#was debating if i should add about her | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

lymtw · 2 months

Text

The frustration that Satoru feels when he completely stops seeing you as just one of his best friends.

You’re so pretty, modeling the dress you’ll be wearing on your date with some guy who probably dims in comparison to you. Suguru says you should try the outfit without the cardigan, so you take it off for a second and do a little 360 for the trio. Shoko gasps when she sees the lacy details that were hidden by the coat and Suguru claps in validation. “You’re so gonna get some.”

Satoru just watches, cheek resting in his fist as he half listens to the little debate between Shoko and Suguru. It’s all a blur as he focuses on the one glowing in front of him.

“Satoru?” You wave your hand in front of him.

“Hm?” He blinks up at you, acting like he wasn't zoned out while staring.

“Tie-breaker. Coat or no coat?”

He had heard what Suguru said when you took the cardigan off. 'You’re so gonna get some.'

He doesn’t want that.

“You should stay layered. You might get cold later.”

Suguru groans in disapproval, falling back into the couch cushion, while Shoko grins, smugly, at her small victory.

“Coat it is.” You smile, running back to the bathroom to finish getting ready.

“You like her, huh?” Suguru asks as soon as you’re out of sight, a squint of betrayal in his eyes.

“Pfft, nah. What makes you think that?” Satoru defends.

“She asked for our opinion on the dress and you went silent," Shoko says, throwing a knowing smirk at Satoru.

“You don’t want her to get laid or something? Why’d you vote for the granny cardigan?” Suguru adds, arms crossed over his chest.

“I want to see you take care of her when she’s sick. I did it last time, and she was unbearable. Also,” he turns to answer Shoko’s remark, “what can I say? I’ve got a lot on my mind.”

“A lot of her on your mind.” Suguru nods over at you.

Satoru turns, a lucent gleam in his eyes when he sees you.

“Alright, guys. I’ll be back before-“

“Don’t rush!” Shoko says, giggling at the dopey look on Satoru’s face.

There’s a smirk tugging on Suguru’s lips. “Have fun.”

“Call if you need me to pick you up," Satoru blurts, sitting up straight on the lounge chair he was seated in.

Shoko gasps and Suguru’s eyes go wide for a second.

“Uh... sure. Will do. Love you guys, bye!” You walk past your friends, opening the front door and shutting it behind you.

Your perfume had some effect on Satoru because for some reason his heart was racing and he was unable to calm it down.

“What?” Satoru asks when he notices the way his friends look at him. “I’m the only one with a car here.”

“Uh-huh, let’s put it that way," Shoko says, sharing a menacing look with Suguru.

—

You did end up having to call Satoru. Your date was the most annoying, insufferable person you had ever met and you weren't going to pretend like you were enjoying your time with him for the rest of the night. How can someone be so different the moment you’re alone together? You couldn’t stand him, so you excused yourself from the table and went to the restroom halfway through your meal.

You called Satoru, hoping he wasn't kidding about calling him if you needed a ride home.

“Hey, uh, I know this is really inconsiderate of me, but can you come pick me up from the restaurant? If you can’t it’s totally fine. I’ll stay.”

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I'm fine. It turns out I can’t stand this guy.” You chuckle, your hand reaching for the sensor beneath the water faucet, the cool water running through your fingers. "He's gross and just... I don't know."

“Did he do anything to you? Are you okay? ‘Cause, you know, I can kick his ass.”

“You already asked me that, 'toru. I’m okay. He’s just…” you pause, a sigh filling in the silence, “...different from what I remember. I don’t know this guy.”

Satoru is already sitting in his car. The moment you asked him to pick you up, he grabbed his keys and headed for the car.

“Give me ten minutes.”

“It takes twenty to get here.”

“Too bad. I’m running a few red lights. Sit tight.”

“Sa-”

The call ends and you’re left staring at the contact photo you have for him. You turn your screen off and stare into the mirror. You don’t know if you should stay in the bathroom until Satoru gets there or if you should go back out to the man waiting for you.

—

“So, Satoru likes her, huh?” Shoko says, leaning back in the lounge chair Satoru sat in before.

“Who would have guessed? We’ve all been friends for years and he’s never looked at her like that.”

“We should invest in some noise cancelling headphones. Who knows what could happen after tonight?”

Suguru furrows his eyebrows in confusion, so Shoko grins and demonstrates. She rocks back and forth in the old lounge chair, the chair creaking and squealing.

“Oh.” Suguru’s face further scrunches. He didn't need the image of his friends doing that together, in his mind.

—

Your phone vibrates on the sink, and Satoru’s name appears on the screen when you flip it. You quickly answer the call.

“Hey, i’m outside.”

“How do I walk out of here without seeming like a bitch? I didn’t think this through.”

“First, walk out the restaurant doors. Then, get in my car. It’s pretty simple, honestly.”

“We haven’t paid the bill.”

“Fuck it. Let him pay.”

“That’s just wrong. Alright, i’ll be out in a bit. Bye.”

“Bye.”

You sum up all the courage you have and walk out of the bathroom. Once you reach the table, you pull out some cash you have just laying around in your purse, like forty-something bucks, and set it down in the middle of the table.

“Hopefully that’s enough to cover half of it.”

“Where are you going?” Your date asks.

“To keep it polite, I have to go. Have a good rest of your night.”

You walked out of the restaurant, immediately spotting Satoru’s blue Camaro.

The second you get in, you make yourself comfortable, removing your heels and taking down your hair from its updo.

“What’s wrong?” Satoru asks, when you don’t say anything.

“It’s fine. This guy just wasn’t the one.”

Satoru’s chest feels tight now that you’re in the car. The smell of your perfume has returned and you’re glowing in the moonlight. It makes him think of the effort you put into looking the way you do, and how you ended up having to hide in the bathroom.

“Do you wanna go home?”

You’re looking in the sun visor mirror, bobby pins in your mouth as you fix your hair so that it’s not in your face once Satoru starts driving.

“Mm… whatever you want to do,” you say, muffled by the pieces of metal pressing into your lips.

It wouldn’t be whatever he wants to do, though. All he wants to do is kiss you, right now. Do something to soothe the ache you must be feeling.

“Why are you acting like this?” He asks, watching you as you place another pin in your hair.

You laugh through your nose, a bobby pin still between your lips. You put it in your hair before answering.

“Like what?” You look at him while you put your seatbelt on.

“Like this doesn't bother you. You don't have to put up a front, you know? I'm not gonna laugh at you."

The metal clicks, and you fold the sun visor back up. “Because it didn’t bother me. I’m not gonna settle for someone I hate being around."

Part of Satoru wanted this to go well for you. He wanted to see a brilliant smile on your face when you got home. So, the fact that it didn’t end up that way strangely caused some heartache for him.

“Don’t look so down.” You give him a kind smile and pinch his cheek. “I’m okay. Really.”

He tries to distract himself from the warmth that seeps into his cheeks from your quick gesture. “Well, I don’t want to go home. Is that okay, with you?”

“What’s up with you?” You ask, bringing one of your legs up and folding it comfortably on the seat.

“Nothing.”

You stare at him until he breaks out his contagious smile and laugh.

“Really, nothing. I just want to spend some time out tonight. Shoko and Suguru want to stay home and be couch potatoes."

You see your date walking out of the restaurant, phone against his ear. He doesn’t look too defeated, but you don’t want him to see you with Satoru and make any bold assumptions.

“Okay, that’s totally fine, but can we go?” Your leg goes back down, meeting the floor mat and you turn to face the window.

Satoru analyzes your behavior and your expression. Your arms are crossed, you refuse to look in his direction again. It’s weird compared to how you were acting two seconds ago.

“What?” Satoru turns to look at whatever made you shrink, and as soon as he sees him he rolls his window up. “Really?” His eyes are lidded in disappointment. It’s not in you as a person, but in your lack of respect for yourself, choosing someone so far below your league.

“He was nice when I first met him.”

Satoru puts the gear in reverse, backing out of the parking spot. “He looks stupid and on top of that he acts like it, too? God.”

“I know, I know.” You lean against the car door and stare out the window.

“What made you think you deserved him? Honestly, I can’t wrap my head around how low this is for someone like you.”

“I don’t know.”

Your responses to Satoru's interrogation kept getting shorter and shorter and he realized he was beating a horse that was already down.

“You know I care," he mumbles, breaking the heavy silence. “I don’t mean to tell you who to date and who you should be with.”

“I hate this conversation. You’re not my dad, Satoru. It’s fine.” You sit up, back against the seat and face forward. “Where are we, anyway?”

“I just followed a random road to see where it would lead. I don’t wanna go home, but I also don’t want to know where I am.”

“So, we’re lost.” You laugh.

“Hey, as long as we have phones with enough battery, we’re not really lost.”

“Right.” You grin, continuing to watch the road. You look over the steering wheel to see how much gas the car has. It’s two marks below the bold F.

“Can you tell me something?”

You turn to Satoru, giving him your full attention. He’s been more serious than you know him to be since you left the house.

“What’s up?”

“I’m not trying to rehash this father-like conversation, but as one of your best friends… what were you thinking when you accepted a date with this guy?” He glances over at you for a second. “What went through your mind when you said 'yes' to a date with him?”

“Potential love, dates, butterflies. All the stuff that goes into getting to know someone as more than an acquaintance or friend.” You fidget with the extra hair tie on your wrist.

“You want all of that?” He asks, glimpsing at you again.

You nod, silently.

“You’re pretty enough to fuck around with whoever you want, you know? I know some people who wanna do some pretty... vulgar things with you."

Your eyes go wide at how far south the conversation went. You cracked the second you looked at Satoru though. He looked somewhat proud to be friends with someone who could get some anytime.

“That’s… good to know, I guess.” Your mind stumbles over the part where he called you pretty enough.

“You’re not interested in that, though, are you?”

You wince, jokingly. “It’s just not my cup of tea. I want something more long-term.”

Satoru grins, almost like he wants to talk about himself.

“That’s not your cup of tea, is it?” You reciprocate the grin.

“No, no. Believe it or not, the last relationship I was in lasted a whole two months.”

You slapped the car door dramatically. “A whole two months?!”

“Stop it. It’s nothing, really," Satoru jokes, grinning with faux pride.

“Hey, i’m not shaming you. You’re not down with commitment and that’s fine. We're young. There's no need to rush."

“I haven’t found someone I really want to commit to. I'm not stupid enough to ignore the fact that people are really only attracted to my body. They can't stand when I open my mouth, so I figured it’s better to fuck around than to put my heart into something that won’t last without sex.”

Satoru's personality was for people with acquired taste. On the other hand, Satoru's physical appearance was for anyone and everyone. The people who could appreciate all of him would be in for the most amazing ride, because even as his friend, you could confidently say that there is no one like him anywhere in the world. You can only hum in acknowledgement of how romantically lonely he must feel.

“What?” You ask when the car stops. Satoru puts the car in park before turning it off. “We’re not out of gas, so what’s the problem?”

He unbuckles his seatbelt and turns to face you, one leg bent on the seat. He’s met with a breathtaking sight. You look stunning in that navy blue dress, and that shade smeared over your lips was calling his name. He can see part of your thigh from where your dress rides up.

“Can I talk to you about something?” The tension behind the question was enough to make your ears go red.

“Of course you can. You’re scaring me, but go on.”

He smiles, trying to lighten up the mood. He knows better than to just dump information like this on you so heavily, but he can't go home tonight without telling you how he feels. He already doesn’t expect much to come of telling you this, but it's been eating him alive and he can't keep it in anymore.

“You've been on my mind a lot, lately." He sees your slightly furrowed eyebrows. They match the unintentional pout on your lips. You’re confused and for some reason you feel nervous, like your heart might escape your ribcage.

“What does that mean?” You ask, wanting a clearer understanding. He could be worried about you in a totally platonic way. He could be wondering about what you've been up to lately. You're having trouble assuming there's romantic notes to his statement after the brief discussion you just had.

“It's exactly as it sounds. I've been thinking about you." He's not smiling, he's not laughing yet this still sounds like a joke that he’s running to mess with you.

“You done with your jokes? We could both be home right about now," you say, not intending for your words to come out as sharp as they did. His hand is suddenly cupping your cheek, his thumb brushing away a speck of glitter from it.

“You say goodnight to me in the sweetest way—like you won't see me in the morning. And the soft smile you give me before you shut the door... it lingers in my mind. I dream of it from time to time."

You're trying so hard not to lean into his touch and nuzzle your cheek into his palm, but you make no effort to push his hand away. “What are you talking about, Satoru? Don't you think you're reading into it a little too much? I do that for all three of you. Ask Shoko and Suguru.”

His hand has been on your cheek for a while now, and he’s still looking at you like he has things to get off his chest. “I know you don't say it the same way to them as you do to me." He stops, a little sigh leaving him. He’s probably making you dizzy with all of this news, based on the look on your face. He retracts his hand and rests it on his thigh. You look stunned, so he cuts to the chase. “To be even more clear, I don’t see you as a friend. It doesn’t seem right to see you that way when I can picture us doing more. Being more."

“Doing more?” You repeat, cheeks growing warm.

“Holding hands, kissing, being alone together—more.”

The heavy silence returns, both of you nervously avoiding eye contact.

“I..." you huff. "I need some air.” You unbuckle yourself before exiting the car. Your scent remains in the car even after the door shuts behind you, leaving Satoru to wonder if things are screwed with you.

Your back is against the door, your hands interlocked in front of your eyes, shielding you from the gentle moonlight. You groan, irritated by the conflicted thoughts that came with Satoru's revelation.

It’s not long before Satoru comes out and joins you, leaning on the side of his car. It's cold and he doesn't want you to get sick again. His heart could barely handle your involuntarily weak display the first time.

“I didn’t stress you out, did I?” He asks, turning his head to look at you. You shake your head, your hands still covering your eyes. “There’s really no part of you that can envision an us between me and you?”

You chuckle, a sound that makes his heart pang. “It’s funny... you know, a long time ago it was all I dreamed about.”

Now this was baffling news to Satoru. How long ago was a long time ago? A couple months ago? Last year? Three years ago? And why didn’t you say anything?

“I considered you a pursuit that was out of reach. You had—have— all these girls just throwing themselves at you, and I couldn’t be one of them, so I befriended you instead.”

“How long ago was a long time ago?” He asks, nervous to hear the answer.

“Like last year in March. It was during your phase where you would never come home.”

He feels like an asshole. Especially since not too much later, he developed similar feelings for you that he endlessly denied.

“You liked the me you never got to see?”

You both chuckled at the rhyme of his words, your broken senses of humor adding some lightheartedness to the conversation.

“I guess you not coming home was more calming because I didn't have to be nervous to see you.”

You crossed your arms. The cardigan protected you, but not enough. The cold wind was starting to nip at your cheeks. Satoru notices and moves closer to you.

“Let’s go back inside, yeah?”

You didn’t want to. You were nervous being “stranded” with Satoru already, but minimizing the space between you was even more nerve-wracking. He was your greatest temptation before, and you could easily create those labyrinths that guide him into your mind again if you got close enough.

“I’ll be fine," you say, looking straight ahead at the field of weeds in front of you.

“You’re gonna catch a cold. Get in the car," Satoru prompts. He thought back to the tired look on your face as you laid in bed sick, waiting for him to bring you warm soup.

“No," you insisted, turning away from him.

He inched closer, not wanting to look at your back. “Please, get in the car." He thought of the gracious look on your sick face when he brought you another blanket to keep you warm.

“I said no, Satoru. I don't want to get in the car with you."

You were being stubborn as hell, and something about it made Satoru’s blood boil to the point where he did whatever his mind told him to do. You were suddenly pinned to the car, your hands on Satoru’s chest to keep some distance. He blocked every gust of wind that threatened to bite at your skin, and enveloped you in his warmth. You don’t know how, but in this freezing temperature, Satoru’s hands felt like sunlight on your cheeks. His face was centimeters away from yours, his bright eyes searching for a loophole in your feelings for him. Your eyes spoke with an infinite amount of possibility, and some of it didn't make sense, so he kissed you in hopes of translating what you were trying to say.

You didn’t have any fight left in you. Not when you felt so secure in this close proximity. Now, all you wanted was to be in the car with him, alone.

The kiss was released with light breaths from both of you, a look of feeling complete on Satoru’s face. “Will you get in the damn car,” he whispers, his arms caging you against the car.

“Say please," you say in the same intimate volume as him.

“Please," he complies, allowing his eyes to flit between your eyes and your lips.

“Pretty please?" you push.

“Pretty please," he says, the corners of his lips twitching.

“How about pretty please with a cherry on top?”

“Get in the car," he says through a laugh.

You chuckle, shoving him lightly before opening the door and entering the car. Satoru gets in the drivers seat and suddenly it all feels strange. Strange, but in the best way.

The tension from before returns. There's no wind blowing to fill in the silence when you both stop talking.

“Do you ever think of me when you're alone?” It was a weird question to be asked by him, especially since you had already told him that your feelings for him were left behind.

“Never," you reply, a softness in your tone that held memories of when all you thought about was Satoru.

He's somewhat disappointed, seeing as though there's a chance he might be too late.

“Do you think that will change after tonight?” He seems to be getting closer, or at least his hands are. Your skin is irresistible and he wants to feel how soft you are. He's been craving you for so long, and you're right there.

“There’s no way to tell.” You can see how slowly his hand is traveling. A minute ago it was on his lap, now it’s on the armrest between your seats. You can’t wait any longer. The suspense might make you jump out of the car again, so you grab his hand and put it on your thigh, where your dress rides up.

“I’ll throw the question back to you. Do you think of me when you're alone?” You ask him now because he won’t give you some bullshit response at a time like this, when he’s getting everything he’s wanted for who knows how long.

“All the time,” he responds so quickly. “When I wake up, before I go to sleep, in the shower, while I brush my teeth.” There’s this foolish look on his face, like he would give anything to never lose the ability to have you on his mind all the time. "You're in there, organizing the shrine I made for you," he admits, with a grin. His thumb presses into your thigh, massaging the plush skin. It makes you nervous as hell, but you like it.

“Have you told Suguru and Shoko?”

He chuckles, remembering the conversation he had with them after you left. “I’m positive they know."

Once again, you're left staring at each other in silence, drowning in the tension you’ve created within yourselves. Satoru has yet to move his hand away from your thigh, not letting up even when he feels goosebumps spread on your skin. He tests the boundaries you have set up, finding no resistance from you when his hand reaches further up your dress.

“You’re not gonna tell me to stop?” He asks as his fingers are met with lace, a texture that makes his heart thud rapidly in his chest.

You shake your head, leaning back in the seat. His fingers ghost over the front of your panties, finding a satin bow just below the elastic band.

“Were you going to let that guy touch you? Is that why you wore these?” He hasn’t even seen them, and yet he can tell they’re the cutest thing ever.

“Maybe," you mumble, looking away in slight embarrassment.

“Can I see them?” He asks.

You nod, allowing him to slowly pull up your dress. Your heart drops when you hear him gasp.

“God, no way," he says, sounding defeated. His ears slowly turn a bright shade of red as he observes the material covering your intimate area.

“Stop,” you whine, feeling flustered by his reaction and the way he stares.

His hand returns to its previous spot, continuing to play with the part of the elastic that sticks to your hip.

“You wear these types of panties on every date you go on?”

You nod, biting your lip as his fingers move just to feel the fabric. His touch is still ghost-like—light, barely there, but it’s working you up anyway. There’s barely enough friction, yet you can feel your wetness begin to ruin the garment.

He sighs. “You know, no one deserves you.” His tone is smooth and he smiles at you, an angel taking control of his features. “Not even me, but I can make up for the one who missed you tonight.”

He spares his attention to the spot in the middle of your panties, only smiling when a breathy moan involuntarily leaves you.

“God..." you groan in embarrassment, covering your face with your hands. "I can’t with myself."

His thumb rubs up and down your clothed slit, applying pressure when he reaches your clit.

“Don’t be shy. Make as much noise as you want,” he says, luring a gasp from you.

You look away again, red-faced, feeling embarrassed beyond belief.

“What?” A low chuckle follows. His hands settle on your thighs as he leans in and tries to look at your flustered face.

“This is weird.” You look out the window, too nervous to look at Satoru.

“How come?”

You giggle. “I can’t stop seeing you as one of my friends. It’s strange to experience something like this with you.”

“I would hope Suguru and Shoko aren’t touching you like this.” His hand splays on your thigh, kneading softly. “Are they?” He asks, after a pause.

“Of course not.”

He seems satisfied with that response because he’s trying to hold back a smile, but the corners of his lips are twitching. His fingers snap the elastic band of your panties against your skin a couple more times.

“Is it too weird to go on?” He asks.

You consider the facts. He already touched you, he confessed his feelings for you before he touched you so you know he wasn't lying about his feelings for you and he doesn’t just want sex. You had those feelings for him before, but claimed to have lost them with time.

Your overwhelming thoughts are enough to put an end to what was going on. You pull down your dress, hiding the evidence of his touch, and sit up straight in the seat. “Maybe we should head home before we do something we might regret later.”

He hums and smiles, not an ounce of disappointment in his features. “No argument from me."

Satoru put his seatbelt on and watched as you did the same before starting the car. There was no need for him to set up the GPS because all he did was drive straight, so all he had to do was drive back the other way.

You didn’t expect the car ride to be so quiet. Maybe he did want things to go further. You couldn’t bear to look back at Satoru, even though you could feel him side eyeing you as he drove. There were a couple times where he turned his head to look at you when you stopped at red lights, but you knew you couldn’t look back until you had something to say. You were overthinking everything that happened until that point. What can you say when you just went through an entire roller coaster of emotions with someone you call a best friend? Someone who has now seen you in a vulnerable position.

“Did you at least eat?” Satoru asks, finally breaking the heavy silence that engulfed the car.

“Uh, yeah. I was able to get through my meal," you respond, glancing at him quickly before turning back to face the window.

He nods in acknowledgement. You see the stop sign at the end of your street, signaling the closeness of home.

Satoru parks the car in the driveway, and you finish removing your shoes. You enter the house, expecting to see Suguru and Shoko up waiting for you guys, but to your surprise, the doors to their bedrooms are shut.

“Goodnight, Satoru," you say. “Thanks again, for picking me up.”

“Yeah, no worries,” he responds. “Goodnight.”

You can’t shake the void left in your gut after your time with Satoru. You sit on your bed for a moment thinking of the intimacy that occurred between you and him. The gentleness of his touch, the lack of judgement from him when you basically told him that you dress your best even for scumbags. Something inside you was begging you to tell him how much you wanted him to sleep in your room—in your bed. And that’s exactly what you aimed for with this rush of adrenaline that surged through you. You rose off the bed quickly, and made haste to reach his bedroom.

You knocked, calling his name once. Once was all it took for him to leap to open the door.

“Can you help me with something?” You asked, hoping he held no ill will towards you and that he wouldn’t deny you.

“Sure. With what?”

You motion for him to follow you to your room, and he does with no further questions, following your bare feet as you lead him to your room.

“I tied the knot for my dress a little too tightly." You let out a quiet chuckle, your nervousness imbued into it.

“Oh, I see," he says, stifling a grin. "Turn around.” His finger circles in the air.

You turn your back to him, facing the mirror on your vanity. You can feel his knuckles grazing your lower back as he takes the time to slowly loosen the knot, the straps that once sat wrapped around your waist dropping loosely.

“There,” he murmurs, still standing behind you, looking at you through the mirror.

“Thank you,” you say so quietly that it’s almost a whisper.

Normally, that is the cue for someone to leave, but there was this branch of electricity connecting him to you. He couldn’t find a reason to step away from you, so instead he stepped closer. His arms encircled your waist, his hands interlocking above your lower abdomen. Your stomach swarmed with butterflies—blood thirsty ones that knew all too well that they wouldn't be leaving anytime soon, so long as Satoru was in your room.

He leaned in to kiss your shoulder, an act that brought goosebumps to your skin. "You look really pretty." You give in to the feeling, tilting your head to give him the entire canvas of that side of your neck. He wondered if you would be upset if you saw his kisses on your neck in the morning.

He stops and looks for your approval first because he has arrived centimeters behind the line between friends who are really comfortable with each other and something deeper. You have to let him know that it’s okay to cross this line.

“It’s okay,” you say, squeezing the hands that rest on your lower abdomen. “Don't stop."

That’s the green light he needed in order to move on. He did not hesitate at all in pulling back his arms and undoing the knot that held your dress up. He watched as the smooth velvet cascaded down your body, pooling at your feet, leaving you in nothing but those precious lace panties. You felt vulnerable with your bare chest out, but made no attempt to hide yourself.

He was frozen for a second or two, speechless at the sight before him.

“No one deserves you,” he finally says, his arms snaking around your torso. His lips start leaving behind their marks on the other side of your neck. He drags his kisses down your shoulder, biting once, then twice, resulting in a couple giggles from you.

“Close the door, please,” you say, realizing Shoko and Suguru would see what was happening if they opened their doors.

Satoru releases you only to close the door, locking it for safe measures. As soon as he’s back, he’s wrapping his arms around you before pushing both of you towards your bed. He starts stripping his clothes off, until he's left in just his boxers. His eyes never leave yours, a lovestruck smile on his face.

“You will never know how many times I’ve dreamt of this scenario."

“Stop.” You giggle, withstanding the sting of his lips on more than you neck. It’s heat on your chest and on your stomach now, his hands holding your waist so gently. You’ll look like some abstract piece of art by morning with the endless waves of kisses that Satoru gives you. He wants you so badly. Devastatingly so. He wants to prove that he is the closest to deserving you by the end of the night.

Your heartbeat is inconsolable in your ribcage. The eye contact brought some reality to the situation. He chuckles at the doe-eyed look on your face before refocusing on his task. He's nearing the elastic band of your underwear, those cute lacy ones he got to touch in the car. His touch is already affecting you, the evidence being a wet spot reemerging in the middle of your underwear.

"You're so warm and soft, and..." he sighs, your body making his mind cloud. He couldn't have ever accurately imagined how stunning you would be with just the golden street lamp's light shining through your window. "...you smell really fucking good." His hands go beneath the elastic band of your underwear, dragging his dainty fingers through your slit enough times to earn a small gasp from you, before pulling his hand out. "Bet you taste amazing, too," he says, wrapping his lips around his glossy digits. "Mhm..." he practically moans when your taste coats his tastebuds. "Sweeter than I could have ever imagined."

You don't think you'll get over Satoru saying these explicit things to you.

"More. Fuck, I need more." There's so much he wants to do to you, so little time in the night despite it only being 11:30. "God, you're so..." he cuts himself off and kisses down your stomach, impatiently—desperately. "...so pretty. So—fuck— so pretty. Gonna make you feel so good."

"Okay, 'toru, make sure to breathe," you tease, running your fingers through his soft locks as he nears your throbbing core.

He drags his nose up and down the wet patch of your panties, audibly inhaling your scent and exhaling through shuddered breaths. He sounds feral, his aching cock creating its own pool of arousal in his boxers. The tip of his nose was covered in your slick, the remnants of you on his skin driving him absolutely crazy. Once he absolutely couldn't take it anymore, he yanked your underwear down, almost tearing the pretty fabric and tossed it onto the floor. You were soaked at the sight of his pure lust towards you. Those eyes were darker than you've ever seen them before.

He tries to be slow and gentle for you. You're the one thing he's wanted for the longest time and now he has you. You're not guaranteed to be his forever, after this, but at least the night is secured and he has this one chance to prove that he would do it right with you. That he could handle your body with a tenderness and loving that would make you weep. Everything you want in a lover will be given to you in one act of demonstrating how undeniably in love with you he is.

His attempt at slow sensuality never reaches you. His arms are hooked tightly around your thighs to prevent you from squirming away from his greedy mouth. He wants everything you give him to never end. The melodic sound of you moaning his name, the sweet nectar that just keeps drooling out of your cunt, the sting on his scalp from the firm hold you have on his hair and the tugging. He's in heaven. If the possibility of this reoccurring is nonexistent, he wants this moment to loop. For there to be a glitch in real life that allows him to replay this scenario as many times as he likes, like a story with multiple endings.

"You taste so good. So fucking good, princess. Wanna give you a taste," he rambles. He unwraps his right arm from your thigh and uses his forearm to pin it down so that he can use his fingers on you. He bends all his fingers down except for his index and middle fingers. Your slick is already streaming out of you, ready to be collected, but he can't resist the urge to dip his fingertips into your pulsing hole. "Oh fuck, you're so wet," he utters in awe, quickly tossing the idea of just his fingertips going in when his long, lithe fingers sink into you with ease.

"Satoru," you choke out, a sharp gasp following. The pads of his fingers brush against that spot within you that forces you to bite your lip. Your heart is racing. What if you get caught? How would you explain what's going on to your friends and would the dynamic of your living situation change because of it? You care, but clearly not enough to second guess this moment again, like you did in the car.

"Mmm..." he moans against your clit, his lips smacking after releasing the now throbbing bundle. "So sweet." He pulls his fingers out of you and admires the glaze that drips down to his knuckles. He wants to be selfish and put them in his mouth, but his need for you to know how good you are to his tastebuds overpowers those thoughts. "Open, pretty," he says, tapping his wet fingers against your lips. He watches with parted lips as you take his slick coated digits into your mouth, shutting your lips around them to completely suck off your essence. "Good, huh?" A pleased grin appears when you nod. "Yeah... I want it back." He pulls his fingers out of your mouth and puts them on your right breast, smearing your saliva all over your nipple until it pebbles.

All you can do is say "huh?" before your lips are enveloped by his. The kiss starts out slow— he's taking a moment to appreciate how perfect your lips feel against his. For a minute you can feel the way he innocently wants you. You have butterflies in your stomach all over again.

His hunger for you grows with every sharp breath you release and the squirming beneath his unrelenting hands on your chest. Your heart has been pounding in your ears since he slipped his tongue into your mouth and you have goosebumps from all the rubbing, brushing, and tweaking he offers your nipples, the throbbing in your cunt only intensifying as you withstand it. He thinks the whimpers that seep into your kisses are the cutest sounds ever and he doesn't want them to stop, so he glides a hand down your abdomen and gives you the touch you're missing.

You break the kiss, throwing your head back into the pillow at the feeling of Satoru rubbing your clit. He watches through gleaming eyes the way your jaw hangs and allows the sweetest moans to spill from your kissed up lips.

"Feeling good?" He asks, grinning when you respond with a moan that makes you clasp a hand over your mouth. "Yeah? That's an answer, too." He chuckles, watching intently as you crumble beneath his touch, not some zero's who made a fool out of himself.

You uncover your mouth, your sounds amplifying and flowing freely. "Satoru," you gasp. "Oh, fuck– S-Satoru!" The last words you manage to cry out before you cum without a warning.

You look way too pretty arching your back off the bed and chasing friction from his hand. Your neck looks palpable like that, exposed for him like you want him to mark it up and take a few bites.

"Let me make you feel good, pretty girl," he coos, drunk off the cute sounds of the heaves and sobs that wrack through your chest, your little whines shining through them. Lustful, lidded eyes watch as you try to wriggle away from his touch.

"P-Please," you huff out, your trembling thighs working to shut around his hand. It's too much, your peak has passed and now you're left to bear the overwhelming feeling of his unstopping fingers.

"I know, I know. It's terrible..." he murmurs. His tip is leaking so much at the sight of your body jerking and your eyes welling with tears. He really loves the way you've surrendered yourself to him. "You're so pretty." He sighs, dreamily. He stops and wiggles his hand out of the tight embrace of your thighs. You take a deep breath and blink away tears, focusing on the comforting movement of his hands caressing your thighs. He can see the way you look at his body. His chest, the sculpted muscles of his abdomen, the pale happy trail that leads to a part of him that you are unfamiliar with.

He crawls over you, his lower body wedged between your legs. "Don't be scared to touch," he says, his tone sultry. He grabs ahold of your hand and places it on his chest, initiating the contact for you. You take control and allow your hands to roam his body. Like you're in a room full of random unpressed buttons, you explore the different reactions you get from touching different parts of him. You discovered that his nipples are sensitive. He groaned into your neck when you palmed at his pecs and borderline whimpered when you focused your touch on his peaks. He shuddered when you traced along his ribs, but once you neared his stomach and waist, things got hot for you all over again. Your heart raced as he breathed into your neck due to the feeling of your nails gently scratching along his abs. He was rutting his clothed bulge against your cunt, desperate, low moans leaving him with every graze of your nails along his waist.

"F-Fuck, I can't wait anymore. Please, let me in." He whips out the cutest puppy eyes you've ever seen, and though they're unnecessary, you're not opposed to him having to resort to those means.

"Y-Yeah, okay," you breathe, feeling the throbbing in your cunt intensify when he stopped rolling his hips against you.

He's rushing, his movement stuttered and his hands shaking with desperation as he works his boxers off. He's impressed with the amount of precum that went into them, but he doesn't waste time admiring the mess any longer once he frees his achingly hard, drooling cock. It's sensitive to the touch. He'll cum if he doesn't play his cards right while lathering his length with the essence that beads at his tip. With that taken care of, he comes close to you again.

"This is gonna be the slowest start ever," he says under his breath, eyeing that sweet little smile on your face, like you understand the turmoil he's going through with just trying to get inside you. His tip nudges your clit, spreading some of his precum onto the nub as he guides it up and down your slit a couple times. He's working himself up to sinking in because he knows how wet you are. After a few more strokes, he presses just the tip in, nestling it into your warmth with a groan. You gasp as he slowly drives himself into you, the stretch his girth induces proving to be immense. He tries to steady his stuttering hips as he pushes more of his length in.

"Little more, just a liiittle more," he says through soft breaths, more to himself than you. Once he glides the rest of his length in, he feels like he's going to explode. He's throbbing so hard and you're not helping at all with the brief, inconsistent spasming of your walls. "Oh fuck... shit," he whimpers, thrusting only halfway into you. "Sorry—fuck—s-sorry... I can't-" He gasps when he thrusts the rest of the way in, spewing his load as he just grinds against you.

Your eyes widen as you watch him, his eyes shut tightly, his jaw hanging ajar to release shaky breaths. His cheeks, neck and chest are blazed, bright color smothered over his pale skin.

"Shit..." he rasps, still taking deep breaths.

You can't even ridicule him for this when he looks so fine. The laugh he let out was enough to make your thighs twitch.

"It's alright, Satoru. It's getting pretty late, anyway."

"No-the-fuck it's not," he says, looking down at you with the smallest crease between his brows. He's wanted this—wanted you—for way too long and he can't leave your room without showing you just how badly he desires you. It's a need, at this point.

A chill runs down your spine and your heart drops at his response.

"I mean, i'm not tired. Are you?" He asks, softening a little after coming in so hot with his last response.

You're not and even if you were, it's those eyes... They compel you to want to do things for his sake. They're so soft and you feel wanted beneath their force. You feel everything he said to you in the car when you peer into his eyes.

"No. I'm not tired either," you respond, which instantly puts a smile on his face.

"Good. Let me try again."

Neither of you mentioned any of what happened within that quick span of time. No mentions of him spilling the second he got inside you or you trying to end the night to save him the embarrassment, and it turned out for the better. No awkwardness once he recovered and went back to proving his love for you. He went straight into it, thrusting at a slow pace to start you off. He held onto your hips as he leaned in and kissed all over your chest, sucking your delicate skin to leave little reminders of him for you to see in the morning.

He groans, muffled by your warm skin, when you scratch the back of his head, guiding your nails through the short hairs of his undercut and down the nape of his neck. He's purring like a satisfied cat, the soft breaths he lets out through his nose grazing your neck.

With all these good feelings comes Satoru picking up the pace. His hips meet yours a little more quickly and suddenly both of you get a little more courage to make more sound.

"Fuck," you whimper. "Satoru... S-Satoru..."

"I know..." he grunts. "I know, baby. I feel really good, too."

You just look so damn pretty, with your starry eyes and your messy hair, and the way you keep moaning his name. He has to kiss you again. Each time he kissed you before was accompanied by fireworks. This time... who knows? He certainly won't unless he gains the courage to do it once more.

He leans forward and stares deep into your eyes. The level of intimacy has doubled down and you feel like your heart is trying even harder to lurch out of your chest. He's not stopping, you can feel his breath on your lips as he pants through the exertion of his hips. Then, once again, with a whimper as he closes the distance between your mouths, he kisses you. It's not fireworks this time, it's an entire fire and you kissing him back like you need him just as much is fanning the wild flames.

"Love... you," he disperses the words through his kisses. He doesn't only say it once. He says it multiple times as your lips are moving, making those pauses purposeful. "Fuck– I love you," he repeats, breaking the kiss when you don't say anything. "Come on," he chuckles. "Say it back."

"Satoru..." you say, softly.

"You say it all the time to us. What's another time?"

You bite back a laugh when you see those brilliant eyes again. He knows the effect they have on people and uses them to his advantage.

"It doesn't..." he groans, cursing under his breath when you suddenly clench around him. "...have to mean anything more than it usually does."

You're hesitant, but figure that as long as he doesn't take it as more than what he's used to—at least until things are talked through—there can't be any harm in saying what he wants to hear.

"Love you, 'toru."

The words are way too sweet, too gentle on his ears. The smile you offered as you delivered those words was devastatingly beautiful. You've said this a million times, each time so friendly, so lovingly, the meaning never feigned or faded with its repetition, but in that moment, he felt the words more than he ever did before. Your plush thighs are pressed against his hips, your hands are on his chest, and he can still smell that perfume you spritzed on your skin before you left. He's never heard you like this before, so sultry that it almost seems like an invasion of privacy.

"Again... say it again, p-please." With the scene that is playing out before his very eyes, he wants to imagine you meaning it as a term for lovers.

"I-I..." you let out a sharp gasp, your words cut off by the feeling of his cock brushing against that weak spot within you. "I love y-you, Satoru."

You're saying it to him only, right now. It's not 'I love you guys', it's 'I love you, Satoru', and he's drowning in it all. Your voice, the words, the blissed out look on your face. He's weak.

"Yeah?" He laughs, sounding almost delirious from how good he feels and how he's trying so hard not to cum.

"Mhm," you respond.

"T-That's good to know," he says, breathily. He's picking up the pace again, almost knocking the wind out of you with that first thrust in the change of pace. You're scratching up his back, wrapping your legs around his waist while he moans into the crook of your neck.

"G-Gonna cum, gonna fucking cum, again."

"Please... cum inside," you babble, nonsensically.

"Yeah? You want it inside again?" He asks, grinning when you hum and nod in confirmation. Who is he to deny you of such a simple want?

With a few more harder thrusts, he's filling you to the brim again with his warm cum. He's breathing heavily into your neck, mouthing at your skin sloppily as your cunt flutters around him. He's babbling on and on asking you if you came and if you feel good, while you're trying not to cry out too loudly from how hard you did. It's only until he unsticks himself from your tacky skin that he sees the aftermath of your orgasm. Your lidded eyes, the rapid rise and fall of your chest, the sound of your shuddered breaths brushing past your lips. He's thinking about it again. No one deserves you, but clearly, he was the closest.

He tosses himself beside you once you both come down. Your blanket is shared between the two of you, it reaches just above your chest and above Satoru's hips.

He sighs as he turns over to face you as you stare up at the ceiling. "You think they heard us?" He asks, voice low and intimate, yet a mischievous smirk that tells you he wouldn't care if they did, plays on his lips.

"Not sure. I guess we'll find out tomorrow." Now it's your turn to sigh. You don't even want to think about how weird breakfast might be in the morning.

"Hey," he calls for your attention. You turn onto your side to face him, keeping the blanket close to your body. "It's gonna be fine. What's the worst that could happen? They tease us or call us dumb?" You give him a soft smile. Normally, you're the one calling him dumb while the others agree. "Don't know about you, but I don't mind. They don't know the story, anyway. Right?"

"Right."

Time slowed down in that moment. You both just stared at each other in silence, thinking about what just happened. You were comfortable together, lying there, satisfied with your decisions. He pulled you closer by your blanket covered waist and pressed kisses into your cheek, enough to make you giggle until you started returning the kisses. To anybody, this would be considered a sight of two lovers taking care of each other after a night of intimacy. The whispered words, the quiet laughter between kisses, the gentle drags of fingers on harsh marks—it all points to love. You think things might be okay, after all.

It took a while for you and Satoru to untangle yourselves from each other. Eventually, he got up and dressed into everything but his messy boxers. You weren't going to get back into your dress so you laid back for a while and watched as he collected himself.

"Well... I'll see you in the morning." His hand is on the doorknob and he's looking at you, shamelessly raking his eyes over your body as if he's trying to memorize you all over again within the short span of his goodnight to you.

"Mhm. Goodnight."

He pulls the door open, still not detaching his gaze from you. "Goodnight," he says, his voice low, yet warm and brimming with love. He spares one more soft smile for you, before walking out and clicking the door shut behind him.

You think you finally understand why he's so hung up on the way you say goodnight.

5K notes · View notes

pucksandpower · 7 days

Text

Paddock Princess

Formula 1 (literally half the grid) x Vettel!Reader

Summary: when the drivers find out that you’re planning to have a baby all by yourself, they offer to help out by playing sperm roulette … the results are surprisingly wholesome

The buzz of excitement fills the air as the paddock comes to life on a sunny morning. Drivers, team personnel, and media representatives mill about, but there’s a palpable sense of anticipation among a particular group of racers gathered near the Ferrari motorhome.

Max leans against the sleek red structure, his eyes darting around nervously. “Has anyone seen her yet?” He asks, his voice tinged with a mix of excitement and anxiety.

Charles shakes his head, running a hand through his tousled hair. “Not yet. But she should be here soon, right?”

“I still can’t believe we’re doing this,” Lando chimes in, bouncing on his toes. “It’s like something out of a movie.”

Carlos nods in agreement, a grin spreading across his face. “A very strange movie, but I’m here for it.”

George glances at his watch, his brow furrowed. “She’s usually here by now. You don’t think she’s having second thoughts, do you?”

“No way,” Oscar says confidently. “You know her. Once she sets her mind to something, that’s it.”

Lewis, standing slightly apart from the younger drivers, offers a reassuring smile. “Oscar’s right. She’s one of the most determined people I know. If this is what she wants, she’ll see it through.”

Logan, the newest addition to the group, shifts nervously. “I still can’t believe you guys talked me into this. My mom would freak if she knew.”

Alex pats him on the shoulder. “Relax, mate. It’s all anonymous, remember? Besides, think of how happy she’ll be.”

Fernando, leaning against a nearby barrier, nods sagely. “Exactly. We’re doing this for her, because she deserves it.”

Lance, who’s been quiet until now, suddenly straightens up. “Heads up, guys. I think I see her coming.”

The group falls silent as you approach, your press pass swinging from your neck and a warm smile on your face. “Morning, boys,” you greet them cheerfully. “Why do you all look like you’re up to something?”

Max clears his throat, trying to sound casual. “Us? Never. Just, uh, enjoying the nice weather.”

You raise an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. “Uh-huh. And I suppose you’re all gathered here by pure coincidence?”

Charles steps forward, his charm on full display. “Can’t we just be happy to see our favorite reporter?”

You laugh, the sound lightening the mood. “Alright, alright. I’ll play along. But seriously, what’s going on? You’re all acting weird.”

The drivers exchange glances, silently debating who should speak first. Finally, Lewis takes the lead.

“We heard about your decision,” he says gently. “About wanting to have a baby.”

Your eyes widen in surprise. “Oh. I didn’t realize ... I mean, I only told a couple of people.”

Lando grins sheepishly. “Word travels fast in the paddock. Especially when it’s about you.”

You look around at the group, a mix of emotions playing across your face. “Okay, so you know. But that doesn’t explain why you’re all acting like you’re planning a heist.”

Carlos steps forward, his expression earnest. “We want to help.”

You blink, confusion evident in your eyes. “Help? How?”

George takes a deep breath before plunging in. “We’ve all agreed to donate sperm. To give you options, you know?”

Your jaw drops, and for a moment, you’re speechless. “You ... what?”

Oscar jumps in, his words tumbling out in a rush. “We know you said you were thinking about using a sperm bank, but we thought, well, why not use someone you actually know?”

“And trust,” Alex adds quickly.

You look around at the group, your expression a mix of shock, confusion, and something that might be amusement. “Let me get this straight. All of you,” you gesture at the assembled drivers, “want to donate sperm so I can have a baby?”

They nod in unison, and you can’t help but laugh. “This is ... I don’t even know what to say. It’s incredibly sweet, but also completely insane.”

Fernando steps forward, his expression serious. “We know it’s unconventional. But you’re important to all of us. We want to support you in any way we can.”

You shake your head, still trying to process the situation. “I appreciate that, truly. But guys, this is a huge decision. It’s not just about me having a baby. One of you would be a father.”

Max nods, his face set in determination. “We’ve thought about that. A lot, actually.”

“And we’re okay with it,” Lando adds. “Whatever level of involvement you want, we’ll respect that.”

You look at them, your eyes narrowing slightly. “Wait a minute. How exactly would this work? I can’t exactly pick one of you. That would be ...”

“Awkward,” Lance finishes for you. “We know. That’s why we came up with a plan.”

Logan, who’s been quiet until now, speaks up. “We’d all donate, and then the clinic would mix the samples together.”

Your eyebrows shoot up. “So it would be like ... artificial insemination roulette?”

Carlos grins. “Exactly! That way, no one knows who the father is. It could be any of us.”

You shake your head, a disbelieving laugh escaping you. “This is absolutely crazy. You know that, right?”

Lewis steps closer, his expression gentle. “Maybe. But we all care about you. We want you to be happy, and we know how much you want this.”

You look around at the group, taking in their earnest expressions. “I don’t know what to say. This is ... a lot to process.”

George nods understandingly. “Of course it is. We don’t expect you to decide right now. Just ... think about it, okay?”

You nod slowly, still looking a bit dazed. “Okay. I’ll think about it. But guys, this is a huge thing you’re offering. Are you sure you’ve really thought it through?”

Alex speaks up, his voice calm and reassuring. “We have. We’ve talked about it a lot, actually. We know it’s not a decision to make lightly.”

“But we’re all in agreement,” Oscar adds. “If this is what you want, we want to help make it happen.”

You take a deep breath, looking around at the group. “I need some time to think about this. It’s ... a lot to take in.”

Max nods, reaching out to squeeze your shoulder gently. “Take all the time you need. We’re not going anywhere.”

As you turn to walk away, still looking a bit shell-shocked, the drivers watch you go with a mix of hope and anxiety.

“Do you think she’ll go for it?” Lando asks, nervously fidgeting with his sleeve.

Charles shrugs, his eyes still following your retreating figure. “I don’t know. It’s a big decision.”

“We’ve done our part,” Fernando says sagely. “Now it’s up to her.”

The group falls into a contemplative silence, each lost in their own thoughts about the potential consequences of their offer.

Several days pass, and the paddock is abuzz with speculation. The drivers have managed to keep their offer under wraps, but your contemplative mood hasn’t gone unnoticed.

You find yourself cornered by the group once again, this time in a quiet corner of the paddock after qualifying.

“So,” Max says, trying to sound casual and failing miserably. “Have you, uh, given any thought to our offer?”

You look around at the expectant faces surrounding you and take a deep breath. “I have, actually. I’ve thought about little else, to be honest.”

The tension in the air is palpable as they wait for your decision.

“I’m still not sure this is the right thing to do,” you begin, and you can see their faces fall. “But ... I can’t deny that the idea has a certain appeal.”

Hope blossoms in their expressions, and you can’t help but smile at their eagerness.

“Before I say yes,” you continue, holding up a hand to stave off their excitement, “I need to know that you’ve all really thought this through. This isn’t just about me having a baby. One of you will be a father, even if we don’t know which one.”

Lewis nods solemnly. “We understand. We’ve talked about it a lot, believe me.”

“And you’re all okay with the possibility of having a child out there that you might never know is yours?” You press.

They exchange glances before nodding in unison.

“We know it’s not a conventional situation,” Charles says. “But we’re all willing to accept whatever comes of this.”

You look at each of them in turn, searching their faces for any sign of doubt. Finding none, you take a deep breath.

“Okay,” you say finally. “If you’re all sure about this ... then yes. I’d be honored to accept your offer.”

The reaction is immediate and overwhelming. Cheers erupt from the group, and before you know it, you’re engulfed in a group hug.

“This is going to be amazing,” Lando exclaims, his face lit up with excitement.

“You’re going to be an incredible mother,” Alex adds, his smile warm and sincere.

As the excitement dies down, practical considerations start to surface.

“So, how do we do this?” Oscar asks. “Do we all just show up at the clinic or ...”

You can’t help but laugh at the mental image. “I think it might be best if we handle this discreetly. I’ll talk to the clinic and set everything up. They can give you instructions on how to make your ... contributions.”

George nods, looking relieved. “That sounds like a good plan. We don’t want this getting out to the media.”

“Agreed,” you say firmly. “This stays between us. No one else needs to know the details.”

The group nods in agreement, and you feel a wave of affection for these men who are willing to go to such lengths for you.

“I can’t believe this is really happening,” you say, shaking your head in wonder.

Fernando smiles, his eyes twinkling. “Believe it. In a few months, you could be on your way to motherhood.”

The reality of the situation starts to sink in, and you feel a mix of excitement and nerves. “This is going to change everything, isn’t it?”

“Change can be good,” Carlos says, giving you a reassuring smile. “And you won’t be alone. We’ll all be here to support you.”

You look around at the group, feeling overwhelmed by their support and affection. “Thank you. All of you. I don’t know how I’ll ever repay you for this.”

Max grins, lightening the mood. “Well, naming the kid after me would be a good start.”

The group erupts in laughter, and you roll your eyes good-naturedly. “Nice try, Verstappen. But I think we’ll be steering clear of any names that might give away paternity.”

As the laughter dies down, a comfortable silence falls over the group. The magnitude of what you’ve all agreed to hangs in the air, but it’s accompanied by a sense of excitement and possibility.

“So,” Lance says, breaking the silence. “I guess the next step is to set up appointments at the clinic?”

You nod, feeling a flutter of nervous excitement in your stomach. “Yeah, I’ll get that sorted out and let you all know the details.”

“And then ...” Logan trails off, looking a bit overwhelmed.

“And then we wait,” Lewis finishes for him. “And hope for the best.”

You look around at the group of men surrounding you, each one ready to potentially become a father for your sake. It’s an unconventional situation, to say the least, but as you take in their supportive smiles and excited eyes, you can’t help but feel that you’re embarking on something truly special.

“Well, boys,” you say, a smile spreading across your face. “I guess we’re really doing this. Let Operation Make A Baby commence.”

***

The hospital waiting room crackles with nervous energy as eleven Formula 1 drivers pace, fidget, and attempt to distract themselves. The air is thick with anticipation, and every time the door opens, heads snap up in unison, hoping for news.

Max runs a hand through his hair for the hundredth time. “How long has it been now?�� He asks, his voice tight with tension.

George checks his watch. “About six hours since we got here. But labor can take a while, especially for first-time mothers.”

“I still can’t believe this is really happening,” Lando says, his leg bouncing incessantly. “One of us is about to become a father.”

Charles nods, his eyes fixed on the door. “It’s surreal. I keep thinking I’m going to wake up and find out this was all a dream.”

“Not a dream, mate,” Alex says, patting Charles on the shoulder. “Very much real.”

The door swings open, and a nurse steps out. The drivers collectively hold their breath, but she merely smiles apologetically and heads down the hallway.

Carlos groans. “This waiting is killing me. How are we supposed to just sit here?”

“We could place bets on who the father is,” Logan suggests with a nervous laugh.

Lewis shakes his head, a small smile on his face. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. We agreed we wouldn’t try to figure it out, remember?”

“Lewis is right,” Fernando says sagely. “What matters is that the baby and the mother are healthy.”

Oscar nods in agreement. “Exactly. We’re all in this together, regardless of biology.”

Lance, who’s been quietly observing until now, speaks up. “Do you think she’s scared? I mean, we’re all nervous wrecks out here, and we’re not the ones giving birth.”

The group falls silent, contemplating Lance’s words. It’s a sobering thought, reminding them of the magnitude of what’s happening just beyond those doors.

“She’s strong,” Max says finally, his voice filled with admiration. “Stronger than all of us put together. She’ll be fine.”

As if on cue, the door swings open again, and this time, a doctor steps out. The drivers scramble to their feet, forming a semicircle around her.

“Gentlemen,” the doctor says, a smile playing at her lips. “I’m happy to inform you that both mother and baby are doing well. It’s a healthy baby girl.”

A collective cheer erupts from the group, followed by a flurry of hugs and backslaps. The tension that’s been building for hours finally breaks, replaced by jubilant relief.

“When can we see them?” Charles asks eagerly.

The doctor holds up a hand. “The mother is resting now, but she’s asked to see you all in about an hour. She wants you to meet the baby together.”

As the doctor leaves, the drivers look at each other, a mix of excitement and nerves on their faces.

“A girl,” Lando says, a goofy grin spreading across his face. “We have a daughter.”

“She has a daughter,” Lewis gently corrects. “We’re ... well, I’m not sure what we are exactly.”

“We’re family,” Fernando says firmly. “All of us and the little one.”

The next hour passes in a blur of excited chatter and speculation. Finally, a nurse appears to escort them to the private room where you and the baby are waiting.

As they file into the room, the sight that greets them renders them momentarily speechless. You’re propped up in the bed, looking tired but radiant, cradling a tiny bundle wrapped in a soft pink blanket.

You look up as they enter, a soft smile on your face. “Hey, guys. Come meet your daughter.”

The drivers approach cautiously, as if afraid they might break the spell. You adjust the blanket, revealing a tiny face with rosebud lips and a button nose.

“She’s beautiful,” Max breathes, his eyes wide with wonder.

“She’s perfect,” Charles adds, his voice choked with emotion.

You beam at them, your eyes shining. “Want to hold her?”

After a moment of hesitation, Lewis steps forward. With practiced ease, he gently takes the baby from you, cradling her carefully in his arms.

“Hello, little one,” he coos softly. “Welcome to the world.”

The other drivers crowd around, each wanting a closer look. As Lewis passes the baby to Carlos, the scrutiny intensifies.

“Is it just me, or does she have Max’s nose?” Lando asks, peering closely at the tiny face.

Max leans in, his brow furrowed. “I don’t see it. But those ears ... they look like yours, Lando.”

You can’t help but laugh. “Boys, she’s about one hour old. I think it’s a bit early to be playing guess the father, don’t you?”

The drivers have the grace to look sheepish, but their curiosity is far from satisfied.

As the baby is passed from driver to driver, the observations continue.

“She has a strong grip,” Alex notes as tiny fingers wrap around his thumb. “Definitely going to be a racer.”

“Look at those long eyelashes,” Oscar marvels. “Those have to be from Charles.”

Charles preens a bit at this, while the others roll their eyes good-naturedly.

When it’s Fernando’s turn to hold the baby, he studies her with a thoughtful expression. “You know,” he says slowly, “I think she has your smile.”

You raise an eyebrow. “She hasn’t even smiled yet.”

He shakes his head, a mysterious smile on his face. “Trust me. I can tell.”

As the baby makes her way back to you, the drivers settle into chairs around the room, their eyes never leaving the tiny bundle.

“So,” George says, breaking the comfortable silence. “Have you thought about names?”

You nod, looking down at your daughter. “I have, actually. I was thinking ... Nessa. It means miracle. I thought it was fitting, given how she came into our lives.”

“Nessa,” Logan repeats, testing the name. “I like it. It’s beautiful.”

The others murmur their agreement, and you feel a wave of relief. Naming a baby is hard enough without having to consider the opinions of eleven potential fathers.

“Nessa it is, then,” you say, smiling down at the sleeping infant.

Lance, who’s been quiet until now, speaks up. “Can I ask ... how are you feeling? About all of this, I mean.”

You take a moment to consider the question. “Honestly? I’m overwhelmed. Excited, terrified, grateful ... all at once. But mostly, I’m just in awe. Of her, of this whole situation, of all of you.”

The drivers exchange glances, a mix of emotions playing across their faces.

“We’re the ones who should be in awe of you,” Carlos says softly. “You’ve given us an incredible gift.”

“He’s right,” Max adds. “No matter which one of us is her biological father, we’re all going to love her. And you.”

You feel tears prickling at the corners of your eyes. “Thank you. All of you. I couldn’t have done this without you.”

As if sensing the emotional moment, Nessa chooses that moment to wake up, her tiny face scrunching up as she lets out a wail.

“Oh boy,” Lando says, his eyes wide. “That’s quite a set of lungs she’s got there.”

You laugh, adjusting Nessa in your arms. “Well, she is a paddock baby. Got to make herself heard over those engines somehow.”

As you soothe the baby, the drivers watch in fascination. It’s clear that despite their earlier bravado, the reality of a newborn is a bit daunting.

“So, uh, what happens now?” Oscar asks, voicing the question on everyone’s mind.

You look up from Nessa, who’s settled back into sleep. “Well, we’ll be here for a couple more days. After that ... I guess we figure it out as we go along.”

Lewis nods thoughtfully. “We’ll need to work out a schedule. Make sure you have support, especially during race weekends.”

“And we’ll need to baby-proof our garages,” Alex adds. “Can’t have her crawling into a stack of tires.”

The conversation turns to practical matters — childcare arrangements, safety considerations, and how to balance their racing careers with their new roles as ... well, whatever they are to Nessa.

As they talk, you can’t help but marvel at the scene. Eleven of the world’s most elite drivers, discussing diaper brands and the merits of various baby carriers with the same intensity they usually reserve for tire strategies and aerodynamics.

“You know,” you say, interrupting a heated debate about the best brand of baby formula, “I think Nessa might be the luckiest baby in the world.”

The drivers pause, looking at you quizzically.

You smile, looking around at each of them. “She’s got eleven of the most dedicated, passionate, and competitive men in the world looking out for her. Plus, she’s guaranteed to have the coolest bring your parent to school day ever.”

The room erupts in laughter, the tension of the day finally breaking.

“Just wait until she’s old enough to drive,” Max says with a grin. “We’ll have her in a kart before she can walk.”

“Oh no,” you groan, though you’re smiling. “I’ve created a monster, haven’t I?”

“Eleven monsters,” Charles corrects with a wink. “Don’t forget, we’re all in this together.”

As the laughter dies down, a comfortable silence falls over the room. Nessa sleeps peacefully in your arms, blissfully unaware of the extraordinary circumstances of her birth and the unique family she’s been born into.

Fernando breaks the silence. “You know,” he says thoughtfully, “in many ways, this little one embodies the spirit of Formula 1.”

The others look at him curiously, waiting for him to elaborate.

“Think about it,” he continues. “She’s the product of competition, of pushing boundaries, of taking risks. But she’s also about teamwork, about coming together for a common goal. Just like us on the track.”

The drivers nod, considering Fernando’s words.

“Plus,” Logan adds with a grin, “she’s already got a better sleep schedule than most of us during a race weekend.”

Another round of laughter fills the room, and you feel a surge of affection for these men who have become so much more than colleagues or even friends.

As visiting hours come to an end and the nurses start to shoo the drivers out, there’s a reluctance to leave. Each of them takes a moment to say goodbye to Nessa, promising to return soon.

Before they go, Lewis gathers everyone into a tight circle around your bed.

“I think we need to make a pact,” he says solemnly. “No matter what happens, no matter how our careers go or how life changes, we stick together for Nessa. She’s part of all of us now.”

The drivers nod in agreement, their faces serious.

“For Nessa,” Max says, placing his hand in the center of the circle.

One by one, the others follow suit, until all eleven hands are stacked together.

“For Nessa,” they chorus, and in that moment, you know that whatever challenges lie ahead, you and your daughter will never face them alone.

As the drivers file out, casting longing glances back at the sleeping baby, you settle back against your pillows, exhausted but content.

Looking down at Nessa’s peaceful face, you whisper, “Welcome to the world, little one. You’ve got quite the adventure ahead of you.”

And as you drift off to sleep, you can’t help but smile at the thought of the unconventional but loving family waiting just outside those hospital doors, ready to take on the world for the tiny girl in your arms.

***

The paddock rushes with activity as teams prepare for the upcoming race weekend. But between the usual hustle and bustle, an unusual sight catches everyone’s attention: you, pushing a stroller with a now six-month-old Nessa, surrounded by a protective circle of drivers.

Max hovers close, his eyes darting around warily. “Are you sure this was a good idea? Bringing her to the track?”

You laugh, adjusting Nessa’s sun hat. “Max, she’s been coming to races since she was born. This is nothing new.”

“Yeah, but now she’s old enough to attract attention,” Charles points out, cooing at Nessa as she gurgles happily.

Lando nods in agreement. “People are starting to ask questions. Did you see that article in Autosport last week?”

You sigh, remembering the speculative piece about Nessa’s parentage. “I saw it. But we knew this day would come eventually.”

As the group makes their way through the paddock, heads turn and whispers follow. The sight of eleven of the world’s top drivers fawning over one baby is certainly not an everyday occurrence.

Carlos leans in, speaking softly. “Maybe we should have come up with a cover story. You know, pick one of us to pretend to be the father.”

George shakes his head. “No, we agreed from the start — no lies. We’re all in this together, remember?”

“Easier said than done,” Logan mutters, noticing a group of journalists eyeing them curiously.

As they approach the Mercedes garage, Lewis spots a familiar face and freezes. “Uh, guys? We might have a problem.”

The others follow his gaze to see your older brother, striding purposefully towards the group. His expression is a mix of confusion and growing anger.

“Seb!” You exclaim, trying to sound casual. “What are you doing here? I thought you were in Switzerland.”

Sebastian ignores your greeting, his eyes narrowing as he takes in the scene before him. “What’s going on here?” He demands, his gaze sweeping over the assembled drivers.

The group exchanges nervous glances, each silently hoping someone else will take the lead.

Finally, Fernando steps forward, ever the diplomat. “Sebastian, my friend. It’s good to see you. Perhaps we could discuss this somewhere more private?”

But Sebastian is having none of it. His eyes lock onto Lewis, who instinctively takes a step back. “Lewis?” He says, his voice dangerously quiet. “Care to explain why you and half the grid are hovering around my sister and a baby?”

Lewis swallows hard, looking to the others for support. Finding none, he takes a deep breath. “Seb, it’s not what you think. Well, it is, but also it isn’t. You see-”

“Lewis?” Sebastian explodes, his face reddening. “I thought better of you!”

The outburst draws even more attention, and you can see team personnel and journalists alike straining to hear what’s happening.

Lewis, caught off guard by Sebastian’s reaction, blurts out, “In my defense, I thought I would get to fuck her!”

A collective gasp goes up from the group, and you bury your face in your hands, mortified.

Sebastian’s eyes widen in shock and fury. “Tha- what? How would that make it better?”

Realizing his mistake, Lewis backpedals frantically. “No, no, that came out wrong! I didn’t mean-”

But Sebastian is beyond listening. He lunges forward, only to be held back by Alex and Oscar.

“Let me go!” Sebastian growls, struggling against their grip. “I’m going to kill him!”

Nessa, startled by the commotion, begins to cry. The sound seems to snap everyone back to reality.

“Enough!” You shout, your voice cutting through the chaos. “All of you, into the motorhome. Now!”

Chastened, the drivers file into the nearby Red Bull motorhome, with Alex and Oscar still keeping a firm grip on Sebastian. You follow, pushing Nessa’s stroller and trying to soothe her.

Once inside, with the door firmly closed against prying eyes and ears, you turn to face the group. Sebastian stands at one end, still glaring daggers at Lewis, who’s wisely put Max and Charles between them.

“Alright,” you say, your voice tight with frustration. “I guess it’s time we explained everything.”

Over the next hour, you and the drivers take turns recounting the story — from your decision to have a baby, to their unconventional offer, to Nessa’s birth and the months since. Sebastian listens in stunned silence, his expression cycling through disbelief, confusion, and finally, grudging understanding.

When the tale is finished, Sebastian slumps into a chair, running a hand over his face. “So let me get this straight,” he says slowly. “You,” he points at you, “decided to have a baby on your own. And you lot,” he gestures at the drivers, “thought the best solution was to play some kind of ... paternity lottery?”

Lance nods hesitantly. “When you put it like that, it does sound a bit mad.”

“A bit?” Sebastian laughs incredulously. “It’s completely insane!”

“But it worked,” Carlos points out, gently rocking Nessa, who has calmed down and is now contentedly chewing on his finger. “Look at her, Seb. She’s perfect.”

Sebastian’s expression softens as he looks at his niece. “She is beautiful,” he admits. Then, turning back to the group, he adds sternly, “But that doesn’t excuse the fact that you all took advantage of my sister!”

“They didn’t take advantage of me,” you interject firmly. “This was my choice. They were just ... supporting me.”

“By offering to impregnate you?” Sebastian retorts, his protective big brother instincts in full force.

George steps forward, his expression earnest. “Sebastian, I know how this looks. But we care about your sister. All of us. We just wanted to help make her dream come true.”

“And create the world’s most confusing family tree in the process,” Logan mutters, earning a sharp elbow from Lando.

Sebastian sighs, looking around at the assembled drivers. “I still can’t believe you all agreed to this. Do you have any idea what you’re getting into? The media frenzy when this gets out?”

Fernando shrugs philosophically. “Life is full of challenges. This is just another one.”

“Easy for you to say,” Max grumbles. “You’re basically past retirement age. Some of us still have our whole careers ahead of us.”

The room falls silent as the reality of their situation sinks in. The secret they’ve managed to keep for over a year is on the verge of exploding into the public eye.

“So what do we do now?” Oscar asks, voicing the question on everyone’s mind.

You look down at Nessa, who’s drifted off to sleep in Carlos’ arms, blissfully unaware of the storm brewing around her. “We tell the truth,” you say firmly. “Or at least, as much of it as we’re comfortable sharing.”

Sebastian raises an eyebrow. “And what exactly does that mean?”

Lewis, who’s been uncharacteristically quiet since his earlier outburst, speaks up. “We could say that we all agreed to help you have a child, but keep the details private. No need to mention the ... um, method.”

“You mean the part where you thought you would get to fuck her?” Sebastian growls, causing Lewis to wince.

“I really am sorry about that,” Lewis says sheepishly. “It came out all wrong.”

You shake your head, exasperated. “Focus, boys. We need a plan.”

Over the next hour, the group hashes out a strategy. They decide to release a joint statement explaining that you had chosen to become a single mother, and that the drivers, as your close friends, had offered their support. The exact nature of that support would remain private.

As they finalize the details, Sebastian watches the interactions with growing amazement. The way the drivers instinctively work together, finishing each other’s sentences and anticipating potential issues, speaks to a bond that goes beyond mere friendship or even shared paternity.

“You know,” he says finally, interrupting a debate about whether to use the phrase ‘unconventional family’ in their statement, “I think I owe you all an apology.”

The room falls silent, all eyes turning to Sebastian.

He continues, his voice softer now. “I reacted badly earlier. But seeing you all now, how you’ve come together for my sister and for Nessa ... it’s actually kind of beautiful.”

You feel tears pricking at your eyes as you move to hug your brother. “Thank you, Seb. That means a lot.”

As you pull away, Sebastian turns to address the group. “But let me make one thing clear,” he says, his tone becoming stern once more. “If any of you ever hurt my sister or my niece, you’ll have me to answer to. Understood?”

The drivers nod solemnly, a mixture of respect and residual fear in their eyes.

“Good,” Sebastian says, a small smile finally breaking through. “Now, who’s going to let me hold my niece?”

As Carlos carefully transfers the sleeping Nessa to Sebastian’s arms, the tension in the room finally dissipates. Watching your brother coo over your daughter, surrounded by the unconventional family you’ve built, you feel a sense of peace wash over you.

“Well,” Lando says, breaking the moment, “I guess the hardest part’s over. Now we just have to explain this to the rest of the world.”

Alex laughs, shaking his head. “Mate, I think that might actually be the easy part. It’s raising her that’s going to be the real challenge.”

As the group dissolves into laughter, discussing potential future scenarios (“Who’s going to teach her to drive?” “All of us, obviously!” “God help us all.”), you can’t help but marvel at the strange and wonderful turn your life has taken.

Looking around at the men who have become so much more than colleagues or friends — who have become family in the truest sense of the word — you know that whatever challenges lie ahead, you’ll face them together. And really, with a support system like this, how can you possibly fail?

As the laughter and chatter continue around you, Nessa stirs in Sebastian’s arms, her tiny hand reaching out. Without hesitation, eleven hands reach back, each driver gently touching a finger or offering a thumb for her to grasp.

In that moment, watching the most competitive men in motorsport melt over one tiny girl, you know that no matter what the future holds, Nessa will never lack for love, support, or, undoubtedly, speed.

***

The sun beats down on the jam-packed karting track, the air thick with the scent of fuel and the buzz of excitement. Amid the crowd of nervous parents and eager young racers, one group stands out: eleven men, a mix of current and former Formula 1 drivers, clustered around a small kart where an eight-year-old girl sits, her hair pulled back in a tight ponytail and her face a mask of determination.

“Remember, Nessa,” Max says, kneeling beside the kart to look the girl in the eye, “smooth on the throttle, late on the brakes.”

Charles leans in from the other side. “But not too late, mon chou. You don’t want to lock up in the corners.”

“And watch your lines,” Lewis adds, adjusting Nessa’s helmet. “The racing line isn’t always the optimal when you’re being pressured.”

Nessa nods solemnly, taking in every word. “I know, I know. We’ve been over this a million times.”

Lando grins, ruffling her hair. “That’s our girl. You’ve got this, kiddo.”

Around them, other parents and children stare in disbelief. Whispers ripple through the crowd as people recognize the famous faces surrounding the young racer.

“Is that really Lewis Hamilton?” One mother hisses to her husband.

“And Max Verstappen!” The man replies, his eyes wide. “What are they doing here?”

A nearby father shakes his head in amazement. “I heard rumors about that kid, but I didn’t believe them. How can she have so many ... well, fathers?”

Meanwhile, you stand slightly apart from the group, watching the scene with a mix of pride and amusement. Your brother sidles up beside you.

“You know,” he says with a wry smile, “when I imagined my niece’s first race, I didn’t quite picture this circus.”

You laugh, nudging him with your elbow. “Oh come on, you love it. Besides, you’re just as bad as the rest of them.”

As if to prove your point, Sebastian’s eyes narrow as he spots Carlos making a last-minute adjustment to Nessa’s kart. “Hey!” He calls out, striding over. “What are you doing to her suspension?”

Carlos looks up, startled. “Just a small tweak. The track’s a bit bumpy on turn three.”

“It’s fine as it is,” George interjects, crouching down to inspect the kart. “Any softer and she’ll lose responsiveness in the chicane.”

“Actually,” Fernando chimes in, “a slight adjustment might help. But not too much, Carlos.”

As the debate over suspension settings intensifies, Alex notices Nessa’s growing nervousness. He kneels beside her, speaking softly. “Hey, little racer. How are you feeling?”

Nessa bites her lip, her eyes darting between her arguing fathers and the other young racers preparing for the race. “What if I let them down?” She whispers. “They’re all so excited.”

Alex’s expression softens. “Oh, Nessa. You could never let us down. We’re proud of you no matter what happens out there.”

“He’s right,” Oscar adds, overhearing the conversation. “We’re here because we love you, not because we expect you to win.”

“Although winning would be nice,” Logan quips, earning a chorus of groans and eye-rolls from the others.

“What Logan means,” Lance says, shooting a glare at his fellow driver, “is that we want you to do your best and, most importantly, have fun.”

Nessa nods, a small smile finally breaking through her nervous expression. “Okay. I’ll try.”

As the call comes for racers to take their positions, the group reluctantly steps back, allowing Nessa to maneuver her kart to the starting line. You move forward, leaning in to give your daughter a quick kiss on the cheek.

“Remember,” you say softly, “you’re amazing, no matter what happens out there. And we love you more than anything.”

Nessa beams at you, her earlier nerves seeming to melt away. “I love you too. And all my dads,” she adds with a giggle, looking at the assembled drivers.

As you step back to join the others, the atmosphere around you changes. The playful bickering and nervous energy give way to a focused intensity that you recognize from countless race weekends. Eleven pairs of eyes are locked on the small figure in the pink and white kart, second row on the starting grid.

The lights begin their sequence, and you can almost feel the collective intake of breath from the men around you. Green! The karts surge forward, and Nessa makes a good start, holding her position into the first corner.

“That’s it, ma princesse!” Charles cheers, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. “Hold your line!”

“Watch your inside on turn two,” Max mutters, as if Nessa could hear him. “There’s space if you need it.”

As the race progresses, the commentary from the drivers becomes a constant stream, analyzing every move, every overtake, every defensive maneuver. Other parents cast bewildered glances their way, clearly overwhelmed by the level of scrutiny being applied to what they had assumed would be a casual children’s race.

Midway through the race, Nessa makes a bold move, diving down the inside of the leader into a tight hairpin. The karts touch slightly, and for a heart-stopping moment, it looks like both might spin.

“Steady!” Lewis calls out, his body tensing as if he could somehow influence the outcome through sheer will.

But Nessa manages to control the kart, emerging from the corner in the lead as the other driver runs wide.

The group erupts in cheers, their earlier promises of “it’s not about winning” seemingly forgotten in the heat of the moment.

“Did you see that move?” Lando exclaims, practically bouncing with excitement. “That was pure Norris!”

“Excuse me,” Charles interjects, a proud grin on his face, “I think you mean pure Leclerc. That finesse under pressure? All Ferrari.”

“Oh please,” George scoffs good-naturedly. “That was clearly a Russell special. Calculated risk with perfect execution.”

As the friendly argument over whose racing style Nessa has inherited continues, Sebastian leans in close to you. “You know,” he says, his voice a mix of amusement and resignation, “I’m starting to think we created a monster.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “Oh, we definitely did. But look how happy they all are.”

Indeed, as you watch the men who have become your family over the past eight years, you’re struck by the pure joy radiating from them. Their focus is entirely on Nessa, their own achievements and rivalries forgotten in their shared pride for this little girl who has somehow become the center of their world.

As the final lap approaches, Nessa is still in the lead, but with another driver close on her tail. The tension among the group reaches fever pitch.

“Come on, Nessa,” Fernando murmurs, his eyes never leaving the track. “You’ve got this. Stay focused.”

“Defend the inside line,” Carlos advises, as if she could hear him. “Don’t give them any space.”

The last corner approaches, and the second-place kart makes a desperate lunge for the inside line. For a moment, it looks like Nessa might be overtaken at the last second.

“No, no, no,” Alex mutters, his hands clenched into fists.

But Nessa holds her nerve, taking a slightly wider line and using her momentum to slingshot out of the corner and across the finish line, just ahead of her rival.

The eruption of cheers from the group of F1 drivers drowns out even the sound of the karts. They jump, hug each other, and pump their fists in the air as if Nessa had just won the World Drivers’ Championship.

As Nessa brings her kart to a stop in the pit area, she’s immediately surrounded by her fathers, each clamoring to be the first to congratulate her.

“That was incredible, little love!” Lewis exclaims, helping her out of the kart.

“You drove like a champion,” Max adds, his face split by an enormous grin.

“I’m so proud of you, mon petit champion,” Charles says, pulling her into a tight hug.

The other parents watch in amazement as Nessa is passed from one racing legend to another, each offering praise, analysis, and suggestions for improvement in equal measure.

“I can’t believe what I’m seeing,” one father mutters to his wife. “How is this fair? That kid has a whole F1 pit crew!”

His wife shushes him, but nods in agreement, her eyes wide as she watches the scene unfold.

Meanwhile, you make your way through the crowd of excited drivers to reach your daughter. As you approach, the men part to let you through, their chatter dying down.

You kneel in front of Nessa, taking in her flushed cheeks and bright eyes. “How do you feel, sweetheart?” You ask softly.

Nessa’s face breaks into a wide grin. “That was amazing! Did you see when I overtook on the hairpin? And the last corner, I thought for sure he was going to pass me, but I remembered what Papa Fernando said about late apexes, and it worked!”

You laugh, pulling her into a hug. “I saw it all, baby. You were incredible.”

As you release her, Nessa looks around at the circle of beaming faces surrounding her. “Did I make you proud?” She asks, a hint of her earlier nervousness returning.

“Proud doesn’t even begin to cover it,” Sebastian says, ruffling her hair affectionately.

“You exceeded all our expectations,” Fernando adds with a warm smile.

“And trust me,” Lando chimes in with a wink, “our expectations were pretty high to begin with.”

As Nessa basks in the praise and attention of her unconventional family, a race official approaches, looking slightly overwhelmed.

“Excuse me,” he says hesitantly, “but we need to do the podium ceremony now.”

The drivers reluctantly step back, allowing Nessa to follow the official to the makeshift podium. As she takes her place on the top step, her face beaming with pride, you find yourself surrounded by eleven grown men, each looking as proud as if they had just won a world championship themselves.

“You know,” Oscar says softly, his eyes never leaving Nessa as she receives her trophy, “I think we might be in trouble.”

“What do you mean?” You ask, turning to look at him.

He grins, a mixture of pride and mock fear in his eyes. “If she’s this good at eight, can you imagine what she’ll be like at eighteen? We might be out of jobs.”

The group chuckles, but there’s a note of truth in Oscar’s words. As you watch Nessa on the podium, her small hands raised in triumph, you can’t help but wonder what the future holds for this extraordinary little girl with her eleven F1 driver fathers.

But for now, as the sound of applause fills the air and you see the pure joy on Nessa’s face, you push those thoughts aside. There will be time enough for worrying about the future later. For now, you’re content to bask in this moment of triumph, surrounded by the most unconventional and wonderful family you could have ever imagined.

As Nessa runs back to the group, her trophy clutched tightly in her hands, she’s enveloped in a group hug that threatens to lift her off her feet. And in that moment, watching the pure love and pride radiating from these men who have given your daughter so much more than just their DNA, you know that no matter what challenges lie ahead, Nessa will always have the strongest support system imaginable.

After all, with her fathers in her corner, how can she possibly fail?

2K notes · View notes

oddinary4bts · 1 month

Text

Chasing Cars | ch 15 (jjk)

☆summary: when your brother goes to study on a semester abroad, your life collides with his best friend Jeon Jungkook, who's coincidentally your roommate. Will you survive the collision, or will you crumble into dust?

☆pairings: brother's best friend!Jungkook x younger sister!female reader

☆rating: 18+ (minors DNI, some chapters have mature content)

☆genre: forbidden love?au, college!au, slice of life!au, smut, angst (as usual a lot of it), fluff

☆warnings: cursing, mentions of taehyung getting slapped, alcohol, a haunted house (and a clown), fear of someone possibly committing the irreparable, confessions <3, explicit content: implied penetrative sex

☆word count: 7.4k

☆a/n: finally the end of the angst :') hope you guys enjoy <3 and thank you to @moonleeai for beta-ing, you're the best <3

☆series masterpost

☆add yourself to the taglist here!

☆☆☆☆☆

If I lay here If I just lay here Would you lie with me and just forget the world?

Chasing Cars, Snow Patrol

☆☆☆☆☆

Friday, October 11th

You don’t think you’ve slept. You’ve lied in bed all night, chasing the smell of Jungkook from last night on your sheets. You hoped he’d reappear, materialize here in this room where you and him always made sense, but he stays gone, and you stay alone.

Lonely, like the moon in the sky up above.

The morning is grey, colourless. The sun rises like it didn’t care about you and Jungkook, like its heart perhaps never imploded on itself. But yours has, the second you had to watch Jungkook walking out of the door.

He’d closed the door softly behind him, and you’d turned towards Taehyung. You’d seethed, “I fucking hate you”, through your teeth, and Taehyung had offered you a sad, apologetic stare.

“You’ll understand that this is the best for you,” he’d said, and you’d walked up to him and slapped him, hard enough for your hand to sting.

He’d taken it, barely even flinching, and as his cheek had reddened, you’d said, “You should have fucking stayed in Paris.”

And then you’d fled to your room, and he’d let you do it.

It was the first time you’ve ever slapped him - or anyone, for that matter - and you really hope it’ll be the last. Perhaps because it came from such ugly feelings, from heartbreak and betrayal and everything in between, and it raged through you only to leave a pathetic shrivelled shape behind.

You’d meant it last night - you miss Jungkook. And you miss him more than ever now, as you’re faced with the irreversibility of your falling out.

Ariane came back home after you’ve gone to bed last night. You heard her walking in, heard her speaking to Taehyung in the living room before the sounds faded as they moved to their room. And as you lied there, you’d wondered, why did Taehyung even come back home so early?

Why couldn’t he stay at the movie theatre long enough for you and Jungkook to fix your relationship? Long enough to have that much needed conversation, long enough so you’d never said that last night was a lapse of judgment?

You regretted the words the moment they were out. You don’t think you truly meant them - yesterday night was heaven on Earth, a step out of time to a past you were trying to move on from.

This morning, you know you’ll never be able to move on from Jungkook. Not when your feelings for him were strong enough to make you hate the one person who always cared for you, who always was there for you growing up.

Because with the grey light of dawn you realize that you do truly hate Taehyung. You don’t think you’ll be able to see him again without blowing up in his face, so you remain hidden in your room as he and Ariane get up. He doesn’t text you if you want breakfast, doesn’t say anything at all.

You think it’s a relief - you don’t have it in you to fight anymore.

Jungkook hasn’t texted you either. You’ve debated sending him a message for most of the night, but you haven’t figured out what. You reckon he might need space after last night, after the roller coaster of emotions that everything was, and so you think it might be okay if you haven’t texted him yet.

You rub the tiredness out of your eyes, sighing deeply as the sounds in the apartment fade when Taehyung and Ariane leave for their morning classes. You get out of bed then, putting on clothes before you head to the kitchen.

Taehyung left you a plate of eggs and bacon on the table, with a scribbled note next to it. I’m sorry is all that’s written, and you wonder if Ariane forced him to write it.

It’s unlike Taehyung to ever apologize for anything after all. You crumple the piece of paper, throw it out in the recycling bin, and then eat the food even though it’s gone cold since Taehyung left it there. It’s still food, and though your appetite doesn’t show up, you still manage to eat half of it.

You text Nabi that you won’t make it to class before heading back to your room, the heaviness of everything that happened in the last twelve hours catching up to you. You feel bone-deep exhausted, and you hide underneath the covers of your bed, tears pricking at your eyes.

It’s nothing new - you’ve been crying on and off since Jungkook left last night, and that, most of all, must have been the reason why sleep evaded you all night long.

You grab your phone, quickly moving to your text message app. You find Jungkook’s conversation, rereading his text from September.

[09/08/24] JK: hey.. do you want to talk?

You’d ignored it then, but today, you find yourself in his position. Find yourself writing a message similar to the one he’d sent, and you reread it a thousand times before you find the courage to press send.

[9:37 am] You: i’m sorry about what i said last night. can we talk?

Anxiety flushes through you as the message delivers. It’s adrenaline in your blood, and you remain on the conversation for five minutes, hoping Jungkook might reply right away.

He doesn’t. As a matter of fact, he doesn’t reply all morning, and you busy yourself by going back to the dorms, not wanting to stay at the apartment knowing that Taehyung is going to come back eventually.

You find the dorm room to be empty, which you reckon is a relief. You don’t think you’d have the strength to see anyone right now, not when the exhaustion is almost enough to make you crumple on yourself.

You end up taking a nap for most of the afternoon, waking up drenched in sweat from a nightmare you forget the second your eyes open.

Perhaps the presence of Nabi and Ria, sitting on Ria’s bed next to you, contributes to your forgetfulness after all.

“Morning,” Ria teases.

You frown, shutting your eyes again as you hide your face in Nabi’s pillow. “Morning,” you mumble in reply.

“Why’d you miss class this morning?” Nabi asks.

You let out a noncommittal sound.

The mattress dips next to you as someone sits there. “What’s wrong?” Ria asks.

The tears are spilling over a second later, and you tell them everything. You tell them how your conversation with Ria yesterday inspired you to do the same thing with Jungkook, but that you never got the chance to tell him how you feel. You tell them about Taehyung, about Jungkook leaving without a single look back. You tell them about the text that sits unanswered on your phone, and you tell them you’re tired, oh so tired.

Ria runs a soothing hand on your back through it all, while Nabi says she’ll go buy ice cream. You sit with Ria in silence for a while, before glancing at her.

“I hope things went better between you and Seokjin,” you say, voice rough from all the crying you’ve done.

She offers you an apologetic smile. “It did. But we don’t have to speak about it right now.”

You take a deep breath, wiping your cheeks dry even though you haven’t shed a tear in a few minutes. “No,” you say after. “Tell me everything. I just need to stop thinking about Jungkook for a while.”

There’s a knock on the door, startling the two of you. Ria throws you a quizzical look and then gets up to open the door.

Yoongi’s on the other side, a six-pack of beer in hands. “Nabi said to meet you guys here,” he says to Ria, then looks behind her to see you sitting on the bed. You must look like hell, because he lets out, “Shit.”

It makes you laugh, and then you pat the bed next to you. “No clue if beer mixes well with ice cream, but come here.”

Yoongi grins, and then he walks in, kicking off his shoes. Turns out beer does not mix well with ice cream, as you find out half an hour later when Nabi’s returned with a one-liter tub of vanilla ice cream with fudge ripples in it. The two tastes clash in your mouth, but you shrug it off.

It’s Friday evening, and though Jungkook still hasn’t replied, you want to have fun with your friends. And you really try to - Ria drags you all to a board game bar near campus, and you play as you drink and eat your fill.

You’re walking home, arms hooked with the girls while Yoongi leads the way, when your phone buzzes in your pocket. You can’t see who’s texted you, but your heart picks up its pace, like it knows.

“Thank you for tonight,” you say to no one in particular.

Yoongi looks over his shoulder. “You suck at board games.”

He bursts out laughing as you let out an offended sound, and Ria and Nabi pull you back as you try to jump on Yoongi.

“You’re a dick!”

He just laughs harder, until everyone joins in.

Until joy pierces the clouds in your mind, and weight seems to be lifted from your shoulders. You feel lighter - who needs a man when you have your friends?

“For real though,” you say once the laughter subsides. “I don’t know what I’d do without you guys.”

Nabi rests her head on your shoulder. “Good thing that you don’t have to live without us.”

“You’re such a sentimental drunk,” Ria teases, yet she pecks your cheek all the same. “Love you, bitch.”

“Love you too.”

Later, when you’re about to hop in the shower at the dorms, you finally look at your phone. You’d all but forgotten the earlier buzzing, but the message that waits for you is a bomb awaiting explosion, and you think it explodes right in your chest.

[11:26 pm] JK: i honestly don’t think we should talk rn. sorry

You swallow the rumbles of your beating organ, but they cut on the way down until you’re bleeding out standing there, naked save for the flip flops on your feet.

The clouds come back to your head, thickening until all light seems gone.

[11:58 pm] You: okay… i really am sorry

Jungkook never replies to that, and you cry yourself to sleep that night.

Sunday, October 13th

Each year like clockwork a fair comes into town around Halloween. It’s a fair of light and music, games and plush toys to be won, with a haunted house and a corn maze. It’s not exactly in town - it’s a fifteen-minute drive from the outskirts of town, but Namjoon has a car, and so does Seokjin.

You technically do too, but you left it to Taehyung when you moved to the dorms.

You get there with Nabi and Namjoon, Yoongi riding in the backseat with you. Ria and Seokjin are going to get there later, which you think is a good thing.

They have months of catching up to do, and you can’t blame them for wanting to be alone. Especially not when you see just how much Ria has been glowing the last few days.

You have to park the car in a field, and you’re glad you chose to wear your frat party shoes - the field is muddy from yesterday night’s rain. Nabi complains about it, and Namjoon immediately offers her a piggyback ride to cross a large puddle of mud.

You turn to Yoongi.

“Can I piggyback you too?” you ask, lips jutting out in a small pout.

He snorts. “No.”

You roll your eyes, though you chuckle as he walks around the puddle as best as he can. It’s useless - there’s mud everywhere, and your shoes are entirely dirty by the time you make it to the fair grounds. You head to the ticket booth, though you have to wait in line for a while before you manage to finally get in.

“I want a plushie,” you say the second you see the first game a little while later.

It’s a game where you have to throw rings on the necks of glass bottles. Your friends follow you to it, and you’re quick to make a competition of who’s going to succeed the most. To your surprise, it ends up being Nabi, and she wins a small dragon plushie that she gives to you immediately.

You cradle it to your chest as you make your way to the next game, though your heart drops to your ass when your gaze connects with Taehyung’s as he stands next to the stand.

“Nope,” you let out, turning around to head in the other direction.

“What?” Yoongi asks, but he soon falls into step with you. “Y/n, what’s wrong?”

“Just saw my asshole of a brother, and I have no interest in talking to him tonight,” you explain as your heart races in your chest from newfound adrenaline. “Or ever, to be honest.”

Yoongi winces. “Can’t blame you.” He looks behind you, nudging you with an elbow. “We’re clear though. He didn’t follow.”

You nod, stopping to glance behind yourself too. Nabi and Namjoon are nowhere to be seen, but you think it’s okay - at least you’ve got Yoongi. And Yoongi is a fun partner, though he beats you in most of the games you end up playing with him. He makes you laugh, and you think that’s what’s most important right now.

To have fun with your friends, lest your heart runs back to a doe-eyed boy who’s decided to leave you in the past.

“Want to do the haunted house?” you suggest to Yoongi.

He seems unconvinced, yet he still says, “Sure.”

Seokjin and Ria find you in line for the haunted house, joining you in the middle while apologizing to the people behind you, though they barely even pay attention to you. You hold a smile in at the sight of their entwined hands, and you nudge Yoongi to point towards it.

He rolls his eyes, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. The smile freezes on his face a second later, and you glance in the direction he’s looking.

It’s the guy from the reception at the gym. He recognizes you, and you wave hello as Yoongi turns beet red next to you.

“Want to go talk to him?” you say, wiggling your brows.

“You say a single other word, and I’m going to murder you,” Yoongi says through gritted teeth.

“Damn,” Ria lets out. “Someone’s angry.”

Yoongi scoffs, though his cheeks remain fully flushed up until you make it to the front of the line. It fades when you walk into the haunted house, though you think it might be because a clown jumps in his face the second you walk in.

Yoongi raises his fists in a defensive stance, and you burst out laughing as the clown moves to Ria, who shrieks so loud you wouldn’t be surprised if she ripped your eardrums.

“I don’t think you’re supposed to punch them,” you tease Yoongi.

He glares at you in the dim light. “Maybe I should punch you.”

“Try me bitch.”

At that he laughs, and then tension finally goes out of his shoulders. You spend the rest of the haunted house startling whenever someone jumps in front of you, letting out small shrieks that are entirely shadowed by Ria’s screams. Seokjin doesn’t fare any better, and you and Yoongi make fun of them, so much so you find yourself wiping happy tears from your eyes when you finally walk outside again.

“Never doing one of these again,” Seokjin deadpans, which only makes you and Yoongi laugh again.

Ria punches his shoulder. “You were supposed to protect me.”

“I was scared too!” Seokjin lets out, massaging the spot she hit. “I don’t ever do haunted houses!”

The two of them start bickering, though the teasing twinkle in their eyes tells you that it’s all in good fun. And it’s beautiful to see, though you can tell Seokjin is not all the way in yet.

You can’t blame him - Ria did lead him on for a while. But you can only hope that they’ll make it despite everything. When he throws an arm around her shoulder to pull her in, kissing the top of her head, you reckon they will.

If anyone makes it through the college experience without breaking up, it’ll be them, and Nabi and Namjoon. At least you hope so.

You meet up with Nabi and Namjoon when you go to the area where multiple food stands have been erected. You and Yoongi get corn dogs, only because you haven’t eaten them in forever and you feel like indulging tonight.

Like forgetting that, three days ago, you broke your heart and Jungkook’s heart with words you didn’t mean, all because your brother took you by surprise while you were with Jungkook.

Speaking of Taehyung, you notice him on the other side of the food court-like area, surrounded by his group of friends. He sees you, waving halfheartedly at you like he expects you might have forgiven him already.

You haven’t. As a matter of fact, the sight of him out and about enjoying himself after he caused Thursday’s heartbreak makes you hate him even more, and you turn away from him to focus on your friends’ conversation. But you can’t join in - your thoughts have run back to Thursday, to the feeling of Jungkook’s gentle hands all over you as you’d had sex, and then as you’d taken a shower together.

Your thoughts run back to your love confessions, that you both didn’t register because you were too angry, too caught up in the moment. But you know he said he fell in love with you, just like you did with him.

And that, most of all, is the reason why you hate Taehyung. Because no amount of loving Jeon Jungkook could save the relationship when your brother was so keen on destroying it.

You take a deep breath as heaviness settles on you, and Nabi sidles closer to you, nudging you gently.

“Don’t think about it right now,” she whispers for just you to hear.

You swallow around the lump in your throat. “It’s hard.”

“I know,” she gently says. “I know it’s hard, and I know you probably wish you weren’t here right now. But this is a good distraction, no? You loved it last year.”

You did. You’d ended up coming here four times before the fair closed shop for the year, and each time you had had the time of your life, messing around with your friends with not a single care for the world around you.

Needless to say, you’ve lost that unbothered attitude now, the frivolity of it completely forgotten.

You sigh, meeting Nabi’s gaze for a few seconds. “I’m trying. It doesn’t help that Taehyung is here, though.”

“You want me to go kick his ass?” Nabi asks. You chuckle, and a smile tickles at the corner of your lips. Nabi grins at the sight of it. “You’re going to be okay,” she promises. “We’ll make sure of it.”

You can only hope that she’s right.

After eating, you all head to the maze. You team up with the girls, racing the boys to the end. Evidently you get lost, and you manage to laugh around with your friends even through the heaviness on your shoulders. You’re lost somewhere in the middle of the maze when your phone rings in your purse with three incoming text messages.

You reckon you know who texted you. Considering that all of your friends are here with you tonight, there’s only one person you think could have texted you.

So you stop walking, Ria and Nabi stopping a step ahead of you, and you pull your phone out of your purse, heart dropping to your ass.

[7:27 pm] JK: hey so i’ve been thinking and there’s some stuff i need to get off my chest [7:27 pm] JK: sorry for the long message [7:28 pm] JK: I want to apologize for everything. I’m sorry, so sorry that I couldn’t make it work. I’m sorry Paris happened, I’m sorry I wasn’t honest with you right away. I wish I’d been, maybe we’d be together now. But I had to fuck it up, multiple times honestly and I think it’s proof that I definitely am not ready to be in a relationship. I wanted to try tho, I really did. I think you and I could have been something great. And lately I’ve been wondering if, maybe we made it in another universe. Like… I can’t accept that there’s no universes out there where we make it, you know? Because I really love you. I’ve loved you since the day I met you and you ran into me. I fell for you the second I saw you, and then I found out you were Tae’s sister, and the rest is history. But I wanted you to know it, to know that I love you and that I’m sorry. I’m so sorry I fucked it up. I’d take everything back if I could, I’d save you the heartbreak, but life doesn’t work that way. so yeah… i’m really sorry peach… I hope we can make it in the next life

You can’t breathe. You can’t breathe for a whole minute as you reread again and again, and Ria and Nabi stand next to you, asking what’s wrong. You can’t say anything - you think your heart has stopped beating altogether.

You hand your phone to Ria, and she and Nabi read the messages while tears prick at your eyes, adrenaline flushing through you.

“Holy fuck,” Ria curses under her breath, and she meets your gaze. “Y/n, do you know where he is?”

You don’t. You have no clue where he’s gone to hide after he left Thursday, and you think you might be sick. “I don’t know,” you answer. “I don’t know, I don’t know.”

Tears fall from your eyes, and you grab your phone, immediately pressing on the call button. It goes to voicemail right away, and you choke on a sob as Nabi grabs your arm, pulling you behind her.

You were almost at the end of the maze, luckily, and the second you’re out you take off, your friends yelling your name behind you. Apparently, the boys made it out first, because there’s a chorus of ‘What is going on?’ as you run back towards the last place where you saw Taehyung.

Your brother is not there, and though you’re out of breath, you sprint down another alley, where a bunch of artists sell paintings and bracelets and everything in between. You try calling Jungkook again, but it once again goes to voicemail.

You’re about to throw up. You’ll fucking throw up your corn dog, you’ll fucking lose him, irreparably. The fear takes hold of you, sweeps through you until you’re shaking, tears falling freely like they have a mind of their own. You can barely think around the loud beats of your heart, around the sound of the blood gushing into your ears.

You can’t think around the thought that Jungkook is about to hurt himself.

“Y/n!” Namjoon says behind you, and you spin around to see he’s the only one who managed to follow you. Your other friends are just now turning into the alley, and they rush towards you.

“Where’s my brother?” you ask, and you choke on another sob.

Taehyung is likely the only person here who might know where Jungkook is.

Namjoon looks over his shoulder as Ria skids to a halt next to you. “I don’t know,” he answers, and you almost want to punch him.

How is he so intelligent and doesn’t fucking know that?

“Have you guys seen Taehyung?” you ask your other friends as they all stop next to you. “I need to find him.”

They all nod, and you disperse throughout the fair, searching for your brother.

“Why don’t you call him?” Yoongi asks, and you startle - you didn’t notice he’d followed you.

And you find yourself stupid for not thinking about it before. Instead of trying to call Jungkook again - you’ve been trying constantly since you received his messages - you go to Taehyung’s contact, calling him.

He picks up on the third ring. “Finally talking to me?” he drawls.

“Where are you?” you ask.

He must hear the panic in your voice, because he answers, “In line for the haunted house. Is something wrong?”

You hang up, not replying, instead sprinting towards the haunted house. You indeed find Taehyung next to it, though he’s not in line anymore, like he knew you’d come see him.

“Where’s Jungkook?” you ask, the panic in your voice so stark you see the colours fading from his features.

“Why?”

“Where the fuck is Jungkook?” you repeat, and tears once again roll on your cheeks.

Ariane steps closer to you, resting a hand on your arm. “Y/n, what’s wrong?”

You break down. You fully break down, hiding your face in your hands. Yoongi explains the situation while Ariane pulls you into a hug, and you cry on her shoulder, clutching the fabric of her sweater - Taehyung’s sweater - as if that'll stop you from breaking.

“He’s at home,” Taehyung says, pulling you from Ariane’s arms. “He’s at home, Y/n. Let’s go.”

You nod, and you both take off, leaving Ariane and Yoongi behind. They don’t try to follow, clearly sensing that this is something you and Taehyung need to do alone.

You’re frantic on the ride home, one leg bouncing up and down as Taehyung drives, and you urge him to go faster.

“It won’t do us any good if we get in an accident before getting home,” Taehyung answers, but you notice he does accelerate.

“Should we call the police?” you ask when you stop at a red light.

It only then occurs to you that you might walk in to find Jungkook hurt.

“We’re almost there,” Taehyung says gently.

You are. You’d likely get there before the police would.

You’re crying again, the panic and terror swimming through your blood so loud you can’t think anymore.

You don’t know what you’ll do if Jungkook hurt himself. If you get home to find him…

You don’t dare finish the thought.

It feels like an eternity before Taehyung finally parks the car near the apartment, and you’re flying out of it before it’s gone to a full stop. Taehyung doesn’t comment, and you’re sprinting faster than ever, climbing up the stairs to your apartment in a record time. You try the door, but it’s locked, and you curse as you search through your purse, but you don’t have the keys.

You don’t have the keys.

“I got you,” Taehyung says as he reaches the top of the stairs, keys already in hand.

He unlocks the door in no time, and the second it’s open you crash in, skidding to a halt as you scan the apartment with your gaze. The door to the bathroom is open, revealing that it’s empty. So is the kitchen, but light filters from underneath Jungkook’s bedroom door.

You run to the door, push it open as your heart beats so fast you’ll likely go into cardiac arrest.

Jungkook is sitting in front of his gaming PC, and he turns his head towards you, gaze going wide at the sight of your distressed state.

“You came?” he lets out.

You just stand there, watching him. Taking in the sight of him, alive and unharmed, playing computer games like he always does. It’s enough to make you break down again, and you fold on yourself, tears streaming down your face.

“I uh…” Taehyung trails off from behind you. “I’ll let you guys talk.”

Soft footsteps move towards you, and gentle hands pull you up and inside the room. You don’t see anything through the blinding waterfall in your eyes, and all you can do is sob harder when you’re pulled into someone’s arms.

Jungkook’s arms. They wrap around you, strong and steady, holding you close to him. Your fists clench on the fabric of his oversized white t-shirt, and you cry as you rest your forehead on his chest.

He holds you as all the anxiety rushes out of you in the form of endless tears, and you just cry and cry, the relief that he’s safe and sound so intense you feel whiplash.

Eventually, Jungkook makes you sit down on his bed, and he gently takes off your shoes. He then lies next to you, pulling you down, and you rest your head on his chest, the flow of tears finally slowing down.

It comes to a full stop when Jungkook kisses the top of your head, his arms around you momentarily tightening.

“You’re an idiot,” you say, voice raucous from all the crying.

“I assume this is about the message I sent you?”

You frown, lifting your head to meet his gaze. His eyes are red-rimmed, and you only then realize that he’s been crying with you all along. “Gosh, Kook,” you let out, fresh tears welling up in your eyes, but you manage to blink them away. “I thought you were going to hurt yourself.”

“Oh.” He worries at his piercings for a few seconds, then adds, “I wasn’t.”

“You sounded like you were.”

His eyebrows almost touch over his eyes. “Oh?”

“‘I hope we can make it in the next life’” you narrate. “Doesn’t that sound like what someone would say before…” you trail off, unable to say the words, the fear still impacting you despite the fact that you’re realizing he was never in any danger.

He winces. “Now that you say it like that, I guess it does sound bad.” He scrunches up his nose. “Sorry?”

“Fuck,” you curse. “Jungkook.”

“I really am sorry, I didn’t want to worry you,” he insists. He pulls you down, forcing you to rest your head back on his chest. “I just wanted to tell you how I feel. And I knew I’d say it wrong if we were talking face to face, so I just put everything down in that message.” He chuckles, though you hear him gulp. “I wrote it all in my notes app before sending it to you.” He pauses, and his lips ghost the top of your head. “My therapist said I should write down how I feel, and reading it after, I realized I wanted you to know too.”

Your hand is resting on his abdomen, and you shift it until it’s wrapped around him, pulling his body closer.

“I love you too, Jungkook,” you whisper. “Maybe not for as long as you… but I love you too.”

“I know,” he murmurs in the same tone. “I know, peach.”

You blink away the new onslaught of tears that threatens to spill on your cheeks, and coincidentally on his shirt. “We do need to talk, though.”

“I know.”

You take a deep breath, trying to find courage. As if speaking to Jungkook is scary, dangerous.

But then again, this is just Jungkook. This is the man who took care of you when you were upset on Valentine’s Day, who took care of you at every party you attended last semester.

This is the man who was ready to lose his friendship with his best friend if that meant having you. And you realize then that there’s nothing to be scared about. It’s just you and Jungkook.

It was always going to be you and Jungkook, wasn’t it?

“I’m sorry too,” you admit. “For being so afraid of Taehyung’s reaction. And I wasn’t wrong to be.” You lift your head to eye the purple-turning-to-yellow mark on his cheek. It’s streaked with a linear scab, where the punch cut his skin. “I can’t believe he punched you.”

“I was expecting it.”

You look a little higher, meeting his gaze. “Why didn’t you try to stop him?”

His Adam’s apple bobs and he takes a deep breath. “I thought I deserved it.”

“Jungkook…”

“I did,” he affirms. “Did you know he told me not to touch you, ever, before I even met you?”

You frown. “That sounds like Taehyung.”

“Yeah…” Jungkook takes another deep breath, and you move your hand to hold his shoulder, thumb ghosting on the side of his neck. “And yet I did.”

“I’m happy that you did,” you whisper. “All the time we spent together last semester… I loved it, you know? I really fell for you.”

“I’m lucky you did,” he replies, and he pecks the top of your head. “But then again I treated you like shit. I should have pushed Gabrielle away before she even kissed me. But I just thought I was helping her.”

“It’s okay,” you reassure him. “I stopped being upset with you about it the second she told me everything.” You hold him a little tighter for a few seconds. “She was rooting for us, you know?”

Jungkook nods. “I know. She told me.” He sighs, and his lips brush the top of your head again, as if he’s trying to anchor you here.

To anchor himself here, with you, just lying in his bed, slowly forgetting the world.

“I’m sorry about Lisa,” he adds after a few beats of silence. “I really didn’t expect you to ever show up like that.”

“I should have texted you first,” you say as your heart clenches in your chest at the memory of Lisa in his shirt, of every scene of them together you imagined during your countless sleepless nights. “You had every right to try to move on with someone, you know?”

“But you didn’t,” he points out. “I should have held out for longer.”

“Jungkook,” you say sternly, lifting your head to meet his gaze again. “You couldn’t have known that I’d come back. You had the right to move on.”

His gaze is lined with silver, big doe eyes shining softly in the dim light from his PC monitor, and from the LED lights strung all around his room. They shine a gentle yellow tonight, so unlike the red you’re used to.

“I’m still sorry about it,” he murmurs, lower lip quivering.

“Stop,” you whisper, cupping his cheek. “Stop, Kook. I can’t lie and say that it didn’t hurt, but I was never mad at you for it. Not even for a single second.”

“I don’t deserve you,” he says, and tears spill from his eyes.

You’re quick to dry them with your thumb. “It’s not a question about who deserves who or what,” you say, and you move until you can pull his face into your chest. “It’s never been about that.”

“But I don’t deserve you.” He chokes on the words, and you run a hand through his hair, massaging his scalp soothingly.

“You do,” you say. “You really do, Jungkook. You were here for me all those months. You treated me well despite Taehyung being a concern, despite the fact that I never really fully gave myself to you because of him.” You blink away the wetness in your gaze. “You deserve me because you love me,” you add, and your heart warms in your chest.

It only occurs to you then how real the feelings are. They’ve always been there, always been strong, but now they have a name, and you think it’s the most beautiful name in the universe.

You were right to chase cars around his head, after all.

“You deserve me because you love me,” you repeat, “and because I love you.”

“I do love you,” he says softly. “I really do.”

You can’t help yourself - every single second of your life has led to this moment. You pull away, and he looks up at you as you lean forward. As you softly press your lips on his, and as you swallow the soft sigh he lets out. You kiss him gently, your heart syncing with his, the cars now chasing themselves around both of your heads.

And you do forget the world, as you kiss him. It’s just you and him, like it’s always been meant to be. Just you and Jeon Jungkook, and your souls fusing into one. And maybe the three words aren’t enough, maybe ‘I love you’ can’t convey everything that you feel for Jungkook, but you reckon you have an eternity in front of you to demonstrate the feelings, in all of their glory.

And you kiss for your own little eternity, not ever falling into desire and passion territory. You ride the wave of the love between you and Jungkook - a gentle wave, like those a soft breeze summons on the surface of a lake in the summer. No, you just kiss with all of the love you share, and it burns brighter than the moon ever could, rivalling the Sun.

You wonder, do the stars see you shining in the sky outside? Do they know of the love that was born between you and Jungkook all those months ago?

The kiss ends gently, much like it started. Your eyelids flutter open to meet Jungkook’s soft gaze, and you take in the emotions swirling in the depths of his eyes, reflecting those in yours.

“Thank you,” you whisper.

He frowns slightly. “For what?”

“For telling me how you felt,” you reply. “For sending that message, even though I misinterpreted the end.”

He offers you a small smile, his lips barely curving upwards yet his eyes shining bright. “You deserved to know.”

“And you deserved to know that it’s all reciprocated,” you say. “I’m in love with you, Jeon Jungkook.”

The sparkles in his eyes explode into the most beautiful fireworks. “You’re getting cheesy on me,” he teases.

“And what about it?”

He pulls you down in another kiss, though this time it’s much shorter, more a quick peck than a deep love confession.

“I like it,” he admits. “Be as cheesy as you want.”

“I will be,” you promise, eyes twinkling with mischief.

His answering laugh is oh so healing, and you use it to cure the wounds on your heart.

To cure those on his heart, too.

“I do need to say,” you say a few minutes later, after you’ve laid your head back on his chest, “that I’m sorry about what I said to Taehyung Thursday. It was never a lapse of judgment, and I really don’t know why I said that.”

“It really hurt,” Jungkook admits, and you hold him tighter, trying to erase the past. “But at the same time, I do get why you said it. You were just trying to get Taehyung off our backs.”

“I was, but it wasn’t the right way to do it,” you say. “It was stupid, and hurtful, and I really didn’t mean it at all.”

“It’s okay.” Jungkook’s mouth brushes the top of your head, and he adds in a whisper, “It’s okay.”

You don’t think it is, but then again, there’s a lot of things you need to leave in the past if you want to be able to move forward with him.

You both made mistakes, a lot of them, but holding onto them won’t bring you anywhere positive.

“You know,” Jungkook says. “I suck at relationships.”

You lift your head to meet his gaze. “You don’t.”

“No, but I do,” he insists. “I’ve never had a real girlfriend. As you know, Gabrielle was just… a cover?”

“Yeah…” you trail off, resting your head on his chest again. “Did you guys ever…”

He chuckles. “Yeah. Once, when we were seventeen. She said she couldn’t really know if she was gay if she didn’t try having sex with a guy once.”

“How did that go?”

You hear the wince in Jungkook’s tone as he says, “Poorly. It was my first time, and hers too obviously, and it was entirely shit.”

You laugh, patting his chest. “Don’t worry, you’ve gotten a lot better.”

“Oh did I now?” Jungkook teases and he pushes you off his chest, forcing you to lie on your back so that he can climb over you.

Your laugh turns into a giggle as he hides his face in your neck, his breath tickling you, and you retaliate by tickling his sides.

He bursts out laughing, falling on the side next to you. “How dare you!”

You rest your hand on his stomach, stopping him before he can climb on top of you again. “I want to know more,” you say, falling serious.

He cocks an eyebrow, his grin slowly fading. “Know more?”

“About you,” you say. “I feel like I don’t know a lot about you, despite all the time we spent together.”

Maybe because there always were too many secrets between you and Jeon Jungkook.

But not anymore, not ever again.

“What do you want to know?” he asks.

“Everything.”

He widens his gaze, laughing softly. “It’s going to take the whole night.”

“I don’t care,” you insist. “I want to know everything that makes you, you.”

He wets his lips, toying with his piercings. “And do I get to know more about you, too?”

You nod forcefully. “I’ll answer every question.”

There’s a silence as you just share a look, until Jungkook turns on his back, looking up at the ceiling. You just stare at his profile, wondering what question he’ll ask first.

“We should go on a date,” he says, taking you by surprise. He looks at you again, before adding, “On a real, proper date. Like in the movies. And then you could ask me all your questions.”

You snort. “You want to go on a date with me?”

“Of course,” he says. “Friday night at eight pm. Wear your best clothes.”

“You’re deadass?”

He narrows his gaze at you. “Yes? Why wouldn’t I be?”

You shrug, cheeks dusting with pink. “Does that mean that we’re…”

“That we’re?” Jungkook presses when you never finish the sentence.

“That we’re dating?”

Your heart beats out of your chest at the question - it holds the weight of the universe. Two hours ago, you would have never believed you’d get to ask Jungkook that, ever.

Yet here you are, and when his gaze fills with all the warmth of love and summer days and everything in between, you know the answer.

“Well…” he trails off. “If you want to. We can also take it slow if you prefer?”

“What about a little bit of both?”

Jungkook chuckles. “How would that work?”

“I mean…” You lie on your back, looking up at the ceiling as you search for the right words to say. “As you said, you suck at relationships, and so do I. So maybe we can learn along the way? Do things the right way this time around?”

He’s smiling when you turn your head to look at him again. “Yes,” he agrees. “One day at a time.”

The kiss that follows starts slowly, softly, gently, but it escalates quickly, led by the lingering fear that you could have lost him tonight. It burns with passion, Jungkook’s tongue pushing into your mouth, and you let out a breathy sound as he climbs back on top of you, his knee parting your legs.

You wrap them around his waist to hold him closer, your arms snaking around his neck.

It’s all kisses and soft moans and whispered confessions until you’re naked, entwined, your bodies joined in the most intimate of ways. Jungkook muffles your moans with his lips on yours, and you pour all of your love into the kisses, in the way your hips lift to meet his.

When Jungkook climaxes, you hold him even closer - you’d be dumb to let him go. Not when it was always meant to be him. Not when your love for him is growing, flourishing inside of your heart, of your soul, to form the most beautiful garden.

A garden of you and him, of feelings shared and confessed, of yearning and longing that only led to this beauty. To this moment of you and him together - to this first moment of you and him together of the long list that will follow.

And later, before you fall asleep in his embrace, you whisper against his skin, “I love you.”

He whispers it back, and the reciprocity of the feelings shines on you through the night, like it will shine on you from this day on until you dwindle into stardust, to be carried on a wind of eternity.

Prev | Chapter 15.5 | Next

☆☆☆☆☆

I told you the angst was almost over :') which is good, bc there's only two chapters left. I hope this one managed to heal you guys a little, tho it started off sad. The last two chapters are for healing but first, what did you guys think of this one?

#chasing cars ch 15 #jungkook smut #jungkook angst #jungkook fluff #jungkook x you #jungkook x reader #jungkook fic #jungkook #jjk angst #jjk smut #jjk fluff #jjk x you #jjk x reader #jjk fic #jjk #jeon jungkook #btswritersclub #chasing cars #chasing cars series

552 notes · View notes

tybaltsjuliet · 2 years

Text

here's the thing about charles dickens. [discussion of his antisemitism, misogyny, and racism ahead.]

his last, unfinished novel, the mystery of edwin drood, features helena and neville landless, heroic and sympathetic south asian (sri lankan, specifically) characters, and the racism they endure in an english town is relevant to the plot to the point where neville ends up falsely accused of murder. in the wake of the indian rebellion of 1857, dickens applauded the english brutality against "that oriental race," and called for genocide.

fagin is called "the jew" 274 times in the first half of oliver twist. an article in the jewish chronicle asked why "jews alone should be excluded from the 'sympathizing heart' of this great author and powerful friend of the oppressed." at first, dickens dismissed this, and claimed he was just being accurate about london's criminal makeup. but he was moved enough by eliza davis's letters to him on the matter that he halted the printing of the latter half of oliver twist so he could change the text and remove the antisemitic language therein.

dickens was an abolitionist who despised chattel slavery in the united states, and called emancipation a "moral duty." dickens didn't think black americans were intelligent enough to vote, and he wrote an entire character in bleak house who is a joke to be disliked and mocked because she'd rather oversee charity missions to help children in africa than be a proper mother and tend to her own family at home in england.

speaking of one's own family at home in england, dickens smeared his wife, catherine hogarth, publicly so he could justify separating from her and taking up with a younger woman. catherine hogarth was likely mentally ill, likely living with postpartum depression. she was also an author in her own right and loved her family dearly. her reputation never recovered in her lifetime from the claims he made about her. in dickens's novels, time and time again, from nicholas nickleby to david copperfield to our mutual friend to the mystery of edwin drood, men who menace and take advantage of vulnerable women are portrayed as the worst kind of villains, deserving of whatever grisly ends come to them.

charles dickens was both privately and publicly a raging asshole in many ways and the world would be worse off without him, because he wrote for bourgeois, comfortable victorians, the very people who so often failed to "think of people below them as if they really were fellow-passengers to the grave, and not another race of creatures bound on other journeys." in the same breath that he calls agnes fleming, who opens oliver twist as an unwed mother dying in a workhouse, "weak and erring," he dares to add that "i do believe that the shade of that poor girl often hovers about that solemn nook-ay, though it is a church." he calculated jo's death to the page in bleak house for maximum effect. but when he wrote of the orphaned crossing-sweeper, "dead, your majesty. dead, my lords and gentlemen. dead, right reverends and wrong reverends of every order. dead, men and women, born with heavenly compassion in your hearts. and dying thus around us every day," people listened.

i dedicated years of my life to reading him and studying him and thinking about him and writing about him and his novels. now, i turn to condemn him; now, i turn to justify him. i wish i had a time machine so i could shake his hand. i wish i had a time machine so i could publicly debate him. i wish i had a time machine so i could break his nose.

charles dickens gives me courage and hope. charles dickens makes me want to tear my goddamn hair out. he is everything i despise and everything i love about the victorian age in one; the term "a man of his time" ought to have been invented for him. the leaps and bounds the victorians made for progress in the public good are only matched in greatness by the extremity of their atrocities against their "fellow-passengers" on this earth. the way we think about nearly every modern social ill can be traced back to the 19th century; the way we think about nearly every modern idea of social justice can be traced back to the 19th century. every last one is writ large and small in dickens's novels. he and his age are the greatest contradictions in human history and that's why i can't shut up about them, ever, even when i am exhausted by them, even when i am inspired by them, even when it was two centuries ago and it shouldn't matter anymore, but it does. it always will.

#filthy victorians; they made me what i'm made of.#;swan has a word.#;the long nineteenth century.#;they who call the whole world brother.

8K notes · View notes

charliemwrites · 9 months

Text

Bark, bark, snort, grrr

(The ex idea comes from @st-el-la-luna, absolutely brilliant darling ❤️)

Content: Voyeurism, Mild Injury, Possessive/Protective Behavior

Johnny, for all his quirks and… weirdly human tendencies, is an incredibly good sport. Particularly about letting you put him in Santa hats and wreaths, ugly sweaters and snow socks. He poses for every picture so dutifully, looks so serious and annoyed up until you plant smooches on his head or cheek and that silly lupine grin comes out.

He’s been your perfect little heater ever since the heater started to go on the fritz. It keeps shutting off or turning itself lower than it’s meant to be, leaving you shivering before you realize something is amiss. It’s not so broken that you’re willing to interrupt your solitude to have someone come fix it. But you’re grateful for a big fluffy body laying on your feet or snuggling under the blankets with you.

As the winter sets in, you tromp out with him in the snow a lot. Often use his sturdy shoulders and better footing as a crutch to navigate without slipping. He always gets fussy when you do, dancing in his feet and snuffling at your coat, urging you up.

One morning you wake up after a fresh snow, expecting that you’ll have to clear the driveway and porch - only to find it freshly shoveled and salted. It would spook you, except you’re sure Johnny would have woken you up barking his head off if it was anything to worry about.

Your mother calls about holiday plans in mid-November. You hedge around any commitments, hand buried in Johnny’s fur, saying that you don’t want to leave your precious pup at home.

The combined efforts of both your parents, your sister, and a cousin you actually like makes you cave eventually though. They promise it’ll just be family, that you can even bring Johnny. You grimace at that - debate getting him some meds from the vet…. But he’s been doing better on walks in town.

The weird assurance that it’ll “just be family” should have been a red flag.

When you arrive at your parents’ place, several gift bags and Johnny (with a bow tie on his collar) in tow, you find your ex there. On the couch. Next to your least-favorite cousin and your sister.

“What’s he doing here?” you ask sharply.

“Well, you two were engaged—”

Johnny’s ears shoot straight up as you tense.

“Yeah, and then he cheated.”

“People make mistakes. If you would just hear him out.”

“I don’t care what he has to say. And I don’t care what you have to say either.”

You drop the bags in a heap and click your tongue for Johnny. He falls in with you instantly, leaning up against your side. You get all the way to your car before you hear your ex’s voice calling your name.

You try to hurry, but there’s ice and the last thing your dignity can take is slipping right now. Luckily, you have the perfect deterrent before you ex can even get within arm’s reach.

Johnny snarls, so deep and loud you feel it in your own chest.

“Jesus!” your ex cries, coming up short. “Where did you get that thing?!”

“Johnny picked me. More than I can say for you.”

“Don’t be like that, I’m picking you now.”

“Oh, did your girl best friend lose all her daddy’s money?”

His cheeks light up neon. Huh. Got it in one.

Then he dares another step and Johnny lunges. You just get a hold of his harness but it’s enough ward your ex off a bit more.

“He’s very loyal,” you add. “Also more than I can say for you.”

“Baby, just listen—”

“An upgrade all around, I think.”

You round your car, climb into the driver’s seat with Johnny standing guard, then let him clamber over you into the passenger’s seat. At the front door, most of your family is gathered and staring. You flip off your ex one last time before peeling out of there.

The tears come after you’ve gotten back home. Johnny licks your face until you stop crying, then leads you inside. The two of you curl up on the couch together, his face buried in your stomach. You fall asleep there and dream of a man’s voice whispering love and comfort in your ear.

—

A week later, your ex shows up.

You’re out in the yard with Johnny, watching him zoom through the snow and laughing as he speeds by. Your ex must hear you because he comes round the side of the house.

And Johnny. Goes. Ballistic.

Literally, he hits your ex like a missile, taking him into the snow and snarling like something from hell. He’s got his teeth in your ex’s designer coat, ripping it to shreds. It’s frightening; you’ve never felt safer.

“Johnny!” you call. A growl. You walk closer, kick a bit of snow at both of them. “Johnny, down! Leave it!”

And he does, finally does, though not without taking a good chunk of fabric with him. Your ex, wide-eyed and pale, panting, doesn’t bother to say a word. He scrambles away while Johnny barks after him, all canine and spit.

You hum as he returns to you, fabric in his mouth, tail wagging.

“What a good boy,” you coo, taking the partial sleeve and inspecting it. Louis Vuitton, it looks like. “Very good. My perfect boy.”

You drop his prize into the snow and snort as he wastes no time peeing on it. Well, that’s gonna stay there. Forever.

“C’mon bud, you deserve a treat.”

Johnny follows you happily inside, a new pep in his step.

First | Previous | Next

Masterlist

#thoughts™️#cod #my writing #fanfiction #dark fic #reader fic

2K notes · View notes

hatakemrs · 4 months

Text

Hq boys and the little things they do in their relationship pt.2

Warnings: None

Characters: Sugawara Koshi, Tsukishima Kei, Kozume Kenma, Bokuto Koutaro.

Pt.1 Pt.2

Sugawara would remember small details about you. And when I say small, I mean even the tiniest ones! This man doesn't forget anything when it comes to you. He knows your go-to-coffee order. How much spice you want in your food. He remembers every achievement you told him about.That one time you won a debate in 8th grade? Or the one time you won a race? He remembers everything. One day you were wearing your shoes and he goes, "You're not gonna put the left one first?", seeing you confused he clarifies, "You always put on your left shoe first." He holds your hands whenever he sees you playing with your ring or fidgeting your fingers because he knows you're anxious.

Tsukishima makes playlists for you. It's probably something dumb named like "Eww love songs" but will have the most soft comforting love songs. He will share the playlist with you but will never admit that those songs remind him of you because that's so lame right? Also shares his headphones with you and only you because he doesn't like sharing. Look I also kind of think he listens to Taylor Swift but will rather die than admit it but when you play a song by her you can see him lip sync the lyrics. When you send him a playlist of the songs that reminds you of him, he teases you but does he play that playlist on repeat? Yes, especially if he misses you. Kei would also make a playlist where you can add your favourite songs along with his.

Kenma is weirdly attentive towards you. 'Weirdly' because he will play a game and it might seem like his whole focus is on the game but he hears everything you say. You would be ranting about your day while he's on his console saying, "Why did you stop? Tell me what that friend of yours said next." He would get off the console after a few minutes of course but you're surprised that he actually attentive and remembers what you told him. "How do you do that?", you finally asked him one day. " Do what?", his eyes were fixed on the screen. "Play the game and yet hear everything I say?", he just shrugs and says, "Kuro should get credit for that. When we were young, he talked about volleyball and I just played my game but I had to pay attention to him or he would get annoying."

Bokuto lets you put makeup on his face. First he didn't agree to the idea, but you somehow convinced him and now he asks you sometimes to do it. You put fake eyelashes on him and he was shocked at how good he looks with those. He also likes when you paint his nails. He always picks black nails but sometimes he goes for colourful ones. He would even let you style him for a date. His own fashion sense is….. well not good. So you're his personal stylist and he doesn't mind if you put a little makeup on when he goes out because it makes his face look better. He would even show off his nails to his friends (especially Aakashi and Kuroo) and tell them how much you love him. He would be so proud that he was dressed by his s/o. Most of his fans online loved and appreciated this while others criticised him as it was not manly but he didn't care.

A/n: Hope you guys liked it<3 Take caree <<3

586 notes · View notes

general-fanfiction · 2 months

Text

Intimate Treasures. (Steve Harrington x Adult Store Worker!Reader)

Word Count: 4.5K

Y/N works in an adult store and Steve can't seem to stay away.

Warning: Smut, p in v sex, cunnilingus (m and f receiving), dirty talk, knife kink, sex toys, mature language

Weekdays were always slow at Intimate Treasures, most people either working their regular 9-5’s or simply too embarrassed to be caught in an adult store mid week. Opting to discreetly shop on a Friday or Saturday night, hoping nobody will catch them. I often find myself amused by the actions of our customers, ninety percent of which seem to be ashamed of themselves for purchasing such ‘dirty’ products, as they like to call them.

Upon the opening of the store, many citizens of Hawkins were vocal of their displeasure at the presence of such a place. Believing that there was no place in the town for us. They argued that by opening within the Starcourt Mall, we would be indoctrinating their children into believing that sex is something that should be enjoyed and explored freely. Rather than an act of love that should only be taking place once married for the sole purpose of reproduction. There have been numerous occasions when I’ve argued with people about this, lecturing them on the importance of sexual liberation and safety rather than shaming people for their choices.

It was during one of these arguments that I met him for the first time. Wrapped up in a heated debate with none other than the local priest who was offering to save me from hell, I almost missed the mop of fluffy brown hair that hesitantly crossed the threshold of the store. He was trying to act casual, as though being here was no big deal, but I could tell he was nervous. Fumbled movements causing him to almost knock over a display of free condoms. To which he pocketed a few in the shorts of his little sailor outfit.

“What you are doing here in this store is sinful, I am only looking out for you young lady.” My eyes snap back to the priest who is glancing around the place in utter disgust, one hand gripping the cross around his neck, the other clutching a Bible.

“If you think this is sinful, you should see what I do in bed, old man.”

Despite losing sight of the sailor, I hear a muffled laugh coming from down one of the aisles and I can’t help but feel pleased that I’m not necessarily alone in this argument.

“You could be doing so much more with your life! You don’t need this filth, the Lord can set you on the right path if you would just let me cleanse you of your impurity.” The man pleads, his words failing to provide the impact he is hoping for.

Resting my elbows on the countertop, I lean towards the priest, hoping he pays attention to me. “Listen, I know for a fact that the Bible doesn’t specifically mention anything about sex toys or masturbation and not all of us are lucky enough to be in a relationship. Though I’m sure your wife isn’t exactly thrilled with her sex life.”

He gasps at my words, shuffling towards the door whilst muttering about ‘young dirty girls of today’.

“Be sure to send your wife in, her first vibrator is on me!”

As the door swings closed behind him, I let out a sigh of relief. Completely fed up of having the same arguments over and over again. My eyes fall back down to the stack of boxes by my feet, filled to the brim with new lingerie sets that need putting out on the shop floor.

Not wanting to waste any time, I quickly add the inventory to the system before hanging the black latex to the hangers. I won’t deny, it’s a gorgeous set. Shiny black bralette, so thin that the strap of fabric is only big enough to cover the nipple, with a matching thong, which also happens to be just as small. It leaves very little to the imagination, and I would be tempted to spend my paycheck on it, had I anybody to wear it for.

Finding a spot in one of the aisles, I begin to hang the various sizes on the wall. Careful to make sure that they’re all in size order so that they’re easy to find. A shuffle of feet towards the end of the aisle pulls me from my thoughts, the sailor intently staring at different wand vibrators. Every few seconds picking one up before putting it back with a shake of his head.

“Need some help?” I ask, hanging the last of the lingerie up and strolling towards him.

His eyes widen as I stand next to him, a deep red blush rising on his cheeks and I can’t help but smile softly at his awkwardness. I’m never one to assume, though I’m fairly certain this may be his first time in any adult stores. If his blush is anything to go by.

“Sorry, I just don’t really know what I’m supposed to be looking for.”

“Something for your girlfriend?” I push, the question slips off my tongue easily, one I generally ask all the male customers that look in need of assistance, yet something in me is praying that he answers with a no.

I won’t deny that he’s attractive, even with the unfortunate attire that he appears to be sporting. He has a boyish look about him due to the costume, it’s cute and soft. However, his chestnut brown eyes are dark and I can tell that he is very much a man.

“No, no girlfriend.” He admits, shoving his hands in his pockets, as he does so I’m able to catch a quick glimpse and notice the large size, backs of his palms displaying very prominent veins and I can’t help but squeeze my legs at the sight.

I’m not entirely sure what’s wrong with me. Never usually finding someone so attractive upon meeting for the first time, yet I’m practically drooling over the man in front of me. Even if I am putting on a very cool front.

“This is kind of awkward to admit but I wanted a vibrator you know for when I do have girls over. Just for something different I guess, in case my performance doesn’t cut it.”

I’m taken aback by his admission, most men refusing to believe they couldn’t be absolutely incredible in bed and insisting they’re only getting a toy because their wife wouldn’t stop pestering. To have a man so open about possibly not being perfect is refreshing and I realize I’m most definitely going to need some ice cold water then this customer leaves.

“Oh wow, that’s so thoughtful of you.” I tell him, moving slightly closer to the wall of products in order to assist him as best I can. Carefully, I grab a hot pink box, offering it to him. “So this is the newest wand vibrator we have, it has three different settings and a very long battery life. Trust me any girl would love it, it only took me about five minutes to cum when I used it for the first time.”

His eyes are focused on the box, teeth catching his bottom lip as he reads the information on the back. Eyebrows furrowed in concentration, truly reading everything about the product in his hands. Something about him intrigues me, whether it be the sailor outfit or the fact that he truly cares about his sexual partners, I’m not sure.

“I’ll take it, thank you.”

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

The second time that the interesting sailor entered the store was only two days later. A Thursday evening, most of the stores in the mall were closing for the day, not us however. Opting to stay open later for more of a sense of privacy.

I’m idly flipping through one of the latest editions of Playboy magazine, staring down at the women sprawled out on the pages. They ooze confidence and sex appeal, something I could only dream of. Whilst I wouldn’t say I necessarily lack confidence, I most certainly do not have a string of guys desperate for my attention like the women in the magazine.

Completely wrapped up in my own thoughts as I turn the page, it’s only when a handful of products are placed on the countertop that I glance up. Boredom evident on my face, I’m counting down the minutes until I can close the store and head home for the night. That is, until I realize who the customer is.

“I didn’t think girls were into Playboy.”

Running a hand through his perfectly styled brown mane, he smiles at me as he speaks and I struggle to hide my excitement at his return. Though there is still a hint of red on his cheeks, he seems calmer this time, clearly less embarrassed by his visit.

“I don’t know if you can tell, but we don’t exactly stock academic reading material.” I joke, beginning to ring the items through the till.

Bottle of lube, metal handcuffs and black bondage tape. Don’t get me wrong, I’m no stranger to the kinky items that I ring out on a daily basis. Yet, something about the handsome sailor buying them has me weak at the knees and I have to look anywhere other than his face as I bag everything for him.

“Hey, I just wanted to thank you by the way.” Finally making eye contact with the man, I can’t hide my confusion at his words. “For your help last time, the vibrator was a big hit.”

“Oh right yeah. No problem at all, I’m glad I could offer my assistance.”

My smile falters, why am I jealous? I shouldn’t be jealous, I should be pleased that I could help another customer. Pleased that I’m allowing others to enjoy their wants and desires. However, something about knowing the stranger has already used my suggestion on another woman hurts. I sound desperate, it’s not like me to get hung up on a man I have only briefly interacted with twice and yet here I am.

“No seriously, it was the most intense hook up I’ve ever had and it’s all thanks to you.” He rummages through his pockets as he speaks, before sliding a piece of paper across the countertop.

Free ice cream on me - Steve.

“I work at Scoops Ahoy, figured I owed you one.”

“Now the sailor outfit makes sense.” I laugh softly, carefully folding the piece of paper and slipping it into my pocket.

“I know. It sucks, does not help me woo the ladies at all.” He smiles bashfully, handing me the cash to pay for the products.

“I think it’s cute.” The words fall out of my mouth before I can stop myself and my head drops to the floor, shaking it lightly, humiliated by what I just said. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean, it’s just-”

“Good to know, I’ll see you later.” He looks at me expectantly, awaiting my name, as he makes his way towards the exit.”

“Y/N.”

“I’ll see you later Y/N.”

The moment the door closes behind him, I slide to the carpeted floor, head in my hands, afraid I may have just completely made a fool of myself in front of Steve. Doing my best to get over how mortified I feel, I quickly stride to the door and flip the sign to closed, not wanting to humiliate myself further in front of any more customers tonight, even if I am technically supposed to be open for another hour and a half.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

“I swear to God John, if you take these home and add them to your wank bank, I am going to kill you with my bare hands.”

This week seems to be one embarrassing event after the next, standing in nothing but the new micro black latex lingerie, I pose awkwardly in front of the only blank wall in the building, allowing the store owner to take photos of me on the polaroid.

“Listen, we need to advertise what we have on offer, putting these pictures in the window is bound to gain more customers. Not to mention the added benefit of being served by the hot girl plastered in the window.” He states as though it's obvious, shoving a large kitchen knife into my hand which I take reluctantly. “Now spread those legs and lick the knife.”

Dropping to a squat, I spread my legs wide open, raising the knife to my mouth and seductively licking a stripe down the edge, careful not to cut myself. I may as well be completely naked with how little the lingerie covers, moving the knife to cover my vagina, I feign a gasp as he snaps another photo.

“You’re a natural, I’ll put these in the window and then I’m off for the night.”

I throw the knife on to the counter as I watch with folded arms how John sticks up the photos by the door. No doubt we’ll have complaints as each photo has me in increasingly compromised positions. It’s borderline pornographic.

Catching glimpses of the photos every couple of seconds, I can admit that I do look good. Incredibly good. They’re sexy and I feel empowered, it’s just a shame that they have to be on display for everybody to see. I’m all for being sexually liberated, I’m just not sure I believe everybody should be allowed to see me in such a vulnerable environment.

John leaves with a quick wave in my direction, flipping the sign on his way out so that I can finish my closing tasks in peace. Throwing myself down on the couch beside the window, I feel the shame start to flood my body. I begin to feel dirty and used, allowing my boss to take advantage of the fact that I have to follow his orders.

Is this how the women in Playboy feel? Never once have I questioned if selling dirty magazines is unethical, believing that the woman in them felt free and proud that they can be so open and sexual. Now I’m starting to think that perhaps that isn’t the case.

With my head resting against the back of the couch and my eyes fixated on the uneven tiles on the ceiling, I hear the door click open beside me. Internally sighing, I don’t avert my gaze as I speak.

“We’re closed!” Voice snappier than I intended it to be, however, I make no effort to apologize.

“I know, I’m sorry. I was just hoping you’d be here.”

Swinging my head to face the direction of the door, I match the voice to the speaker. Steve stands awkwardly in the entryway, eyes trailing over my body as I stand to greet him. His mouth drops open slightly, rubbing a hand over his plump cherry lips. Glancing down, I remember that I’m still only wearing the lingerie and heat floods my body.

“Shit, sorry. One second.”

I awkwardly jog to the back of the store as best I can in the heels strapped to my feet, I’m careful to wrap the long satin robe tightly around myself before making my way back over to Steve. Who stands in the same spot, unmoving. Eyes focused on me as I lean against the counter, arms crossed over my body in an effort to keep the robe covering me.

“So what can I help you with?” I ask, voice shaking every so slightly due to the interaction only moments ago.

“You look incredible in that.”

Although my eyes are firmly fixated on the ground, I smile nervously at his words. Hearing the shuffle of his feet, I look up only to see him standing just a couple of feet away from me. Clad in his sailor uniform once again, I allow myself to gaze over his physique. Thick legs that wear the shorts well, tight in all the right places. Arms defined showing off the muscles he has built. Pulling myself from my thoughts, I round the counter, hoping that the distance between us will ease the ache between my thighs.

“Steve I really should be closing, did you need help with something?”

I notice his eyes fall to his shorts, an impressive tent having formed and I have to hold my breath so as not to drop straight to my knees. Without a word, he slowly reaches across the counter, gently knocking the robe from my shoulders, exposing me to him once again.

“Just tell me to stop and I will.” He speaks quietly, so quiet I almost don’t catch it.

There’s a look of animalistic hunger on his face, one that is new to me. A stark contrast to the boyish smile he usually sports. Within seconds he’s leaning across the counter, capturing his lips with mine, one hand tightly grasping the back of my neck for support, whilst I grip at his shirt. His kiss is fuelled by passion and while it’s rough there’s a feeling of comfort that I can’t describe.

Without thinking, I’m striding back around the counter, pushing him backwards so that he flops down on the couch. Allowing me to take a seat on his lap, his erection firmly pressed in between my thighs, if I weren’t so focused on the moment, I’d most certainly be embarrassed by the wetness that begins to drip down my thighs.

Grinding myself slightly, I tug at his top, pulling it over his head quickly before throwing it behind me. His lips attach to my neck and I can feel him sucking gently, determined to leave a mark. A moan escapes my lips before I can stop myself, sparking a fire in his eyes as he grips my hips, guiding them to roll over his clothed length even harder.

His fingers move with haste as he works at the knot holding the flimsy bralette together, prying it off my body the moment the ties become loose. Grabbing his jaw, I pull his face back to mine, kissing him with burning desire as his hands move to palm my breasts. Our tongues entwine as his fingers brush over my nipple, releasing a soft gasp from me, to which he takes advantage. Dipping his head to suck and bite marks into my chest, I grab his hair tugging softly with every moan that he extracts from my body.

I can hear a groan escape his mouth, to which he covers it up quickly by dragging his tongue over my nipple. His hands playing with the other so as not to focus all his attention solely on one. Steve sucks gently, drawing unholy moan after moan from my body as I continue to feel the heat between our bodies.

Tipping my head back and pushing my breasts further into him, I find myself pushing a hand between our bodies. Slipping under his shorts and offering a short squeeze, causing the man to murmur a soft fuck as he continues to play with my nipples. From feeling his length in my hand, I can tell he’s big, bigger than I anticipated and much bigger than I’ve ever had. It scares me equally as much as it excites me.

It’s only when I begin to start delicately stroking up and down, that he pushes me to the side. Throwing me onto the couch gently so that I am laid on my back with him standing over me. As he smiles down at me, I can’t help but find the contrast between his soft smile and the dominance he has just been displaying amusing. A cheeky grin evident on my face.

“Where’s that knife?” He asks, fingers brushing over my throat as he stares down at me.

“Knife?”

“From the pictures.”

Nodding my head towards the countertop, I watch eagerly as he grabs it, clenching my thighs together as my mind drifts to what he is going to do with it. Much to my surprise, he gently pulls my body up so that I’m sat upright, before settling on his knees between my thighs. Pushing the thong to the side, he presses the blunt side of the knife to my heat, trailing it between my folds. When he removes it, it glimmers with the slick that is now definitely dripping onto the couch.

“Lick it.” He raises the knife to my mouth and I brush my tongue against it as directed, immensely turned on by the entire situation. “You’re such a good girl.”

If his words didn’t make me moan, I do when his tongue makes contact with my clit. Head falling back as I close my eyes, focused only on the pleasure he is giving me. Despite not having my eyes open, I am acutely aware of Steve reaching up to my throat and holding the sharp side of the knife directly on my neck. Pushing it gently, though not so much to draw blood.

“God, you’re such a good girl.”

He switches between sucking and licking my clit, his free hand moving to push two fingers into me ever so slowly. The sounds are inherently sinful, the way he’s lapping up everything I can offer him is downright filthy and yet I feel like I’m in heaven. He devours me as though I’m his last meal, moaning against me, vibrations adding to the already exhilarating pleasure I’m experiencing. God, if this is what he can do with his tongue, there was no reason for him to buy a vibrator.

As he continues to push his fingers into me at an unruly pace, his tongue swirls circles against my clit, pushing me further and further to the edge. My stomach feels tighter and I try to close my thighs, though he reacts by pushing the knife closer to my throat, reminding me of its presence.

“Holy fuck.” I whisper, coil within me snapping and my legs twitching as he continues to lick up anything I have left.

With a pleased grin, he pulls himself away from me, rising to his feet and even in my post orgasm daze, I drop to my knees. Hurriedly pulling his shorts down to his ankles, I grab his erection with both hands. Mouth falling open in shock as I wrap both my hands around him.

“Jesus Christ.” My voice is almost silent yet Steve still hears me, chuckling at my words.

“You gonna be able to handle it?” He asks and I waste no time in nodding, gazing up at him, eyes filled with lust. “Yeah you are.”

In an attempt to calm my nerves, I hesitantly lick from the tip to the base, mouth watering as I hear Steve’s breaths become shakier. Wrapping my lips around the tip, I slowly begin to bob my head up and down, unable to take the whole thing but trying my hardest. I allow myself to coat his member with my spit, using my hands to stroke whatever I can’t fit in my mouth. He bucks his hips involuntarily with a deep guttural moan and I can’t help but gag, eyes watering as he hits the back of my throat.

Pulling back with a gasp for air, I continue to stroke him with one hand, the other reaching for his balls. As I lean in to go for round two with my mouth, he grabs my hair softly, pulling me to look up at him. With mascara streaks running down my and saliva falling from one corner of my mouth, Steve smirks.

“I’d let you do that forever if I wasn’t so desperate to feel you.”

He helps me up, pushing my body over the countertop, before pulling the thong off me completely. I spread my legs for him, allowing him to see the effect he has on me, he circles my clit with one finger as his other hand grips his length. The tip smacking against me as he nervously rubs it over my hole.

“Steve please, I want you so bad.” I beg, feeling myself clenching around nothing as he teases me.

“Fuck you’re perfect.” He cautiously pushes the tip into me, my hands gripping the wood of the countertop at the stretch and I squeal slightly, from a mixture of pleasure and pain. “My perfect girl.”

He continues to push himself inside of me for what feels like an eternity, just when I think I’ve taken him all, he pushes further. I’ll admit it has been a while and with Steve’s size, the stretch burns and yet I want nothing more than to feel him inside of me forever.

The gentleman he is, he stills once completely sheathed within me, awaiting confirmation from me that he is able to move.

“Steve please fuck me now.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice and instantly pulls himself out, almost completely before slamming back into me. Balls slapping against my clit in a way that teases me as he practically rips me in half. One hand pushes on my back, firmly holding me down against the counter as he continues to pound into me. The other grips my hip, knife still in hand though neither of us seem to pay any attention to it.

“Fuck, I’ve wanted to do this since the moment I saw you.” He states between moans, slamming into me at an almost brutal pace.

I’m able to slip one of my hands between the wooden surface and my body, bringing it to the space between my legs and gently teasing my clit, resulting in a string of profanities falling from my lips. Steve notices this and bats my hand away, taking over himself. His fingers are like magic and combined with the way he is ramming himself into me, I can feel myself on the brink of cumming once again.

“Oh my god, Steve I’m so close.”

Upon hearing this, he pulls my body upright, peppering kisses along my shoulders and the nape of my neck as he continues to drill into me at the same rough pace. Within a matter of seconds, I find vision spotting as I fall over the edge. Thighs sticky and wet with the remnants of my second orgasm. Steve allows me to fall back onto the countertop, continuing his assault on my vagina and the overstimulation drives me crazy. I’m a complete moaning mess and by the time he stills with a soft grunt, I have even more tears in my eyes.

“You’re so fucking perfect.” He murmurs, pulling out of me gently and pressing yet another kiss to my neck.

Turning around to face him, he has a lazy fucked out grin on his face and I can’t help but feel proud that I’m the reason for that smile. I smile at the thought, and at the feeling of his cum beginning to spill out of me and down my legs. Steve takes my hands in his and flops back onto the couch, wrapping his arms around me as I rest my head on his chest.

“You know I actually came here hoping I would work up the courage to ask you on a date but this was so much better.” He admits, nuzzling his nose into my hair.

“Wow so I missed out on a date?” I tease, hugging into him even tighter.

“I mean, we can always break into Scoops and go have that date now.” He suggests, voice soft as though he’s afraid I will reject him.

“That sounds perfect.”

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #Steve Harrington #steve harrington smut #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fanfic #Steve Harrington fluff #strangers things imagine #Steve Harrington x fem #Steve Harrington fanfiction #stranger things au #Steve Harrington x fem!reader #Steve harrington x female reader smut

338 notes · View notes