that belonged to no one else. It was Fernando who finally pulled back, resting a hand on your cheek for a fleeting second before stepping aside to let the rest of the team swarm you, lifting you on their shoulders.

The team party that night was a blur of champagne, confetti, and endless congratulations. Fernando stuck close, a steady presence in the chaos. Every time someone pulled you away to talk or toast, he was there in the corner of your eye, watching with a quiet pride.

At one point, hours into the celebration, you found him sitting on the terrace, a glass of wine in hand, staring out at the skyline.

“Not enjoying the party?” you asked, sliding into the chair beside him.

He chuckled softly, shaking his head. “It’s your night, Yn. I just wanted to take it all in.”

You frowned, studying him. “Fernando, this isn’t just my night. We did this together. Four Constructors’. Four years of podiums. Four years of wins. You’re as much a part of this as I am.”

He turned to you, his expression unreadable in the dim light. “It was always going to be you,” he said quietly. “I knew it from the start. You deserved this.”

“Don’t do that,” you said, leaning forward. “Don’t downplay your part in this. I wouldn’t be here without you.”

He smiled again, but there was something bittersweet about it. “Maybe not. But it was worth it, wasn’t it?”

You didn’t know how to respond to that. All you could do was reach out and take his hand, squeezing it tightly. He didn’t let go.

The rest of the off-season blurred into a whirlwind of press conferences, celebrations, and award ceremonies. Fernando was always by your side, your biggest supporter, but there were moments when his presence felt heavier, like he was carrying a weight he wouldn’t share with you.

“You’re quiet,” you said one evening, after a gala dinner where the two of you had been paraded around like royalty.

He shrugged, swirling the whiskey in his glass. “Just thinking.”

“About what?”

He hesitated, then smiled. “The next race.”

You didn’t believe him, not entirely, but you let it slide. Fernando was like that—guarded, careful. But every so often, you’d catch glimpses of something deeper. The way his hand lingered on your back when he guided you through a crowd. The way his eyes softened when you laughed. The way he’d quietly check in on you after every race, no matter the outcome.

When the official trophy ceremony took place at the FIA Gala, Fernando insisted on standing beside you on the stage.

“You carried me through the season,” you joked as the cameras clicked and the lights flashed.

“Carried you?” he repeated, feigning offense. “You’re lucky I didn’t let you drown in the midfield.”

The banter was easy, the chemistry undeniable, and as the two of you raised the trophy together, it was clear to everyone watching that this partnership wasn’t just about racing. It was something rare, something that went beyond the track. Something neither of you could quite name.

But things don’t last forever. And getting attached is the worst part.

"I'm leaving Formula One by the end of the season,"

You froze. Time seemed to stretch, the words reverberating in your mind like an echo you couldn’t escape. You’d just arrived at the hotel room you were sharing for the week after deciding to spend the summer break together in the Caribbean. The laughter you were sharing died down in seconds and the room fell quiet.

“What?” Your voice was barely a whisper, the question hanging in the air. It didn’t make sense, didn’t feel real. You and Fernando were a team, more than that—he was your teammate, your confidant, your partner in all things chaotic, your body, your soul. To think of him leaving the sport, of him leaving you . . . it felt like the world was crumbling beneath your feet.

“I’ve decided,” he continued, his gaze dropping to your hands that were now clutching the edge of the coffee table, as if you needed something solid to hold onto. “The time has come. I’m moving on.”

The room around you felt like it was closing in. The summer air, fresh through the open window just moments ago, now felt thick, suffocating. You couldn’t breathe.

“No,” you said, shaking your head as tears welled up in your eyes. “No, you can’t leave me. Not now. Not like this.”

Before you could even think, you were up, stepping forward, hands reaching for him, desperate. You grasped at his arms, pulling him close, burying your face in his chest as you started to sob, the tears coming faster than you could control.

"Please don't go," you whispered, your voice trembling, cracking with the weight of your emotions. “Please. I can’t . . . I can’t do this without you.”

Fernando didn’t move at first, frozen by the force of your plea. He had always been the one with the calm, collected demeanour, the one who could hide his emotions behind that steely exterior. But now, you felt him soften in your arms. He let you pull him closer, his hands coming up to your back, rubbing circles that were meant to comfort but only made the ache in your chest worse.

“I didn’t want to hurt you, Yn,” he said, his voice low, almost apologetic. “I didn’t want to leave you like this. But I have to do it. It’s time.”

“No,” you repeated, your hands clutching at his shirt, your fingers digging into the fabric as if you could somehow stop him from leaving. “I won’t let you. I can’t . . . You don’t get to walk away like that. Not after everything we’ve been through.”

Fernando’s fingers gently cupped your face, lifting it so he could look into your eyes. His touch was soft, tender, but there was something in his gaze—something that told you he’d already made up his mind. “I know this isn’t easy,” he said softly, his thumb brushing away a tear that had slipped down your cheek. “But sometimes we have to let go, Yn. It doesn’t mean I’m leaving you . . . It just means I’m moving forward.”

You shook your head, unable to form a coherent thought through the rush of emotions. “I don’t know how to do this without you. You’re everything to me, Fernando. I—I don’t want you to go.”

He swallowed hard, his jaw tightening as if the words pained him. “I know. I don’t want to go either. But you have to understand, Yn . . . There’s more to life than this. More than F1 . . .. I Signed for a seat in WEC.”

“But I need you,” you choked out. “We’re a team. You can’t just leave.”

Fernando sighed, pulling you into his arms once more, holding you tight against him. “You’ve always been my team, Yn,” he said quietly, the emotion thick in his voice. “You always will be. But it’s time for me to find my own path. It’s time for you to find yours, too. You can’t hold on to me forever.”

The reality of his words hit you like a punch to the gut. You wanted to fight, to scream, to tell him he was wrong, but deep down, you knew he was right. But that didn’t stop the ache in your chest, the fear of losing him, the terror of facing a future without him in it.

You pulled away just enough to look up at him, your tears still streaming down your face. “What am I supposed to do without you?” you whispered, voice thick with emotion.

Fernando’s hand gently brushed your hair out of your face, his touch tender. “You’ll be okay,” he said, his voice soft but resolute. “You’re strong, Yn. You always have been. I’ll always be here, even if I’m not on the grid. But you need to let me go.”

You wanted to argue. You wanted to tell him that you couldn’t live without him, that you didn’t know how to do this without the constant presence of his strength beside you. But the truth was, you could feel his resolve, his certainty, and you knew this was a battle you couldn’t win.

For a long moment, neither of you said anything. The only sound in the room was the soft, steady rhythm of your breathing. And then, Fernando’s hand cupped your face again, this time with more finality, and he whispered the words that made your heart ache even more.

“I’m sorry, Yn. But it’s my time.”

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hotluncheddie · 5 months ago

Note

How do you feel about chubby female Steve (steddie)? I love a good female Steve/Eddie fic 🥰

see, well, i do also love - simply bc i love people having fun. but i haven't really read much female steddie tbh tbh

i do, however, have a lifelong dream of calling a beautiful butch woman daddy

so i will be imparting this dream onto Eddie, and making it come true, as a treat.

so please imagine a lovely, fat, strong, beautiful, butch Stevie Harrington (with pretty long hair and an undercut) and manic pixie goblin girl Eddie Munson (covered in tattoos with a silly little curly mullet) <3

I also saw a very cute video on Instagram of a lesbian couple and one was not feeling good about how her stomach looked asking ‘why does it do that’ and her gf just said bc you’re hot, and you’re healing. And I think that that’s very steddie tbh tbh

Stevie and Eddie are coming back from the lake, sun kisses and sleepy from their day. Stevie in a blue bikini with one of her muscle shirts over the top, sunglasses on and hair whipping in the wind, thick thighs spread across the drivers seat. Eddie pulled on a pair of shorts over her skinny legs, but her belly has gotta a little chubbier lately, causing a roll to sit just above where the waistband sits at her belly button. She squishes it, grumbling and huffing, ‘why does it do that? It’s. Is it supposed to do that?’

Stevie looks over, confused, but her face softens as she looks back at the road. ‘It looks like that because you’re a hot girl.’ She says, smiling. Then reaches over and strokes the skin softly with her hand, head swivelling to glance between Eddie and the road. ‘And healing girls have it.’ She says softly, tenderly, pressing her fingers in and pinching just to make Eddie gasp.

They’ve been trying to work with her recently accepted ADHD, which means building some better techniques to make sure Eddie remembers to eat throughout the day. She had to stop tattooing a client because she got dizzy from only drinking ice coffee and not eating for like 14 hours. Her and Stevie is had a conversation about it, Eddie embarrassed and frustrated, Stevie understanding and pragmatic. She eats much more regularly now, thanks to the reminders and meal prepping, which obviously means she’s gained a little weight. but also means she has more energy and it’s improved her work and ability to interact with the clients.

Doesn’t mean Eddie’s used to it yet though.

Eddie bites her lip, pulling Stevie’s hand between her own and kissing across her knuckles, kissing the rings Eddie found for her at flea markets and sucking her thumb into her mouth just because she can. And because it makes Stevie’s eyes go dark.

Eddie pulls the digit out with a soft pop, sighing ‘I guess.’ to end the conversation - her heart much too full to handle. She grabs the tape box from the back and shoves Dio in and turning it up, head banging until she’s breathless. Stevie glancing over as much as she can, smiling again.

They stop at a drive through on the way back, Eddie squirming and breathing heavy as she feeds Stevie fries and passes her nuggets dipped in sauce so she can keep driving them home. Stevie ignoring her, licking both their fingers clean and driving one handed to suck on her soda straw, belly getting visibly bloated, making Eddie’s mouth fill with spit. She’s so capable and amazing and eddie has to hold back a whimper when Stevie grips her thigh, leaning over slightly to bite at the fries before any ketchup falls. Her soft belly lapping against the seatbelt and silver chain glinting in the setting sun.

‘Let’s get you out of your head, yeah?’ Steve says sweetly once they’re home and unpacked, the day weighing heavy on their bones but not enough for sleep to take them yet, no, there’s fun to be had first, Eddie can see it in the glint of Stevie’s brown eyes.

Eddie pulls greedily at the ties on her bikini, letting it fall away revealing the soft round swells of Stevie’s boobs, sitting low and big across her chest. Eddie groans, cupping them in her hands and squeezing, skin spilling between her fingers.

Eddie lays back on the pillows of their old second hand couch, Stevie towering over her, thighs either side of Eddie’s head. She can’t see Stevie’s face unless she bends forward but the sight of soft underbelly and under boob has Eddie groaning, wetness spreading between her legs. She leans up and kisses over Stevie’s bush, turning her head to nuzzle and bite and the soft inner skin of her thigh, moaning and Stevie shifts and Eddie feels the muscle move under her mouth. Tanned and beautiful, with moles scattered like constellations and a sensitive sort of power to everything she does. Eddie fucking loves her.

Stevie grips her curls, pulling her face back down and leaning at arm on the couch armrest. ‘Be good for me sweet thing. Can you do that?’ She asks, voice calm and low and Eddie feels that deep black water spill into her brain. Sinking hot and wet and wanting.

‘Yeah.’ She says, breathy and high and Stevie smirks as she lets her hips drop. Eddie’s face buried deep in her warm folds. She groans, leaping and sucking and Stevie is everywhere, covering her mouth and nose and Eddie relishes in the white noise static of the thighs squeezed against her ears.

Loosing breath but not wanting to stop Eddie whines when Stevie lifts, looking down at her with sweet condescension, ‘breath for me baby.’ She purrs so Eddie does, gulping greedily. Stevie sits back down and Eddie resumes working over the clit, sucking and flicking with her tongue, lifting one hand to squeeze at her ass while the other searches to bury fingers in her hole.

Stevie rises again, panting with pleasure. Eddie stops to breathe but doesn’t stop pumping her fingers, watching Stevie’s eyes roll. ‘So good for me baby.’ She moans and Eddie preens, desperate to get her there, to taste her again. ‘Daddy.’ She whines, floating and greedy and Stevie moans again, head thrown back and hand reaching to grip Eddie’s curls as she sinks back down, belly folding and thighs clenching and Eddie throbs.

And then when Stevie is flush and beautiful post orgasm, sitting on the sofa to recover, and Eddie is basking in the wetness on her face, and the hand stroking slowly up her leg, she’s sigh out another soft little ‘Daddy’ in contentment, shoving her cold toes under the bit of warm belly that rests on Stevie’s thighs.

And then Stevie will scoop her up, leading them to the bathroom with fresh towels and Eddie’s favourite dildo. With plans to fill her and clean her and leave bruising marks all over her girlfriend’s pretty new belly. A perfect end to a perfect day.

<|:3c

Gonna tag: @scoops-aboy86 @cheesedoctor @chickensinrainboots @whimsicalwadewinstonwilson but I know this isn’t usual steddie so idk sorry if this isn’t ur thing

#heheh #this is making me shy #never written wlw smut before omg #hope u enjoy!!!#hotlunch #steddie #ask #steve x eddie #female eddie munson #female steve harrington #chubby steve harrington #<3 #pls tell me this doesn’t come across as written by a straight man #stevie breasted boobily #steddie wg

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coimbrabertone · 4 months ago

Text

Star Wars and Motorsports - A Surprisingly Intertwined History.

I actually had this blogpost planned out for a rainy day - I thought about maybe doing it for May 4th, 2025 as a Star Wars Day thingie - however, today, James Earl Jones passed away at the age of 93. I knew him as Darth Vader and Mufasa, but he played a lot of roles and provided a lot of iconic voices, others may know him from the Sandlot, Coming to America, or dozens of other roles over the years.

Rest in peace.

In his honor, I'd like to do my little part, so...a discussion of the long and intertwined history of Star Wars and motorsports.

The first relates to Darth Vader himself, as a dark and imposing figure, was associated with Dale Earnhardt in NASCAR. Yup, known as the Intimidator and as the Man in Black already for his iconic black and gray GM Goodwrench #3 Chevy, Dale Earnhardt was also nicknamed the Darth Vader of motorsports a few times in the 1980s and 1990s.

The black helmet and sunglasses played into that.

Somewhat more substantively, there is also the world of Star Wars sponsorships in racing, with Pepsi and Lucasfilm teaming up to sponsor Jeff Gordon at the 1999 CarQuest Auto Parts 400 Busch Series race at Charlotte Motor Speedway, promoting Episode I: The Phantom Menace. Gordon would suffer a mechanical failure...which is probably for the best because it had Jar-Jar on the left rear quarter panel.

Fast forward to the 2002 Coke 600, also at Charlotte, and Lucasfilm tried again, this time teaming up with Cheerios to sponsor John Andretti in the #43 car in the Cup series. This was the big leagues, and with them backing a midpack car, fifteenth was actually a respectable finish.

For Revenge of the Sith in 2005, the marketing campaign was back in force. First things first, there were four NASCARs that year, starting with both Yates Racing cars at the 2005 Subway Fresh 500 at Phoenix. Elliott Sadler drove the M&Ms #38 with a Dark Chocolate themed Dark Side paint scheme, while his teammate Dale Jarrett had a UPS/Milk Chocolate M&Ms Light Side car. The Dark Side car had Darth Vader, Boba Fett, and a Stormtrooper on it. The Light Side car had Anakin Skywalker, the green M&M with Princess Leia hair, and a C3PO M&M.

Pretty odd character choices for Revenge of the Sith but eh, it's all for fun. Anyway, Sadler finished 11th and Jarrett finished 23rd, so I guess the Dark Side won...which I suppose is appropriate, given the movie they're tying into.

So, at the very next race, Star Wars tried again. Teaming up with Jeff Gordon and Pepsi again, this time it was in the Cup Series, sponsoring the Hendrick Motorsports #24 at the Aaron's 499 at Talladega Superspeedway. This car, with Yoda on the hood, would go on to win the race in dominant fashion, leading 139 laps.

Jeff Gordon would also pose with Darth Vader and some stormtroopers ahead of the race, which seems like a conflict of interest given the Yoda car.

Fallen to the Dark Side, Jeff Gordon has.

Finally, Hendrick Motorsports got another Star Wars car, with Episode III sponsoring Kyle Busch's #5 at the amazingly named Chevy American Revolution 400 at Richmond. This Kellogg's car was Mustafar themed with a lava theme on a black base. It has Darth Vader and Mace Windu on it, which...neither is exactly a great fit for Mustafar, what with Windu being dead and Vader only gaining the iconic armor and red lightsaber because of the events of Mustafar.

Kyle finished fourth, another good result for Star Wars.

This wasn't all though, because at the 2005 Monaco Grand Prix in Formula One, Star Wars teamed up with Red Bull Racing to sponsor a car. Much like the Kyle Busch car, it was their regular livery with some orange-yellow Star Wars lettering and a lava/fire theme along the bottom.

Drivers David Coulthard and Vitantonio Liuzzi also got a Star Wars photo op to go with it, this time taking pictures with Darth Vader, two stormtroopers, Chewbacca, C3PO, and also George Lucas himself.

A few years later, at the 2008 Peak Antifreeze Indy Grand Prix at Sonoma, the third to last round of the 2008 Indycar Series, Lucasfilm and Blockbuster (lol) teamed up to sponsor Marco Andretti's #26 car. He would finish fourteenth on that occasion.

This was actually the second collaboration between Marco Andretti, Blockbuster, and Lucasfilm that year, as he actually drove an Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull car at the 2008 Indianapolis 500, finishing third.

More recently, at the 2023 NASCAR Championship Race at Phoenix, Star Wars and Columbia Sportswear teamed up to sponsor the 23XI cars. Bubba Wallace in the #23 ran an X-Wing car and even had Mark Hamill appear in the unveiling commercial, while Tyler Reddick in the #45 ran a TIE Fighter car.

Bubba Wallace finished 10th, and Tyler Reddick finished 22nd.

Two Light Side versus Dark Side races at Phoenix, the Dark Side drew first blood but then the Light Side won most recently. We're gonna need a tiebreaker.

So, that's what I got in terms of Star Wars sponsorships, but that's always been Star Wars going into motorsports. How about motorsports going into Star Wars?

Well, believe it or not, there is an example.

Podracing.

Yup, and not just in the "hey look, it's racing!" way, nope. At the 1998 Miller Lite 200 at Mid-Ohio, George Lucas and his crew recorded the sounds of the CART race to use as part of the sound mix for the podracing scenes in Episode I.

In fact - and unfortunately, I haven't seen the film so I can't confirm - I've seen the claim that the podracing sequence in Episode I mirrors the Monza race from the classic Formula One movie Grand Prix, which George Lucas is actually credited on as an assistant camera operator - which would lend some credence to the theory.

So yeah, I know I've kept this blog motorsports focused but I am a big Star Wars fan and have been for most of my life. To hear about James Earl Jones passing it's...it's just like...wow. It's unthinkable in a way. Obviously, he was getting older and all that, and there was that story a few years ago about him selling his voice rights to Disney, but like...to think that Darth Vader's voice actor is dead? That's crazy to me.

It's one of the biggest losses in recent media history, I think.

There will never be another voice quite that famous.

#motorsports #racing #f1 #formula 1 #indycar #formula one #indy 500 #dale earnhardt #nascar cup #nascar #james earl jones #star wars

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thisapplepielife · 4 months ago

Text

Thanks so much to @astrangersummer for hosting this event!

This is my own master list of all 18 fics I submitted.

I decided to venture a little bit outside of my regular Steddie comfort zone, and challenged myself to write from the POV of 18 different Stranger Things characters during this event, picking a new one for each week/prompt. The vast majority, I'd never written from their POV before, or very little, so that was really fun and I enjoyed it.

The Steddie fics got more eyeballs on 'em, but I'm not surprised by that, because that's what I usually write, lol. But, if you have any interest in reading some Stranger Things fics from the perspectives of other characters, give this list a scan for your faves. They might be here!

Week #1 - Short Shorts: Who Wears Short Shorts? - (Eddie) - Steddie, Platonic Stobin | M | 1469 words

Week #2 - Afternoon Naps: One Nap at a Time - (Gareth) - Gareth & Eddie, Gareth & Steve, Steddie | T | 1992 words

Week #3 - Flowers: What You Need For Today - (Lucas) - Lumax, Dustin, Erica, Steve | T | 1400 words

Week #4 - Camping: You Hear That? - (Robin) - Platonic Stobin, Pre-Steddie, Corroded Coffin | T | 3850 words

Week #5 - Constellations: Imagine the Stars - (Max) - Max | T | 680 words

Week #6 - Ice Cream: Set Sail on Your Ocean of Flavor - (Chrissy) - Platonic Stobin (Steddie? Hellcheer? Buckingham? Cheerscoops? You can decide.) | T | 2560 words

Week #7 - Laugh: Dude Is Happy - (Jonathan) - Jonathan, Argyle | T | 1010 words

Week #8 - Ocean Waves: Sink Back Into the Ocean - (Billy) - Billy | T | 228 words

Week #9 - Where It All Started or Different Meeting AU: Save It For a Rainy Day - (Wayne) - Wayne, Eddie, Steve | T | 1950 words

Week #10 - "I'm a great driver!": One Little Mistake - (Dustin) - Dustin & Steve, Mike, Lucas | T | 791 words

Week #11 - Sunglasses The Remnants - (Karen) - Karen Wheeler, Steve Harrington | T | 898 words

Week #12 - Forgotten: Feels Like Karma - (Barb) - Barb, Nancy, Steve, Tommy H. & Carol. Background Stancy | M | 483 words

Week #13 - Cat or Farmer's Market: Cat Distribution System - (Argyle) - Argyle, Jonathan | T | 587 words

Week #14 - "Can you hear me?" Just the Facts - (Erica) - Erica, Steve | T | 813 words

Week #15 - Modern AU: Tip Your Driver - (Steve) - Steve, Eddie, Wayne | T | 4115 words

Week #16 - Concert or Rain: Firing on All Cylinders - (Jeff) - Jeff, Goodie, Gareth, Steve, Eddie | T | 3000 words

Week #17 - "I can't believe you!" Of All the Gin Joints - (Nancy) - Nancy, Robin, Steve, Eddie | T | 1938 words

Week #18 - Summer Fruit: She Still Wants More - (Eleven) - Eleven (Background Hopper, Mike) | T | 448 words

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niallsgoldhoop · 3 months ago

Text

Chapter Twelve

Wren

“You’re telling me that was fake?!”

Macy looks at me from across the table, breakfast food spread out between us.

Instead of looking her in the eye, I pick up the overstuffed burrito on my plate and reach for a small cup of salsa— anything to keep myself busy. “Yeah, I told you it was.”

“Right, right.” Rolling her eyes, she takes a bite of her omelet. “If you say so.”

“It is.” Heat travels up my neck as the words tumble out, my hand coming up to the base of my neck to trace the diamond pendant. “”You’re just seeing things.”

“So me watching that man put his hands all over you must have just been a mistake on my part? My contacts must have fallen out for a second.” Macy says with a deadpan tone.

“Must have been the alcohol.” Shrugging my shoulders and taking a bite almost too big for my mouth, I sent up a tiny prayer that she would change the subject.

Because I needed to change the subject.

Badly.

Last night needed to be as far away from me as possible.

When I threw on my favorite jeans and grabbed an old hockey shirt out of my drawer, not once did it cross my mind who I would see inside of that venue.

If it had, the last person I would have picked would have been Niall.

The two of us gravitated to each other like opposite ends of the strongest magnet, not a single damn thing we could do to keep ourselves from meeting in the middle of that crowd.

Feeling his hands on my skin, his lips ghosting over my neck, the words from those same lips whispered in my ear— God.

It was all I could do to keep myself from begging him to take me anywhere where we could be alone.

Just the two of us.

I was attracted to Niall and the more time that I spent with him the more I had to tell myself over and fucking over that we had made an agreement.

A plan.

This relationship between us wasn’t real and nothing would ever come from it.

Nothing could come from it.

He was Niall Horan, retired professional golfer and owner of one of the most prestigious golf courses in the world.

Me? I was just Wren Jacobs.

The girl who’s family catered to her little sister and the girl who worked in marketing.

There wasn’t anything about me that would make him choose me in a regular scenario, in a real dating atmosphere— it was fake.

Fake.

Fake

Fucking fake.

Yet there was a small part of me that let myself imagine if it wasn’t. Like right now as Macy tells me about work and I do my best to concentrate and listen.

“Saturday night is the event at the Lakes, right?” Signing the check she refused to let the waitress split, she smiles at me before grabbing her purse.

I nod, reaching for my wallet. “Yeah. It starts at seven but I have to be there around five thirty.”

“I’ll be there at six in case you need anything. Besides, maybe I’ll be able to properly meet the man who had his hands all over my best friend.” Shooting me a wink, we push out into the sunshine of the morning.

Sliding my sunglasses up the bridge of my nose, a sound between a horan and a scoff falls from my lips. “Oh my god, you are the worst.”

Her laughter makes me want to shove her over and hug her right all at the same time. Opening my car door, I watch her walk up to her car next to mine. “Make sure you text me when you get home.”

“I will.” Mirroring my movement, she slides into the driver's seat. “Oh, Wren?”

“Yeah?”

Meeting my gaze, a smirk dances across her face. “You didn’t have any alcohol last night.”

With that, she puts the keys in the ignition and shuts the door before during off, leaving me standing there like a fucking idiot in the middle of the parking lot.

I know it and she knows it— We both know I’m fucked.

I couldn’t blame my actions on anything other than myself. Although I don’t think the loss of inhibitions that comes with alcohol could even touch the way it felt to be around Niall.

He was his own kind of addiction.

One I might not be able to deny.

_______

I’m a coward.

I’m a coward— and I know that I am.

Considering it’s been a week since I felt the brush of Niall’s fingertips over my warm skin and I’ve managed to keep away from him… On purpose?!

Yeah, exactly.

Coward.

Something about being face to face with him after than and after the realization that I might be in over my head has sent me down into a spiral that seems like it may never end.

Thankfully I got out of our weekly dates because Piper demanded my presence for a cake testing and a dress fitting. Not that it mattered what my opinion was because everyone knows she just needed someone to boss around.

But I knew that eventually my luck would run out when it came to avoiding Niall, that eventually I would have to look into those ocean blue eyes with their devastating hint of the sunrise.

As I make a sharp turn into my office with a deli sandwich clutched to my chest hoping that I made it, the black and white ball of fluff that happily barks outside of my door before jumping over the threshold tells me that today is the day.

“Callaway!”

Niall’s accent is thick as he rounds the corner before skidding to a stop, his eyes going from the puppy chasing his tail to me, sandwich still clutched in my grip.

“Hi.” Lifting my hand awkwardly, a squeak comes out of my mouth replacing the confident tone I usually carry.

Those lips that felt like fire across my skin pull up into a grin at the same time he crosses his arms across his chest, the fabric stretching in ungodly ways. “Hello, Birdie.”

My fingers dig into the deli paper, the slight sound making Callaway’s ears perk up before he bounces over to me and sits, tail swishing back and forth as his pink tongue hangs out of his mouth.

I can ignore Niall, but a cute puppy?

Absolutely not.

“Did someone already teach you how to sit?” Crouching down and shifting everything into one arm, I reach out and scratch behind his ears. “Such a good boy, aren’t you?”

“Actually, yeah— Thanks for asking.” Niall grins. “But if you hadn’t been avoiding the two of us I guess you would have already known that.”

“I haven’t been avoiding you.” I lie.

The laugh that falls from his lips draws the attention away from the four legged beast in front of me, making him rush over and jump up to the source of the sound. “Bullshit, Wren. I’ve literally seen you ducking around corners this last week and I’ve been at the receiving end of your one-worded text messages.”

“I’ve been busy.” Another lie. “I had some wedding stuff to do and—“

“Are you okay?” His voice is devoid of the teasing tone as he takes a step towards me. “Did your sister do anything?”

Shaking my head, I stay in the crouched position, watching as Niall flexes his hands at his sides as if he doesn’t know what to do with them. “No, no. It was nothing.”

“Would you tell me? If someone said something they shouldn’t have?” Those damn eyes lock with mine.

Standing up, I try my best to smile even as he takes one more step closer to me. “Niall, you don’t have to do that. You don’t have to act like my protector all the time, this is—“

“Fake. Yeah, I know it’s fake.” Annoyance flashes over his features. “But I don’t give a fuck if it’s fake or not, nobody talks to you like you aren’t important. Do you understand me?”

I nod, clutching my stuff to my chest. “Yeah, yes… I'm sorry for avoiding you this last week.”

“No, I should be apologizing to you.” Blowing out a breath and running his hands through his fake hair, a half smile ghosts across his face. “What happened— What I said… The way I touched you… I shouldn’t have done that. I’m sorry.”

God, just like that and I’m right back to where we were in the middle of that crowd.

Silence settles between us but the tension grows thicker and thicker as we stand so close.

“It’s okay.” Barely above a whisper, my voice doesn’t sound like my own. “I promise.”

“Birdie—“ This time it’s Niall who shakes his head, closing that gap between us and stepping close enough that I can feel the best from his body and the scent of the bergamot from his cologne. “Please don’t avoid me again, I hate it when—“ Between us, the ball of fluff let’s put a low whine just before he darts out of my office, making Niall let out a curse under his breath. “This conversation isn’t over.”

He doesn’t wait for me to respond before rushing out of the room, leaving me to finally drop my stuff at my desk and sit down, resting my head on my desk in an attempt to gain my bearings.

I needed to set myself straight sooner rather than later and I knew it.

The only problem?

It might already be too late.

_________

“Don’t be nervous.”

Macy looks over at me as we stand to the side, watching as people file into the ballroom and take their seats.

“I can’t help it.” My fingers reach for my necklace, running the pendant back and forth along the chain. “This event— I’ve worked hard to make sure everything goes well.”

“I know you have and it shows.” Taking a drink from her glass of water, she nudges my shoulder. “Besides, your boyfriend looks happy.”

“He’s not my—God, nevermind.” Arguing with her is pointless. “Besides, Niall owns this whole course. Of course he’s going to look happy— That’s his job.”

“Right, but is it his job to look at you like that?” She shrugs.

Looking up, it’s easy to find him in the crowd with his navy suit perfectly tailored to his body and the white shirt underneath fits in every way that it counts. That mop of dark hair so effortlessly perfect, like always.

As soon as our gazes meet from across the room, the smile on his face spreads a little wider and even under the dim lighting it’s easy to tell that his eyes get a little brighter. Niall turns to the man he’s talking to and shakes his hand, pointing towards me and patting him in the back.

“He’s not looking at me in any kind of way.” Clutching my drink in my hand, I ignore the goosebumps that blaze across my skin when he starts to make his way across the room.

“One day you’ll quit lying to yourself and when you do, I’m never going to let you forget it.” Patting me on the back, Macy gives me a mischievous smile. “I’ll remember to mention it in my maid of honor speech.”

“You’re so—“

There’s no time to finish my sentence when Niall finally reaches us, sliding his arm around my waist and pulling me into his side. “Hi, Birdie.”

“Hi.” My pulse skyrockets under his gaze, the soft smile enough to undo me.

“Everything looks great, you did good.” The feeling of his thumb moving back and forth like a weight against the fabric of my dress. Macy clears her throat next to us, drawing away Niall’s attention. “I’m sorry— You must be Macy.”

“It’s nice to finally meet you.” Macy shakes his hand, her watchful eye not missing the way his fingers grip my hip even tighter. “I’ve heard a lot about you from your girlfriend here.”

“All good things, I hope.” Tilting his face down to mine, there’s no escaping the blush blooming across my cheeks.

Macy takes a long drink from her glass. “Oh, yes. All good things.”

“Wren knows how to organize an event, doesn’t she?” Niall looks out over the ballroom. “She’s worked so hard on this.”

“I’ve always known her to be a hard worker. In my opinion, she’s the best one in her entire family.” She shrugs. “But that’s just my opinion.”

“Don’t worry, you aren’t the only one who thinks that.” Niall’s voice is lower, more rough. “Are they coming tonight?”

Shaking my head, I look down towards my feet and try not to let my disappointment show on my face. “Um, no. Piper wanted them to go to dinner. It’s not a big deal—”

Macy scoffs and rolls her eyes.

Niall takes in a deep breath before letting it out. “Don’t say that. What you do, the work you put into something… It matters.”

“Amen.” Macy mutters under breath from beside me.

Before I can even come up with a reply, the sound of my name draws my attention away from both of them, a genuine smile covering my face as Harper and her husband wave from across the room.

Once they join our little group, it feels like any and all the negative emotions that I was carrying dissipate as I laugh and smile with a group of people who not only have welcomed me but my closest friend as well.

Each time Niall looks at me or smiles in my direction, I can feel that hard exterior around my heart dissolve, the same hard exterior that helped me write the list of rules that I want to put through a paper shredder.

As the evening goes on, I finally find a moment to step outside, letting the cool air of the early October cool my skin.

Taking in a deep breath only to let it right back out.

I was so stressed out about this event and to see it go off without a hitch makes me feel so proud of myself.

Something I haven’t felt in a long time.

When you work hard and feel like the people who are supposed to be there and celebrate the good, and even the bad, aren’t there it just eventually wears you down.

Even when you put on a face as if it doesn’t bother you, there always seems to be this tiny hole in your heart that just can’t quite be filled.

Golden shadows stretch across the immaculately tamed lawn as the muted sounds of the people inside carry out as far away as they possibly can. A breeze picks up and sends a chill through my bones, making me cup my arms and rub my palms over my skin to give me even a little hint of warmth.

“Here.”

I know it’s Niall before I even turn around, the smell of his cologne mixed with the fresh scent that is just him surrounds me at the same time a jacket is placed over my shoulders.

“Thanks.” Gripping the edges along the front, I clutch it closer to me.

Stepping up behind me, I don’t even try and pretend like I don't want to be around him when he wraps his arms under the oversized fit of his suit jacket, those strong arms pulling me into him at the same time his chin rests on top of my shoulder.

“You smell good.” His words are warm against my skin from how close his lips are to me.

Tilting my head back, the smile on my lips is evident as Niall draws me even closer. “I’m wearing the same perfume I always do, weirdo.”

“I know.” He laughs. “I guess this is me telling you that you always smell good.”

My hands fall on top of his arms, the tips of my fingers tracing over the tops of the veins that run under his smooth skin.

Like this it’s easy to imagine a life of doing exactly this very thing.

Just him.

Just me.

“I’m glad that I didn’t ruin anything tonight.” My voice is soft, faint.

Niall shakes his head, burying his face into the crook of my neck. “You could never ruin anything, Birdie.”

“It feels like it, you know?” I lean into him, letting him support me. “Makes me tired.”

“You can be tired with me all you want, Wren, I promise you can. But let me tell you right now— You couldn’t ruin anything and every day you make me so fucking proud of you. Do you hear me?”

His lips press into my skin and linger there with his words.

“You’re just saying that because you have to say that, Niall. There’s nobody out here to hear what you’re saying.” It’s the truth, even though I don’t want it to be.

“Fucking hell.” Grumbling under his breath, Niall drops one of his arms from around my waist and reaches up, resting his forearm across my collar bone. “When I say that I’m proud of you, there’s nothing fake about that. Not a single fucking thing.”

Trying to keep my emotions in check, I bite the inside of my lower lip, my worst habit. “I’m just not used to hearing that from very many people.”

“Get used to it, Birdie.” When I feel his lips press against the skin of my neck, I close my eyes, letting myself feel all of the small kisses Niall trails along my skin up to my ear. “I could tell you all day long.”

Turning in his arms, I look up into his eyes, the soft glow from behind him casting a halo of light around his silhouette.

Honestly, I’m still not sure that I’ve ever seen someone as beautiful as Niall.

I don’t really want to see anyone but Niall.

Cupping my jaw, his thumb suns back and forth along my cheek before he drops down, his lips pressing to the corner of my jaw before he pulls away.

All I want to do is pull him back to me.

To feel his lips against mine, for real.

“Come on, let’s get back in there before people come looking for us.” I smile, trying to pretend like every look and every touch doesn’t drive me wild in one way or the other.

His lips tilt up in a half smile, hands dropping and leaving me feeling even colder than before. “Hey, Wren?”

“Niall?” Looking up at him, I force my hands to my sides, ignoring the urge to reach out for him.

We make our way up the stone steps and when he opens the door for me, I raise my brow in question, waiting for him to answer me.

As soon as we step inside, his hand slides over my hip and dangerously close to my ass before he leans in, his lips brushing against my ear right before he lays the truth out for me only to walk away right after.

Even hours later when I’m laying in bed I hear it.

The same low tone.

The same rasp.

His words play on repeat and when I finally doze off— it’s still the only thing that I hear.

I don’t even know how much I’m pretending with you.

_______

-alex 🍀

#niall #niall horan #niall james horan #cute niall #niall 1d #one d #niall imagine #niall the show #niall fanfic #one direction #niall horan smut #niall fanfiction #niallhoran #niall smut #solo niall #writing #romance #wattpad

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pwettylouis · 2 years ago

Text

Pierre

not proof read - ignore mistakes

Walking around the market in Sokovia was one of the only times you had away from your father in this trip. You looked at what each stand had to offer, purchasing a few small things as you did so.

You couldn't really understand Sokovian, but you understood what the boy was asking. He didn't want to bother you nor beg you. Simply asking you to take a moment and look at his products.

You stopped, taking off your sunglasses and looking at the table that was set up on two milk crates. The table had many pieces of jewelry made by him and his sister.

The boy held up a necklace to you and smiled. "Looks good on you," he said, looking at you through his bleach locks. His ice blue eyes shined as you took the necklace, admiring the pendant.

He walked around the makeshift table and gently took the necklace from your grasp, draping it over your neck and clasping it. The blue pendant matched his eyes and fell just below your collar bone. You admired how it looked on you in the small mirror he'd handed you, deciding to purchase it while pulling out your wallet.

The boy shook his head and pushed your wallet back towards you. "No need, free of charge." His light pink lips twisted into a smirk.

You smiled up at him as you zipped up your wallet and placed it back into your bag. "Thank you." A light pink dusted you cheeks.

"Do you want to leave with me?" He asked, slipping his hand into yours and rubbing his thumb over your knuckles.

You furrowed your eyebrows and pursed your lips as you stared at him. "I don't know, a girl in a foreign country with a stranger asking her to leave." You explained. "Seems a bit suspicious to me."

The boy let out a laugh. "I'm not mean, I promise." He said as he shook his head. His face lit up when you nodded your head and agreed to go with him.

He told his sister to run the stand and you made your way to your car. "You Americans have the July 4th holiday, so why are you here and not there?" He asked curiously.

"My father used to be a soldier, the the fireworks from the 4th of July trigger his PTSD so he likes to travel for the days surrounding the 4th."

You explained as you neared your car, pulling your keys from your bag. The boy gently took the keys from your hand and you looked up at him with furrowed brows.

"I can drive us, I do know the roads of Solavia well." You took a deep breath and nodded your head, it was probably a better idea for him to drive anyway.

The narrow dirt roads of sokovia were nice and peaceful. Light peaked through the passing trees, sun hitting the man's lightly freckled cheeks.

"So, what's your name?" You leaned your arms on the center console as you looked at him, a small smile playing on your lips.

"My name is Pierre. What is yours?" He smiled as he looked to you before focusing back on the road, blowing the waves of his hair out of his eyes.

You smiled at his antics and spoke. "I'm Y/n," you told him. He looked back to you with a small smile and asked you another question.

"How old are you, Y/n?" He asked, not keeping his eyes on the road.

"I'm almost nineteen. What about you?" His eyes flipped back to the road for a moment.

Pierre took a deep breath and gripped the wheel lightly. "I will be twenty in one month," his accent seemed deeper, but you decided to ignore it.

He looked beautiful as he looked back to you, making eye contact. Despite what he'd told you, he was not a very good driver.

"Keep your eyes on the road, Mr. Pierre." You let out a small laugh as he smirked.

"I can not help it, you are beautiful, Y/n." His eyes kept flicking between you and the road.

The two of you continued talking, asking questions so you could get to know one another. You stopped talking when you heard a loud pop.

"Was that my tire?" Your eyebrows rose as you looked to him. His mouth fell open and he looked into mirror.

"Oh no." He quickly exited the car and walked to the back tire, placing his hands on his cheeks as he shook his head.

"I am so sorry, Y/n." His accent was very thick when he was upset. "I will call repair," he pulled an old cell phone from his pocket as he walked away.

You couldn't understand him while he spoke to a repair man, but he looked upset as he walked back. He had a frown on his lips and head hung low.

"I am very sorry," he rubbed his eyes and took a long inhale, shyly looking back to you.

Your hand covered you mouth, muffling your laughter. "Pierre, I promise it's fine," he looked at you with furrowed brows. "This the most fun I've had in forever."

The two of you sat by a ditch on the side of the road as you waited for the repair man, drawing small figures in the dirt road.

As lights slowly approached you, Pierre stood and you watched as he spoke to the repair man, pulling a few singles from his wallet.

"I could've paid," you said as you pushed yourself off the ground, dusting off your hands. He let out a breathy chuckle and shook his head.

"I break the car, I pay." he crossed his over his chest as he stared down at you. "And besides, young American girl, you'd be paying too much."

It only took the man a few minutes to replace your tire, you and Pierre talked more, your back resting against a tree and his hand hand resting next to your head.

Your talks turned into low whispers as you two got closer. Pierre cut his sentence short, his other hand coming to lightly rest on your cheek.

He leaned in more, his lips almost touching yours. Until you heard the repair yelling for Pierre. He sighed, looking into your eyes before going to thank the repair man.

You watched as he walked down the small hill, shaking the man's hand before he got back in his truck and drove off. Walking down the hill, the truck slowly disappeared and the boy turned to face you.

"It's late, I think may be time I bring you back."

"Yeah, my dad will freak if I'm not back soon." you held your hand open, "But, I'm driving this time," he placed the keys your palm, letting his hand linger for a moment.

Pierre sighed and walked over to the passenger side, singing the door open with a smile. "Probably the best idea,"

You let out a chuckle and got into the driver side, starting the car and making your way back to town. Music played, filling some of the silence, Pierre being very confused of American music.

The car pulled up to the small market, all vendors packed up and already gone, you couldn't spot Pierre's sister anywhere.

"Is your sister still here? Do you want me to drive you home?" You gripped the wheel as you looked out around the market.

His lips pressed into a thin line and shook his head. "No, she will still be here." He said as he turned towards you, his arms resting on the center console.

"Can I see you again tomorrow, Y/n?" He asked, his face begging you as he reached for your hand. You looked at your interlocked hands and smiled.

"Of course, Pierre." He smiled when you said his name. "I'd love to see you again."

Your words made him feel happy, he felt very happy around you even though he'd only known you a few hours. "

Ok, meet me here at 4:30." He brought your hand to his lips and placing a light kiss. "I want to take you somewhere fun,"

You smiled as he turned to open the door, "I cant wait, goodnight Pierre." he smiled to you as he exited the car.

"Good night, y/n. I really hope you like Sokovia so far." And with that, he coded the door and walked off. As Pierre disappeared into the dark you couldn't help but to think, tomorrow is my last day here.

#aaron taylor johnson #pietro maximoff #pietro x reader #avengers age of ultron #wanda maximoff #quicksilver #peter maximoff #scarlet witch #captain america #pietro maximoff x reader #pietro marvel #pietro fanfiction

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respectthepetty · 1 year ago

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With My Dear Bro Day Two & Three

Love Tractor's leads got sent to El Nido in the Philippines by the production company and recorded it for With My Dear Bro. I got nothing but time, so I'm binging it and writing it up in three posts: One, Two, Three.

This place is gorgeous! Yoon Do Jin says hi to everyone including the dogs on their walk along the beach, but Do Won is tired and focused. He gets them to where they need to go.

Yoon Do Jin pulls an Unintentional Love Story and speaks one Spanish word.

They have a tiff on the boat in front of God and the driver BECAUSE Yoon Do Jin starts with the dad jokes (baby sharks!), and, per usual, Do Won does not respond.

This is Thailand's Tay and New traveling together but the Korean version.

Yoon Do Jin is dangerous, so thank goodness his sense of humor is whack to balance out his beauty.

Because Do Won hates him. In fact, he puts on his sunglasses, so he can ignore that beautiful man properly.

Do Won was in the military, so he knows a thing or two about the water. Pretty Boy Do Jin apparently was a Marine, but he doesn't even help paddle at times because he is teasing Do Won AGAIN! They rock, paper, scissors to see who rows, and Pretty Boy Do Jin LIES his way into not rowing.

And in their normal fashion, Do Won tells Yoon Di Jin to rest (even though homeboy has been chillin' the entire time!).

This man plays too much.

They are hungry from all the playing. Yoon Do Jin wants Do Won's pasta again (ahhh!), but Do Won is too tired, so since he knows Yoon Do Jin LOVES bread, he suggests a bakery. Yoon Do Jin goes all out and gets everything. Then, they get coffee, but Yoon Do Jin, who is the extrovert and always speaks while Do Won handles the money tells Do Won he has to order instead. This is him practicing! And Yoon Do Jin pats him on the back!

Now it makes sense why the production company sent them on this trip because their banter is amazing! Yoon Do Jin compliments Do Won on his "shy glasses" (a joke from earlier when Do Won put on the sunglasses to ignore Yoon Do Jin). Do Won tells him the glasses are for counting the money Yoon Do Jin spent on bread. Yoon Do Jin eats a cookie with a fork. Do Won serves Yoon Do Jin more bread. It's amazing!

Episode three wins! Do Won wants to stay in the next day. Yoon Do Jin wants to go out. They decide to do their own thing BUT Yoon Do Jin needs money to go out, and he wants 1,000 pesos, so he has to haggle with Do Won who isn't budging. But just like the ladies at the market on day one, Yoon Do Jin is a dangerous man when he wants something.

Another bug appears, and Yoon Do Jin earns his paycheck after Do Won asks in English to "help me, please." They are wearing blue and green and I have no comment.

Episode 4 and THEY ARE COLOR CODED in the opening credits like they were in Love Tractor! Oh, they got me! I'm obsessed now.

Yoon Do Jin wakes up first and has to maneuver off the one bed to not wake up Do Won. He makes them breakfast, but it's very I-don't-know-what-I'm-doing-but-I'm-gonna-do-it-anyway breakfast.

He leaves a note telling Do Won to eat well and to meet him at 2 at a place, then heads out in the rain. Do Won thinks the food is sus. But he approves of it after numerous offensive faces.

Do Won draws. The posters behind him are his and the dog one says: "Without Love There is No Life" and "I Just Love You. Do I Need A Reason?" so he stayed in to recharge

and to finish drawing Yoon Do Jin a poster that is about being loved since everyone loves Yoon Do Jin so much.

Yoon Do Jin is out making a bracelet at a bar, and just like the hairdryer, he is taking it very seriously. If this is a friendship bracelet, I'm gonna lose it.

IT IS FOR DO WON!

They meet on the beach to go to SUNSET YOGA, my beloved, but Everyone's Best Friend Do Jin is getting loved by all the locals as he plays sand volleyball, so Do Won waits patently for him. Do Won tells him that breakfast was good.

Do Won wants to swim. Yoon Do Jin tells him to swim. Do Won says he can't because of the scheduled yoga. They get in another tiff with the yoga instructor as a witness. As everything they do, it's adorable.

Do Won, per usual, wants to carry all the mats and won't accept Yoon Do Jin's help.

They do sun salutations. The boys are not finding the peace they seek.

They look pissed, actually. Well, Do Won does. Yoon Do Jin looks amused that Do Won is so upset.

They go to a Spanish restaurant for dinner and order paella, croquettes, y gambas with sangria. Essential Spanish food, but Do Won gets upset that Yoon Do Jin starts drinking without saying cheers first, then refuses to drink. A tiff is had.

At the house, Yoon Do Jin notices the posters, but touches the other one that doesn't have the sentimental note from Do Won written on the back.

Yoon Do Jin notices that his breakfast note is still on the counter, so he writes something else as he screams "Hyung" eighty times as he has done each and every episode (which is why this show is called With My Dear Bro)

And CAMPING IS NEXT!

#with my dear bro #love tractor #Yoon Do Jin #Do Won #I got time today #episode 3 and 4

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threewaywithdelusion · 2 years ago

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I Would've Liked To Know You: Dustin

(warnings for suicidal ideation and major character death (Steve) that occurs before the story starts)

The car sat in Dustin’s driveway. A 1981 BMW 733i. It had leather seats and cruise control and a six-cylinder engine that could go 0 to 100 in under nine seconds — not that Dustin would know. It had been sitting in his driveway for a year, but Dustin had yet to drive it. Nancy had been the one to bring it over, after everything, and before her, Steve had been the last person to drive it.

Steve’s sunglasses were still hanging off the sun visor. His tapes — and Robin’s, all mixed together — were still in the glove compartment. A can of hairspray was hidden in the trunk, probably for emergencies, though Dustin didn’t know if those were emergencies of the my-hair-looks-bad variety or the I-need-a-makeshift-flamethrower variety.

Every Sunday, Dustin would go out to the driveway and clean the car. He would drag soapy sponges along the maroon paint, tracing around the dent where Steve had run into a Demogorgon. He didn’t touch the inside, afraid that it would lose the essence of Steve — the things scattered around, the smell of hairspray and cigarette smoke in the air, like he might come back any second.

If Dustin cried when he cleaned the car, Tews was the only witness and he never told.

The problem was that Dustin had had a great excuse not to drive the car for the first few months he’d had it. He’d been only fifteen, too young for his license, and definitely too young to be driving a car worth over $30,000 to the market and everything to Dustin.

But now Dustin was sixteen, old enough to get a license, and all his friends were learning how to drive. Jonathan was teaching Will and El in Joyce’s Ford Pinto, taking them around empty parking lots after school and on the weekends. Lucas’s dad was teaching him, Erica occasionally hopping into the back to backseat drive even though she was only 12 and didn’t (or shouldn’t) know what she was talking about. Mike’s mom was teaching him and he was turning out to be a surprisingly good driver.

Max was the only other member of the party who didn’t drive, but she was blind, so she had a better excuse.

Ma kept offering to teach Dustin, but he kept saying no. He was the youngest, besides Max, so it was easy to make Lucas or Mike drive him around and claim it was because he didn’t have his full license yet. Eleven drove like a maniac, but Dustin would almost rather die in her passenger seat than get behind the wheel.

Steve was supposed to teach him how to drive. Steve had promised, but Steve had died and now the idea of learning how to drive with anyone else in the passenger seat made Dustin want to scream.

So Steve’s maroon Bimmer sat in Dustin’s driveway and Dustin cleaned it every week because it was Steve’s and Steve had trusted it to him. He diligently cleaned the pollen off the windows and the bird shit off the paint and he thought about his eternal shotgun in Steve’s car. About keeping his tapes in Steve’s car and the way Steve would let him turn the volume all the way up and sing along. About the nights when he couldn’t sleep, when Steve would pick him up and they would drive around town in silence, the motion of the car eventually lulling Dustin to sleep. Because he’d been with Steve and he’d known he was safe, that nothing bad would happen while Steve was around.

The worst thing had happened while Steve was around. Because Steve was around. Because Dustin had been right and Steve would always protect him, but Dustin hadn’t wanted protection at the cost of Steve’s life.

Some nights, when Dustin lay awake, he thought about how he was poison. How Mike had jumped off a cliff to save him and Eddie had died in his arms and Steve had jumped in front of a Demogorgon’s cavernous maw to protect him.

It sounded appealing sometimes, following Steve and Eddie into death. But if Dustin died, then Steve’s sacrifice would have been for nothing and there was no world in which Dustin could make Steve’s death meaningless.

So he lived and he didn’t let the thoughts of death creep in during daylight hours and he pretended that his biggest problem was that he couldn’t convince himself to drive that fucking car.

It was two months past Dustin’s sixteenth birthday, on a hot Sunday in July, that Nancy Wheeler, home from college, marched up the driveway as Dustin was cleaning the car.

“I heard from Mike that you don’t have your driver’s license yet,” Nancy said.

Dustin rubbed the sponge carefully over the nose of the car. “Not yet.”

“You should know how to drive,” Nancy said. “It’s an important skill to have. It’s a teenage right of passage. It’s freedom.”

Dustin scowled. “It’s not that I don’t want to learn to drive.”

“Then what’s the problem?” Nancy asked. Her own car keys were dangling from her fingers, reflective in the sunlight.

“Steve was going to teach me,” Dustin said. He tried to sound casual, but his voice came out somewhere between choked-up and strangled.

Nancy hesitated. Then she nodded, coming up beside Dusin and taking the sponge from his hand. “You know, Steve was the one to teach me how to drive.”

Dustin jerked around to look at her. “What? But… your mom taught Mike?”

Nancy laughed. “Yeah. She tried to teach me too, but we were always fighting that year. Every time she told me what to do, it felt like she was criticizing me and I couldn’t learn with her in the passenger seat. So Steve gave me lessons, that year we were dating.

He used to drive the Bimmer out to the school parking lot on weekends. He would give me the keys and then sit in the passenger seat and let me figure it out on my own. He was endlessly patient. He never yelled at me, even when I scratched his car.”

“You scratched his car?” Dustin echoed incredulously.

Nancy nodded, a fond little smile on her face. She grabbed Dustin’s hand, leading him to the other side of the car, by the left rear wheel. There were a few lines scratched through the paint, parallel to the ground.

“I always assumed those came from the trees when we were running from the that pack of demodogs that came topside,” Dustin said.

Nancy shook her head. “Nothing that exciting. That’s from me running into a post while trying to make a left turn. Steve wasn’t even mad.”

Nancy ran her fingers over the scratches, as if she could still feel the memory by tracing over the scars. Dustin knew the feeling. Sometimes he sat in the passenger seat and pretended Steve was driving him around. Sometimes he bought Marlboro Reds, Steve’s preferred brand of cigarette, and burned them just to smell the smoke. Sometimes, when his mom held him while he cried, he pretended she was Steve.

He always felt guilty afterwards, like he was saying he’d be willing to trade his mom for Steve, which he wouldn’t. But he would give almost anything and everything he had for five more minutes with Steve Harrington.

“Steve wouldn’t want this,” Nancy said, like she knew him better than Dustin did. Like she had any fucking clue what she was talking about. She was in college, living her life and not breaking down over the fact that Steve had died a year ago.

But.

Nancy had seen parts of Steve that Dustin had never known existed. Dustin envied her for that.

“He left the car to you, Dustin,” Nancy continued. “He made me promise that if he didn’t make it through the final battle, I would make sure you got this car.”

Dustin wished he could be surprised by the knowledge that Steve had predicted his own death. But he knew. Maybe he had always known, the way Steve had always known. There had been too many close calls — the difference between their reactions to Steve’s increasingly near brushes with death was that Steve had accepted his fate while Dustin had thought that Steve was immortal. Unstoppable.

Like a stupid kid believing that sleeping in a parent’s bed would keep the monsters away.

“If you want,” Nancy said, “I can teach you to drive. Just like Steve taught me. It’s what he would have wanted.”

“You think so?” Dustin asked.

Nancy nodded. “I know so.”

Dustin was in two places at once. He was thirteen years old, Nancy Wheeler coming to his rescue at the Snow Ball when no other girl would dance with him. And he was sixteen, standing beside his dead best friend’s car, Nancy Wheeler once again extending a hand when he needed it most.

“Yeah,” Dustin said. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

After that, Sundays became the days when Nancy would teach Dustin how to drive. She’d come to his house in the early morning and he’d meet her by the car, keys in hand. She would sit in the passenger side and almost never say anything, acting exactly the way Steve had when he had taught her and letting Dustin figure it out for himself. And when Dustin had hit a mailbox and added a scratch to the front right side of the Beemer, almost having a panic attack because the car was no longer in the condition Steve had left it in, Nancy had just smiled and said that Steve would have been proud to have Dustin leave his mark on his car.

By the end of the summer, Dustin got his drivers license. He offered to drive everyone to the first day of junior year and Max claimed shotgun and the others all piled into the backseat.

Dustin saw Lucas stroking over the leather seats and their eyes met in the rearview mirror as Lucas gave him a smile. “I missed this car.”

“Yeah,” Dustin said, setting his hands on the steering wheel where Steve’s hands had rested for years. “Me too.”

#stranger things #stranger things fanfiction #Mia writes fanfic #dustin henderson #steve harrington #nancy wheeler #steve and dustin #dustin and nancy #tw: major character death #tw: sui ideation

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sirowsky · 1 year ago

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--The Beauty of Mechanics--

This is the final of the Birthday Stories!

Description: Frankie's working away in his shop when an unexpected arrival makes him pause. Frankie Morales x Original Female Character.

Rating: Teen Warnings: Meet cute, a bit of shop-talk, fluff, Frankie's just a lovesick puppy. Mechanic!Frankie. AU. Word Count: 1500 Author’s Masterlist

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The car sounded like it had swallowed a nightingale as it rolled up to the open garage doors of the workshop, and Frankie grabbed a towel to wipe some grime off his hands while he slowly walked out there to greet what was sure to be a new customer. He didn’t recognize the car or the license plate, so it wasn’t one of his regulars, but he did recognize the make and model of the machine.

A classic 1967 Mustang, one of his favorites. And this one was in mint condition, all black with silver detailing and tinted windows. An absolute masterpiece. It looked almost alive and somewhat menacing when it was so well polished and it was clear that a lot of thought had gone into the styling, which was still true to the classic look, but utilized modern materials.

When he got to the front left corner of it, the driver’s door opened, and his eyebrows shot up as he watched a woman step out and come towards him. Not because he couldn’t believe, or for whatever reason felt, that women didn’t belong behind the wheel of such a car, but because this particular woman was even more gorgeous than her choice of vehicle.

She was wearing dark brown worker boots, tight black jeans, and a black silk blouse to compliment the vehicle, but her short Pink!-style hair had a deep purple shade, fading into pale blue at the ends, a look which seriously suited her. He also noticed that she wasn’t wearing any jewelry but had a Sinn watch around her wrist, a brand which boasts some of the toughest watches on the market, all of which gave him the feeling that this was no delicate flower of a woman.

“Hey, sorry to drop by without an appointment,” she said while pulling off her sapphire blue Oakley sunglasses, revealing almost golden colored eyes.

“That’s okay, I’ve got time. She sounds terrible,” Frankie replied, nodding towards the machine.

“Yeah, I don’t know what happened, she was running fine five minutes ago. Think you can take a look?” she asked, and he couldn’t help but smile.

“She’s absolutely beautiful, I’d love to look at her all day. But yeah, pop the hood and I’ll see what’s going on.”

She did as he asked, and the first thing he noticed was that this engine was custom built and by someone truly talented. But at first glance, he couldn’t find any obvious cause for the racket, so he asked her to start it up so he could listen to the noise more clearly, and after just a few seconds he signed for her cut the engine again.

“I’d say it’s probably coming from the exhaust. I’ll need to lift it up to know for sure. You want me to try and fix it for you right now, or do you wanna make an appointment?”

“If you have the time to take care of it right away, you’d be making my day,” she chimed, sounding absolutely astounded that he might actually be able to fit her in immediately.

“Sure, I’ve only got a standard service scheduled for today and that customer is abroad, so it can wait. A beauty like this shouldn’t have to roll around sounding like a freaked-out crow,” he offered, and that made her smile, damned near taking his breath away.

He asked her to drive it onto the ramp, letting her step out before he raised it, and she remained right next to him when he got to work. He noted that she was careful not to get in his way, though, and she didn’t attempt to criticize anything he did. Instead, it seemed like she was just eager to learn more about the car and how to take care of it, which only made him enjoy her company all the more.

“So, you were just out driving when it suddenly started sounding like this?” he asked, both to carry on a conversation, and to learn more about the problem.

“Yeah, there was no indication at all that anything was out of order, it came out of nowhere,” she elaborated. “Normally, I’d have taken it to my regular mechanic, but he’s on vacation and I don’t trust his colleague with my girl. He’s way too sloppy.”

“So, no pressure, then,” he chuckled drily.

“Oh, I already know you’re a better mechanic than that guy, so you can relax,” she reassured him, which really did calm him.

So many customers, and especially those with fancy cars of any kind, would get so uptight about him not putting a scratch on their expensive toys, that they’d deliberately try and put as much pressure on him as possible. But this lovely woman was just concerned about him actually fixing the problem, and seemed to understand that adding any tension to the situation was only going to make that harder.

“Have you done any work on it yourself?” he asked, trying to distract himself from the fact that she was rapidly becoming very attractive, in every possible way.

“Pretty much the entire exterior,” she started, and he was mildly surprised by that. “I’ve never worked with painting cars, but I’ve been doing it as a hobby since my teens. I’ve ordered, but sometimes also made custom detailing, like the new headlights and the grill. I love that sort of thing. Tweaking tiny details to achieve the most aesthetically pleasing look, but without taking focus away from the beauty of the entire machine. I’ve always wished that I could somehow do that stuff for a living, but I’ve just never been able to.”

Seriously? With that level of talent she should’ve been working at a custom shop a long time ago.

“Wow. It’s actually kinda hard to believe that no one’s taken an interest, because the first thing I thought when I saw this car, was that it looks fucking perfect. You’ve got a really good eye,” he complimented, meaning every word, and she seemed truly grateful to hear it.

“I just love to make cars look their best. Like stylists do with people, or real estate agents with houses. It makes me feel all buzzed to look at a gorgeously styled car, or motorcycle, or anything on wheels, really,” she elaborated, and for the first time since he met her, she looked a little shy, or unsure.

As if she wasn’t used to being able to say these things without getting laughed at.

“Well, I’m just a small business grease monkey, but I’m pretty good at what I do too, and I’m telling you, if I’d only had the means, I’d have hired you on the spot.”

She smiled so warmly at him as she heard that, and it made something very pleasant spread through his blood.

It turned out that the problem was just the air intake tube on the catalytic converter, so it was an easy fix, and Frankie was almost a bit annoyed at that, because it meant that he would lose her company much too soon.

“Okay, all done,” he announced once he’d lowered the car and had her start it up again to make sure that his diagnosis had been correct.

“Great, I’m so glad it wasn’t something serious. How much do I owe you?” she chirped, but he just shrugged, suddenly feeling quite unhappy.

“Nothing. It took me less than fifteen minutes and that tube costs like a dollar,” he said, showing his hands in his pockets to keep them from moving around nervously.

He really wanted to ask her out, but he felt like there was no way in hell she’d agree to that. He wasn’t nearly cool enough to hold the interest of a woman like that.

“Oh. Okay…” she replied, suddenly looking so misplaced in his garage, with her quiet but strong confidence and overall powerful look, against the backdrop of clutter and dirt. “Well, if you ever need a paintjob, let me know.”

“Sure. But I’d need your number for that,” he cheekily pointed out, thinking there was no chance he’d ever get it.

Which was why, when she stepped over to a really dusty old car-door, standing leaned against the end of his workbench, and wrote her number in the dust, he just dumbly stared at her, unable to say a single thing.

“I’ll look forward to hearing from you,” she said with a soft curve to her lips, and then she got back into her car and left.

He stood there, still staring after her, unable to process what had just taken place, when his cellphone started ringing.

“Morales,” he answered without even looking at the screen to see who was calling, because he was still staring outside, listening for the sound of that gorgeous engine.

“Hey, Frankie,” he heard Pope on the other end, and the familiar voice broke through the stunned silence in his brain.

“Santi… you’re not gonna believe what just happened at the garage…”

THE END

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Thank you for reading and helping me celebrate! I wish you a wonderful day <3

Tagging a few people who I think might wanna read these stories: @startrekkingaroundasgard @deadhumourist @tintinn16 @suttonspuds @tanzthompson @shsoba05 @f0rever15elf @justnat15 @lowlights @dornish-queen @radiowallet @spishsstuff @harriedandharassed @i-love-movies @tiffanypooh @chaoticfestninja @insomniamamma @pedrostories

#sirowsky's birthday celebration #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character fanfiction #frankie morales x original female character #frankie morales x ofc #frankie morales fanfiction #triple frontier fanfiction #mechanic!frankie #triple frontier au

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