#we looked over the new world at the beginning of time and i offered comfort | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

souliebird · 10 months ago

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[[and then I met you || ch. 15]]

Series: Daredevil || Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader || Rating: Explicit

Summary:

A one-night stand years ago gave you a daughter and you are now able to put a name to her father – Matthew Murdock. Everything is about to change again as you navigate trying to integrate your life with that of the handsome and charming blind lawyer’s and Matt realizes he needs to not only protect his new family from Hell's Kitchen, but from the world.

pt: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14

Words: 8.1k

ao3 link

banner thanks to the wonderful @theradioactivespidergwen

The first thing you process as you begin to come to is a slow, rhythmic beeping. It is dull and low and it almost carries you right back into the nothingness. You slip in and out of the fog a few times before your mind is able to catch a hold of conciseness. Even then, it feels like everything crawls by until your thoughts go from incoherent images to actual awareness.

You feel awful - like you've been hit by a massive truck, who then backed up over you only to run you over again. Everything aches, but the worst of it is centered on the left side of your head, going down to your neck. It throbs and feels so stiff. You don't think you could move your head if you tried.

The second worst thing is how dry your mouth feels. It is as if someone stuffed you full of cotton to remove all the moisture from your body, then to make sure you were drained, dried you out under a heat lamp. It hurts to even try to swallow the little saliva your mouth is producing.

You need something to drink.

Like some sort of miracle, something cold and wet is pressed to your lips. It startles you, but you react quickly. You force your lips to part and an ice chip is slipped between them. You suck on it desperately and it only takes a second for it to melt away, but almost instantly you are given another one. This happens two more times before your mouth finally doesn't feel like a desert.

Your eyes are hard to open. They feel crusted shut and you don't know if you have the energy to try and pull them apart, but you try. It takes multiple attempts, but finally they open. Everything is far too bright and blurry.

Matt comes into focus above you, face wracked with concern. His hair is a mess and it looks like he hasn't slept in ages. His eyes, while sightless, are puffy and bloodshot and you wonder if he has been crying. Your brow knits in confusion and you try to reach for his cheeks to offer some sort of comfort. Your hand doesn't make it far off whatever you are laying on, but it doesn't matter because as soon as it is in the air, he's clasping his around yours.

He breathes out your name just as you croak out his.

Above you, he lets out the smallest breath of a laugh, like he is relieved, before moving even closer to you. He presses his forehead to yours and you let your eyes fall shut again - you're too tired to keep them open and you don't think he will mind the lack of eye contact.

“You scared me,” he whispers against you, before you feel his lips brush your cheek.

You manage a confused noise, not understanding what is going on. Your throat burns as you attempt to talk, “what happened…?”

“You've got a pretty bad ear infection,” he tells you and you think that sounds about right. Everything hurts so much and you are far too warm. The cotton feeling in your mouth is also in your left ear, making it feel like half your head is dunked under water.

He is so close, his breath warms your still cool lips as he talks, “It hit you hard and fast - your fever got up to 104 and you wouldn't wake up. We had to bring you to the hospital, but you'll be okay now. Your fever has gone down a lot.”

The words float through you and it takes you a few seconds to grasp onto them and make them make sense. “We…?” You question because you don't know who ‘we’ could be.

“Foggy and I,” he confirms. The hand not clutching your own cups your jaw and feels so cool and nice that you can't help but lean into it. He gives you another kiss, this time to the forehead, with his scruff lightly scratching against you. It tickles.

You realize a name is missing and your heart starts to race. Matt hasn't mentioned your daughter and you start to panic.

Where is she? Where's your baby?

“Minnie?” You ask, but to your non-stuffy ear, it sounds more like a whine.

He quickly starts to shush you, his thumb gently rubbing over your cheek, “it's okay, she's okay. She's safe. Foggy took her to go get some breakfast. She's okay. She's okay.”

His words do calm you, but your heart still pounds in your chest. You know Matt trusts Foggy, so to an extent, you do as well, but you want your daughter. You want to hold her and make sure she is truly alright. She must be so scared.

You get another kiss to the forehead and it pulls you from your worried yet sluggish thoughts. You decide you like the feeling of Matt's beard against your skin. It's not something you're used to, and even if it is a little scratchy, it feels nice. It makes you feel warm but not like your supposed fever is making you feel warm. It's a good warm that wraps around your heart. It helps to soothe you - Matt would never allow your little one to be in any danger.

“Try to get some rest, sweetheart. I'm not going anywhere - I'll be right here when you wake up, again. I swear,” he whispers into your hairline and you find yourself nodding into his palm.

Sleep sounds good - you're tired and achy. Your eyes are so heavy you couldn't possibly open them again. You are slumping back down into your pillow before you know it, thoughts slowly buzzing back into nothing.

The darkness takes you easily and you drift off without realizing Matt is practically clinging to you.

----

When you wake again, things make a little more sense. The hazy heavy fog is no longer covering your brain and you are more aware of what is happening around you before you open your eyes.

You can hear people walking around and talking outside your little room and everything smells disgustingly sterile. You can feel where IVs have been placed into your arm and the different monitors attached to your chest. You also know Matt is still clutching your hand and that motivates you to actually look around.

Your head is tilted to the right, stretching out the stiffness on the other side, and centered in your view is Matt. He's asleep, head tilted down with his chin nearly to his collarbone. He looks so peaceful with his chest slowly rising and falling and someone has draped a thin blanket around his shoulders, only adding to his gentleness. You can't see it, but you're sure his knees must be bumping against the bed with how close he is to you.

Your heart flutters in your chest. Had he stayed there this entire time? Has he let go of your hand at all?

You remember when you were in the hospital to give birth. You had been so lonely - no one had been there to hold your hand or keep watch over you. No one had visited you - though you had received flowers from your work friends.

Is this what it will be like now?

You want that desperately - to feel like you matter to someone, for someone to care about you and your well-being, to feel like you aren't always alone.

You squeeze his hand, and even though you feel absolutely horrible - hot and sweaty and like your head wants to fall off - you find yourself smiling at the sweet, handsome, lawyer who fathered your child.

You are so happy you forced yourself to tell him the truth.

You don't hear anything to your left but your heart rate monitor beeping, but your ear is also so clogged up not a lot of noise is getting through and you know it's throwing off your spatial awareness. It hurts to roll your head, but it eases your nerves to find you are alone with Matt in the exam room. However, you can't help the worry that bubbles in your stomach over the lack of your daughter.

You know she must be with Foggy. The hospital is probably an incredibly unpleasant place for her - you hate being here because of the smells and atmosphere and that must be amplified for her. You can't imagine all the awful things she might hear here - the sick and dying and the surgeries. You are grateful for Matt's best friend. You will have to find a way to thank him properly.

You force your gaze back to Matt and begin to slowly rub your thumb over his knuckles. He has so many scars there and you don't possibly know how he could have collected them all. He's told you before he practices boxing, but you don't think it is the bare knuckle kind. Maybe the punching bag can split skin - you have no idea about any of it beyond what you've seen in short viral videos.

You have toyed with the idea of asking about going to the gym with him. You think it would be a fun experience for Minnie and you're curious how fit you actually are. Your workouts consist of chasing a toddler around - star jumps, push ups, and weights are no longer in your repertoire and you haven't properly gone on a run since high school. Plus, Minnie has recently learned what a cartwheel is and you are sure she will want to learn to do one and a gym is a safe place for that.

You fall into a daydream about Matt teaching you and Mouse how to tumble, closing your eyes again as you do. You picture buying cute little leotards and watching your daughter perform a routine until there's movement under your hand.

Matt squeezes your fingers, and you open your eyes just in time to see him blink awake.

He gives you a sleepy smile, then with his free hand pulls his glasses out from somewhere under his blanket and puts them on. You watch him, taking in his crows feet before they disappear.

“How are you feeling?” He asks as he shrugs the blanket off his shoulders.

You take a moment to consider the answer. You honestly feel horrible, but you don't feel as horrible as you previously did. There are aches and pains but you feel human again, as opposed to the concept of one. So you squeeze his hand and respond, “Better. I didn't…I didn't think I was that sick.”

Matt hums and somehow scoots closer to the bed, then lifts your hand up to kiss the back of your hand. You feel your face heat up and your heart rate monitor beeps a little faster. “I'm glad, you gave us a good scare,” he says, keeping your hand against his lips.

You have to remind yourself he's a very touchy person to keep your heart rate from increasing even more. To help with that, you drop your gaze to his chest - he's wearing a Columbia sweatshirt that is far too big on him and hides his lean frame.

“What time is it?” His question throws you off at first, but then you realize there is a clock above the curtain entrance to the room.

It takes you a second to process, which you blame on the illness and not the fact you haven't used an analog clock in ages, “Almost 1:30. I'm…guessing that it is PM. I can't really tell.”

Matt nods and you guess he can tell whether it is day or night. You hope it is day - you'd feel so guilty if you'd been in the hospital longer than a few hours.

Behind your hand, a small smile appears on his face, “Minnie and Foggy are on their way back up. I think she heard - oh. Okay, yes, she heard you talking. She says she has a present for you.”

Your heart pangs for your daughter. You don't want her to see you like this, but you desperately need her in your arms. You try to push yourself up, but you don't know if you have the energy to keep yourself sitting.

“Do you know how the bed works?” You ask and Matt shakes his head. He reaches out and feels along the railings, but by his frown, you guess he can't figure it out. You doubt any of the button labels are in Braille.

“Let me get the nurse.”

He squeezes your hand once more before letting go. You tell yourself to ignore the strange feeling that envelopes you as he disappears behind the curtain separating you from everyone else.

You don't want to be alone again.

But you aren't - Matt is gone for barely thirty seconds before he's slipping back into the room, followed by a tired looking nurse. The woman comes up to your right side and you finally notice a little stand computer tucked by the bed. As she swipes her card key to unlock it, she looks at you, “How are you feeling?”

You decide to go with the same answer you gave Matt, “Better, ma’am.”

“Good, good,” she says as she types something. You go through the quick song and dance of confirming your name and birthdate, before she starts her questions, “Your pain on a scale of one to ten?”

You have to think about that - your head hurts but not nearly as much as it did last night and your body feels sore and groggy. You bite your lip before estimating, “About a four..?”

She adds that to your chart, “how about your ear? It should feel a bit clearer, you had a lot of fluid that drained out.”

That surprises you because you definitely do not remember that. You touch your ear and it feels far too warm and sensitive. You had no idea it was the problem, so you feel like you can't compare.

“I don't know. Full? It…hurts. Like it's…sore on the inside?” you feel like an idiot trying to explain, but you have no idea about ear anatomy.

The nurse hums, then turns to you, pulling a stethoscope out of her pocket, “I'm going to listen to your lungs. Take a deep breath.”

You do as you are told as she places the device on your back to listen. You repeat this a few times with her until she's satisfied and she goes to enter her findings in the computer.

“The doctor will be in shortly,” she tells you before leaning down to adjust your bed, so it can help you sit. You go from laying down to being propped up, “He will go over your discharge instructions.”

You're being discharged? You just woke up and haven't talked to anyone at all. The fact they are sending you away confuses you, “I'm being discharged?”

The nurse nods, not even looking at you as she locks the computer, “Yes. Do you feel you shouldn't be?”

You flush at the question and duck your head in shame. You know better than to question a doctor - if they think you should be discharged, you are fine. You force yourself to shrug and apologize, “No, I'm sorry, I just didn't expect it.”

The nurse simply gives you another hum before leaving to probably go tend to a patient that actually needs her. Almost instantly, Matt is back by your side, taking your hand. He kisses the meat of your thumb as he sits back in his chair.

“If you need to stay, you can stay,” he quietly advises.

You quickly shake your head, “No, it will be fine.” You huff a sad laugh, “It's not like I can afford this anyways.” You don't want to imagine the bill you are going to receive - being brought into the emergency room and given all kinds of medicine. You’ll have no more savings.

“Don't worry about it,” he quickly tells you, a frown clear on his face. “Focus on getting better. Taking care of yourself. We can tackle the bill later - there's plenty of work arounds.”

Guilt pools in your belly - you don't need Matt worrying about your money problems. You force yourself to nod at his words, simply so he'll not try to comfort you over this issue. You think he must be on to what you are doing because he squeezes your hand and starts to say something, but quickly cuts himself off. You don't understand why until a few moments later - the curtain closing off your room is pushed aside and Minnie barrels in, closely followed by Foggy.

You barely look at the blonde, instead pulling away from Matt to throw open your arms for your baby. The speed in which she manages to scale Matt and jump to you is impressive and you hug her to you like you're trying to absorb her. Your arm screams at you due to the fact you're trying to bend where your IVs are, but you don't care - and you don't care if your little angel is nearly strangling you with how tight she's hugging you.

“Don't ever get sick again!” She whines into your neck and you nod against her. You'll never get sick again - what you put her through for being sick will forever live in your mind.

“I'm sorry, baby, I'm sorry, I didn't know I was sick.”

“It was scary!”

That absolutely breaks your heart and tears start to fall.

“I'm so sorry, Minnie,” you choke out as you try to hold her impossibly closer. The guilt you had regarding money transforms into guilt over being sick at all. How dare you put Minnie through this? You should have realized something was wrong. You repeatedly apologize into her hair, trying to keep yourself from sobbing while she clings to you.

You feel the bed dip and then Matt is pulling you both against his chest and pressing his lips to your crown, “Shhh, it's okay. It's okay.”

You try to shake your head because none of this is okay. You scared and upset your daughter and you've got a stupid ear infection that is going to bankrupt you. Nothing is okay.

“Do you want to show your Mommy what you got her to make her feel better?” Foggy asks Minnie after a minute of you being hysterical and shame courses through you as you are reminded someone else is there, watching you breakdown.

You are such a fucking mess.

However, Minnie pulls away from being squashed between you and Matt and jumps off the bed to go to the blonde. You finally notice, through teary tired eyes, that he has a decently sized gift bag. He sets it down on the ground and Mouse has to pick it up by its sides because it's too tall for her to hold by the handles.

As she tries to figure out how to get back on the bed, you realize Matt is still wrapped around you and you decide you are too tired to fight with your anxiety and guilt any longer. You want his comfort - so you lean more into his arms and he responds by nuzzling you. He begins running his hands over your arms and somehow, it begins to soothe away your upset.

You miss whatever exchange your daughter and Foggy have, but he lifts her up and places her and the gift bag on the bed and she hauls it over to you.

“We got you a present to get better,” she tells you and you know whatever it is, you'll cherish it.

There's no tissue blocking your view and you see something pink and white checkered that looks very soft. Before you can move to pull it out, Matt intervenes. He takes your wrist and gently stretches out your arm that has the IV in it, humming against you, “You have to keep your arm straight.”

You flush at the reminder, feeling like a complete idiot, and use only one hand to pull out the gift.

It is a massive blanket and it is so so soft. You want to bury yourself in it.

“Oh, Mouse, this will make me feel better. Thank you so so much,” you say as you reach out with your good arm to hug her again. She wastes no time tucking herself back between you and Matt.

“Blankies make everything better,” she advises wisely, “Froggy said so.”

You can't help but smile at that and hold your daughter even closer. You turn your attention to Foggy, who has just been an absolute saint for watching over your daughter, “Thank you so much, Foggy. For everything. I can't thank you enough.”

He scoffs and waves his hand, “it is my pleasure. This wasn't my first late night Murdock call, it won't be my last, and she is at least a pleasure to be around at three in the morning.”

You want to ask how they even knew you were sick, but you also don't want to know the details. You can only guess Minnie somehow called Matt and you aren't in a place to hear that conversation. The guilt and emotions would overwhelm you even more than you already are and you are so so tired of crying. So you hug your daughter even closer, so she's in your lap, and mumble another thank you.

Foggy takes a seat in one of the visitor chairs and asks, “has the doctor come yet to talk to you?” You very much appreciate his concern, but most importantly, his tact. You don't feel like he's judging or lying to you. He seems genuinely concerned.

You try to not shake your head at his question, since Matt is still holding you and it would just hurt your head more, and reply “Just the nurse. She said I'm getting discharged.”

The blonde huffs, leaning back in his seat to cross his arms, “Wow, they really do just turn and burn. Last time I was here, they pushed me through, too. American health care, right?” You hum in agreement - the health care system in America is very bad.

Foggy dives into a story about being in the hospital when he was a kid. It quickly catches Minnie’s attention and you realize this may be more for her benefit than anyone else's. You try to listen, but instead find yourself resting your head on Matt's shoulder and closing your eyes again.

You’ll just stay like this, your daughter in your lap and her father holding you against him, until the doctor comes.

If he takes his time getting to you, you don't think anyone is going to complain.

---

It takes another three hours for you to be fully discharged. You have to fill out a mass of paperwork before the doctor even speaks to you, but after he does, no time is wasted to clear you out of the needed exam room.

Any concerns you have about getting home are moot, as Foggy has everything covered. He has borrowed his girlfriend's car and procured a child's seat from his parents - who apparently have multiple due to their ‘hoard of grandchildren’. Minnie doesn't fuss at all, focused on being the best helper she can be by carrying your purse, which had apparently been brought in with you. Matt is insistent on helping you walk, which you are grateful for - standing makes you very dizzy and you have to focus to not stumble.

To your great surprise, Karen is waiting outside your building as Foggy pulls the car up. She's carrying a few shopping bags, and beside her is a grumpy looking man you vaguely recognize holding a very old fashion looking crockpot. It has an orange vintage flower pattern and you kind of want it.

No one says anything as you all climb out of the vehicle. Matt quickly gets himself under your shoulder and his arm around your waist while Minnie latches herself to your hand. You don't know if she thinks she's helping or if she's obeying your rule of hand-holding when outside.

You all awkwardly stand on the sidewalk and you watch as Foggy and the new man have a staring contest. You have no idea what is going on and kind of don't care, as you want to get up to your apartment. After a full minute, Foggy points to the man and declares, “you aren't coming to Thanksgiving,” before marching towards the door to the building. Matt, and thus you, follows after him and as you pass Karen, she snorts with laughter. She and the man fall in line behind you as you make your way to the stairs.

You just know that if you allowed him, Matt would pick you up and carry you up the three flights of stairs, but you refuse to let it happen. You are dizzy and far too warm, but also very stubborn and you determinedly take each step at a time, refusing to stop until you're on your floor. Only then do you resume leaning into his hold.

Foggy unlocks your door then ushers you all inside. Minnie lets go of your hand almost instantly, drops your purse, and runs to the bedroom. You guess she is going to grab Pig and Scooby to update them on everything. You make your way to your couch as Karen sets the groceries on the table and her grumpy friend finds a spot on the counter to plug in the crockpot.

As she unpacks, Karen narrates, “Okay, so I got you all the essentials - Gatorade, tea, saltines, ibuprofen, a compress, and I got you life savers to suck on because that helps when you want something to sweet but don't want to eat anything. I picked up your medicine, it's just ear drops. And of course, the most important thing,” you turn on the couch just in time to see her motion towards your kitchen, “Nelson Family Chicken Soup.”

You stare at the blonde with wide eyes and you feel like you are going to start crying again. No one has ever done this much for you before - not even your ex-boyfriends. Your last one wouldn't even pick up tampons for you, but Karen has clearly gone out of her way and you've only met her a handful of times. You have no idea how to thank her and Foggy for everything they have done for you. You are going to have to bake them a cake or something. As for Matt, you know you are never going to be able to repay him for the comfort and care he has given you in the last few hours.

You are so overwhelmed with love for this little group of friends who are letting you into their life.

“Thank you so much,” you say, meaning it with all of your heart, “you didn't have to do all of that. Thank you.”

Karen gives you a warm smile before waving you off, “Don't mention it. You'd do the same for any of us.”

You happily would and plan to take notes of what Karen bought, just in case. However, the soup is something that confuses you. Did Matt's best friend bring Minnie to his house to cook? You turn to Foggy, who is examining Minnie’s toy chest, and ask, “You made soup?”

The blonde man looks up with a laugh, “God, no, you don't want me cooking. That was all my mom. Her soup is a cure all.”

“It is,” Matt vouches from beside you. “It can cure almost anything. It got rid of my flu last year.”

“It saved countless Christmases,” Foggy adds.

“It also stops cramps,” Karen confirms.

You look to the man in the kitchen for his approval and he just shrugs, “Haven't had it, but it smells good.”

You have to cover your face at that point because it is all too much. Foggy's mother made you soup? How did she even know you were sick? Why did she do this for you - someone she's never met? Someone she has no connection to at all?

An arm wraps around your shoulder and you are pulled to lean against Matt. He nuzzles against you and whispers, “you aren't alone anymore. We're all here for you.”

You hide yourself against him and he starts to rub your back in a comforting manner. This is far too much for you. You don't know how to process all of it.

Luckily, a distraction from your patheticness comes in the form of your daughter.

You hear her come back into the living room and boldly ask the strange man in your kitchen, “Who are you?”

You try to listen since you are curious and you can feel that Matt has turned his head to pay attention to his daughter. You stay tucked against his shoulder, wishing you had your new big blanket to wrap yourself in.

“My name's Frank, what's yours, little lady?” The man says and you try to commit the name to memory. You wonder if he is Karen's boyfriend or something - you don't think he's been mentioned before.

“Minnie!” She declares, then, “This is Pig and Scooby. They like soup, too!” You guess she's held up her toys for him to see. She must be less nervous of the man since he is in your home.

There's a round of chuckles before Frank speaks again, “That right? How about we leave it to your Daddy to get you and your friends some soup and we let your Mommy get some rest?”

There's a few beats of silence before you hear Minnie again, “Okay. Bye-bye, Mister Frank.”

The man barks with laughter, which barely covers the pitter-patter of feet coming towards you, “Daddy, can we have soup for dinner, I'm hungry.”

“Of course, princess, I'll make you a bowl.”

The others must take that as a cue, because when you lift your head up, the three other adults are making their way back to your front door.

Karen lightly calls out your name to get your attention, and when she sees you looking at her, offers a soft smile, “Feel better soon, and let us know if you need anything.”

“Anything at all,” Foggy adds, “I'm more than happy to play babysitter. Parks are my specialty if the squirt needs to get out all that Murdock energy.”

“I'm not a squirt!” Mouse huffs and you can picture her puffing up her cheeks.

“I don't know, kid, you look like a squirt to me,” Frank tells her and she lets out a long ‘nooooo’ in response.

You smile against Matt at the little exchange - you can tell your daughter is extremely fond of Foggy and that makes your heart rest easy. She's never been so vocal around other adults before.

“Thank you, so much. I really, really mean it,” you tell the people who have come to your rescue.

“It is really not a problem, you're family, now,” Foggy tells you before directing himself towards Minnie, “Okay, squirt, can I get a high five?” The sound of a toddler running followed by a slap tells you she just did that. “Good girl! Now, help your Dad take care of your Mom and call me if he gives you any trouble, got it?”

“Got it, Froggy!”

Goodbyes are exchanged then it is just your little family left in your apartment. You finally allow yourself to pull away from Matt.

“You don't need to stay.”

His response is to raise his eyebrows at you, “You think I'm going to leave you alone while you're sick? You need to rest. I’ll take care of everything else. Minnie can finally show me her Scooby movie.”

You want to tell him ‘no’, that you have it handled and he should go get his own rest, but you know it's fruitless. You're learning Matt is committed to his role of being a father and there will be no way to convince him to go. He's a lawyer - he probably already has fifteen arguments ready for why he should stay.

So you give in and give a small nod, “Okay…”

He breaks into a big grin, like he expected you to push back and is happy you didn't, “Good. Are you feeling up to some soup?”

Your stomach turns at the idea of eating anything. You’d been given IV fluids at the hospital and managed a cup of water, but you do not want to eat. There is nothing actually wrong with your stomach - everything is centered on your ear - but that doesn't change the fact you'll probably not be able to keep anything down.

“No,” you tell him after a moment, then add, “I think I'm going to shower and go to bed.”

“Okay,” he hums, reaching up and oh so gently petting your cheek with the back of his fingers and making a shiver run up your spine, “Let me know if you need anything. You don't need to get up, if you just say anything, I'll hear it, okay?”

You don't like the idea of him being able to hear your sick gross body, but there is nothing you can do about it. You slowly push yourself up, careful to not get too dizzy, then start towards your bedroom. Behind you, Matt starts talking about soup and Scooby with Minnie.

Once you are alone in your room with the door closed, you break down. You sit on your bed, hide your face in a pillow, and just let out all of your tears. All your frustration, your shame, your guilt, your confusion, your tiredness, and your pain pours out of you. Your shoulders shake as you bite into the pillow to try and hide your sobs and you pray Matt realizes you need to be alone right now and distracts Minnie. You just need to get all of this out of you.

Your body is so exhausted you can only cry for a few minutes before you are completely drained. You feel slightly better emotionally, but your head is throbbing even more.

You desperately want to get clean and curl up now. You weakly toss your pillow back on the bed and force yourself up to gather something clean to change into. You place the new garments of the dresser, before going to the closet and pulling out a new sheet for your bed. You know you don't have the energy to strip it, but you don't want to sleep on your own filth. So, you push your blanket off, then lay the clean sheet over the dirty one.

Satisfied with your meager attempt, you grab your clothes, open the bedroom door, and shuffle to the bathroom.

You look like absolute shit and don't need your mirror to tell you that, so you try to not look at it. To help, you grab a towel and maneuver it to hang over your medicine box, then strip out of your soiled clothing.

You let your body go on autopilot to start the shower and as you wait for it to heat up, you wash your face and brush your teeth. That alone makes you feel cleaner. You take your hair out of its ponytail - you washed it on Saturday, so you aren't going to rewash it, but you'd like to wet your skull to remove some sweat.

You kick your dirty clothes into a corner, then check the spray. It feels nice and hot, but not scalding, and you step in.

Almost immediately, your vision goes spotty and it feels like your brain is floating in ice water. You have to reach out with both hands and lean on the wall so you don't tumble over and you shuffle to it to press your forehead to the cool tile.

Maybe a shower wasn't such a good idea after all, but you feel so sweaty and sticky and gross. If you just stand and let the water wash over you, maybe it will help and you won't have to let go of the wall. Or you can just sit on the floor, but with how you are feeling that runs the risk of you not being able to get back up.

A knock on the door startles you and you have to push more against the tile to keep yourself upright.

You close your eyes tightly.

You think it must be Minnie. She's come to go potty when you've been in the shower before and you don't think she went before you left the hospital. You take a deep breath and center yourself before calling out, “Come in.”

The door opens and closes and the voice that speaks isn't Minnie.

“Are you okay?”

You shake your head because you are very much not okay in any sense of the word. You don't know how to put that into words or even if you want to. You don't want to go on the emotional rollercoaster again - you're so tired. You just want to get clean and go back to sleep.

You don't mean to space out, but you do. There's just so much going on and your body decides to only focus on remaining upright. So when hands smooth over your waist, you nearly scream. You know it's Matt, but it still scares you.

Why is he in the shower with you?

You try to turn around to question him, but his hands tighten around you, keeping you in place.

“Let me help you.”

The words shake your core. Your heart begins to pound in your chest and you know, if you had any tears left in you, they would be falling. Why is he doing this? Why is he here, asking to help you? Why is he pushing for it?

You feel him step even closer to you and his chest brushes against your back. He breathes your name into your ear, then repeats, “Let me help you, please.”

You try to shake your head and choke out, “You should be with Minnie.” Minnie needs him, she needs his help, not you. He is here to help watch over her, he even said so himself.

His nose bumps against your ear and you feel like your knees are going to give out. Why is he doing this?

“She's trying to give soup to her toys and watching her shows. She doesn't need me right now. You do. Let me help you.”

You push your hands firmer against the tile to keep your balance.

Matt has been with you all day, holding your hand and keeping you upright until you left his arms to go take a shower. You haven't asked this of him - he's been with you of his own free will. He's been so gentle with you, so caring, so comforting.

His hands move from your waist around to your stomach and slowly up to your sternum and very gently pulls you flush against his chest. He feels so firm, so steady, holding you up.

Do you really want to push him away? Do you really want to send him back to watch Minnie?

You can barely keep yourself standing. You're so dizzy. It feels like at any moment your body is going to give out and you'll collapse.

It feels nice to be held.

It feels nice that he is here for you, for whatever motivation he has.

You think of your daughter. How scary this must be for her and how terrifying it would be for her if you fainted in the shower after everything that has happened.

That must be why Matt is here with you. He's far more in tune with your body and you know that means Minnie is too.

He's trying to keep her safe by keeping you safe.

You need to think of Minnie, not yourself.

Matt whispers your name again and you drop your hand from the tile and place it over Matt's.

“Okay…” you whisper. “Okay.”

Lips brush your shoulder and his hands move to be at your ribs and there's a gentle pressure, silently asking you to turn. You take a steadying breath and start to rotate, slow as can be.

You can't look at him in the face. Despite everything, shame burns deep inside of you. You've always been able to do things yourself - you've always had to. Even if it feels good to have the help, to know Matt is going to catch you if you fall, the voice that lives inside you hisses that you're being weak. Pathetic.

You force your eyes open and the first thing you see are the scars going across his chest.

He has been through so much you don't even know about, just like you have been through things you haven't told him about, and to make this work, to make raising your daughter work, you have to trust each other. You have to trust Matt and he needs to trust you.

You slowly reach up and place your hand half over the scar on his right pec, then, to prove to yourself that you mean the beliefs in your head, you lean in and press your lips to the other side of the scar.

He inhales sharply and you feel like, for some reason, you made the right move.

Neither of you move for a minute, then Matt gently presses against you and guides you back into the spray of the shower.

It feels so good against your hot sticky skin and you find yourself letting yourself lean more into Matt and you give in to your desires and let your head fall against his shoulder, closing your eyes as you do.

You feel him reach behind you to the shower caddy and you are happy you have been using bar soap, so you don't have to explain what is what to Matt. He lathers up his hands, then begins to wash you. He starts with your back and you decide to just zone out. You can't debate anymore, you can't let your mind go crazy - you're too tired, too sick to deal with much more.

Matt's hands slowly work over your back and sides. They dip down to your bottom and even though he's touching somewhere intimate, it doesn't feel lewd.

After your back has been washed, he tilts his head just slightly and his nose brushes the shell of your ear and he breathes into it, “turn around so I can get your front.”

It takes a few moments, but you do as you are told, and then you are leaning back against Matt's chest, head once again resting on his shoulder, just the opposite one this time. Your nose is a hair's breadth away from his jaw.

He relathers his hands, then starts on your stomach. He's so methodical about it and it feels almost hedonistic. You're not going to deny it feels good, but you know it's not in any way sexual or wanting. You just haven't been touched in so long, so anything will feel good.

He avoids your nipples when he runs his hands over and under your breasts and he doesn't linger, moving up to your shoulders, then down your arms. When he gets to your hands, he laces your fingers together.

“Do you want your hair done?” He quietly asks and you just barely shake your head.

“Just want to get it wet,” you mumble into his throat.

He hums in response and squeezes your hands, “‘m gonna need to turn you around again to do that and to get your legs.”

He keeps your hands in his and, to your great surprise, turns you slowly around like you are dancing, one arm over your head and another around your back. When you're facing the right way again, you open your eyes to see Matt smiling at you with the softest look.

In your chest, your heart clenches.

No one has ever looked at you like that before. No one. No one has ever treated you the way he has.

You don't think you care if it is because you are the mother of his child. Matt is a truly good and loving person and you want to bask in it, at least for now.

You let go of one of his hands and cup his jaw. He presses into it, closing his eyes and it's like you can feel any tension he might have in him melt away. You stay like that for a few seconds before he turns his head just slightly to nuzzle into your palm, then he lets go of you to drag his fingers through your hair. He makes sure to get your roots wet, but doesn't soak your hair. His nails dig slightly into your scalp and you try to not moan at how nice it feels.

“Hold onto my shoulders,” he directs you and you do as you are told. Only when you have a secure hold on him does he kneel down and begin to run his hands over your legs. He starts high on one thigh and works his way down to your foot, then repeats the process on the opposite leg.

You can't help but look down at him, watching as he delicately washes you. There's this deep urge in your belly, right above your core, to tangle your hands into his hair. A memory from your night together, all those years ago, flashes through your mind.

He had backed you against a wall and gotten on his knees to push your dress up and your panties down. Your thigh had been draped over his shoulder and he had eaten you out like a starving man before taking you to bed and making you cum two more times on his tongue.

You quickly banish the thoughts because not only do you know it's not the time for that, but that it was a one night stand between strangers. You don't want to make things any more awkward by Matt realizing he's having such an effect on your body, even if you don't intend for it.

You tell yourself to think of the pajamas you've picked out to wear instead - a nice, soft, baggy shirt and your favorite biker shorts. You picture the amazing blanket your daughter got you and how nice it will be to curl up in it and sleep.

You want that more than anything right now. You want to just sleep.

You focus on that until Matt is back in front of you and turning off the water.

“All done,” he whispers and you repeat the words back to him.

He helps you out of the shower and gets you wrapped in a towel before starting to dry himself off. You don't allow yourself to admire his body and focus on getting the water droplets off of your body and out of your hair.

Once you are no longer dripping, you bundle your hair back into a ponytail and pull on your clean clothes.

The little change makes you feel so much better. You always forget how just being clean can change your mood so drastically.

“Thank you,” you whisper once you are dressed. “Thank you so much, Matt.”

You turn to finally look at him, and he has redressed in just his boxers and oversized sweater. He steps towards you and cups your jaw, smoothing his thumb over your cheeks, “You don't have to thank me. I'm here for you. I'll always be here for you. You just have to let me in, okay? Please let me in.”

You close your eyes at his words and nod.

You can't promise you will let him in fully, but after everything he's shown you in such a short time, you think you can try. You can try to let Matt in.

“Okay.”

He lets you go with a small, sweet, and soft smile then cocks his head slightly to the right, “Let's get you to bed, I think someone has decided they want to join you for a nap.”

Joy swells in your heart and belly at the idea of cuddling with your daughter. You want to wrap her up and hold her and let her feel loved and protected. You know now how nice it is and words tumble from your lips without you meaning them to, “you should come too.”

His eyes go wide at the offer before that small sweet smile morphs into a boyish grin, “I would like that. I would like that a lot.”

a/n: Matt would not stop smooching. I could not hold him back from smooching.

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#soulie writes #fanfiction #daredevil #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x you #and then i met you

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pucksandpower · 1 year ago

Note

hi love!! i’m not sure if you’re talking requests so completely ignore this if you’re not but, i’m in love with your grid kids series and i was wondering if you could do something with the grid kids that goes more into readers line of work?🫶🏼

Grid Kids: She Means Business

Sebastian Vettel x wife!Reader x platonic!drivers

Summary: your career as a renowned sports psychologist means you often work with your husband and grid kids

Series Masterlist

Sebastian Vettel: Meet Cute

Red Bull Racing’s pit wall is a hive of activity during the practice session for the Monaco Grand Prix. Engineers, strategists, and everyone in between are glued to their screens, analyzing data and communicating with the drivers.

You’re there in an official capacity, hired by Red Bull Racing to conduct a series of workshops to help the team, particularly the drivers, cope with the mental pressures of racing. With a headset on, you’re mostly observing, making notes on communication dynamics, when suddenly a voice interrupts your thoughts.

“Excuse me, is this seat taken?”

You look up, slightly startled, to see none other than Sebastian Vettel, the team’s star driver, smiling down at you. His mop of hair sweaty and slightly tousled from the helmet he just took off after finishing up with FP2, the impish twinkle in his eyes making you feel … something.

“Oh, no. Not at all. I was just ...” you stammer, suddenly feeling a bit out of your element.

Sebastian sits down next to you, leaning in conspiratorially. “Between you and me, I think I’m here to see what the mysterious new hire is up to.”

You chuckle, “Well, if you must know, I’m observing team dynamics, communication patterns ... very thrilling stuff.”

He feigns a gasp, “So you’re spying on us?”

“In the most professional way possible,” you reply with a smirk.

Sebastian laughs, the sound genuine and contagious. “Well, I hope we’re giving you some good material.”

You lean in this time, matching his playful tone, “You? Always.”

There’s a brief pause, a moment of charged silence, before Sebastian grins, “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

You smile back, “You should.”

The two of you chat easily, talking about the intricacies of the sport and the importance of mental preparedness.

As the session winds down and Mark Webber also makes his way back into the garage, Sebastian looks over at you, “You know, for someone who’s here to observe, you’re quite the distraction.”

Your cheeks warm, “Is that so?”

He nods, mock serious, “Absolutely. It’s a problem. I think we might need a one-on-one session to discuss it further.”

You laugh, “I’ll have to check my schedule but I’m sure we can arrange something.”

Sebastian winks, “Looking forward to it,” and with that he’s off to debrief with his engineers.

As you remove your headset, you can’t help but smile to yourself. This job assignment just got a lot more interesting.

Max Verstappen: Unloading the Past

Ten years later, the Red Bull Racing hospitality suite is buzzing with activity: the clink of glasses, murmurs of conversation, and the distant roar of engines echoing from the track. But in a quiet corner, there’s a space that feels a world apart.

Soft, ambient lighting casts a serene glow, a few comfortable chairs are arranged in a circle, and on the coffee table lies an assortment of fidget tools, from stress balls to sensory mats. This is your corner, specially designed for individual sessions.

Max Verstappen hesitates at the entrance. His eyes dart around, taking in the unfamiliar setting. It’s clear that beneath that façade of unshakable confidence lies vulnerability.

You rise, offering a comforting smile. “Hey, Max. Ready?”

He gives a tentative nod, following you in. “I’m not ... I’m not sure how to do this,” he admits, voice barely audible.

“That’s okay,” you assure him, guiding him to a chair. “There’s no right or wrong way. Just start wherever you feel comfortable.”

Taking a deep breath, Max begins, his words tumbling out, “It’s just ... sometimes, when I’m out there on the track, I feel like that kid again.” His voice cracks and he pauses, searching for the right words. “The kid who always felt he wasn’t good enough no matter how hard I tried.”

You nod, encouraging him to continue, “Tell me about that kid.”

As Max delves into memories of his childhood, stories of relentless training sessions, the weight of expectations, and the struggle to fit in, you listen. Every word, every pause, every shift in his tone paints a picture of a boy who was thrust into the world of racing at a young age, grappling with the colossal pressure to prove himself.

You gently prod, asking him to revisit specific incidents, encouraging him to express his feelings, and offering insights when necessary.

As the session progresses, Max’s demeanor changes. His initial hesitation gives way to openness, vulnerability transforms into strength, and slowly, the pieces start falling into place.

“You know,” you say softly, “It’s natural to carry the scars of our past with us but it’s important to remember they don’t define us.”

Max looks up, his eyes glistening with unshed tears, “But how do I move past it?”

You want so badly to reach out and hug him — this young man who you consider a son in all but blood — but hold yourself back. You’re both here for work and, right now, Max needs you as a professional and not a mom.

“By acknowledging it, understanding it, and then channeling it. Every time you get in the car, it’s an opportunity to rewrite that narrative. Not for anyone else but for yourself.”

Max takes a moment, absorbing your words. “Thank you,” he murmurs, a weight visibly lifted off his shoulders.

You give him a reassuring smile. “Anytime, Max. Remember, you’re not alone in this journey. Oh, and remember, we’re all meeting at that little Italian place Charles recommended for dinner.”

There’s a lightness in Max’s voice that wasn’t there before, “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

Charles Leclerc: Bittersweet Memories

The setting sun casts a somber glow across the paddock at Suzuka Circuit. It’s a track rich with history, triumphs, and heartbreaks. For Charles Leclerc, it’s where he lost Jules Bianchi, his godfather, mentor, and friend.

You find Charles seated alone in a quiet part of the Ferrari motorhome, gazing out the window. The overflowing sadness in his eyes nearly makes you stop in your tracks.

“Hey,” you greet gently, not wanting to startle him. “Mind if I join you?”

He offers a small nod, his gaze still distant.

Sitting down next to him, you allow a comfortable silence to settle, giving him the space to open up when he’s ready. Moments pass before Charles finally speaks, his voice tinged with melancholy.

“Every time I come here,” he starts, “it feels like I’m reliving that day. The memories, the pain, it all just floods back.”

You nod, understandingly, “Grief has a way of doing that, especially when tied to such a tangible reminder.”

Charles looks down, fiddling with his bracelet. “It’s hard, you know? Racing on the same track where I lost him. Every corner, every turn, it’s like he’s there with me.”

Taking a deep breath, you offer, “Maybe that’s a way for you to connect with Jules. To honor his memory, to carry his spirit with you every lap you drive.”

Charles’ eyes shimmer with tears. “I want to make him proud, to show that everything he taught me wasn’t in vain. But sometimes, the weight of it all just becomes too much.”

You reach out, placing a reassuring hand on his arm. “It’s okay to feel overwhelmed. Grief isn’t linear. There will be days when it hits harder, especially in places like this. You just have to remember it’s not about racing against the pain but learning that it’s okay to race with it.”

He meets your gaze, searching for strength, “How do I do that?”

“By allowing yourself to feel, by acknowledging the pain, and by channeling it into your drive. Jules might not be here physically but he’s with you in spirit. And every time you get behind that wheel is another opportunity to show that.”

Charles takes a deep breath, absorbing your words. “Thank you,” he murmurs, a glimmer of determination returning to his eyes.

You give him a comforting smile. “I’m glad I could help, even if it’s just a little. We’re all here for you every step of the way.”

Lance Stroll: Nepo Babies Have Feelings Too

Inside the Aston Martin team lounge, screens show replays of the latest race, commentators discussing various drivers’ performance. One topic that often comes up is Lance Stroll. The chatter revolves around his father’s ownership of the team and whether Lance truly earned his seat or if he’s just a product of nepotism.

You notice Lance sitting a bit apart from the rest, headphones on but his face is a giveaway. The furrowed brows, the downward curve of his lips —he’s clearly overheard the unsubtle whispers.

You make your way over, gesturing to ask if he’d like some company. He nods, removing his headphones.

“Those comments,” you begin gently, “they don’t define you.”

Lance sighs, his frustration palpable. “It’s just ... no matter what I do, how hard I work, how much I improve, it always comes back to the same thing. That I’m only here because of my father.”

You nod, understanding the weight of such judgments. “It’s tough, Lance. But remember, others’ opinions of you are just that — opinions. They aren’t the truth and they most definitely are not your truth.”

He looks up, eyes searching. “But how do I prove them wrong? How do I show that I deserve to be here?”

“It starts with belief,” you say, leaning forward for emphasis, “belief in yourself. You’ve trained, you’ve raced, you’ve faced challenges head-on, and you’ve earned your spot. Your journey in F1 isn’t just about your last name. It’s about every late-night on the simulator, every risk taken on the track, every lap you’ve driven.”

Lance nods slowly, taking in your words. “But the chatter, it’s just so deafening sometimes.”

You offer a comforting smile. “You can’t control what others say but you can control how you react. Every time you’re on that track, you have the power to redefine the narrative, to let your skills speak louder than any spiteful words.”

Motivation straightens his hunched shoulders, the weight of doubt lifting slightly. “So focus on the drive, not the noise?”

“Exactly,” you affirm. “Your talent, your dedication, that’s what matters. Let the world see Lance Stroll, the driver, not just Lance Stroll, the son.”

He chuckles, “Easier said than done.”

You wink, “That’s why you have a stellar support system. Lean on us whenever the noise gets too loud.”

George Russell: Comparing Comparisons

It’s a cool afternoon at the Silverstone Circuit and the entire paddock is buzzing with excitement. There’s an added layer of intrigue to the British Grand Prix this season. Lewis Hamilton, the seven-time world champion, will be racing alongside his much younger compatriot, George Russell, as teammates for the first time.

In the Mercedes team garage, George is meticulously going over his race data, replaying certain turns and maneuvers in his head. But an undertone of tension cuts through his concentration.

You walk over, picking up on his restlessness. “Nervous about tomorrow?”

He glances up, forcing a smile. “That obvious, huh? It’s just racing alongside Lewis … it’s a dream come true but also incredibly daunting.”

You nod, understanding the pressure of standing next to a giant in the sport. “It’s natural to feel that way. Lewis has carved a legacy in F1 and now you’re right beside him, sharing the same tracks in the same car.”

George sighs, “That’s the thing. Everywhere I turn, there’s a comparison. It’s not just about my performance anymore, it’s about how I measure up to him.”

You lean against the worktable, choosing your words carefully. “Here’s the thing, George. You can’t control comparisons or expectations but you can control your race. Every driver brings something unique to the track. Lewis has his legacy, yes, but you have your own journey and story still to build.”

George nods slowly, pondering over your words. “I want to be able to block all of that out. I’ve tried every single weekend so far. But it’s hard. How do I focus on my race and not the looming shadow beside me?”

“There’s no one right answer,” you sympathize. “Look, Lewis is an icon and racing alongside him is an opportunity to learn, to grow. But remember, you’ve earned your spot here. This is as much your race as it is his.”

He chuckles, “You always know exactly what to say.”

You smile, “Just a little wisdom from the sidelines. Trust your training, trust your instincts, and let George Russell shine.”

Lando Norris: Never Grow Up

It’s a warm and bright morning but the mood inside the McLaren motorhome doesn’t quite reflect the sunny atmosphere outside. Lando Norris sits in a corner, earbuds in, lost deep in thought. The usual playful energy that surrounds him is missing today.

You approach, sensing the shift in his demeanor. “Room for one more?”

He looks up, offering a half-hearted smile. “Sure.”

You settle beside him, waiting for him to speak. After a brief pause, Lando finally breaks the silence. “Do you think I’m too childish?”

You’re slightly taken aback. “What makes you say that?”

Lando sighs, “I overheard some comments from a few crew members from another team. They said that no one takes me seriously because I’m always joking around, always laughing. They think that I’m not mature enough for this sport.”

You consider his words, understanding where he’s coming from. "Formula 1 is intense. It’s demanding and requires immense focus and dedication. But it’s also about personality, about bringing your unique touch to the grid.”

He nods but still seems unsure. “But what if they’re right? What if I’m not taken seriously because of how I act?”

You lean in, ensuring he listens to every word. “Lando, your driving speaks volumes. Every time you get behind the wheel, you showcase your skill and your tenacity. The playful side of you, the side that loves to laugh and bring joy, that’s a part of who you are. It doesn’t diminish your talent or your dedication.”

Lando seems to ponder your words, “But it’s hard, you know? Feeling like I have to constantly prove myself. Like there’s something wrong with being myself.”

You take his hand into both of yours, “Every driver feels that way at some point. But remember, the beauty of this sport is that it’s as much about character as it is about speed. Your playful nature, your genuine laughter, it brings a freshness to the paddock. Embrace it.”

He chuckles, the familiar sparkle returning to his eyes. “So be me and let my racing do the talking?”

“Without a doubt,” you confirm. “Stay true to yourself. The world needs more genuine smiles and more authentic laughter. Then, on the track, just keep doing what you do best.”

Lando grins, “Thanks. I really needed to hear that.”

Mick Schumacher: What’s In a Name?

The aftermath of a race is evident inside the Haas garage. Engineers are engaged in post-race analysis, the car undergoing routine checks. A desolate Mick Schumacher sits among the organized chaos, his helmet still on, concealing his face.

Walking over, you notice the subtle tremors in his frame, the weight of something heavy weighing on his young shoulders. Gently, you tap on his helmet, signaling for him to lift it. When he does, the anguish in his eyes is palpable.

“You okay, Mick?” you ask softly.

He tries to answer but his voice breaks. Swallowing hard, he confesses, “I just ... I can’t do it. I can’t ever live up to the name.”

You know the gravity of his sentiment. Being Michael Schumacher’s son in Formula 1 is no easy feat. The legacy, the expectations, the constant comparisons that follow Mick everywhere — it’s overwhelming.

You sit down beside him, “I won’t pretend to understand the pressure you feel but remember this: You are not just your last name. You are Mick Schumacher, your own person with your own journey, your own challenges, and your own victories.”

“But everywhere I go, it’s always about him,” Mick interjects, frustration evident. “The great Michael Schumacher’s son. Can he do it? Will he be even a fraction as good? It’s suffocating.”

You nod, acknowledging his feelings. “Your father is a legend and it’s natural for people to draw parallels. But racing isn’t just about legacy, it's about passion, determination, and personal growth. The shape your path takes in this sport is yours alone.”

Mick wipes away a tear, his gaze distant. “But what if I never truly make it? What if I never even score a point much less a podium or a win? What if I’m always just the son of the legend, never a making a name for myself in my own right?”

You squeeze his shoulder reassuringly. “Then you make peace with that and find joy in what you managed to achieve regardless. You are among twenty of the best drivers on the planet right now. Getting here is no easy feat. Not every path has to lead to the same destination. Maybe you’ll carve a different legacy, one that is uniquely yours.”

Mick seems to ponder over your words, his shoulders relaxing slightly. “I just ... I want to make him proud.”

You smile gently, “By being yourself, by giving every race your best shot, you already are. It’s not the titles or the championships that define us. It’s our heart and the impact we make on those around us. And trust me, your heart is in the right place. Your father would only ever want you to be happy, whatever that entails.”

With a deep breath, Mick nods, a content smile crossing his lips. “Thank you. I needed that.”

You give him an encouraging pat, “I’m always in your corner. Remember that it’s not the shadow that defines us but how we emerge from it.”

Mick stands up, ready to face another day, another race. The legacy of his last name will always be there but he’s slowly learning that his own identity holds value and strength too.

Toto Wolff & Christian Horner: Couples Therapy

The sun filters through the sheer curtains of the sophisticated office, casting dancing patterns on the wooden floor. A blend of vanilla and sandalwood wafts through the air, lending to an ambiance of calm. But this illusion is quickly shattered by two animated voices engaged in heated debate, echoing from the hallway. The door flings open to reveal Toto Wolff and Christian Horner, each determined to prove their point even before the session officially starts, and the cameras and sound equipment stationed around the room quickly zero in on them.

You sit in your chair, a hint of amusement in your eyes, as you address them. “Gentlemen, welcome! How about we start by taking our seats?”

Toto and Christian hesitantly sit on the couch, keeping as much distance from each other as possible.

“So,” you begin, trying to contain your laughter, “Drive to Survive mentioned you two might need some ... couples therapy?” You add air quotes for emphasis.

Christian immediately rolls his eyes. “It’s ridiculous! We’re competitors, not some bickering married couple.”

Toto chimes in, “Although he does nag like my grandmother.”

Christian retorts, “Oh please, Toto! The way you carry on, anyone would think you’re auditioning for a soap opera.”

You hold up a hand, “Alright, let’s take a deep breath. We’re here to find common ground.”

The two team principals continue their banter, airing their grievances, from stolen engineers to wind tunnels to secret agreements. You listen, scribbling notes, occasionally nodding or offering a “hmm” of understanding.

After what seems like an eternity, you interrupt their tirade. “Okay, I’ve come to a conclusion. You both are quite the pair. But instead of directing this ... energy at each other, how about a united front? Surely there’s something, or someone, you both dislike equally?”

Christian and Toto exchange glances, a mischievous glint appearing simultaneously. “The producers,” they chorus.

You swear that you can hear the men standing out of camera range behind you — the producers in question — audibly swallow.

You lean in, intrigued. “Go on.”

Toto grins, “They’ve been poking and prodding, trying to get a reaction out of us. It’s why they set this whole thing up in the first place. And while we do love the drama,” he eyes Christian, “maybe it’s time they get a taste of their own medicine.”

Christian nods in agreement, “A united front to give the producers a season they won’t forget.”

You clap your hands together, “Perfect! So what’s the plan?”

As the session concludes, Toto and Christian leave, arms around each other’s shoulders, laughter echoing down the hall.

You lean back in your chair, chuckling. “Well, that was certainly one for the books.”

You turn around to face the Drive to Survive crew already packing their equipment and producers looking shell shocked . You’ve never seen grown men look quite so pale. But they only have themselves to blame — the session was their idea in the first place.

Sometimes you really love your job.

1K notes · View notes

buckets-and-trees · 1 month ago

Text

Chosen, Part 9: Transformation

Characters/Pairings: James Buchanan Barnes/Bucky x curvy Millennial Female!Reader Word Count: 7k Summary: Bound to the fallen angel, he sweeps you away for one more ritual on this full moon.

Content Warnings: skin marking/branding by cutting/use of dagger; explicit smut: oral (female receiving), vaginal intercourse; supernatural binding; human transformation to supernatural being; terato/monster fucking

Notes: FINAL CHAPTER! Lots of smut and lots of information! Given the length, I could have split this chapter in two, and there was a spot I could have broken it off at, but this really felt more cohesive to me and I wanted to give it to you as one final installment of this long and winding tale. Additional Notes: To anyone who has not read from the beginning, I have determined that one could reasonably start with Part 7: Offering and read only the final third of the saga. Think Doctor Who when there's a new Doctor and/or companion and it's built to be a sufficient entry point for anyone new to the story. You'll miss copious backstory, but should be able to drop in and follow without any real problem.

Previous: Binding | Series List

↠ Main Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

James' powerful wings beat steadily as he carries you through the night sky. The cool night air rushes past, a stark contrast to the heat of his body pressed against yours. You cling to him tightly, your mind reeling from everything that has transpired, heart pounding with a mix of exhilaration and lingering pleasure.

As you soar higher, the clearing and the assembled crowd fade into the distance below. The full moon bathes everything in its ethereal glow, casting long shadows across the landscape. You've never seen the world from this vantage point before, and it takes your breath away.

"Where are we going?" you manage to ask, your voice barely audible over the rush of wind.

James looks down at you, his eyes gleaming with an otherworldly light. "To a place where we can complete your transformation in private," he replies. "What comes next is sacred, meant only for us."

You nod, nestling closer to his chest.

After what feels like both an eternity and no time at all, James begins to descend, and you turn your head to see the towering walls of the estate. With a graceful landing, he alights on a terrace teeming with ivy, jasmine, and more of the Luna’s Tears. As he steps through a set of grand French doors, you’re enveloped in the soft and warm lighting of a luxurious room. From plush rugs to the rich velvet curtains billowing in the gentle breeze from outside to the mahogany furnishings, it’s designed for comfort. But another word comes to mind as well as he gently sets you down and you look around - sanctuary. This is his sanctuary, a place where he can escape the chaos of the world and find peace in its lavish surroundings.

“How are you feeling?” he asks, pulling you into his arms so you’re standing face to face. His eyes are earnestly studying your expression, and his arms circle around your lower back. Your hands come to rest instinctively on his chest.

You take a moment to assess yourself, still marveling at the changes you feel coursing through your body. "I feel different," you say softly. "More alive than I've ever been." Your skin tingles where it touches his, as if an electric current is passing between you. "But also... incomplete? Like there's something more waiting to happen."

James nods, a small smile playing at his lips. "That's to be expected. The binding ritual in the clearing was just the beginning of your transformation. There's still more you could become, and I think the essence of Luna’s Tears in your blood is calling for it."

His hand comes up to cup your cheek, his thumb tracing your lower lip. The simple touch sends a jolt of pleasure through you, igniting the embers of desire that still smolder in your core.

“What do you feel through this?” you ask tentatively. “Anything?”

James' eyes darken as he gazes at you intently. "I feel everything," he says, his voice low and husky. "Your essence, intertwining with mine. The potential for what you could become. The hunger in your body, calling out to be fulfilled."

His hand slides from your cheek down your neck, leaving a trail of tingling sensations in its wake. "But more than that, I feel a connection to you that goes beyond the physical. A bond that transcends mere mortal understanding."

You shiver at his touch and his words, feeling that same connection humming between you. "What happens now?" you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

James leans in, his lips brushing against your ear as he speaks. "Now, we complete your transformation. If you're willing."

You nod without hesitation, surprising yourself with how eager you are to continue this journey.

“Come with me,” he says, and takes your hand.

He leads you into the bathroom, as spacious and exquisite as his chambers. The moonlight streams in through a large skylight, casting an otherworldly glow on the tiled floor. He turns on the faucet, and water gushes out, filling a deep clawfoot tub with steamy warmth. You raise an eyebrow, and he explains, “Bathing in the light of the full moon is one of the elements for the transformation ritual.”

He reaches for a simple glass bottle, removes a cork from its seal, and begins to pour the liquid into the bath. You’re met with a strong and fresh scent of a smell that’s growing not only familiar but recognizable to you - Luna’s Tears. It’s been faintly surrounding you due to the flower crown that’s still on your head, but the essence being added to the bath is more potent.

A small wave of nerves threatens to wash over you. “Do I have to be unconscious for the next part? Won’t the essence of Luna’s Tears put me to sleep?”

James' eyes soften as he hears the concern in your voice. He reaches out, gently cupping your face in his hands. "No, my dear," he says softly, his thumbs caressing your cheeks. "You won't be put to sleep by this."

He guides you closer to the tub, the steam rising from the water carrying the intoxicating scent of Luna's Tears. "What you experienced earlier - the deep sleep - was caused by a different concoction. A blend of herbs and other elements designed to prepare your body and mind for the initial stages of the ritual."

James' wings rustle softly behind him. He reaches out and gently removes the flower crown from your head as he continues, "For you, the essence of Luna's Tears will now provide strength and healing. It will fortify your body and spirit for the transformation." He places the crown on a nearby shelf, then takes your hand to help you step into the tub.

The warm water envelops you as you sink into the tub, and you feel the essence of Luna's Tears immediately seeping into your skin. It's invigorating, awakening every nerve ending in your body.

James kneels beside the tub, folding his wings neatly behind him. His eyes never leave you as he begins to gently wash your body with a soft cloth. His touch is reverent, almost worshipful, as he cleanses away the remnants of the earlier ritual, blood and earth and sweat.

You shiver despite the warmth of the water, both from his touch and the implications of what he’s said.

As his hand moves with the cloth over every part of your body, it’s an intimate study for him, memorizing you inch by inch. You still feel somewhat exposed, but also treasured, and still slightly overwhelmed by all of this. But as his hands move over you, with no way to hide the soft, round parts of your body that you typically dread, he shows nothing but unabashed wonder and appreciation. It’s something you’ve rarely felt with any previous partner.

Seeking distraction from thinking only of his touch and what it means, you decide to test the waters of what he will tell you. “How exactly do you see this working? You’ve bound me to you through ritual and through contract, but am I to you?”

James pauses his ministrations, his hand stilling on your shoulder. His eyes meet yours, intense and searching. "You are my elim," he says, his voice low and reverent. "It's a sacred bond, one that goes beyond mere mortal understanding."

He resumes washing you, his touch gentle yet purposeful. "Your essence is intertwined with mine, your very being attuned to me in ways that transcend the physical realm."

James' hand moves lower, skimming over your collarbone and down to your breast. You inhale sharply at the contact, feeling a spark of desire ignite within you. "In the most basic sense, it means you are mine. But it's so much more than simple possession."

He resumes washing you, his touch gentle yet purposeful. "You are my chosen one, selected to stand by my side. You will be my partner, my confidante, my source of strength and renewal."

James' hand moves to cup your cheek, his thumb tracing your lower lip. "In time, as your transformation completes, you will gain abilities beyond those of mortals. Longevity to match my own lifespan, enhanced strength and healing, a deeper connection to the natural world."

His eyes search yours, gauging your reaction. "In addition to that, you will be integral to my mission.”

Your mind reels at the implications of James' words. Enhanced abilities, longevity, a deeper connection to nature - it all sounds like something out of a fantasy novel. And yet, after everything you've witnessed tonight, you find yourself believing him.

"Your mission?" you ask, curiosity piqued. "What exactly is it that you're trying to accomplish?"

James' hand continues its gentle ministrations, moving down your arm as he speaks. “That,” he says, “is a discussion for another time.”

You make an impatient sound and bat his hand away. “I’m tired of information being withheld from me! I want answers, and I deserve them!”

He reaches out and firmly takes your hand. “I will tell you everything, I swear it on our bond, but not now. There is more to the transformation ritual, and I want your mind and body to be completely rested and refreshed, and there are charts and maps and books I will want to show you in the archives.”

“Oh,” is your simple reply.

“Soon, just not now.”

“Okay,” you agree. You believe he’s being sincere. You feel it, actually, and not just in the metaphorical sense, you realize you feel some kind of resonance between the two of you.

He resumes washing you.

Your eyes roam over him. He’s the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen, body sculpted as if by the gods, and you’d almost believe it, given that he’s an angel. He’s still naked as well, but now that you have time and feel comfortable enough to simply look at him, you notice he’s wearing a gold pinky ring and a pendant on a chain around his neck.

“What’s that symbol on the pendant around your neck?”

“It’s for protection,” he answers simply.

You cock your head. “Protection? But you’re an angel.”

“That’s part of the soon-not-now story you will eventually learn.”

You sigh, and he laughs softly. “Your keen mind will not be wasted, elim. Your desire to know is something I look forward to in a partner.”

Your chest swells a little at this admission. But it spurs another thought - one you think he should be able to answer.

“With all of the ritual, the destiny,” you start, “why bother with an employment contract? Why go through the ruse of it all?”

He chuckles. “It’s not a ruse. Everyone has a place and a purpose here, and if you’re going to work, you should be compensated. Nat was insistent that whether or not I bound myself to you, I needed some kind of assistant working with me on my projects.”

You almost laugh, but his face tells you he’s serious.

“Wait, so the foundation is… it’s real?”

He tilts his head, scrutinizing you. “You saw it all today. You met with so many of my people. Did you think it was all an act?”

“I,” you start, then stop. “I guess not, it’s just a lot to take in. I suppose now that I know what and who you truly are, I’ll be able to have a lot more of the questions answered today that I got denied full transparency on?”

He nods. “I imagine so.”

“Hmm,” you hum. After another moment, you ask, “What do I call you? You’re an angel, but bound to me, and also my boss?”

He chuckles. “Bucky. You can call me Bucky.”

“Bucky?”

“Supernatural beings are either assigned or choose a sacred name for their transformed state, but only certain designations are allowed to use the name,” he explains. “An elim can use the name.”

“And Bucky?”

“It’s what most people called me when I was still human. I wanted a moniker to remind me of my humanity - who I wanted to serve and protect.”

Bucky's revelation that he’d once been human sparks a flurry of questions in your mind, but before you can voice any of them, he places a finger gently on your lips.

"I know you have many more questions," he says softly. "And I promise, we will have time for all of them. But for now, we need to focus on completing your transformation."

You nod, realizing he's right. There's still an unfamiliar energy thrumming through your body, an anticipation for something more.

The water around you has cooled slightly, and you notice the moon's position has shifted in the skylight above. Bucky helps you stand and step out of the tub, wrapping you in a plush towel. As he dries your skin, you notice the way his touch lingers, sending little sparks of pleasure through you. The bond between you pulses with energy, and you find yourself leaning into his caresses.

“Is it always like this for an offering? For elim being selected, the binding, and this transformation? Do they all feel like this?”

He brings his head back to look at you. “Oh, my elim,” he says, voice dropping low, and smoother than any words he’s spoken to you up to this point. “I can not say. I’ve taken many offerings for the moonlight ritual, but I’ve never bound someone to me as elim. I invoked a transformation in Steve and Natasha, but not the transformation I have intended for you.”

He cups your face in both of his hands. “You are the first. The only.”

His words send a shiver through you, both thrilling and terrifying. You're entering uncharted territory, blazing a trail no one else has walked before. The weight of this revelation settles over you, but instead of feeling burdened, you feel empowered.

"The next ritual will be more intense than the binding," he explains, his voice low and intimate. "It will require complete trust in me.”

Bucky's hands slide down from your face, tracing the curves of your body. His touch reignites a fire within you, desire coursing through your veins. The bond between you pulses with energy, amplifying every sensation.

"Are you ready?" he asks, his voice low and husky.

Bucky leads you back out onto the terrace fully bathed in the moonlight. On a table near the edge of the terrace, there’s a wooden chest and a clear pitcher of water - though you would guess it’s more than mere water. He opens a the case as you reach it. It’s velvet inside, and there’s an empty spot, but you instantly know what’s missing, because next to it is a dagger that looks exactly like the one that he’d used in the clearing to initiate the blood bond. They’re clearly a pair.

Bucky takes the dagger from the case, its silver blade gleaming in the moonlight. He turns to you, his eyes intense and filled with an otherworldly light, and his wings unfurl behind him. "This is the first part of what will complete your transformation from elim in name to elim in being."

You nod, unable to form words as anticipation builds within you.

He guides you to the edge of the balcony. “Place your hands here,” he says, motioning to the stone parapet. “You’ll need to brace yourself.”

You feel the coolness of the smooth stone beneath your palms as you look out over the grounds. You must be on the fourth level of the mansion, standing naked in the moonlight. Bucky moves in behind you, standing so close you can feel the heat radiating from his equally naked body.

“I’m going to carve a sigil into your body,” he murmurs next to your ear. Your body tenses up, and he runs his hand down your back. “It will be painful, but should be less so given the transition your body is already making, the essence of Luna’s Tears in your system, as well as the oils from the bath, and the sustaining energy you’ll pull from the full moon.”

“Bucky…” your voice is hesitant.

Bucky's hand traces back up your spine, coming to rest on your left shoulder blade. "The sigil will be here," he says softly. "It will mark you as mine, and as a being transformed. The placement of a sigil is instrumental in the transfiguration, and an elim receives their mark here because it’s so close to the heart."

Bucky presses a kiss to your shoulder, his lips warm against your skin. "Are you ready?" he asks softly.

You take a deep breath, steeling yourself. "Yes," you whisper.

You feel the weight of his hand come to rest again on your lower back, warm and reassuring. "Remember, I'm here with you. Our bond will help you through this."

You nod, closing your eyes and focusing on the connection between you. You can feel it thrumming with energy, and you try to ground yourself in it.

You feel the cool touch of the blade against your skin, and then a sharp, burning pain as Bucky begins to carve the sigil. You grit your teeth, your fingers gripping the stone parapet tightly. The pain is intense, but not unbearable. As Bucky promised, there's an underlying current of energy flowing through you, dulling the worst of it.

As he works, Bucky murmurs words in a language you don't understand. The air around you seems to thicken, charged with an otherworldly power. You can feel the bond between you pulsing, growing stronger with each stroke of the blade.

As Bucky continues carving the sigil, you feel a strange tingling sensation spreading from the point of the blade. It's as if tendrils of energy are snaking through your body, igniting every nerve ending. The pain is still there, but it's overshadowed by a growing sense of power and connection.

You gasp as a particularly intricate part of the sigil is carved, your body arching involuntarily. Bucky's free hand moves to your hip, steadying you. "Almost done," he murmurs, his breath hot against your ear.

With a final, decisive stroke, Bucky completes the sigil, then places his palm flat against the marking and murmurs a few more words. The moment he's finished, a surge of energy courses through you, so intense it nearly brings you to your knees. Bucky's strong arms wrap around you, holding you upright as wave after wave of sensation washes over you.

You're dimly aware of what’s going on as he sweeps you into his arms. He carries you back into the bedroom and places you softly on the large four-poster bed. The sheets are soft and cool against your skin as you lie down. Bucky stands next to the bed, his wings unfurling to their full span, but he rustles them in clear agitation.

"The ritual of the sigil is complete," Bucky explains, “and now your body will undergo transfiguration over the next few hours.”

There’s a sudden spasm that shoots down your right side, and you wince.

He puts a hand on your torso, and it radiates out a calming energy that allows you to breathe easy again. You put your hand over his, holding it there.

"You’ve seen that I have some power, but the strongest energy - to generate, to transfer, and to consume - is sexual energy.”

A strained laugh erupts from your lips. “Of course it is.”

Despite the lingering pain from the sigil, you feel a surge of arousal at his words. The bond between you pulses with anticipation.

"Are you willing?" Bucky asks softly, his hand still resting on your torso.

You nod, unable to form words as another wave of sensation washes over you. Bucky leans down, capturing your lips in a searing kiss. The moment your lips meet, energy courses between you, amplifying every touch, every sensation.

Bucky's hands roam your body, leaving trails of fire in their wake. You arch into his touch, craving more. Your own hands explore the planes of his muscular chest and back, marveling at the softness of his skin contrasted with the hardness of his body. When your fingers brush the base of his wings, he lets out a low groan that sends shivers down your spine.

His lips leave yours to trail down your neck, nipping and sucking at the sensitive skin. Each touch sends jolts of pleasure through you, amplified by the bond between you. You can feel his desire, his need, as if it were your own.

Bucky's hand slides down your body, coming to rest between your plush thighs. You gasp as he strokes you, your hips bucking involuntarily. "So wet for me," he murmurs against your skin.

You whine and spread your legs.

“It’s good that you’re so eager now, my elim, because I’ve wanted to taste your nectar from the source since the instant I smelled you in the clearing tonight.”

Bucky's words send a shiver of anticipation through you. He moves down your body, trailing kisses along your skin. When he reaches your thighs, he spreads them wider, settling his broad shoulders between them.

"Bucky, please," you gasp, your hands tangling in his hair.

His breath ghosts over your sensitive flesh, making you squirm. "Be good for me," he murmurs, placing a hand on your hip to steady you.

The first swipe of his tongue has you arching off the bed, a cry of pleasure escaping your lips. Bucky holds your hips down as he continues his ministrations, alternating between long, slow licks and quick flicks of his tongue.

The mounting pleasure distracts from the pain, but you’re feeling other sensations throughout your body that you can’t ignore. At one point you’re aware of your bones, heating up, then resonating for a moment, and then those sensations subside. Most of the other changes in your body, though, fall into the background against the canvas of what Bucky’s doing to your sex with his mouth.

Bucky's skilled tongue works you into a frenzy, building your pleasure higher and higher. The bond between you pulses with energy, amplifying every sensation. You can feel his desire, his hunger for you, as if it were your own.

Your hands tangle in his hair, holding him close as your hips buck against his face. The pleasure is almost overwhelming, blurring the lines between pain and ecstasy as your body continues its transformation.

"Bucky," you gasp, feeling yourself teetering on the edge. "I'm close!"

He redoubles his efforts, sucking your sensitive bud between his lips as he slides two fingers inside you. The dual stimulation is your undoing. You cry out as your orgasm washes over you, waves of pleasure crashing through your body.

As you come down from your high, you feel the air literally moving through your lungs, hyperaware of every sensation in your body.

But Bucky is only idle for a moment. He pushes up to kneel above you, tracing his fingers down your thighs, causing you to shiver with pleasure. Then he grips your hips and flips you over and maneuvers you onto your hands and knees.

Bucky's strong hands grip your hips as he positions himself behind you. You can feel the heat radiating from his body, his desire palpable in the air between you. The bond pulses with anticipation, your bodies already in tune with each other's needs.

"Are you ready for me, my elim?" Bucky's voice is low and husky, sending goosebumps over your skin.

You nod, words failing you as another wave of sensation washes through your body. The transformation is still ongoing, every nerve ending hypersensitive.

Bucky slowly pushes into you, stretching and filling you in the most delicious way. You gasp at the intensity of it, the pleasure almost overwhelming. He pauses once he's fully seated, giving you time to adjust.

"You feel incredible," he murmurs, leaning over to press a kiss between your shoulder blades, then right over your sigil. There’s a pulse of energy that radiates through it, and you feel like it’s healing.

Bucky begins to move, setting a slow, deep rhythm that has you gasping with each thrust. The pleasure is intense, amplified by the bond between you and the ongoing changes in your body. You can feel every inch of him as he slides in and out, your bodies moving together in perfect synchronicity.

His hands roam your body, caressing your curves and sending shivers of delight through you. When he reaches around to cup your breasts, you arch into his touch, craving more.

"That's it," Bucky murmurs, his voice low and husky. "Let go for me, my elim. Let me feel your pleasure."

His words spur you on, and you begin to move your hips back to meet his thrusts. The new angle has him hitting a spot deep inside you that makes you see stars. You cry out, your fingers clutching the sheets as the waves of pleasure and pain begin to mount higher.

As your climax approaches, you feel a surge of energy coursing through your body. It's different from before - wilder, more primal. Your spine tingles with an otherworldly power, and for a moment, it’s like you can’t breathe.

"Bucky," you gasp, your voice strained. "Something's happening..."

"Let it happen," he says, his voice low and commanding. "Don't fight it."

He repositions himself behind you, planting one foot on the bed to give him more leverage to thrust into your cunt. He forces your chest down, pushing your face into the soft sheets, hand planted between your shoulder blades, and he redoubles his efforts, slamming his thick cock into your weeping pussy. You moan and keen, and it mixes with his own groans and grunts of desperate pleasure.

the bond between you heightening everything, you climax at the same time, accompanied by another blinding burst of light as happened before on the altar. But in the next moment, there’s a searing pain that rips through your ecstasy. Your back feels like it’s exploding, and there’s a cacophony of sounds - ripping, ruffling, rustling, and your own anguished scream.

The pain is overwhelming, and you feel like your body is being ripped apart from the inside out. You crawl away from Bucky, desperately trying to escape the searing agony.

But as you move, you realize that something is off. Your body feels foreign, and when you reach back to touch your back, you feel something there that shouldn't be - a pair of wings.

As you turn to face Bucky, he holds a cautious stance, but his face is full of wonder and awe. You, on the other hand, can only stare at him in mute horror as you try to understand what has just happened.

You were so focused on fulfilling the bonding ritual that you didn't consider the consequences. And now it seems as though those consequences have caught up with you.

Tears stream down your face as panic sets in. You don't know what to do or how to control this new form that has taken over your body. You never thought the transformation would lead all the way to this - to your own set of wings.

Bucky speaks your name softly, moving slowly toward you.

You’re trembling, and your chest heaves with sobs. You didn’t even realize your tears had turned to crying.

Bucky approaches you cautiously, his hands outstretched in a calming gesture. "It's alright," he says softly, his voice soothing. "I know this is overwhelming, but you're safe. I'm here with you."

You try to speak, but only a choked sob comes out. Your new wings flutter involuntarily, causing you to flinch.

"Breathe," Bucky instructs gently. "Focus on my voice. In and out, slowly."

You follow his guidance, taking deep breaths to calm yourself. As your panic subsides, you become more aware of the wings on your back. They feel strange, yet somehow natural, as if they've always been a part of you.

"That's it," Bucky encourages. "You're doing wonderfully." He moves closer, reaching out to touch your arm. "May I?"

You nod.

Bucky's touch is gentle as he runs his hand down your arm, grounding you. The sensation helps calm your racing heart.

"Your wings are beautiful," he says softly.

You take a shaky breath, trying to process his words. "I... I didn't expect this," you manage to say.

Bucky nods understandingly. "I know. The full extent of an elim's transformation isn't always predictable. But this... this is extraordinary."

Slowly, carefully, he guides you to turn around so he can examine your wings. You feel his fingers gently tracing along the new appendages, sending shivers down your spine.

You take another shaky breath. "What... what am I now?" you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

Bucky turns you back around and cups your face in his hands, his eyes meeting yours. "You're still you," he says firmly. "But now you're also something more. You're an elim, my elim, one of the pantheon of angelic creatures."

His thumbs wipe away your tears as he continues, "Your wings are a physical manifestation of the power you now possess. They're a gift, not a curse."

You nod slowly, trying to process his words. The initial shock is less overwhelming, but not gone. “And I’ll have these wings forever?” you ask, thinking suddenly of how you never saw this man before the midnight ritual, which makes sense as there’s no way to hide his large wings. Your heart constricts thinking of all the people you will never see again.

"Yes, but you’ll be able to retract and conceal them most of the time.”

“I-” your voice breaks, “I will?”

“Yes,” he says emphatically, and you know he must feel your enormous worry through the bond, “it’s only the day before and the day after a full moon when an angel can not conceal their true nature.”

Relief washes over you, and you sink forward against his chest, and his arms wrap around your lower back beneath your wings.

“I suppose that’s not the worst,” you say, already starting to see how you could build your life around that. Work will certainly never be a problem, as you won’t have to explain to your boss since he’s the one who triggered your transformation. You imagine it won’t be strange for you to go about as normal here on the estate, either. “I’ll just have to stay out of the public eye for two days a month.”

Bucky chuckles. “‘Not the worst?’ Oh, my elim, you won’t want to be anywhere but here those two days. I’m certain we’ll always have good sex,” he says, trailing moving one of his hands up your spine, and causing you to shiver, “but the unbelievable heights of sensation we’ve felt tonight? That intensity will only accompany the full moon.”

Your eyes widen at Bucky's words, a mix of anticipation and nervousness fluttering in your stomach. The memory of the intense pleasure you just experienced is still fresh in your mind, and the thought of experiencing it again and again, amplified by the full moon, is both thrilling and slightly overwhelming.

"So, this happens every month?" you ask, your voice a mix of curiosity and awe.

Bucky nods, a small smile playing on his lips. "The full moon amplifies our powers and our connection. It's a sacred time for our kind."

You take a deep breath, trying to process all this new information. Your wings flutter slightly behind you, and you realize you can feel the air moving through them, a strange but not unpleasant sensation.

"How do I... how do I control them?" you ask, gesturing vaguely behind you.

Bucky's smile widens. “It will come. You’ll develop mastery over your wings as you have the rest of your body. It will take concentration at first, and then it will be like breathing.”

Bucky guides you to stand up, his hands steadying you as you wobble slightly, still adjusting to your new center of gravity.

Bucky leads you over to stand in front of a full-length mirror. For the first time, you see your transformed self - your body still familiar, but now adorned with a pair of magnificent wings. They're smaller than Bucky's, but no less beautiful, with feathers that shimmer in shades of pearl and pale gold. You note that the coloring is not that different from Bucky’s lighter wing.

"Let's start with something simple," he says. "Try to stretch them out fully."

You take a deep breath, focusing on the new appendages. At first, nothing happens, and you feel a flicker of frustration. But then, slowly, you feel the muscles in your back engage, and your wings begin to unfurl.

The sensation is strange but exhilarating. As your wings extend to their full span, you gasp in awe. They're larger than you expected, easily reaching several feet on either side of you.

"Beautiful," Bucky murmurs, his eyes filled with pride and admiration. "Now, try to fold them back in."

This proves to be a bit more challenging, but with Bucky's gentle guidance and encouragement, you manage to tuck them nicely behind you - though not as tightly as you remember Bucky had initially in the clearing. You furl them back out a little, in what feels like a more natural position - at least for now.

"That's it," Bucky says, pride evident in his voice. "You're a natural."

You stare at your reflection, mesmerized by the sight. It's far too surreal, yet somehow feels right. Bucky steps closer and strokes along the bone of your wing from base to tip, and you fight between a whimper and a sigh escaping your lips, the feeling exquisite as he touches your wing.

"Sensitive, aren't they?" Bucky says with a knowing smile. "Wings are one of the most erogenous zones for our kind."

You nod, unable to form words as he continues to stroke your wing. The sensation is unlike anything you've ever felt before, pleasure radiating from the point of contact throughout your entire body.

Bucky's hand moves to the juncture where your wing meets your back, massaging gently. You lean into his touch, an unrestrained moan escaping your lips. The bond between you pulses with renewed energy, and you can feel Bucky's desire rising to match your own.

"There's so much more for you to learn," Bucky murmurs, his lips brushing against your ear. "About your new body, your new abilities, the world you're now a part of.

Bucky's hands move to your shoulders, turning you to face him. His eyes are dark with desire as he looks at you. “So many new sensations to explore."

His wings unfurl behind him, and you're struck again by their beauty and power. He takes your hand and guides it to the base of his wing. "Touch me," he encourages.

Hesitantly, you run your fingers along the strong bone structure of his wing, marveling at the softness of the feathers. Bucky's eyes flutter closed, a low groan escaping his lips. Encouraged by his reaction, you grow bolder, stroking and exploring the expanse of his wing.

As you caress him, you feel an echo of the pleasure through your bond. It's as if you can sense what he's feeling, amplifying your own arousal. Your other hand moves to his chest, tracing the defined muscles there.

Bucky's hands aren't idle either. They roam your body, learning your curves and newly sensitive areas. When he reaches the base of your wings, mirroring your actions on his own, you gasp at the intensity of the sensation. It's pleasure unlike anything you've ever experienced before, radiating from your wings throughout your entire body.

His wings twitch and flutter under your ministrations, and you can feel his arousal building through your bond - and pressing against your stomach.

Suddenly, Bucky's eyes snap open, dark with need. In one fluid motion, he lifts you up, your legs instinctively wrap around him, and he carries you back to the bed. He tosses you into the middle of the mattress, joining you immediately. He lays back and pulls you on top of him.

“Ride me, elim,” he says, his eyes hungry for you.

You straddle Bucky's hips, your new wings fluttering slightly as you position yourself above him. The bond between you pulses with anticipation and desire. As you slowly lower yourself onto his hard length, you both groan in unison at the exquisite sensation.

Bucky's hands grip your wide hips, guiding your movements as you begin to rock against him. The angle allows him to hit deep inside you, sending waves of pleasure through your body. Your wings seem to have a mind of their own, stretching and folding with each roll of your hips.

"That's it," Bucky encourages, his voice low and husky. "Let yourself feel everything."

You lean forward, bracing your hands on his chest as you increase your pace. The new position causes your wings to spread wide, and you feel a rush of cool air against the sensitive feathers. The sensation sends shots of pleasure straight to your core.

Bucky’s hands move from your hips up your back questing for your wings again.

As Bucky's fingers caress the sensitive juncture where the feathers meet your back, you cry out in ecstasy. The dual stimulation of his touch on your wings and his cock deep inside you is overwhelming. Your movements become more frantic as you chase your pleasure.

Bucky's own wings unfurl beneath him, the feathers rustling against the sheets. The sight of him, powerful and angelic beneath you, only fuels your desire further.

"You're so beautiful like this," Bucky murmurs, his eyes locked on yours. "My perfect elim."

His words send a shiver down your spine, and you feel your climax building rapidly. Your wings flutter and stretch with each roll of your hips, seeming to respond to your mounting pleasure.

Bucky's wings curl forward to touch your wings, and a jolt of intense pleasure courses through you. You cry out, your movements faltering for a moment as you adjust to the new sensation. Bucky uses the opportunity to thrust up into you, setting a faster pace.

You can only moan, words escaping you as waves of pleasure wash over you. As you ride him, you become aware of a building energy between you. It's similar to what you felt during the ritual, but more intense, more focused.

The energy between you and Bucky builds to a crescendo, pulsing in time with your movements. Your wings are fully extended now, quivering with each thrust. One of Bucky's hands moves to cup your face, his eyes locked on yours.

"Let go," Bucky commands, his voice rough with need. "Come for me, my elim."

His words, combined with a particularly deep thrust, send you over the edge. You cry out as your orgasm crashes over you, more intense than anything you've ever experienced. Your wings beat powerfully, sending gusts of air through the room as pleasure courses through every fiber of your being.

Bucky follows you moments later, his own wings unfurling fully as he reaches his climax. You feel his seed filling you up, and it fills you with an added element of satisfaction.

You collapse against his chest, and his arms draw around you tightly. You rest your forehead against his, and then he kisses you. Slow but passionate - not with a drive for more sex, but more of an earnest need to connect with you on a deeper level.

As your breathing slowly returns to normal, you become aware of a warmth spreading through your body. It's different from the heat of arousal - this feels more like a gentle, comforting glow emanating from within. Your wings, now relaxed, drape over you both like a feathered blanket.

Bucky's hand strokes gently along your spine, his touch soothing and grounding. "How do you feel?" he asks softly, his voice filled with tenderness.

You take a moment to assess yourself. The initial shock and fear of your transformation have faded, replaced by a sense of wonder and, surprisingly, contentment.

"Different," you reply honestly. "But... good different. Like I've finally become who I was always meant to be.”

Bucky smiles, his eyes shining with pride and affection. "That's exactly it," he says, brushing a strand of hair from your face. "We’ve awakened your true nature, what was buried beneath the surface."

You shift slightly, marveling at how natural your wings already feel. "There's still so much I don't understand," you admit. "So much to learn."

"And we have all the time in the world for that," Bucky assures you. His hand moves to caress your wing, sending a pleasant shiver through you. "I'll be here to guide you every step of the way."

You nod, feeling a surge of gratitude and affection for him. The bond between you pulses warmly, a constant reminder of your connection.

"What happens now?" you ask, curious about what this new life holds for you.

Bucky's hand moves back to its soothing motion along your spine. "Now, we rest. Your body has undergone a significant change, and you need time to recover and adjust."

He shifts slightly, adjusting your position so you're lying more comfortably against his chest. Your wings naturally fold around you both, creating a cocoon of soft feathers.

"In the coming days, I'll teach you more about your new abilities," Bucky continues. "How to control your wings, how to harness the energy that now flows through you, and,” he presses his hand meaningfully to the small of your back at the same time he presses a kiss to your forehead, “answer all of your questions.”

“All of them?” you ask.

“All of them,” he promises.

THIRTY-FOUR THOUSAND WORDS TOTAL! Can you believe it?!

If you've come with me this far... I literally can't thank you enough for reading this. It really pushed my creativity as it's an AU area I'd never explored before. I hope it was full of delicious details, tantalizing mysteries, and I know I still didn't answer all of the burning questions... 🤭 Maybe if anyone is really dying to know, then someday we'll learn more?

But THIS is the end of this story at least. A nice, smutty end. 😏

↠ Main Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

I do not do tag lists, but FOLLOW @buckets-and-stories and TURN ON NOTIFICATIONS to be updated any time I publish a new work!

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x yn #female reader #curvy reader #aspen wrote something #chosen au #tw: cults #terato #monster smut

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judebellswife · 2 months ago

Text

Fragile Hope — Ruben Dias

— pairing • ruben dias x leclerc!reader (charles twins)

— requested by anon (june 16, 2022)

— summary • You’ve been dating Ruben Dias for four years, and together you’re expecting your first child. Today is supposed to be the day you share the news with your brothers, Charles and Arthur Leclerc. But as you prepare for the moment, a sudden, familiar pain takes over. Your worst fear begins to unfold. In the chaos that follows, secrets from your past come to light, revealing a painful history your brothers never knew about.

— warning(s) • angst, mentions of past miscarriage, medical distress, fluff and comfort

You shifted nervously, your fingers brushing over the slight swell of your belly. At 12 weeks pregnant, the bump was barely noticeable, but to you, it felt like the entire world could see it. Today was supposed to be exciting—you were finally going to tell your brothers, Charles and Arthur, that they were going to be uncles. You had kept it quiet for long enough, wanting to wait until you felt certain that everything was okay.

Ruben, ever the calm presence, stood next to you, his hand lightly resting on your lower back. His eyes held that quiet confidence that made you feel safe no matter what. You loved him deeply for that, especially now. The two of you had been through so much over the past year, more than your brothers even knew.

"Are you sure you're ready?" Ruben asked, his voice soft, only for you.

You nodded, taking a deep breath. "Yeah, it’s time. They deserve to know."

Charles and Arthur were in the next room, talking animatedly about something related to the race weekend. They were in Monaco, which meant a family get-together. Normally, you loved these moments—your brothers were your best friends, your protectors—but today, your nerves were a mess.

"Come on," you whispered to Ruben, reaching for his hand. Together, you stepped into the living room where Charles and Arthur were lounging on the couch, half-watching TV.

"Hey, there she is!" Charles called, grinning up at you. His eyes flicked briefly to Ruben, giving him an approving nod. Your relationship with Ruben had been a point of concern for your brothers at first, but after four years, they had accepted him as family.

"You two finally done hiding away?" Arthur added with a smirk, raising an eyebrow. "You’ve been acting weird all day."

Your heart pounded in your chest. You could feel Ruben’s hand tighten slightly around yours as he stepped forward to offer some support.

"There’s something we want to tell you," Ruben said, his voice steady and calm, as always.

Charles and Arthur both turned fully toward you, their playful smiles fading into expressions of concern.

"Okay… what’s going on?" Charles asked, sitting up straighter. "Is everything alright?"

You swallowed hard. The words felt heavy on your tongue, but you forced them out. "I’m pregnant."

The silence that followed was deafening.

Arthur blinked, looking from you to Ruben, and then back to you. "Wait, what? Are you serious?"

Charles shot up from his seat, wide-eyed. "You’re pregnant?"

A wave of relief washed over you at their reactions. For a moment, the anxiety that had been building inside you dissipated, replaced by the warmth of your brothers’ excitement.

"Yes, I’m serious," you said, a small smile tugging at your lips.

Arthur let out a breathy laugh, coming over to hug you tightly. "That’s amazing, Y/N! I can’t believe you didn’t tell us sooner."

Charles followed suit, wrapping his arms around both you and Arthur. "Yeah, how long have you been keeping this a secret?" He shot Ruben a mock glare. "You’ve been hiding this from us too, huh?"

"We wanted to wait until we were sure everything was okay," Ruben explained, his arm gently sliding around your waist. "It’s still early."

You could see the worry begin to creep into your brothers' faces, especially Charles’. He had always been the most protective, never liking the idea of you facing anything difficult alone.

"We’ll be here for you," Charles said, his voice firm, though his eyes softened when they met yours. "Whatever you need."

Just as you were about to respond, a sharp pain shot through your lower abdomen, cutting off your words. You gasped, instinctively placing a hand on your stomach.

Ruben’s eyes were on you immediately, his expression shifting from joy to concern in an instant. "Y/N? Are you alright?"

You opened your mouth to answer, but another wave of pain hit, stronger this time. Your knees buckled slightly, and you clutched Ruben’s arm for support.

"Y/N, what’s wrong?" Charles asked, his voice rising with panic. Arthur was right beside him, both of them looking at you with wide, anxious eyes.

You tried to force a smile, but the pain was overwhelming. "It’s… it’s nothing. I’m fine," you lied, knowing it was futile. You could feel something wasn’t right.

Ruben’s face was pale, his hand moving to gently hold your stomach. "You’re not fine. What’s going on?"

Tears welled in your eyes as the fear you had been suppressing for so long surfaced. The pain was too familiar. You couldn’t ignore it anymore. Your heart pounded in your chest as the words you’d been dreading slipped out.

"I don’t want to lose this baby too," you whispered, your voice barely audible.

The room went still.

Charles and Arthur both froze, their expressions shifting from confusion to shock.

"What do you mean ‘too’?" Arthur asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

You hadn’t wanted to tell them. You had promised yourself you’d keep that part of your past hidden, not wanting to burden your brothers with the pain you and Ruben had gone through. But now… now there was no hiding it.

"I lost a baby last year," you admitted, your voice shaking. "I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to worry."

Charles’ face drained of color, his hands shaking slightly as he stared at you, speechless. Arthur looked equally stunned, his mouth opening and closing as he tried to process what you’d just said.

"You… you lost a baby?" Charles whispered, his eyes filling with a mix of hurt and disbelief. "Why didn’t you tell us?"

Tears streamed down your face now as you shook your head. "I didn’t want to put that on you. You both have so much going on, and I didn’t want to make things harder."

Arthur’s face crumpled with emotion, his voice breaking. "Y/N, you’re our sister. You could never be a burden to us. We should’ve been there for you."

Before you could respond, a new wave of pain tore through you, and you felt something warm and wet between your legs. Panic seized your chest as you looked down, seeing a small trickle of blood.

"Ruben…" Your voice trembled as you clutched his arm tightly. "I think I’m bleeding."

Ruben’s face went pale, his eyes widening in horror. He didn’t waste a second before pulling out his phone and dialing for an ambulance, his voice urgent as he gave them the details.

Charles and Arthur were by your side in an instant, their panic palpable.

"You’re going to be okay," Arthur said, his voice shaky but determined. "We’re going to get you to the hospital."

Charles was pacing now, his hands shaking as he ran them through his hair. "This can’t be happening. Ruben, is she going to be okay?"

Ruben didn’t answer, his jaw clenched tightly as he held you close, his fingers trembling slightly as he stroked your hair.

Within minutes, the ambulance arrived, and you were rushed to the hospital. The entire ride, you clung to Ruben’s hand, your mind swirling with fear. You couldn’t lose this baby. Not again.

When you arrived at the hospital, the doctors moved quickly, assessing the situation. Ruben stayed close, refusing to leave your side for even a second.

Charles and Arthur sat in the waiting room, their expressions haunted as they waited for news, guilt and worry etched across their faces.

After what felt like an eternity, the doctor came out. "She’s stable for now. We’ll continue monitoring closely, but the baby is still viable."

The relief was overwhelming, but the fear lingered in all of you. This wasn’t over yet. But as you lay in the hospital bed, Ruben by your side, you knew that no matter what happened, you weren’t alone.

You had Ruben, your brothers, and now… a fragile hope that maybe, just maybe, this time things would be okay.

#football imagines #football fanfic #ruben dias fluff #ruben dias x y/n #ruben dias one shots #ruben dias smut #ruben dias fanfic #ruben dias one shot #ruben dias imagine #ruben dias imagines #ruben dias x reader #ruben dias #ruben dias series #ruben dias fanfiction #ruben dias x leclerc!reader

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bonny-kookoo · 11 months ago

Note

Does someone older JK spoil the OC sometimes? Like surprise her with something which he considerd to be nothing it would mean so much to her?

Oh he does, ALL the time! Warnings for a bit of angst, beginnings of a panic attack but Kook handles it well

"...we can go there again, maybe before new year's if I can get a table on short notice." He simply says as he drives you both back to his place, radio playing quietly in the background.

You're still a little overwhelmed.

He does things like this a lot- expensive dinner dates in restaurants he either knows or wants to try out, randomly buying you clothes or jewelry he finds online and deems pretty, or he just changes things in his house to adjust it more towards you and your preferences. Like the pillows in his bedroom, the by now multiple pairs of thick socks for your cold feet, or the baking supplies he bought for you now stacking up in his kitchen.

It's things like that you're not used to. In the past, it has always been you who needed to adjust and do things for your partner- not the other way around. So now, you feel almost guilty whenever he does something- like a bank account draining, slowly going further and further into the negatives, red numbers piling up and making you anxious as to when he'll want it all payed back.

"Did you not like it?" He wonders, taking your silence as a sign of discomfort as he pulls up on the expressway. "You don't have to lie." He chuckles, reaching out to hold your hand.

"No, it's not that." You deny, letting him warm up your cold fingers. "It's just.. it was a little expensive, no?" You wonder, and he shrugs.

"Was it? To be honest, I don't think it was considering what we ate." He just brushes off. "I've been to steak restaurants that were a lot more expensive and half the quality. And the service was great too, so I didn't mind." Jungkook explains, and it's now that you realize once again that you and him live in quite different worlds. Or at least, used to.

For him, money isn't an issue. He's made and is making enough of it to live comfortably, he doesn't have to really worry about running out of it anytime soon, even if his company was to go bankrupt next week. And he's also got enough saved up, has invested with good tactics in mind, so it's really no wonder he doesn't see a problem in spending the amount that he does.

But you aren't used to that. You have been living paycheck to paycheck with barely anything left over at the end of the month, needing your bonus desperately as to not fall behind on any payments you have to make regularly. You've lost your apartment before, had to sleep at friend's places to get by, and even ate only at the company cafeteria to save money usually spent on groceries. All of this feels almost excessive, and you also worry.

What if Jungkook starts spending too much on you? He shouldn't fall into a habit of mindlessly throwing money out.

"What's on your mind, darling?" He wonders, lifting your hand to kiss the back of it, before he changes lanes.

"I just.." you fidget a little. Jungkook isn't a bad guy. He won't get mad. He won't scold you. You won't have to endure being lectured for the rest of the ride- you know all this, and yet again, the past haunts you and makes your breathing pick up as you begin to chew on your lip.

Suddenly, you realize he's pulling up to a gas station, parking on the side. He gets out to get something from the backseat, before he walks around the car to open the passenger door where you sit, unbuckling your seatbelt. "Here." he offers the bottle of water, having opened the cap for you. "Put your legs out like that- there we go. Breathe baby." He gently tells you, squatting down a bit to make himself look smaller. "Take your time."

You feel embarrassed. How do you explain to him that you were feeling like a kid about to confess a bad grade just now?

"We can keep it a one-in-a-month thing, maybe, if that makes you more comfortable." He proposes. "I didn't take into account that it might be overwhelming to you- I'm sorry." He apologizes, but you shake your head, looking down at your knees.

"I just.." You mumble, unsure how to really explain. "I feel.. back then, you know.." You sigh, having trouble finding the proper words. "Talking in the car makes me.. anxious." You admit. "Because you know, when you get mad.. I can't escape.." You say. "I can't get away from it."

Jungkook kindly takes the bottle away from you to put it on the backseat again, before he's back in front of you.

"Thanks for telling me. I had an idea it might be that, but I wasn't sure." Jungkook says, hands on your knees. "I promise you I'm not mad. And I'm in no position to be mad at you for having opinions or personal taste that might differs from mine. We're two different people-" He chuckles. "-of course we'll have different views on things."

"But I really liked the dinner too." You say. "I just.. I don't want you to start.. spending so much money on me to the point of, I don't know, losing sight of it." You confess. "And maybe, we should keep stuff like this a bit rare? So it doesn't become routine. I want to keep it special.." You say. "I'm not.. I don't really know much about this stuff, because I never had enough money to go to these fancy places, and get designer clothes, or plan vacations in different countries and all that. I feel.. stupid sometimes?" You spill, making him lean his head a bit to the side. "Like, what if you one day take me to a company gathering or something, and someone asks me something and I can't answer or I say something dumb-" You rant. "-or maybe you won't ever take me because I'm too young? Maybe Eve is right and I'm not really the kind of-"

"Baby, darling, stop-" He chuckles, pushing your shoulders back a bit to look at him. "-take a good breath. You're panicking." He worries a little, but tries hard to stay composed as to not make you spiral any further. "Eve is wrong. If you're okay with this, of course I'll take you to company events. Why wouldn't I show off such a beautiful women at my side? I'd never pass up a chance to make those stuck up geezers jealous." He jokes, making your crack up a little. "Let's keep the dinners to special occasions. Keep it special, like you said." He offers, holding your hands now. "And I'm also.. the fact that you worry about me makes me feel.. very special." he chuckles. "I appreciate you looking out for me."

"I always look out for you.." You mumble. "..I just don't want to overstep any lines. You know. Since you're older than me-"

"Just because I'm older doesn't automatically mean that I know everything better." He reassures you. "Our age gap has nothing to do with any sort of power balance. Please don't think you can't speak your mind just because I was born earlier than you."

"..okay." You nod, and he leans forward to peck your lips, before he closes the door for you after you pull your legs back in and buckle your seatbelt, him getting back into the driver's seat to do the same.

"You know.." he starts, as he pulls out of the gas station to continue the drive back home. "..I'm really falling in love with you." He chuckles, dimples of his cheeks showing with how hard he smiles.

"Huh?" You wonder, taken aback by the sudden confession.

"I mean it." He nods. "I really am."

"I'm glad then." You admit. "..cause I am too." You admit, making him grin before he reaches over to hold your hand again.

Knowing that he really won't ever let you go again.

#bts imagine #bts fanfic #bts fic #jungkook imagine #jeon jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook imagine #bts jungkook imagine #bts jungkook fanfic #bts jungkook x reader #jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook fanfic

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penkura · 5 months ago

Text

last forever [10/13]

Summary: Zoro only offered to marry you to keep you out of an arranged marriage with a man much older than you. You agreed with the caveat of ending it via annulment once you received word from your parents regarding the original engagement, despite your growing feelings for your close friend.

Pairing: Zoro x Fem!reader, mentioned Sanami later (like epilogue later so chill)

Warnings: Marriage of Convenience, Fake Marriage, referenced sex (waaaaaay later on), mutual pining, Zoro is bad at feelings but what's new there, eventual romance I promise, mention of past attempted assault (I'll warn in that chapter), creepy older dude later on

Note: I kind of hate how Zoro dresses in Dressrosa. He doesn't look right. Oh well. This isn't how I thought this chapter would go, but, I hope it works. I'm more excited for the last couple chapters! (don't worry, we are not glossing over Dressrosa in where you belong, it's way too important for that)

Taglist:

@misfits1a | @alucardsdaddyissues | @louweasleymalfoy | @fluffybunnyu

[Ch. 1] ● [Ch. 2] ● [Ch. 3] ● [Ch. 4] ● [Ch. 5] ● [Ch. 6] ● [Ch. 7] ● [Ch. 8] ● [Ch. 9]

Trafalgar Law doesn’t get you and Zoro, he’s not sure he’s seen two crewmates as close as you two are without there being something romantic going on, whether hidden or not. While your crew was separated, you were lucky enough to miss being body swapped with another of your crewmates, choosing to stay with them and watch over the children they’d tried to rescue while Zoro went with Brook and Sanji (in Nami’s body at the time) to bring back the Samurai missing his torso. You’re sure you didn’t miss too much, and that Sanji or Zoro would fill you in later.

Once the alliance between your crew and the Heart Pirates is set in place, you start trying to speak to Law more, even with your personal issues, you’d like to make friends with him l though he seems like he doesn’t care for the most part. Sanji just tells you to ignore it and not take it personally if Law doesn’t really talk to you, he doesn’t appear to be the talkative type to him. You still try once all of you, including Kin’emon and Momonosuke, are back on Sunny, Law beginning to open up a little bit and talk to you, which makes you smile.

He still notices how you’ll hang onto or around Zoro more than anyone, how he doesn’t push you off, he almost looks like he leans into you, especially when you start to say something to him. You are very odd, both of you. If there’s anything going on, nobody shows that they know anything, so Law leaves it alone. It’s not his problem anyway.

When you hear that this alliance is going to lead you towards Wano, Law thinks he’s the only one who notices the slight flinch that comes from you, giving you a side eye that you try to ignore. You’ve had no problem being around Kin’emon and Momonosuke, but hearing Wano be mentioned is enough to make you act differently, just slightly. Zoro noticed this too, giving you a confused look while you just smile at him, you don’t want to explain anything yet. Not right now anyway, another time.

It's not like you’re going to run into your fiancé or anything.

“So, have you been to Dressrosa?”

Law shakes his head at you, you’d walked over and again struck up a conversation with him, leaning against the railing. Everyone else is doing their own thing, whatever Sanji is making for dinner is making you hungry while you wait.

“Have you? Seems like you know about Wano.”

You flinch a tiny bit again, but shake your head in return.

“No, never been to the New World until now. My parents have been out to Wano before…”

“They never brought you?”

“I…never wanted to go…”

Before Law can try and get more information out of you, information you may not be comfortable sharing, Zoro calls for you to follow him to crow’s nest, and you quickly tell Law you’ll talk to him later as you run off. He still can’t tell what it is with you and Zoro, but there’s something he’s missing, he's sure of it.

Well, whatever it is, if it doesn’t mess up the plan, it’s not Law’s problem right now. There’s more pressing matters to worry about, not your weird relationship with Zoro.

+!+

You end up on the Caesar drop off team once you all arrive in Dressrosa, being with Robin, Usopp, and Law. Zoro at first doesn’t like the idea, he feels like you’re getting too close to Law, even after you constantly telling your husband that you love him. He partly wonders if his only stating that his stating that he knows and thanking you is making you drift away, but even if it is, he can’t force you to stay with him, despite your relationship. It’s still new no matter how long you’ve technically been married, Zoro doesn’t want to hinder you from going where you want, you’d had enough of that living with your parents.

You deserve to do whatever you want, he’s not going to stop you from going with Law, especially since Robin and Usopp will be with you.

Zoro does surprise you before letting you go back to everyone by kissing your forehead and telling you to be safe. It’s still weird to you sometimes how soft he acts, but you don’t hate it at all. It’s a stark difference from how you two started off, how he acted after your impromptu marriage, and a very welcome change.

What’s not so welcome is all that happens while you’re in Dressrosa. The initial plan to drop off Caesar was going well, even with your encounters with giant sea beasts that threatened your safety crossing the bridge, up until you, Usopp, and Robin are basically kidnapped by the Tontatta people, who come to view Usopp like a savior despite your side-eye towards him that he fights to ignore.

When you eventually make it back into Dressrosa everything moves so fast, you aren’t sure what’s happening half the time. You knew where most of your crew still in Dressrosa were, you knew the Sunny had taken off towards Zou with the rest of them, and knew Luffy and Law were in the middle of fighting Doflamingo, while the birdcage the Warlord had set up was beginning to close in on the country, moving buildings and causing the citizens to run for their lives.

You do your best to help direct them, alongside the Marines that were around, not one of them bothering to try and take you in due to the situation. There’s so much going on and so many people screaming in fear that you don’t even stop moving towards the center yourself while you call for people to follow you. You aren’t even sure how it happens but a boy and his little sister end up attached to you, the girl having you carry her since she’d twisted her ankle as her brother holds onto your hand while you keep moving, telling him to keep running too.

You don’t stop until you see the strings are fading away, giving you the relief you need to finally breathe, the kids both gripping onto you like you’re their only hope for safety (not even a Marine could get them to let go of you).

The two are still holding onto you when Zoro finds you a bit later, he’s trying not to make the worry he felt for you the whole time visible. Of course he was focused wholly on his own battle against Pica then attempting to stop the birdcage, but every second he didn’t see you had him concerned underneath it all.

“Hey! There you are!”

You barely have a moment to realize it’s even him before Zoro has you pulled to him in a hug, nearly squishing the little girl you’re still holding, though she doesn’t seem to complain. Her brother is the one to say something, making you pull yourself away from Zoro, who looks confused as to why you’re carrying this toddler with her brother gripping your shirt still.

“I was helping them run from the birdcage, the girl twisted her ankle. I…should go help them find their parents, huh?”

While you laugh at the situation, Zoro doesn’t say anything else, instead just nodding while you crouch down to eye level with the boy, giving him a smile and asking him to help you find their parents. Zoro does go with you, not wanting you out of his sight again to ensure you get back to the rest of the group safely, keeping one of his hands on your back to make sure he doesn’t lose you, moving to your shoulders after you finally find the parents of the kids and hand them off, not without copious amounts of thank you’s from them, especially their mother.

“You almost seem disappointed.”

Looking up at Zoro, you raise an eyebrow as he continues to lead you back to Luffy and everyone else.

“Handing them back to their parents. Almost like you wish they were yours.”

“Oh,” Shaking your head, you smile a bit, “No, I’m glad they’re back with them…I’d like to have one or two someday, but not now, you know? We’ve got bigger things to do.”

Zoro nods and agrees with you, but he doesn’t tell you his own thoughts about that at the moment. Another time perhaps, he’ll let you know that he wants the same thing later on, once everything has been settled with your respective goals.

He’ll become the world’s greatest swordsman and you’ll become a world renowned swordswoman, one day.

Then after that, you can revisit that idea of having kids together.

If you stay together, that is.

+!+

Leaving Dressrosa, finally, you’re excited to get back to the rest of your crew and the Sunny, and, you suppose, head for Wano next. The thought still makes you feel nervous, but what are the chances you run into your parents chosen suitor for you while you’re there?

Very slim, this is the time of year he takes off to one of his current wives’ hometowns, likely showing off his wealth or their newest child, whatever the case you’re glad for Zoro rescuing you from such a life.

Still, it’s the only hang-up with the alliance and your coming arrival there, making you more nervous the closer you get. Robin knows your reason why, you’d told her and Nami recently about the situation, and both promised to keep the man away from you should they see him, or, well, hear of him, since they don’t know what he looks like. Law notices you acting strange, different from how he’s come to perceive you, though he doesn’t say anything, it’s not his place to do so, he thinks. Usopp, Franky, and even Luffy seem none the wiser, not noticing any changes from you.

Zoro however does, and keeps you close to him where he can just in case you need him. A few times while on Bartolomeo’s ship, you leave his side to talk to Robin or Law, maybe Luffy if he’s nearby, but Zoro keeps an eye on you, he can tell something is up but he isn’t sure what.

That doesn’t change when you all arrive and make it to the top of Zou, as you work your way through the remnants of what looked to be a city and then the forest, before you’re finally guided to the rest of your crew by the Minks. The absence of Sanji is obvious and when you hear the explanation as to why he isn’t there, you feel your heart drop at the words ‘arranged marriage’ from Brook. So you two had the same problem, parents trying to decide what’s best for you and how you should live your life, forcing you into loveless marriages. Somehow it makes more sense as to why you and Sanji are so drawn to each other, why your friendship is so strong. He’s gone through his own struggles too.

Your swordsman’s watchful eye stays on you after that, even as a party is thrown that evening to celebrate the Minks safety, Raizou reuniting with Kin’emon and Kanjuro, and possibly your arrival. Zoro doesn’t let you out of his sight, even while you’re across the way with Nami, Robin, and Ikkaku from the Heart Pirates. He watches you quietly talk with them, laughing every now and then as you down drink after drink and he’s wondering what’s gotten into you. You don’t normally drink or eat this much, but it’s almost like something has triggered you to do so.

He knows you’re going to have one hell of a hangover in the morning and you might get sick from everything you’ve eaten, making Zoro sigh when he does get up from his own spot, leaving his drink there, to cut you off.

There’s got to be something you aren’t telling him.

“How much did you drink?”

Your slurred speech and incessant giggles make Zoro roll his eye while he takes you to a room the Minks set aside for you to stay in. You're over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, which you'd normally complain about, but the amount of alcohol in your system is keeping coherent sentences from leaving your mouth.

“Dumbass, you know you can't handle your liquor.”

“Hehehe, sorry…” you giggle again and try to lift your head, but it makes everything spin so you just let yourself hang while Zoro takes you to your room. “Drinks good.”

“I know.”

“Food good.”

“I know that too.”

“Nausea not good…”

“You throw up on me and I'm dropping your ass on the ground.”

Your giggles and hiccups make Zoro smile slightly. You were more than likely coping with Sanji not being there with everyone, seeing as how he'd become your closest friend and confidant, but that didn't mean you needed to try and match Zoro, of all people, in how much you could drink. Hell, you even tried to match Luffy with the amount of food you ate, it was no wonder you felt nauseous, though, Zoro does realize that the way he's carrying you isn't helping. So once he reaches the set of treehouses you'd been granted by the Minks to stay in, he adjusts you to where you've got your arms around his shoulders and legs around his waist to keep you from falling, telling you to hold on or you'd fall to your death which made you laugh and tighten your hold on him.

“You'd never let me fall…remember?”

He does, he remembers telling you that after you landed on Skypiea, when you were nervous about joining them on the cloud sea. How drunk you could bring that up, and sound so sentimental about it at the same time, he doesn't understand.

Once Zoro gets you to your room, he drops you on your bed and moves to leave, before you grab hold of him and almost start begging him not to go. It's several minutes of you telling him to stay, and Zoro denying, before he notices your demeanor, how you're about to cry.

He'd forgotten how emotional of a drunk you could be.

“Hey, what's wrong with you?”

“I…I just…I missed you.”

Your statement confuses Zoro immensely. You two had stayed in Dressrosa together, you'd been on Bartolomeo's ship on the way to Zou, how could you have possibly missed him?

Granted, yes, he understands you two had been separated for a good portion of your time in Dressrosa, and then again on your trip to Zou as you were helping Robin and Law with various things while Zoro was minding Luffy mostly, but you two still had time to talk and spend time with each other. Even a few nights sharing a bed because you couldn't stand to be away from him, despite your still not being sure where you two stand as friends or a couple or what you are.

“What do you mean you missed me?”

“I…I don't…” You sniffle a bit before covering your face with your hands, biting your lip and trying not to cry more. Zoro thinks you're so wasted you don't even know what you're saying, but he still tries to get an answer out of you.

“Hey, come on, talk to me. I know you're drunk but I wanna know what you mean.”

“I just…I missed you…while we were all apart. Did I…I ever tell you?”

You hadn't, not until now. Everything had moved so fast after you all came back together in Sabaody, that you'd not really gotten to talk to each other about your two years apart. Zoro figured you missed him, especially with how you attached yourself to him lately, but didn't think it was that bad. Something had seemed slightly off at times, but he never knew what it was.

“I had…nightmares about you…”

His brows furrow and Zoro finally relents to you, letting you pull him into your bed and hug him close, like you thought he was going to disappear. Zoro returns your hold and keeps you close as possible, before he quietly responds to you.

“What happened in the nightmares?”

Surely it couldn't be that bad, it wasn't something that made you afraid of him that was for certain. Even sober, you'd never be so close to him if you were afraid of him.

“You…Thriller Bark and Sabaody…I…I thought you were gonna die…”

Finally, Zoro has an answer as to why, after everything that happened at Thriller Bark, you were in his bed in tears nearly every night before your crew was separated. Why you had attached yourself to him even more than usual. It wasn't nightmares about your parents, about the man they wanted you to marry, no. It was nightmares about him not making it through those events that took place.

He wants to tell you that those are stupid nightmares and that he wasn't dying anytime soon, he wanted to tell you that.

But for some reason, he doesn't. He's not even sure why, the words just won't come out. He knows it would soothe you to hear him say that, even if for that night, but if more nightmares come?

He's not sure simple reassurance is enough.

“Do you…still have those nightmares?”

You shake your head, snuggling yourself closer to Zoro, hoping he'll stay with you.

“No…I'm okay now. Cause I know you'll come back to me.”

Zoro still doesn't say anything, just watching you finally fall asleep. He's not even sure if he believes you, but the fact that you hadn't gone to his bed in tears every night since you all reunited, he views as a good thing, you probably are telling the truth. It is annoying, that he feels responsible for your distress when he didn't really do anything to cause it. The life you live is a dangerous one, you know that and Zoro knows that, better than anyone most likely.

So, that's why, while he quietly, gently kisses your forehead, Zoro brings you closer to him and makes a promise you don't hear and even if you did, you wouldn't remember in the morning.

“I promise, as long as I'm married to you, I'm not gonna die. You're my wife…and I'm gonna keep you safe too.”

+!+

With everyone getting ready to leave the next morning, Nami stops just long enough to give you a raised eyebrow when she comes to get you. You’ve got a blanket around your shoulders and the grumpiest look she’s ever seen from you, but that’s not what has her attention.

It's the fact that Zoro is still in your room, mainly the fact he’s in your bed, and she starts to get ideas that make her give you a sly look. You’re about to slam the door in her face when she throws an arm around your shoulders and brings you close to whisper.

“Give me all the details and I won’t charge you to keep this a secret~”

“Nothing happened, Nami. I was drunk and fell asleep, now please, get me some medicine and water, my head is killing me.”

Rolling her eyes, Nami doesn’t fully believe you, but she shrugs it off.

“Whatever. So,” pulling you closer, your navigator gets even quieter, just in case Zoro or someone else is listening, “Are you going to be okay…? Going to Wano, I mean…”

“Nami—”

“I don’t think Luffy will care if you come with us to get Sanji back, but Zoro might.”

You sigh and nod, your head still aching but you glance over your shoulder to Zoro still asleep in your bed, thinking. She’s right in that Luffy would likely let you go to retrieve Sanji, but Zoro may fight against that if you did so. Not because he thinks you’re weak or anything, but because it’s for Sanji, you and Nami know very well how those men are with each other.

After another moment or two, you finally nod again.

“I’m going to go to Wano. Zoro will be there…I’ll be okay, Nami.”

She’s not sure she believes you, but Nami gives you a hug anyway, that you return without saying anything else.

“I’ll get Chopper to bring you some medicine. See if you can wake your boyfriend or husband, whatever you guys are calling each other. Breakfast is about ready.”

“Sounds good, thanks for everything.”

You wave each other before you’re caught off guard by Zoro wrapping his arms around your waist and resting his chin on the top of your head.

“Feel okay, wife? Not gonna get sick on Traffy’s ship when we leave, right?”

Giggling a little, you shake your head.

“No, I’ll be fine, Zoro, thanks.”

Nodding, Zoro hugs you a little tighter, making you look up at him.

“You can tell me anything, you know that, right?”

“Yeah,” you smile a bit, which causes Zoro to do the same in return, “I know.”

Everything will be okay, nothing bad is going to happen, not with Zoro around.

#zoro x reader #one piece x reader #reader insert #last forever #fem!reader #roronoa zoro x reader

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al9ayf · 5 months ago

Note

Could I request headcanons for Haarlep, Dammon, Rolan, and Zevlor finding out their f!s/o has suicidal thoughts please?

yay my first bg3 request! hope u enjoy <3

ᥫ᭡ suicidal thoughts | dammon, haarlep, rolan, zevlor w/ f!so

｡˚ explicit content :: thoughts of suicide ofc, mentions of rape

ʚ dammon:

you had known dammon before the fall of elturel and were quite in love. but after the fall, and after you had lost your home, parents, and even dammon for quite a while, everything to your name was POOF gone just like that. and even after returning back to faerûn, it did not make shit any better for you

dammon was by your side the whole time. he gave you so much to care for. you even helped him set up his shop in the druid’s grove, but the happiness did not last long. the thoughts of everything you had being stripped away from you is too much to handle and dammon’s love and kindness cannot fix the thoughts that run through your mind. now with the threat of being kicked out and having to face this vast world with more refugees only makes this sadness worse

you would be better off dead than have to survive in a new hell. you want to see your family again and run to the front door of your house and smell a brewing dinner again. to laugh with your mother and poke fun at your younger siblings. the thought of seeing it again makes the adrenaline rush through you

dammon finds out about all this by accident. you do not confide in him about anything because you are scared to break his heart. you always try to seem okay but dammon knows better. he has seen the hells and seen many slaves there with that look in your eyes. the look of pure release. the glint of sweet death. but he does not confront you about it just yet. he waited another day to see if you will say anything, but night falls and you pretend to be just fine

dammon confronts you with sweet words and comforting arms. he holds you tight because he is afraid that if he lets you go, you will never return to him. the promise of a sweet girl in his arms gone from him forever

“i see it in your eyes. the promise of death, my love. i do not want such a beautiful soul torn from me so fast. not after we had lost everything.”

his words bring you to tears and you collapse. you cry out your confessions to him, and dammon kisses your head and promises to make things right. baldur’s gate is a new beginning and is already so close. your family would have wanted you to keep on living for their memory

dammon’s words comfort you and for the first time in a long while you do not think those thoughts anymore. he holds you tight and promises to always be there for you

ʚ haarlep:

haarlep not gonna give a FUCK 😭

you’re a reoccurring guest at the house of hope. one with many troubles and many, many offers to make raphael very happy. haarlep does not ask how you manage to keep the cambion on his toes, but it is working

occasionally you wait for raphael in the boudoir while haarlep helps you relax. most of the time when he sees you, you’re tense or your head is somewhere else. he helps you take your mind off things rather easily and has even become a great comfort in your life. even the incubus himself has taken a liking to you that he cannot believe

there comes a day where you enter the boudoir to wait for raphael again. haarlep takes you to the bath for a pleasurable experience, but you are far too gone this time. he kisses you and touches you in ways you like, but it barely elicits a reaction from you. finally getting annoyed yet concerned, he pops the question

“do i not please you right, little mouse? or perhaps raphael’s form is not what you need right now, hm?”

he tries to kiss you again, to somehow comfort you, but you place your fingers on his lips and stop him. there, naked in that warm bath with him, you confide in him that troubling thoughts have taken over your mind. that your traumatic childhood and now pathetic life led you to make deals with the devil to keep yourself moving. the only joy you find in life is with haarlep yet the painstaking thought of slitting your own throat is more joyful at times

haarlep did not expect those words to come out of your mouth. it seemed like you did not either. you go to leave when you see the confused look on his face, muttering something about seeing raphael at a later time, but the incubus pulls you back down into the bath and kisses you

he has feelings. although he is an incubus, he has attached himself to you. you are a complicated character and he thinks of it as a challenge he is willing to take on

“do not think because i am an incubus i cannot harbor feelings for you. when the only thing i look forward to is seeing your sad face coming through that door. to enjoy a pleasurable time with you. mind the past and present, and let’s live a future together. the house of hope will bring you just that… and i am also here to bring you a life full of surprises.”

he kisses you again to seal in his words. a change of life would most definitely change you, and although it would be in the house of hope, you could live lavishly like korrilla. a life by haarlep’s side is a life of joy itself

ʚ rolan:

rolan met you at lorroakan’s tower working as an assistant. at first he paid you no mind, not caring who you were. but there was an aura of mystery to you. a hidden sadness

rolan is attracted to you almost immediately. he tries to focus on his apprenticeship with lorroakan, but finds it hard to when all he wants is to be with your beautiful self. to see what magic you can conjure and set his heart aflame

soon enough you find each other entangled in each other’s arm, sharing a night of passionate love and conjoined sadness. you both suffer from the wizard’s abuse, and the both of you will endure it together. yet everyday rolan notices that you have it worse than him in some other way

after the shop closes and rolan heads off to sleep, he hears you in lorroakan’s bedroom. he shouldn’t eavesdrop, but he was concerned. and after only listening for a few seconds, he finds himself against the opposite wall panting heavily. his heart aflame in a sorrowful way. so that is what lorroakan does to you at night? the thought of it makes rolan angry. angry at the wizard for having you whenever he wanted to, and angry at himself for not being able to stop it

the next night, rolan knocks on your bedroom door only to have it swing open to reveal an empty bedroom. presumably you are with the wizard again against your wishes, and so he decides to step up and enter the bedroom. there he finds your diary unopened by your bedside table. rolan knows he shouldn’t, but he must. and when he sits on your creaky bed and reads through pages upon pages of hateful words and unthinkable actions, rolan can only throw the book in anger and frustration at the ground

you were beautiful, sweet, and smart. and lorroakan stripped it all from you and left you as a husk. the urge to kill yourself became a line too thin

finally when you return to your bedroom, you break into tears when you are met with rolan. he holds you tight and protectively against your bedroom door. you clutch at his robes and cry into them. you confide in him everything that lorroakan has done to you

“death is kinder than men, and i will embrace it with open arms and sweet kisses…”

your words sting rolan. he knows it is true. you would find a more peaceful life in death, but he loves you so. he caresses your cheek and kisses the top of your head gently. you relax in his arms

“i promise you i will kill him. i will kill him a thousand times over if it could undo all the pain he has inflicted on you. that bastard has what’s coming to him!”

and you trust rolan’s words. you love him so.

ʚ zevlor:

you were amongst the refugees and had known zevlor for a long while. although inexperienced yourself, you swore to him that you would one day be as strong as him and learn how to wield a sword. he was your protector, your leader, and you wanted to show him your thanks and love. long have you loved him, and long has he felt the same

zevlor has comforted you during your lowest days. you lost your home in elturel, and it was difficult to keep on going without support. but he became that support and it made you so happy

after he was taken away by the cultist’s in the shadowlands, you too drowned yourself in your sorrows alongside rolan. you only had zevlor who meant so much to you, and now you have nothing. not even a glimpse of hope of escaping the shadowlands safely or alive. it was eating you up on the inside

after days of feeling hopeless and at a loss, you do not even have the strength to speak. you watch as the adventurer’s help reunite families again and loved ones, yet zevlor is nowhere in sight. it only drags you down deeper and deeper into a bottomless pit. the light starts to get dimmer at the top and to you that is alright. that is what was promised to you back in elturel

you were one of the last people left behind in moonrise towers. you stayed longer to drown in thoughts of how the world no longer mattered. how all family and love you lost in your life could not be found in a city with empty promises. everybody has something there waiting for them. alfira with her bardic school, rolan with his apprenticeship with lorroakan, and even the adventurer’s with their own separate journeys and determination to take down the absolute. what do you have in baldur’s gate? nothing. no family, no love, no home, and certainly no opportunity

you weep in the throne room not knowing that zevlor had managed to find a way out of the illithid colony and back inside moonrise towers. he finds you sitting at the steps leading up to the throne, weeping. when he calls your name with the gentlest voice yet filled with great worry, you jump up in shock to see him there

you at first hug him before he kisses your sweet lips. your heart is pounding at a million beats per minute. all adrenaline is rushing through your blood. he is alive and well. the only man who brings comfort and home to you is alive. there, in his bloody arms, you confide to him that you were ready to end it all. that you would rather die than live a life without him

zevlor yells at you for being so foolish. that there is more to life than just him. but he is your life, and he is the air that you breathe. and he finally understands why you would do such a harmful thing to yourself

he holds you closer to him. and you two don’t say anything. you just hug each other in a silent embrace, finally reconnected after so long of being apart

i hope u enjoyed it !! this was my first time doing headcanons so criticism is very much appreciated. also a reminder that bg3 requests are open <3

#bg3 x tav #bg3 angst #bg3 x reader #bg3 #bg3 dammon #bg3 haarlep #bg3 zevlor #bg3 rolan #rolan x tav #rolan x reader #dammon x tav #dammon x reader #haarlep x tav #haarlep x reader #zevlor x reader #zevlor x tav #bg3 fanfiction

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kurokawaia · 6 months ago

Text

❛ Growing affections ❜

PostKiraCase!Near X fem!reader

WC; 1.4k + | !MDNI! | TW/CW; I'm depicting Near as being around 21 and has his looks as he did in the The C-Kira Story (he's 21 there obvi), suggestive content towards the end - nothing too much, just some making out, might make a part two with the smut though, first ppov

⋆·˚ ༘ * 𝑅𝐸𝒬𝒰𝐸𝒮𝒯; Hello ! I adore your writing and I was wondering if you could write something in regards to adult Near (new L) after the kira case. Something along the lines of a female who began as being hired by the other members of headquarters to keep Near company, but Near has begun to see them as something more. It could be NSFW if you are ok with it ! Thank you, and again love your work 🤍 - anonny

m.list | death note m.list - part 1 | part 2

First time I met Near, he was all but ghostly, with albino hair and intense, searching eyes that seemed to make him something other than human. He was intensely withdrawn, closed in upon the cold logic and razor-sharp intellect that had made him the new L.

They'd filled me in, the people at headquarters. They were worried about Near's isolation, how he tended to lock himself inside his mind when he wasn't working on a case that interested him and isolate from humans.

I knew I had to tread with care. Subtle was my approach; no intrusion or disruption of his carefully constructed world was intended. So I started with small, very simple interactions. However, he relatively didn't speak to me in the beginning.

It started with small gestures. One day, while working on his card tower, he would look up and, nearly shyly, offer me one to place. The next time, he would request my presence alongside him as he worked—our silence comfortable rather than awkward. These moments represented small victories, signs that he was letting me into his world.

Now, sitting beside him as he methodically constructs another intricate card tower, I feel that shift which has taken place over these past few months.

Near, whom by then seemed so untouchable, found solace in my presence.

He paused, delicately holding a card between fingers, and leaned his head onto my shoulder. I almost caught my breath at the unexpected action.

"{Y/n}," he murmurs, his voice so soft, "do you ever think about the future?" I was a little surprised by his question. Near had been focused on details of the present so often, rarely speaking of anything ahead. I took a moment to answer, relishing the heat from his touching me.

"Sometimes," I say. "I wonder about where we could be, what we might be doing. But most of the time, it's the here and now that interests me. The importance of that is pretty critical to me."

He nods slightly, the movement gentle against my shoulder. "I've been thinking about it more," he admits. "About what it means to move forward, to live beyond the cases and the responsibilities."

There is a vulnerability in his voice that touches me deep inside. "You have so long carried the burden of the world on your shoulders," I say softly. "It's okay to think about your own happiness, too.".

A moment of silence passes by, the sound only the gentle rustle of the cards as he continues building. "You've made me see that," he says eventually, "that such a balance is possible, to link up with someone without losing myself in the process."

His words warm me in places I did not expect them to. Being here, with Near, genuinely makes me happy. As he places the final card on the tower, Near lifts his head and gazes at me, a very rare smile playing about at the corners of his mouth.

"Thanks, {Y/n}," he says simply.

"For what?" I ask, though I think I already know the answer.

"For being here. For understanding.

He then turned his eyes on me, truly onto me, and I felt a flicker of something there in his eyes—recognition, maybe, or understanding.

Over time, I started to realize the change in him. He was open now, his sharp mind still having the same edge, but tempered with a hint of softness now; he spoke like that only to me.

—✿—

He turned toward me from his position near the window of his room, and Near said, "You've made a difference {Y/n}. I did not ever realize that I needed this—needed you.".

His words touched me. Suddenly, I felt that my being there was no more of a duty but had evolved into something meaningful. I found my place within his world, not as an outsider, part of his intricate tapestry of life.

He advanced closer, and the air between us seemed to thin out. It felt like his body was radiating warmth, making my heart beat at a fast, exhilarating rhythm that was almost echoed in that quiet room.

I felt my cheeks flush with heat, and my breath caught in anticipation. He reached out and cupped my face gently with one hand; it sent shivers down my spine.

I looked into his eyes and saw a vulnerability, an openness that took my breath away. His thumb softly stroked my cheek as his eyes remained locked with mine. It felt like the world outside that window was gone, and it was just the two of us here in this very private moment.

He slowly leaned in, almost hesitantly, and Near did it. My heart was beating, and I closed my eyes. His breath was hot on my lips. Then, gently, his lips met mine.

As the kiss deepened, I felt his tongue slide inside my mouth, searching with tender grace that was familiar. The slightest gasp eluded from my lips as my body responded instinctively to the unforeseen but pleasing sensation. My hands lightly clenched into his shirt, fingers curled into the fabric, and I held myself up against that surge of emotions.

Time just held in that moment as our lips pressed together, our emotions pitted against each other. We finally pulled apart, foreheads resting together, our breathing mingling in the quiet of the night.

"Thanks," he whispered, barely above a breath. "For everything."

"You already know that I'd do anything for you, Near," I breathed.

His hand slid up my side, sending chills through me. "Of course I already know that," he murmured as his lips grazed mine. He leaned down and kissed me harder, this time a mix of unsaid need and deep affection.

We moved slowly, Near guiding us toward the bed. He sat down, and I did the same, straddling him as our lips remained locked in a passionate kiss. My hands slid up his chest and around his neck, pulling him closer as his arms wrapped securely around my waist.

Each kiss deeper, more insistent; our breathing ragged as the sense of connection swelled higher. Near's hands roamed my back—a touch both gentle and possessive. I felt his heartbeat increase, beating in time with mine, the sound of our mingled breathing and the soft rustle of clothing filling the room.

Finally, we drew apart, gasping, yet neither of us would let the other go. Our foreheads were back together, each breathing into the skin of the other. His eyes—tender, hungry—met mine.

"{Y/n)," he whispered, his tone full of all that same intensity pounding through my heartbeat. "You're not going to leave, right?"

I smiled. "I couldn't, even if I was made to," I replied softly, my voice shaking with feelings.

"Good," he whispered, his features seeming to wash into relief. His lips pressed onto mine once more, this time with a fervency that felt like he was sealing a promise into each kiss.

Near began to slowly lie down; our lips were still locked, and I knew what was coming next. It was enough to make my heart race faster. The kiss became more passionate, as if it was filled with a passion and longing that had grown between us over quite a long period of time. I lay down on him, our bodies smashed together, and I could feel each and every line of his body pressed against me from beneath—his warmth completely enveloping me.

His hands moved on my back, tracing the edges of my shirt and raising it gently; the feel of his touch sent thrills down my back. In turn, I did the same to him. My fingers were drawing the lines of his body, feeling tension and release as our bodies discovered each other.

Our kisses became more insistent, desperate, as if we were both trying to convey everything through this single, unbreakable connection. When we finally pulled away, we both lay breathless, our foreheads together once again.

part 2 ?

Do not copy, steal, modify, etc. Relogs and like are appreciated.

m.list | death note m.list

lmk if you want to become part of my death note taglist

#death note x reader #nate x reader #near x reader #nate rivers x reader #near smut #death note smut

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sophrosynesworld · 5 months ago

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Cooking Lessons

Did anyone ask for this? No. Did you burn breakfast? Yes. Enjoy your cooking lessons.

“Shit, shit, shit!” I pull the skillet off the burner and dump the charred eggs into the sink, frantically turning on the cold water to douse the flames. The smoke detector blares from the hallway, announcing my cooking disaster to the world.

My bare feet scurry against the cold tile as I rush to open the windows, fanning the smoke with a towel. I push my hair out of my face, breathing in the cool morning air that seeps in as the smoke alarm shuts off.

“Are you trying to kill us?” a familiar voice grumbles behind me.

I jump, startled by Katsuki’s morning voice. My gaze flickers over his sculpted abs before I quickly look away, my cheeks burning with embarrassment. Katsuki stands there, arms crossed, his expression a blend of annoyance and amusement.

“Seriously, what are you doing?” he asks, stepping closer. The early morning light catches the tousled strands of his blond hair, making him look even more appealing.

“I was just trying to make breakfast,” I mumble, avoiding his eyes as I scrub the skillet. “I didn’t mean to set off the alarm.”

He snorts. “You? Cooking? That’s a disaster waiting to happen.”

I bite my lip, slightly disappointed. “Well, someone has to try,” I mutter, rinsing the skillet with more force than necessary.

Katsuki sighs, moving to the counter and grabbing a clean towel. “Move over,” Bakugo nudges me gently with his hip. “I’ll handle this.”

I step aside, watching as he expertly cracks a few eggs into a new pan, his movements swift and practiced. The sizzle of the eggs hitting the hot surface fills the kitchen, the comforting smell of breakfast begins to replace the burnt odor.

“Thanks,” I say softly, hopping onto the edge of the counter and crossing my arms. “For helping.”

Katsuki glances at me, attempting to stifle his smile. “Just don’t make a habit of it,” he says, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

I watch him intently, trying to understand how he can do this so effortlessly. I had tried to replicate this exact process, but failed miserably.

“Why were you even up this early?” he asks, breaking my train of thought as he plates the now perfectly cooked eggs.

“I wanted to surprise you with breakfast,” I admit, feeling a bit sheepish. “Guess I failed, huh?”

Katsuki raises an eyebrow, sliding the plate towards me. “Surprised me, alright. Just not in the way you intended.” He grabs another plate and divides the eggs between us, adding some toast from the toaster that miraculously survived my cooking attempt.

We sit at the small kitchen table, the tension easing as we eat in welcome silence. The warmth of the food spreads through me, a stark contrast to the earlier chaos.

“You know,” Katsuki says after a while, his tone unusually gentle, “if you really want to learn how to cook, I could teach you. Just… maybe start with something less flammable next time.”

I look up, surprised by the offer. “Really? You’d do that?”

He shrugs, trying to play it cool, "Yeah, well, can't have you burning down my apartment. Plus,” he adds, almost as an afterthought, “it’s kinda nice, you wanting to do something for me.”

A smile spreads across my face. “Alright, deal. But don’t blame me if I end up blowing up the kitchen instead.”

Katsuki smirks, “We’ll see about that. Now eat up before it gets cold.”

#mha #my hero academia #mha x reader #katsuki bakugo #fanfic #bakugo katsuki #mha bakugou #bakugou katsuki #bakugou x reader #katsuki bakugou #bnha #boku no hero academia #boku no hero acedamia #mha fanfiction #bakugo fluff

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faithshouseofchaos · 8 days ago

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Home between worlds — Jenson Button x plus size!fem!reader

Word count— 29.k

Fluff with a side of angst I wrote this with McLaren Jenson in mind.

Jenson pulled his car to the side of the dusty North Carolina road, frowning as the engine sputtered and died. The sleek lines and polished chrome were now a frustrating sight, and he slumped back in the seat, realizing he had no idea how to fix this sort of thing. He glanced around, taking in the quiet surroundings. The nearest house was a charming, white clapboard home with a wide front porch draped in flowering vines.

After a long moment, he grabbed his phone and gave it a half-hearted glance. No signal. Of course. With a resigned sigh, he stepped out and walked up to the house, hoping someone there could helpâ€”or at least point him in the direction of the nearest mechanic.

He climbed the porch steps, suddenly aware of how out of place he looked here in his designer clothes and polished loafers. He lifted his hand and knocked, then took a small step back, trying not to look too desperate.

The door opened, and there she was: a woman with soft curls framing her face, warm, curious eyes, and an apron dusted with what looked like flour. She glanced at him with raised brows, assessing him in a way that made him feel both awkward and oddly grounded.

“Can I help you?” she asked, Southern drawl curling around her words.

Jenson cleared his throat. “Sorry to bother you. My car broke down just up the road, and, uh, I don’t really know what to do with it.” He flashed a small smile, hoping his charm would bridge the gap.

She tilted her head, eyes narrowing slightly, as if she could see right through the smile. “Ain’t from around here, are you?”

“Guilty,” he admitted, giving a little shrug. “Just passing through. I don’t suppose you know if there’s a mechanic nearby?”

“Nearest one’s in town, but they close early on Fridays,” she replied, her voice calm and thoughtful. “Though if you’re desperate, I can give ‘em a call. Or you can stay here tonight and get it looked at in the morning.”

Jenson blinked, caught off guard by her kindness. He opened his mouth to politely declineâ€”he wasn’t sure what he expected, but this wasn’t it. Yet as he looked into her eyes, something made him hesitate. He found himself nodding. “Thank you. I’d appreciate that, actually.”

She stepped back, holding the door open. “Name’s Y/N, by the way,” she said, offering a slight smile.

“Jenson.” He reached out to shake her hand, and when she took it, he felt a warm, steady strength in her grip. He could sense he’d just entered a place where things moved at their own rhythm, where his usual tricks wouldn’t get him far.

As he stepped inside, a sense of calm washed over him, blending with the quiet sense of mystery she seemed to carry. This was going to be a new experience, and, for the first time in a long time, he wasn’t sure what to expect next.

I’m so glad you’re enjoying it! Let’s continue, with Jenson settling in for the night and the two of them beginning to connect, just a little.

The inside of her house was as charming as the outside, with worn wood floors, a cozy fireplace, and a mix of vintage furniture that gave it character. He took it all in, feeling oddly at home. As Y/N led him to the guest room, he caught the faint scent of something freshly baked.

“Hope you’re not picky,” she said over her shoulder. “I’ve got some leftovers if you’re hungry.”

Jenson’s stomach growled in response, and he let out a small chuckle. “Guess that answers that.”

She showed him to the guest room, a small but comfortable space with a soft quilt draped over the bed. He dropped his bag by the door and followed her back to the kitchen, where she handed him a plate piled with homemade biscuits, a little dish of honey, and a bowl of stew.

“Thank you,” he said, genuinely touched. “I didn’t expectâ€”well, all of this.”

She gave him a slight smile as she poured herself a cup of tea, then sat across the table. “We don’t get many strangers around here, so I guess it’s only right to treat ‘em well. Besides, you look like you could use a break.”

Jenson felt himself relax, her warmth and directness a refreshing change from the usual small talk he was used to. They ate in a comfortable silence, broken only by the clinking of spoons and the occasional creak of the old house settling around them. She didn’t seem fazed by his silence, filling the quiet with small comments about the town or the farm she worked on down the road.

As he finished his plate, she glanced at him with a raised eyebrow. “So, Mr. Jenson, what brings you all the way out here?”

He chuckled, leaning back in his chair. “Long story short, I wanted a break fromâ€¦well, everything. I Need to clear my head, I guess.”

Y/N’s gaze softened a bit. “Big city type, huh? You look at it, with those clothes and that fancy car.”

“Guilty as charged,” he admitted, smirking a little. “I spend most of my time racing around the world. It’s been my whole life, honestly. But sometimesâ€¦well, you can lose track of yourself.”

She studied him for a moment, as if reading between the lines. “What happened to you?”

Jenson didn’t answer immediately. He was used to people asking him about the glamorous side of his lifeâ€”the wins, the parties, the fame. But no one had asked about the toll it took, and he found himself unable to brush it off as easily as he would with a stranger.

“Something like that,” he murmured, almost to himself.

Y/N gave a slight nod, her gaze understanding. “Well, you’re welcome to stay as long as you need. Just know this isn’t the kind of town that changes for anyone.” She smiled, a hint of mischief in her eyes. “You’ll be the one doing the adjusting here.”

He chuckled, something warm stirring in him. “I think I can handle that.”

After they cleaned up, Jenson found himself lingering in the cozy living room, where she’d lit a fire. He noticed the way she moved around the space, comfortable and confident, filling it with a warmth he hadn’t felt in a while. She handed him a blanket without a word, then sat down in her own chair, tucking her feet under herself.

“So, what do you do for fun around here?” he asked, half-joking.

“Oh, you’ll see,” she replied, smiling mysteriously. “It’s not exactly the life you’re used to, butâ€¦sometimes the simple things are better.”

Jenson looked at her, intrigued. She didn’t seem impressed by his fame, and that only made her more fascinating. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a real conversation like this, and, as he settled in for the night, he wondered if maybe, just maybe, he’d found exactly what he was looking for.

The next morning, Jenson woke to the smell of coffee and something sweet drifting through the air. He lay there for a moment, the morning sunlight casting a soft glow through the thin curtains. It was quietâ€”no cars, no city sounds. Just birds singing and the soft hum of activity somewhere in the house. For the first time in a while, he felt rested.

When he made his way to the kitchen, Y/N was there, moving about with easy familiarity, a steaming pot of coffee and a plate of fresh muffins on the table. She glanced up and gave him a half-smile.

“Hope you like blueberries,” she said, pushing the plate toward him. “We get a lot of fresh berries around here this time of year.”

Jenson took a muffin and bit into it, his eyes widening. “This is incredible,” he said, barely waiting to swallow before taking another bite.

“Guess they don’t teach cooking like that where you’re from, huh?” she teased, pouring him a cup of coffee.

“Definitely not,” he replied, chuckling. “You know, it’s been a long time since anyone’s made me breakfast. You didn’t have to go through the trouble.”

Y/N shrugged, looking out the window. “It’s no trouble. Besides, I figured you’d need something hearty if you’re sticking around long enough to get that car of yours sorted.”

They spent the morning together, mostly in silence, with Y/N occasionally breaking it with a story about the town or a memory from her childhood. Jenson found himself listening intently, surprised at how much he enjoyed her quiet presence. She had a way of drawing him in, making him feel grounded.

As the day went on, she showed him around the small town, introducing him to the local shops and friendly faces. It wasn’t long before he realized everyone knew everyone hereâ€”and now, they all seemed to know him too.

The grocer, a wiry older man with a thick Southern drawl, gave Jenson a once-over, smirking. “So, you’re the one Y/N’s got staying with her, huh? Bet you’re not used to these parts.”

Jenson chuckled, trying to play it cool. “I’m learning,” he replied, glancing at Y/N, who was pretending to look at the produce but hiding a smile.

The grocer laughed, clapping him on the shoulder. “Well, don’t go causin’ too much trouble, y’hear?”

They continued on, Y/N’s cheeks tinged with a bit of color. “Don’t mind him. Folks around here like to keep tabs on one another.”

“I think I’m beginning to understand that,” Jenson replied, grinning. “Good thing I have you as my guide, or they’d probably run me out of town.”

Y/N shook her head, her smile growing softer. “Don’t worry, Mr. Button. You’ll blend in sooner than you think.”

By the end of the day, they found themselves back at her place, both a little worn from walking and chatting with neighbors. The sun was beginning to set, casting a warm glow across the fields.

Jenson helped her with dinner, laughing as he struggled to peel potatoes without taking half of the potato with it. Y/N watched, amused, occasionally guiding his hands until he finally got the hang of it.

“You know, I don’t think I’ve ever worked this hard on dinner in my life,” he said, mock-sighing as he handed her the last peeled potato.

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “You’ll live. And besides, you’ll appreciate it more when you have to work for it.”

She took the potatoes and set them in a pot on the stove, glancing over her shoulder at him. He noticed the way her eyes softened as she looked at him, just a hint of warmth that hadn’t been there before. In that moment, he felt a pullâ€”a realization that he was starting to care about more than just the novelty of this little town.

They ate by the fireplace that night, sharing stories about their lives as the flames crackled softly. Jenson told her about his racing days, glossing over the glamorous bits and focusing on the rush of it, the way he felt most alive on the track. She listened intently, nodding along, though he could tell she didn’t quite understand that world.

And then she shared a little more about herself. She’d grown up here, working on her family’s farm, a life far different from the one Jenson had known. She spoke of long summer days in the fields, community gatherings, and the sense of responsibility she felt to take care of the land. Her voice grew softer, thoughtful, as she talked about her hopes of expanding the farm, making it a sustainable place that could serve the town for generations.

For the first time in years, Jenson found himself captivated, not by the thrill of the fast lane, but by the quiet strength she radiated.

As the evening wore on, they both grew quiet, wrapped in the comfort of each other’s presence. Jenson looked over at her, feeling something shift inside him. He didn’t want to leave just yet; he wanted to stay in this world she’d let him glimpse, to understand her better.

But he knew it wouldn’t be that easy. There were things she wasn’t saying, barriers she’d put up without him even realizing it. And for the first time, he wanted to break through themâ€”not with his usual charm or easy smiles, but with patience, with honesty.

“Thank you,” he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper. “For letting me stay. Forâ€¦everything.”

Y/N looked at him, her expression softening again as she nodded. “You’re welcome, Jenson.”

And in that quiet, fire-lit room, they both sat, caught in a moment that felt like the start of something neither of them could quite name.

It had been a few days since Jenson’s car was fixed, and the two of them had settled into a rhythm of shared meals, late-night talks, and quiet moments in the living room. Despite his initial intentions to leave as soon as possible, Jenson found himself staying a little longer each day, drawn to the warmth and comfort of the homeâ€”her home.

One afternoon, Y/N was in the kitchen preparing lunch. The soft sound of a knife chopping vegetables was the only noise in the otherwise still house, save for the occasional hum of the fridge and the distant murmur of a car passing outside. Jenson leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest as he watched her, a slight smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“Need any help?” he asked, watching her move with easy efficiency, a quiet grace that belied the busyness of the task at hand.

“I’ve got it,” she replied, glancing up at him with a smile. “But if you’re looking for something to do, there’s a gallon of sweet tea in the fridge. You could pour me a glass.”

Jenson raised an eyebrow. “Sweet tea?”

She nodded, continuing to chop the vegetables. “Yeah. You’ve probably heard of it, right? Big Southern thing.”

Jenson chuckled, running a hand through his hair. “Of course I’ve heard of it. Just not sure I understand the appeal. Seems like it’s justâ€¦ tea with an insane amount of sugar, right?”

Y/N laughed, her eyes sparkling with amusement. “You’d be surprised how good it is. But you’re rightâ€”it’s basically a glass of sugar with a hint of tea.”

“Right,” he said with a smirk. “That soundsâ€¦ incredibly healthy.”

Y/N shook her head with a chuckle, turning to face him. “It’s an acquired taste, for sure. You’ve got to really pour it in just right, though. Too little sugar and it’s just weak tea, too much, and it’s just syrup.”

Jenson tilted his head, a teasing glint in his eyes. “So what’s the ‘right’ amount?”

She grinned. “Well, if you want to drink it the way I do, you need at least an inch of sugar in there. Anything less and it’s not really sweet tea. Might as well be iced tea.”

Jenson blinked at her for a second, his lips curling into a playful smile. “An inch of sugar? That’s, uhâ€¦ excessive.”

“It’s perfect,” Y/N said, a proud tone in her voice. “Trust me.”

Jenson eyed her warily but couldn’t resist the curiosity. “Alright, alright. I’ll give it a go. But I’m warning you, if it’s too sweet, I’m never drinking this stuff again.”

He opened the fridge, pulling out the large container of sweet tea, and grabbed a glass from the cabinet. As he poured, Y/N watched him, trying not to laugh at the way he was so carefully measuring the sugar level.

He returned to the counter, handed her the glass, and with a little grin, took a sip from his own.

She watched his expression change as the sweetness hit him, and she couldn’t hold back her laugh this time. “So? What do you think?”

Jenson blinked rapidly, a little caught off guard by the overwhelming sweetness. He slowly set the glass down on the counter, clearing his throat. “Wellâ€¦ I think I might’ve just had a sugar high,” he said, his voice teasing. “It’sâ€¦ definitely sweet.”

Y/N laughed so hard she had to put her hand over her mouth to stifle the sound. “Told you! It’s a real shock to the system if you’re not used to it.”

Jenson grinned, looking over at her with a playful glint in his eyes. “I might need a few more tries before I’m convinced. But for now, I’ll justâ€¦ try not to get a sugar coma.”

“Good idea,” she said, taking a sip from her own glass. “But you’re going to need to learn how to drink it properly if you’re going to live down here. It’s a staple.”

Jenson leaned against the counter, studying her, an almost unnoticeable softness in his eyes as he observed how at home she looked here, in her element. There was something undeniably endearing about herâ€”about the way she didn’t just accept Southern culture, but embraced it fully.

“You really do love this place, don’t you?” he asked quietly, his voice a little softer than usual.

Y/N looked up at him, a small, genuine smile spreading across her face. “Yeah, I do. It’s my home, Jenson. It might not be as fancy or as exciting as your life, but it’s mine. It’s where I belong.”

There was a brief pause between them, and Jenson felt something stir in him, a strange, unexpected feeling. He wasn’t sure what it was, but it was definitely something more than just admiration.

He took another sip of his sweet tea, his eyes still lingering on her. “Well, I think you’re doing a damn good job of making it seem exciting,” he said with a grin.

Her eyes softened, and the smile on her face lingered a little longer than usual. There was a quiet intimacy in the way their gazes held each other, and Jenson felt a flicker of something he hadn’t quite expected when he first arrived. Something more than just a passing curiosity. Somethingâ€¦ real.

As the days went by, their interactions became increasingly natural. Jenson had gotten used to the calm rhythm of life in North Carolina, a pace far different from the constant whirlwind of F1 circuits and the bustling life he’d grown accustomed to. In the evenings, he would sit with Y/N in the living room, watching TV or simply talking about the mundane details of life. They fell into a comfortable routineâ€”quiet, easy, and without expectation.

One afternoon, Y/N was busy working on some paperwork for her job, sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee in hand. Jenson had wandered into the kitchen to grab a snack, a bag of chips in one hand, when he noticed her distractedly tapping her pen on the table. Her brow furrowed in concentration as she glanced between papers, occasionally shaking her head.

“Need help with that?” Jenson asked casually, leaning against the doorframe, still holding his snack.

Y/N looked up, a bit surprised by the offer. “I could probably use a second opinion. Justâ€¦ numbers and stuff. Nothing exciting.”

Jenson raised an eyebrow and walked over, sitting down across from her. “You’d be surprised what’s exciting if you’ve got the right perspective.”

Y/N smirked, tapping the pen against her lip. “Right. Well, it’s not really that thrilling.”

He chuckled and leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. “Alright, what’s the issue?”

For a moment, Y/N hesitated, then sighed, pushing the papers toward him. “Just a couple of budget reports for the town’s community projects. Nothing too complicated, but it’s giving me a headache. Could you take a look?”

Jenson, always quick to analyze things, scanned the numbers, his mind working through the calculations with ease. As he did, he noticed Y/N watching him quietly, a small smile playing at her lips.

“What?” Jenson asked, glancing up with a teasing look.

“Nothing,” she replied, her voice soft. “Just never thought I’d have a Brit helping me with budget reports. You’re more useful than I gave you credit for.”

He grinned, a playful glint in his eyes. “I do have more talents than just driving a race car, you know.”

She laughed, the sound light and easy. The tension from before, the one that had made their interactions feel slightly strained, seemed to be melting away. It was just themâ€”two people who had never expected to cross paths but now found themselves sharing moments in a way that felt natural, as if it had always been meant to happen.

Later that evening, after dinner, they found themselves outside again, watching the stars. The chill of the night air had settled in, but neither of them seemed to mind. They’d walked outside in silence, the sound of the grass crunching beneath their feet, the sky above them dotted with stars.

“I think you’re the first person I’ve met who doesn’t rush through everything,” Jenson said softly, breaking the quiet.

Y/N glanced at him, surprised. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t know,” he continued, his voice low, almost like he was thinking out loud. “Everyone I know is always running somewhere, always thinking about the next thing. But youâ€¦ you seem to take it slow. Like you can just be here, in the moment.”

Y/N turned her head, meeting his gaze. His eyes were soft, contemplative. There was something in the way he was looking at her, a quiet admiration that made her heart beat a little faster.

“Well,” she said, her voice quiet but steady, “sometimes the next thing can wait. Life’s too short to be in a rush all the time.”

Jenson nodded slowly, his expression thoughtful. “I wish I could slow down sometimes.”

Y/N’s heart skipped a beat at his words. It was like he was revealing something about himself that he didn’t say aloud oftenâ€”how he was always on the go, always under pressure, always performing.

“You know,” she said gently, “you don’t always have to be going a hundred miles an hour. Maybe there’s something good in justâ€¦ being still.”

Jenson met her gaze again, his expression shifting to something deeper. He didn’t say anything for a moment, just took in the way her words seemed to settle in his mind. He hadn’t realized how much he longed for that stillnessâ€”until now.

The silence between them wasn’t uncomfortable. In fact, it was the most peaceful silence he’d felt in a long time. He took a deep breath, the air cold against his lungs, and looked up at the stars. “Maybe I’ll learn to appreciate that,” he said quietly.

Y/N didn’t say anything for a moment. She simply let the quiet settle between them, the stars above them, the soft hum of the world around them. And in that moment, despite the tension, despite everything unspoken, it felt like they were more connected than ever.

As the week drew to a close, their connection seemed to shift even further, though neither of them would openly acknowledge it. They began sharing more moments of quiet closenessâ€”Jenson offering her his jacket when they went out for walks, their fingers brushing as they passed each other in the hallway, the soft hum of their conversations lingering even when no words were spoken.

But there was always a lingering distance between them, one neither of them was willing to cross, yet both were painfully aware of.

One evening, as they prepared for bed, Jenson paused in the doorway of her room. There was a hesitation in his movement, something almost uncertain in the way he lingered.

“Hey,” he said, his voice softer than usual, “I’ve really appreciated thisâ€”being here. With you.”

Y/N’s heart gave a small jolt at his words. She turned from where she was getting ready for bed, meeting his gaze. His eyes weren’t playful anymore, not teasing. There was something real thereâ€”something that made her chest tighten.

“I’ve appreciated it too,” she said quietly, her voice steady despite the flutter in her stomach. “More than you know.”

Jenson nodded slowly, his eyes not leaving hers. And just before he left the room, he hesitated for a brief moment, almost as if he was about to say something more. Instead, he simply offered a small smile, a look that seemed to speak volumes without a single word.

And as he closed the door behind him, Y/N stood there for a moment, her heart racing. Despite everything she told herself, despite the walls she’d built up around her heart, she couldn’t ignore the fact that there was something between themâ€”something undeniable, even if neither of them was ready to face it just yet.

As the days turned into a week, Y/N found herself becoming more aware of the subtle shifts in their relationship. It was in the small thingsâ€”like the way Jenson would give her a small, unspoken smile when they passed each other in the hallway, the way his presence in the house no longer felt like a surprise but a comfort.

One afternoon, while Jenson was lounging on the porch, scrolling through his phone, Y/N found herself sitting on the steps, watching the way the sun filtered through the trees, casting dappled shadows across the ground. The air was warmer now, the last traces of winter fading away, and she felt a calm peace she hadn’t realized she was missing.

Jenson’s voice broke the stillness. “You know, I’ve been thinking a lot lately.”

Y/N looked over at him, raising an eyebrow. “Thinking? About what?”

He leaned back in his chair, stretching his legs out in front of him. “About how different things are here. Not just the pace, but the people. You. This place.”

She raised an eyebrow, curious now. “What about it?”

“Wellâ€¦” He ran a hand through his hair, clearly trying to find the right words. “I’ve been a bit of aâ€¦ well, a mess, honestly. Always rushing around, focused on the next thing. And now, hereâ€¦ with you, I can’t help but think maybe I’ve been missing out on something important.”

Y/N studied him, unsure how to respond to his vulnerability. It wasn’t often that Jenson let his guard down, and even now, it seemed like he was unsure of how much to reveal. The realization struck herâ€”he was more than just the cocky, confident driver people saw on TV. There was more beneath the surface. And maybe, just maybe, there was a way for her to let him in.

“You don’t have to rush everything, you know,” she said softly, the words coming out more gently than she expected. “Sometimes it’s okay to justâ€¦ be. And it’s okay to not have all the answers.”

Jenson’s eyes softened as he met her gaze. “Yeah, I’ve figured that out the hard way.”

The air between them grew a little heavier, charged with something unsaid, but not uncomfortable. For once, it wasn’t about racing or the F1 world he inhabited; it was justâ€¦ them. Two people, sitting quietly on the porch, letting the world spin around them.

Later that evening, the two of them were sitting on the couch in the living room, the soft glow of the lamp casting a warm light over the space. They were watching a movieâ€”some silly romantic comedy that neither of them really cared about, but neither seemed to mind the quiet company.

Y/N leaned back against the couch, her legs stretched out in front of her, while Jenson sat next to her, his arm draped casually over the back of the couch. Every now and then, his fingers brushed against her shoulder, a small, inadvertent contact that sent a strange, electric feeling through her skin. He didn’t seem to notice, but she did.

It was these moments that made everything feelâ€¦ complicated. Her heart would beat a little faster, a little heavier, every time his proximity became a little closer, his presence just a little more real.

At one point, Jenson chuckled at a scene in the movie, the sound of his laughter low and warm. Y/N smiled faintly, the sound soothing in a way she couldn’t quite explain.

“You’re weird,” she teased, not looking at him but knowing his smirk was there.

He tilted his head toward her, his voice teasing. “You love it.”

She rolled her eyes, but there was a softness in her smile that betrayed her. “Don’t get cocky, Button.”

He chuckled again, this time a little louder, and his arm shifted just slightly, brushing her shoulder with a warmth that sent a spark down her spine.

For a brief moment, the world outside their little bubble seemed to fade away, and it was just them. No F1, no past relationships, no looming goodbyes. Justâ€¦ them.

The moment lingered, stretching on in quiet understanding. Y/N, for the first time, allowed herself to feel the tension between them, the growing pull that had been there from the beginning but was now more palpable. She had always prided herself on keeping a safe distance from people, especially men like Jenson. But now, she was unsure how much longer she could keep pushing him awayâ€”how much longer she could ignore the feelings blooming inside her.

Jenson, on the other hand, seemed to sense her hesitation. He didn’t push. He didn’t say anything, didn’t make any bold moves. He just let the silence hang there, comfortable, yet pregnant with possibility. There was no rush, no need to fill the quiet with words or gestures. They were simply thereâ€”together.

Over the next few days, Jenson settled into a rhythm he never thought he’d enjoy. Mornings were for coffee and breakfast with Y/N, the quiet stretch of sunlight streaming through her kitchen as they traded stories and gentle, teasing remarks. Sometimes she’d take him along on her errands or introduce him to neighbors who’d wave him over with the same easy charm. He began to lose track of time, falling into the town’s slower paceâ€”and catching himself looking forward to seeing Y/N each morning.

They were out by the small garden behind her house one afternoon, her hands deep in the earth as she tended to her plants. Jenson watched, a small smile tugging at his lips, realizing he’d never seen anyone so content in their element.

“You know,” he said, leaning against the fence with an amused grin, “you’re the hardest-working person I’ve ever met. I think I’d last five minutes doing what you do.”

She looked up, wiping a hand across her brow, smudging a bit of dirt. “I’d pay to see that,” she replied with a laugh, eyes sparkling in the afternoon light. “You’d quit as soon as you chipped a nail.”

“Hey, I’m not that soft,” he retorted, feigning offense. He took a step closer, peering over her shoulder at the bed of vegetables she was planting. “I could help, you know. Give me a task and I’ll prove it.”

She glanced at him skeptically, then handed him a small trowel. “All right, fancy man. Think you can handle planting a few tomatoes?”

Jenson crouched down beside her, a little too close, his shoulder brushing against hers. He felt her stiffen, just for a second, before she relaxed again. He knew he shouldn’t have noticedâ€”but he couldn’t help it. That small, shy reaction of hers was something he’d come to recognize, like a barrier she was always aware of but tried not to show.

They worked side by side, and he caught himself stealing glances at her, watching the way her hands moved expertly through the soil, her sleeves pushed up to her elbows, a loose curl falling across her cheek as she concentrated. She didn’t fit the image he’d grown used to in his world, but she had a beauty that felt real and unpolished, and he couldn’t help but feel drawn to it.

When she caught him staring, he quickly looked away, focusing too hard on the tomatoes. Her chuckle was soft, but it sent warmth through him, a sensation that was becoming far too familiar.

After they finished, she sat back, brushing dirt from her hands. “Not bad, Button,” she teased. “Didn’t expect you to get through it without complaining.”

“I’m just full of surprises,” he replied, a hint of flirtation slipping into his tone. But she didn’t react the way he expected. Instead, she looked away, her smile fading slightly as she fiddled with her sleeve.

He cleared his throat, feeling a pang of regret. He wanted to keep things light, but every time he leaned into his usual charm, he could feel her pulling back, as if she was reminding herself of who he was. A playboy, someone who didn’t take rootsâ€”someone she couldn’t risk trusting too much.

A couple more days passed in much the same way, each night ending by the fire, with the two of them sitting across from each other in a comfortable silence. Jenson could tell she was starting to let her guard down, her laughter coming a little more easily, her gaze meeting his for a moment longer. But every time he thought he’d inched closer, she’d turn away, and he’d be left feeling an ache he couldn’t quite name.

One evening, as they sat watching the stars from her front porch, she spoke, her voice soft. “You ever think about slowing down?”

He looked over, surprised by the question. She wasn’t looking at him, her gaze fixed on the night sky, but he could tell she was curious, genuinely wanting to know.

“Sometimes,” he admitted, feeling a strange vulnerability in the admission. “There’s a rush to it allâ€”the speed, the fame. It’s exciting, butâ€¦sometimes it feels like I’m chasing something that’s always just out of reach.”

She nodded, her expression thoughtful. “I think you just need to figure out what you’re really looking for.”

The words hit him harder than he expected, the quiet truth in them resonating with something deep inside. He glanced over, his gaze tracing the soft curve of her face in the moonlight, and for a second, he wanted to reach out, to touch her hand and tell her he was tired of running, that maybe he was starting to find what he needed here.

But he held back, settling instead for a sigh. “Maybe you’re right.”

Silence settled between them again, thicker this time, charged with something neither of them acknowledged. She fidgeted with her sleeve, her gaze still on the stars, her expression guarded.

When she finally spoke, her tone was soft, almost hesitant. “I know what people think of me. I know I don’t fit the picture.” She paused, swallowing. “It’s just that people like youâ€¦you don’t stick around for long.”

Jenson’s heart twisted at her words, and he forced himself to look away, guilt creeping up his spine. He hadn’t meant to make her feel that way, hadn’t realized how much he wanted her to see him differently. But he knew she was right, knew she had every reason to be wary.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he murmured, barely realizing he’d spoken aloud. The words hung between them, fragile and raw, a confession he hadn’t expected to make.

Y/N glanced over, her eyes softening just a little, but she didn’t respond, didn’t reassure him. Instead, she offered him a small, understanding smile before turning back to the stars.

In that quiet moment, he realized just how deeply she was affecting himâ€”and how much it would mean to break through her walls. But he also understood that this was her choice, not his, and he’d have to be patient, no matter how much it hurt to hold back.

As he sat there, his heart heavy and uncertain, he knew this wasn’t going to be easy. It would take time, a slow burn he hadn’t experienced before, and he’d have to earn every small piece of her trust. And for the first time, he didn’t mind the wait.

Days turned into weeks, and Jenson was still there, still making himself useful around the house, still sharing quiet dinners and lazy evenings on the porch with Y/N. He found himself enjoying the small routines, even catching himself looking forward to the little thingsâ€”her laughter, the way she’d pause when she caught him staring, or the way she’d turn away when he said something that flustered her.

One warm afternoon, Y/N asked him to help fix the old barn door, which had started to creak and jam. They spent hours wrestling with the stubborn hinges, dust and dirt clinging to their clothes as they struggled with bolts and screws. Jenson had grease on his hands and a splinter in his finger, but he didn’t careâ€”he found himself laughing with her, the kind of laugh that came easily, without thought.

“Alright, let’s give it another try,” she said, leaning her weight into the door as he adjusted the latch. When it finally swung open smoothly, she let out a triumphant whoop, her eyes shining with accomplishment.

“See?” he said, grinning. “I’m not totally useless.”

She rolled her eyes, smiling despite herself. “Maybe not. You’re a little better than I expected, city boy.”

He took a step closer, still smiling, and their eyes met. For a long, charged moment, they stood there, the barn around them filled with dust and sunlight, and he felt a strange, urgent longing to close the distance between them. He wanted to brush a thumb over the smudge on her cheek, to feel the warmth of her skin.

But as he reached out, she turned away, breaking the spell. She busied herself with packing up the tools, her shoulders tense, and Jenson felt the familiar ache return, sharper this time. She was pulling back again, and he could feel her putting up her guard.

Later that evening, as they sat by the fire, he found himself glancing over at her, watching as she sipped her tea. She was quieter than usual, her gaze distant, lost in thought.

“You okay?” he asked softly.

She looked up, startled, as if she’d forgotten he was there. “Yeah,” she replied, her voice a little too light. “Justâ€¦thinking.”

“About?” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his expression open, inviting her to share.

She hesitated, glancing down at her mug. “I don’t know. I guess it’s justâ€¦sometimes it’s hard to believe this is real. You being here, us getting along. I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop, for you toâ€¦to get bored and leave.”

Her words struck him, and he felt a pang of frustrationâ€”mostly at himself. He wanted to tell her he wasn’t going anywhere, that he was here for her, but he knew words wouldn’t mean much right now. She’d heard them all before from people who hadn’t stayed.

Instead, he took a slow breath. “I’m not going anywhere,” he said quietly, his voice laced with sincerity. “I’m here, Y/N. For as long as you’ll have me.”

She looked at him, her eyes searching his face, and he saw the faintest glimmer of hope there, mixed with hesitation. She wanted to believe himâ€”he could see it. But there was a shadow of fear, a wall he’d have to keep chipping away at, piece by agonizing piece.

That night, as he lay awake on the couch, he found himself thinking about her, about the way she kept him at arm’s length, always on the verge of letting him in but never quite taking that final step. He wanted to earn her trust, to prove that he was different. But he also knew he’d have to be patient, even if it meant waiting in that fragile, uncertain space between friendship and something more.

The next morning, he decided to surprise her by making breakfast. He wasn’t much of a cook, but he’d learned a few basics over the years, and he figured he could manage something simple. He found a recipe for pancakes and set to work, determined to make it perfect.

By the time she came downstairs, the kitchen was a messâ€”flour dusting the counters, a few burnt attempts stacked on the plate, and Jenson himself looking more than a little frazzled.

She stopped in the doorway, her mouth twitching with amusement. “What on earth are you doing?”

“Breakfast,” he said, holding up a slightly misshapen pancake. “I thought I’d return the favor.”

She laughed, shaking her head as she came over to inspect his work. “Well, I’ll give you points for effort.”

They sat down together, and despite the mess and a few burnt edges, she ate every bite, teasing him lightly the whole time. But there was something warm in her gaze, a softness he hadn’t seen before, and he found himself grinning like an idiot.

They spent the rest of the morning cleaning up, her laughter filling the air as she teased him about his cooking skills, and he felt closer to her in that moment than he had before. It wasn’t a grand gesture, wasn’t a sweeping declaration of loveâ€”but it was real, and it felt like a step forward.

And slowly, day by day, he found himself falling for her more deeply than he’d thought possible. She was a mystery, a quiet strength, and he found himself wanting to learn every part of her, to earn her trust in the only way that matteredâ€”by staying.

The days seemed to blur together after that. Morning after morning, they fell into a comfortable routine. Jenson had started to feel more at home in her worldâ€”more at peace with the slower pace of life in her small town. He found himself looking forward to the simple things: their walks by the lake, her teasing remarks about his cooking, and the way she would linger on the porch at dusk, lost in her thoughts as the sky turned soft pink and purple.

But despite all the little moments they shared, Y/N still kept him at arm’s length. There were nights when she would let him in a little, her walls lowering just enough for him to see the woman beneath the guarded exterior. And then there were nights when she would retreat, her smile polite but distant, as if she was reminding herself that he didn’t belong hereâ€”not really.

Jenson was starting to get frustrated. He knew he had to be patient, but every time he saw her pull away, his chest tightened with a familiar ache. She was so close, yet so far out of reach.

One evening, they sat on the front porch after dinner, the sun setting in the distance, painting the sky in brilliant oranges and purples. He’d caught her looking at him a few times, her gaze flicking away the moment their eyes met, but she didn’t say anything. She was quiet tonightâ€”too quiet.

“Y/N,” he said softly, trying to break the silence between them. “What are you really afraid of?”

She glanced at him, her expression unreadable. For a moment, he thought she wouldn’t answer, but then she exhaled slowly, looking out over the yard.

“I’m afraid of getting hurt,” she confessed, her voice barely above a whisper. “Of letting someone in again, only for them to leave. Or worse, of them not really caring.” Her gaze turned inward, and he could tell she was fighting the emotions rising within her.

Jenson’s heart sank. He had known it was coming, but hearing it from her made it feel all the more real. She had been burned beforeâ€”maybe more than onceâ€”and now she was afraid to take another chance.

“You think I’m just going to leave?” he asked, his voice steady despite the tightness in his chest. He couldn’t hide the hurt in his eyes, though. “You really think I’m like the others?”

She hesitated, her eyes flicking to his, but she didn’t respond right away. The silence stretched, heavy between them.

“I don’t know,” she said finally, her voice soft but firm. “I don’t know if I can trust that you won’t. I know you’re not like the others, but I’ve been down that road before, Jenson. I’ve let someone in and watched them walk away, and itâ€¦ it’s not something I can just forget.”

Her words hit him like a blow to the chest. The vulnerability she was showingâ€”something so raw, so openâ€”tore at him. He wanted to hold her, to tell her he wouldn’t hurt her, that he’d never hurt her. But he knew that wouldn’t be enough, not when the scars of her past were so deep.

Instead, he shifted closer, just enough to be near her, but not so close that it felt like he was pushing her. “I’m not asking for you to forget,” he said gently. “I’m just asking for you to trust me. And I know that’s not easy. But I want to be here, Y/N. For you. I’m not going anywhere.”

She met his gaze then, her eyes searching his face for any sign of insincerity. He held her stare, hoping she could see that he meant every word.

She took a shaky breath, looking away as a faint blush colored her cheeks. “I don’t know how to trust anyone anymore,” she murmured, almost to herself.

Jenson’s heart ached for her. He didn’t know the full story of her past, but he knew enough to understand that it had shaped her into someone who had learned to protect herself at all costs. And he didn’t blame her for it. But it didn’t make the distance between them any easier to bear.

He stayed silent, giving her the space she needed, but his mind raced with the desire to prove to her that he wasn’t like the others. He had no idea how long it would takeâ€”how much more patience it would requireâ€”but he was willing to wait for her.

As the night settled in, Y/N stood up slowly, brushing her hands off on her jeans. “I should get some rest,” she said, her voice barely audible. She gave him a small, almost apologetic smile. “Thanks for dinner. Andâ€¦ for helping with the barn.”

Jenson nodded, standing as well. “Anytime,” he said, his voice soft.

She gave him a brief nod before turning and heading inside, her footsteps fading into the house.

He stood there for a long moment, staring at the porch where she had just been. He wanted to go after her, to say something more, but he knew it wouldn’t help. Not tonight.

The next morning, Jenson woke to find a cup of coffee waiting for him on the kitchen counter, the warm aroma filling the house. He didn’t hear Y/N moving aroundâ€”she was always an early riserâ€”but he knew she’d been up long before him. She was always busy, always moving.

He sipped the coffee, his mind lingering on their conversation from the night before. Her fear was so clear to him now. He couldn’t erase it, couldn’t make her forget her past, but he could show her, little by little, that he was here to stay.

After finishing his coffee, he grabbed his jacket and stepped outside, determined to help out with whatever needed doing today. As he wandered through the yard, he spotted her in the garden, once again tending to the plants, her movements slow and deliberate.

He stood back, watching her for a moment. The sun was high in the sky now, the warmth of the day beginning to settle around them. There was something beautiful in the way she cared for this little piece of the worldâ€”something he couldn’t quite put into words.

Without thinking, he stepped forward, his voice cutting through the quiet. “Need some help with that?”

Y/N turned at the sound of his voice, and for a moment, their gazes locked. The connection was almost tangible, and Jenson felt a rush of hope stir inside him. She didn’t pull away, didn’t look away in that familiar way. Instead, she gave him a small, hesitant nod.

“Sure,” she said softly, handing him a small trowel. “You might actually be getting the hang of this.”

Jenson smiled, accepting the tool from her, but this time, it felt different. She wasn’t retreating; she wasn’t holding back. It was only a small thing, but it was progress. And for the first time in days, he felt like maybe, just maybe, they were moving closer.

The last week of winter break had arrived faster than either of them had expected. The crisp air of early January carried a weight to it, a sense of finality that both Jenson and Y/N had been avoiding for weeks.

Jenson tried not to think about it. The thought of leaving this small corner of North Carolina, leaving her, gnawed at him more than he cared to admit. The trip back to the UK for F1 was looming, and with it came the reminder of the life he had been running fromâ€”a life full of obligations, expectations, and a thousand distractions.

But it wasn’t just the thought of the race season that hung over him. It was Y/N.

He had told himself to keep his distance, to avoid getting too attached. But the truth was, he couldn’t help it. She had gotten under his skin in ways he didn’t know were possible. The soft way she laughed, the way her eyes lit up when she talked about her little corner of the world, the way she pushed him away without ever meaning toâ€”he was falling for her, hard and fast.

And now, with the end of winter break creeping closer, he could feel her pulling away in return. She had grown quieter, more withdrawn, as the inevitable departure drew nearer. Every conversation seemed to carry a hint of finality now, every touch a little more hesitant. It was like she was preparing herself for him to leave, and he hated it.

That evening, they were sitting on the porch again, the last of the light from the setting sun disappearing behind the trees. The cold air had them wrapped in their jackets, but there was no escaping the chill between them.

“You’ve been awfully quiet the past few days,” Jenson said, his voice betraying the nervousness that had been building in him all week.

Y/N didn’t meet his eyes immediately. Instead, she stared out at the darkening horizon, her fingers playing absently with the hem of her sweater. “I’ve just been thinking,” she said, her voice distant. “Aboutâ€¦ everything.”

Jenson felt a tight knot in his chest. “About what?” he pressed gently.

She let out a quiet breath, the tension in the air thickening. “About you leaving,” she finally said, her voice small. “And what happens after that.”

He swallowed hard. The weight of her words hit him like a ton of bricks, and for a moment, he couldn’t think of anything to say. His mind raced, heart pounding in his chest.

“Y/Nâ€¦” he began, but she cut him off.

“Don’t,” she said softly, her voice trembling. “I know how this works, Jenson. You’ll go back to the UK, to your life, and I’ll stay here. Thisâ€”whatever this isâ€”it’s not real. You know that, right?”

Jenson felt something crack inside of him. He had known it was coming, but hearing her say it out loud felt like a punch to the gut. “Is that really what you think?” he asked, his voice rough. “You think thisâ€”this time we’ve spent togetherâ€”isn’t real?”

Her eyes flicked to him, but she quickly looked away again, her jaw tightening. “I can’t do this,” she said, her words almost a whisper. “I can’t let myself get too close, Jenson. I can’t let you in because I know it’s just going to hurt when you leave.”

The rawness in her voice cut through him like a knife. He wanted to tell her that he wasn’t going anywhere, that he would find a way to make it work, but the truth was, he didn’t know how. He didn’t know how to make her believe him, how to convince her that he was different.

“I’m not like the others, Y/N,” he said quietly, his voice almost pleading. “I don’t want to leave. I don’t want this to end.”

But even as he said the words, he knew they sounded hollow. She didn’t believe himâ€”not yet.

“Why would you want to stay?” she asked, her voice bitter, though it was clear she was trying to hold back tears. “You’re Jenson Button. You could be with anyone you want. You don’t need someone like me. I’m justâ€¦”

“Stop,” he cut her off, standing up suddenly, his frustration boiling over. “Don’t say that. You’re not ‘just’ anything. You’re everything I’ve wanted these past few weeks.”

She shook her head, a sad smile tugging at her lips. “You’re leaving, Jenson. You’ll forget all about me when you’re back in the UK. And I won’t be left here, holding onto something that isn’t real.”

The words stung, more than he had expected, and he felt the weight of her fears crash down on him. He wanted to tell her how wrong she was. He wanted to pull her into his arms and make her understand that he didn’t want this to end. But there was a part of him, deep down, that feared she was right.

For a long time, neither of them spoke. The silence stretched on, broken only by the faint rustle of leaves in the trees and the distant sound of a dog barking somewhere in the town. Jenson stayed where he was, his eyes trained on her, but she refused to look up at him.

Finally, after what felt like hours, Y/N stood up, the movement sharp and final. “I think I need some space,” she said, her voice tight. “I’llâ€¦ I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Before he could say anything, she turned and walked inside, the door clicking shut behind her with a finality that left Jenson feeling like he had been struck.

That night, Jenson lay awake, staring at the ceiling of the guest room, his mind racing. Every part of him wanted to fix this, to find a way to show her that he wasn’t going anywhere, but he knew that, right now, words weren’t enough. He had to prove it.

The clock on the wall ticked louder than usual in the silence, and Jenson found himself counting the minutes until he would have to leave, feeling the weight of his departure heavier with every passing second. And he wondered, with a sinking feeling in his chest, if he would leave without ever getting the chance to show Y/N that what they hadâ€”what he felt for herâ€”was real.

The days leading up to Jenson’s departure were filled with a quiet intensity, a blend of unspoken words and lingering touches. Jenson had given Y/N the space she had asked for, but it wasn’t the distance she had anticipated. Instead, he remained just close enough, a presence she couldn’t escape, even when she tried to retreat into her own thoughts.

They fell into a rhythm that was both familiar and new. Jenson would spend the morning doing his final prep work for his trip back to the UK, while Y/N would keep herself busy with small tasks around the house, always within proximity of him but never quite meeting his gaze for too long.

The silence between them wasn’t uncomfortable, but it wasn’t easy either. Every time Jenson caught her looking at himâ€”just a momentary glanceâ€”he felt the pull of something unspoken. But she would look away quickly, as though trying to outrun whatever it was that was beginning to grow between them.

It was the evening before he was set to leave, and they had fallen into the habit of taking long walks in the nearby woods as the sun set, allowing the space to breathe between them, even if the silence was still thick.

Tonight, though, something felt different. There was an unease in the air, something heavier than before. Neither of them spoke much as they walked, the only sound being the crunch of the snow beneath their boots. The golden-orange light of the setting sun was fading fast, casting long shadows across the trees.

Jenson noticed that Y/N’s hands were shoved deep in her pockets, her shoulders hunched against the cold. She was quiet, almost too quiet, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was coming, something neither of them was ready for.

He stopped walking, and after a moment, Y/N stopped too, her eyes flicking toward him as she stood a few feet away, waiting.

“Y/N,” Jenson began, his voice softer than before, almost tentative. “You know that I’m going to miss you, right?”

She didn’t respond immediately. Her breath came out in a puff of white vapor, and her eyes were on the ground, her lips pressed together tightly. When she finally spoke, it wasn’t the words he had expected.

“Do you really think you’ll miss me once you’re back in the UK?” she asked, her voice steady but tinged with something he couldn’t quite read.

Jenson frowned, taking a step closer to her. “Of course I will,” he said, a hint of frustration creeping into his voice. “I don’t understand why you keep pushing me away, Y/N. I’m here, right now, and I’m not asking for anything more thanâ€¦ than what we have.”

Y/N looked at him then, and for a moment, he saw the vulnerability in her eyesâ€”raw and unguarded. “But that’s the problem, Jenson,” she said quietly, her voice breaking the stillness between them. “You say that now, but I don’t know what’s going to happen when you’re gone. You don’t get it. Iâ€¦ I’m scared. I’m scared that I’m just another place for you to stop on your way to something else. And I’m tired of being like that.”

Jenson’s heart twisted in his chest, the words hitting him harder than he expected. He had no idea that this was how she had been feeling all alongâ€”that she felt like she was just temporary to him.

“Y/N, you’re not just another stop for me,” he said urgently, his voice almost a plea. “You’re not a place to pass through. I’m not going back to the UK and pretending like this never happened. Youâ€¦ you mean more to me than that.”

She shook her head, her eyes filling with tears she refused to let fall. “You say that now, but I can’t keep letting myself believe it. I can’t keep letting myself hope that you’ll stay, that this isn’t just a fleeting thing for you. Because I’m not going to be the one who’s left heartbroken in the end. I won’t be the one who’s hurt when you walk away.”

Her words were like a slap, and Jenson flinched, his chest tightening with frustration and guilt. “I’m not going to hurt you,” he said firmly, stepping forward, though still hesitant to close the distance between them. “I don’t want to hurt you, Y/N. But I need you to trust me. I need you to believe me when I say that I’m not leaving you behind.”

She wiped her cheek quickly, avoiding his eyes as she took a small step back, wrapping her arms around herself as though trying to hold herself together. “I don’t know if I can, Jenson. I really don’t. And I hate that I feel like this. I want to believe you. God, I really do. But I’m justâ€¦ I’m scared.”

Jenson stepped forward again, slower this time, as if moving too fast might break whatever fragile hold they still had on each other. He reached for her hands, gently taking them in his, feeling the coldness in her fingers and the tremor in her touch.

“Then let me show you,” he said softly. “Let me prove to you that I’m not going anywhere. I’m not asking for you to trust me completely overnight. I justâ€¦ I just want a chance.”

Her eyes searched his face, torn between the part of her that wanted to believe him and the part that couldn’t let go of the fear of getting hurt again. After a long pause, she sighed deeply, her shoulders slumping in resignation.

“I can’t make you any promises, Jenson,” she said, her voice quiet but steady. “I can’t give you what you want right now.”

He nodded slowly, understanding that this wasn’t something he could rush, that pushing her would only push her away.

“But I’m here. I’m here, Y/N,” he repeated. “And I’ll wait. I’ll wait as long as you need.”

She looked down at their intertwined hands for a moment, the cold air swirling around them. Then, with a soft sigh, she nodded. “Okay. But you’d better keep your word.”

Jenson smiled slightly, relief flooding through him. “I’ll keep it. I swear.”

And for the first time since he’d arrived in North Carolina, it felt like a small part of the weight had been lifted. There was still so much uncertainty between them, but there was also a flicker of hope, a willingness to let things unfold at their own pace.

And maybe, just maybe, that was enough for now.

It was the morning that Y/N had been dreading for days. The house felt different, quieterâ€”emptier. She had done her best to pretend that it was just another normal morning, but every little thing reminded her that this was the end of the chapter. Jenson was leaving.

He was in the kitchen, brewing coffee, his movements almost mechanical, like he was trying to keep his emotions in check, too. She watched him from the doorway, her arms folded across her chest, her heart heavy.

“I’ve got to hit the road soon,” he said, not looking at her, his voice low and almost apologetic.

Y/N nodded but didn’t speak. Her throat felt tight, like there was a lump lodged in there, too big to swallow. She had told herself she wouldn’t cry, wouldn’t let the sadness overwhelm her, but now that the moment was here, it was hard to keep the tears at bay.

Jenson turned to look at her, his gaze softer than usual. “You okay?”

“No,” she whispered, a shaky laugh escaping her lips. “No, I’m not okay.”

He didn’t say anything at first. Instead, he closed the distance between them, his steps measured, cautious, as if he, too, was fighting the urge to let the moment slip into something more than just a goodbye.

“I don’t want you to go,” she admitted, her voice barely audible. The words slipped out before she could stop them, and once they were out, she couldn’t take them back. She felt her pulse quicken, and the weight of what she was saying hit her all at once.

Jenson’s expression softened even further, and he reached for her, his hand resting gently on her arm. His touch was warm, grounding. “I don’t want to go either,” he confessed, his voice thick with emotion. “But I have to. I’ve got to get back. Work calls, and Iâ€¦ I don’t know when I’ll be back.”

Y/N closed her eyes, trying to hold back the wave of sadness that threatened to crash over her. She had known this day was coming. She had prepared for it. Or at least, she thought she had.

“Is that all this was to you, Jenson?” Her voice cracked, and she quickly wiped away a stray tear that had managed to escape. “Just a summer fling?”

His eyes widened, and he took a step closer to her, his hand brushing against her cheek. “No,” he said firmly, his thumb gently stroking her skin. “It’s not like that, Y/N. It’s never been like that. You mean more to me than just some passing fling.”

“Then why does it feel like it was all justâ€¦ temporary?” she whispered, her voice so small she barely recognized it. “Like I was just some distraction?”

“Because I’m leaving,” he replied, his words almost strained. “And that’s the hard part. You’re right. It’s temporary. But that doesn’t mean it didn’t mean anything. It meant everything.”

There was a long silence between them, both of them standing there, the weight of the unsaid things hanging heavy in the air.

“I don’t know what happens next,” Jenson said after a moment, his voice softer now, as if he, too, was grappling with the reality of the situation. “I don’t know what the future holds, butâ€¦ I don’t want to say goodbye to you like this. Not without you knowing that I care. A lot.”

Y/N swallowed hard, her eyes searching his, looking for the sincerity she needed to hear.

“I care too,” she said quietly, her words almost a confession, though she had been keeping her feelings hidden for so long. “But I’m scared, Jenson. I don’t know how to make this work when you’re so far away.”

Jenson nodded, the sadness in his eyes matching the ache in her chest. “I’m scared, too. But maybeâ€¦ maybe we can figure it out. One day at a time.”

She didn’t know what to say to that. What could she say? That would make it easier? That would make it feel less like her heart was being torn in two?

Instead, she stepped closer to him, her hand finding his, intertwining their fingers. “One day at a time,” she repeated, her voice steady now. She didn’t want to let him go. She didn’t want this to end. But the reality was, it had to.

A few hours later, they were standing by his car, the engine running, the sun slowly rising in the distance, painting the sky with soft hues of orange and pink. Jenson had his bags packed, the trunk open, and Y/N stood there, watching him with a heavy heart.

“Guess this is it,” he said, his voice quieter now, the weight of the moment settling in.

Y/N nodded but couldn’t find the words. It felt like the air had been sucked out of her lungs, and all she could do was stand there and look at him. Look at him like he was about to disappear forever.

“I’ll miss you,” she said finally, her voice small but clear. The words felt foreign on her lips, but they were the truth. She would miss him more than she could bear to admit.

“I’ll miss you too,” he replied, his gaze softening. He stepped closer to her, his hand reaching up to gently cup her cheek. “I wish I didn’t have to go.”

“I know,” she whispered, her breath shaky. “But you have to.”

Jenson leaned down, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to her forehead. It was a gentle touch, one that spoke volumes of everything they hadn’t said yet.

“I’ll call you,” he promised quietly. “I’ll stay in touch. I’llâ€¦ I’ll come back, if I can.”

She nodded, her heart aching. “You better,” she replied, a small, bittersweet smile on her lips.

He paused for a moment, looking at her one last time, his eyes full of everything he couldn’t say. Then, without another word, he climbed into his car, started the engine, and drove away.

Y/N stood there, watching him disappear down the road, her heart heavy but full of something she couldn’t quite name. Something that wasn’t just goodbye.

It was hope. A hope that this wasn’t the end.

The days following Jenson’s departure felt like they moved in slow motion. Y/N found herself waking up in the mornings with a lingering ache in her chest, the absence of his warmth beside her a constant reminder of everything that had changed.

The house felt bigger now, emptier. She could still smell him in the air, the faint scent of his cologne lingering in the corners of the rooms. She tried to go about her usual routineâ€”work, errands, and even spending time with friendsâ€”but everything felt off. Every little thing reminded her of him.

The space where he had once been seemed too large to fill, and she couldn’t help but wonder if she had made a mistake. Maybe she had pushed him away too soon. Maybe she hadn’t tried hard enough to make it work. But the truth was, she was terrified. Terrified of getting hurt, terrified of opening herself up completely to someone who might not be able to stay. She had always been afraid of that. Of letting someone in, only to have them leave.

One afternoon, while sitting on the porch with a cup of coffee, her phone buzzed. It was a message from Jenson.

Jenson:

Hey you. Just wanted to check in. I miss you.

Y/N stared at the message for a moment before responding. The weight of his words settled deep within her, and she felt the familiar tug of longing she had been trying to ignore.

Y/N:

I miss you too.

How’s everything?

The reply came quickly.

Jenson:

It’s been tough. Getting back into the swing of things here. But I’m thinking about you a lot.

Y/N’s heart fluttered, and she leaned back in her chair, staring out at the quiet street. She had thought about him constantly, but it was hard to know where to go from here. What could she say? Could they really make this work from a distance?

Y/N:

I’m trying to adjust too. It’s just different here without you.

She paused before hitting send, her fingers hovering over the keyboard. She wanted to say more. She wanted to tell him that she wished he hadn’t left. That she wished they could figure this out, but she wasn’t sure if he felt the same way. She wasn’t sure if he was just saying these things because it was easy or if he genuinely meant them.

Finally, she typed:

Y/N:

Are you sure you want this? Me and you, I mean?

I don’t know if I can handle it if it’s just going to be temporary again.

It wasn’t a question she had intended to ask, but it had slipped out before she could stop it. She hit send before she could rethink it.

A few minutes passed. Then the phone buzzed again.

Jenson:

I don’t want anything temporary with you. I don’t. But I don’t know what the future holds either. I know I should’ve been clearer with you about that.

Y/N felt her pulse quicken, her chest tightening with the weight of his words. He hadn’t been clear with her. He had left with so many things unsaid, so many things she still wasn’t sure about. But now, here they were, trying to figure it out over a screen, when all she wanted was to be there with him, feeling his presence instead of this aching distance.

Y/N:

I’m scared, Jenson. I’m scared of getting hurt. I thought I could handle this, but I’m not sure I can.

I don’t know if I’m ready for something long distance.

Another pause. The message she received back was a little slower, as though he were taking time to consider her words.

Jenson:

I get it, Y/N. I do. It’s not easy, and it won’t be. But I care about you. I’m not going anywhere unless you want me to.

Y/N let out a shaky breath as she read his words. She didn’t want him to go anywhere. Not really. But how could she let him in when she was so afraid of losing him?

She typed, her fingers trembling a little as she shared her truth.

Y/N:

I don’t want you to go anywhere. I just don’t know how to do thisâ€¦ how to make it work, when everything about this feels like it’s going to end before it even starts.

It was a raw, vulnerable moment. Her fears were laid out in front of him, and now, there was no taking them back.

Jenson:

I can’t promise you everything will be perfect, because I know it won’t be. But I can promise I’m not giving up on us. I don’t care how hard it is.

For a long time, Y/N just stared at the message. A wave of emotion surged within her, a mixture of relief and fear, of hope and uncertainty. Jenson wasn’t asking her to be perfect. He wasn’t asking her to make a decision right now. He was simply offering his heart, and for the first time in a long while, she felt like maybe she could let herself believe in something.

Y/N:

I’m scared, Jensonâ€¦ but maybe we can try. One day at a time.

It was a fragile start, one full of uncertainty, but it was also a beginning. And for the first time, Y/N felt like maybe the future wasn’t as terrifying as she had once thought.

A week later, Y/N was sitting on the porch, looking out at the same view that had felt so empty when Jenson first left. But this time, the silence felt different. Not so heavy. She had stopped feeling so completely alone. They were still figuring it outâ€”still working through the distance, still taking it one day at a time.

Her phone buzzed again, and when she looked down, it was a video call request from Jenson.

She smiled, pressing the green button.

“Hey,” she said softly when his face filled the screen. “How’s the UK?”

“It’s cold,” he replied with a grin. “But not as cold as you were when I left.”

Y/N chuckled, a warmth spreading in her chest. “Well, I had my reasons.”

“Yeah,” Jenson said, his eyes softening. “But I’m still here. And I’m not going anywhere.”

Y/N’s heart swelled, and for the first time in a while, she let herself believe that maybe, just maybe, this would work.

As the days stretched into weeks and weeks into months, Y/N and Jenson’s relationship morphed into something that neither of them had anticipated. The distance between themâ€”measured in time zones, countries, and the miles that separated themâ€”felt both impossible and manageable, depending on the day.

The first few weeks were the hardest. Both of them were adjusting to the new normal, trying to maintain their connection despite the obvious gaps. Y/N went back to her routine, but it was missing somethingâ€”someoneâ€”and she couldn’t quite shake the feeling of loneliness that came with being apart from him. Jenson, on the other hand, threw himself back into his busy F1 schedule, but every press conference, every race weekend, felt hollow without her there to share it with him.

But they were trying. One message, one call at a time.

At first, they spoke every dayâ€”short messages during the day, quick video calls late at night, sometimes even while they were both in the middle of something. Y/N would share her day with him, telling him about the little thingsâ€”like how she found a new coffee shop that she thought he would love or how she managed to finish a project at work she had been putting off. Jenson would send her little updates from the paddock or from his travels, sending pictures of his hotel view or the team car, hoping to make her feel like she was there with him.

They had started to get into a rhythm. Texts at breakfast, calls during his downtime, long goodnight texts when the day was over. But the time difference made it harder to maintain the closeness they once shared when everything was in the same time zone.

One evening, after a late call, Y/N leaned back against her couch, her phone still in her hand. Jenson had just sent his usual “Sweet dreams, love. I’ll call you tomorrow.” But it didn’t feel the same. The goodbye wasn’t the same. She wished she could curl up next to him, resting her head on his chest like they used to.

The honeymoon phase of their long-distance relationship didn’t last long. There were moments of frustrationâ€”when the time zones made it impossible to find a time to talk, or when one of them had a bad day and didn’t know how to navigate the emotional distance. Sometimes, a small argument would spark over something insignificant. Y/N would feel like she was missing him more than she could express, and Jenson would struggle with the guilt of not being able to be there for her in the way he wanted.

It was late one night when Y/N sent him a message that was different from their usual texts.

Y/N:

I miss you more than I can handle sometimes. I know it’s hard, and I know it’s not your fault. But it doesn’t make it easier. I just want to be with you, Jenson.

Jenson’s response was immediate, and this time, there was a heaviness to his words that Y/N had never felt before.

Jenson:

I feel the same way. I hate that this is the reality we’re dealing with. I don’t want you to feel like you’re on your own, because you’re not. But it’s hard for me too. So much harder than I thought it would be.

Her heart twisted at his words. She wanted to reach through the screen, hold him, tell him it was all going to be okay. But the distance between them felt so insurmountable at that moment.

Y/N:

I know. I justâ€¦ I don’t want to lose what we had. You mean so much to me, Jenson. But sometimes it feels like we’re just two people, trying to keep it together over a phone screen.

Jenson took a long time to respond. Y/N sat there, staring at her screen, her chest tight with the heaviness of the unspoken things that hung in the air.

Finally, his words came through.

Jenson:

I’m not going anywhere. I can’t promise it’s going to be easy, but I’m not giving up on this. On us.

Y/N breathed a sigh of relief at the words. He wasn’t giving up. She wasn’t either, but sometimes it felt like they were living in two different worlds.

The days blurred together after that conversation, but they started to find their rhythm again, even if it wasn’t always perfect. They had their routineâ€”good mornings, late-night calls, texts sent in between work and races. Jenson would surprise her with little gifts or messages that reminded her he was thinking of her, and she would do the same, whether it was sending him something she knew would make him smile or leaving him voicemails filled with silly little things from her day.

Still, they both felt the longing. Jenson was often on the road, and the endless airports, hotels, and race weekends left little room for anything outside of the job. For a while, that was the hardest part for Y/N. He was always so busy, and the guilt he felt for not being able to be there with her was evident every time they spoke.

But even amidst the chaos, there were moments where it felt like they were right there with each other. Moments like when they’d be video chatting, and Jenson would pick up his guitar, playing a soft tune for her, or when Y/N would text him a picture of the sunset from her front porch and he’d send one right back from wherever he was in the world.

Their bond was growing in ways neither of them had expected. They weren’t just a couple anymore. They were a teamâ€”fighting the distance and the frustrations, but also finding ways to make it work. The connection was there, even if the miles weren’t.

But the tough times were never far away. There were days when the silence after a call felt deafening. Days when Y/N couldn’t help but feel that ache in her chest, wondering if Jenson was truly as committed to this as he said. There were days when Jenson would be so consumed by his schedule that he’d forget to reply to a message, and Y/N would be left questioning if he was starting to drift away.

It was during one of those tough stretches that Y/N finally asked him the question that had been lingering in her mind for weeks.

Y/N:

Do you think we can really do this? Can we make it through the distance?

Jenson’s response came slowly, but when it did, his words were exactly what Y/N needed to hear.

Jenson:

I think we can. I think we have to. Because I don’t want anyone else. I want you. And I’m not giving up on that.

Her heart fluttered at the honesty in his words. It wasn’t going to be easy, and she knew that. But maybe, just maybe, they could make this work. The uncertainty, the doubts, the longingâ€”they were all part of the journey now. And Y/N realized that if they could make it through this, they could make it through anything.

As the months wore on, Y/N and Jenson found their way through the chaos of their long-distance relationship. Each day brought a new challenge, but also a new discovery about the strength of their bond. Even though they hadn’t yet admitted the depth of their feelings for each other, it was becoming clearer every day that something was shifting. They were both too stubborn to let go, too connected to truly walk away.

The rhythm of their relationship became a steady pulse in the background of their busy lives. It was simple, yet comforting. Jenson would wake up to a message from Y/N, wishing him luck for the day ahead. Even if he was halfway across the world, that little message made the miles feel a little less daunting.

Y/N began sending him more pictures of her day-to-day lifeâ€”images of the bakery she’d stumbled across, photos of her hiking in the Appalachian Mountains, or her cozy nights with her friends, showing off her small town life in a way that made Jenson feel like he was part of it, even from a distance.

And Jenson, always thoughtful, would send her little surprises. It wasn’t always materialâ€”sometimes it was a funny meme or an inside joke that reminded her of the times they’d shared. Other times, it was more personal, like the text he sent one morning while waiting for his flight:

Jenson:

I can’t wait to get back to you. I’m counting down the days.

It wasn’t over-the-top or dramatic, but it was enough. Enough for Y/N to know he was thinking of her, even in the rush of his high-speed life.

But even as they found a rhythm, there was still an undercurrent of tension. The kind that didn’t make things difficult, but made everything feel like it was building up to something. It was in the way they texted each other, the way the conversations grew more intimate, and the way the silences between them didn’t feel awkward but meaningful.

One night, after a late-night phone call where they’d shared more than usual about their lives, Jenson lingered on the line for a moment longer than usual.

Jenson:

Hey, Y/Nâ€¦ I hope you don’t mind me saying this, but I’ve never felt this connected to someone before.

Y/N’s heart skipped. It was a simple statement, but it carried weight. She hadn’t quite processed the magnitude of what he said, but it felt like it had shifted something in her chest.

Y/N:

I don’t mind. I justâ€¦ I feel the same. It’s weird, right? Being so far away from each other but still feeling thisâ€¦ close?

Jenson chuckled softly, and she could hear the tiredness in his voice.

Jenson:

Yeah, it’s crazy. But I wouldn’t trade it for anything.

Y/N smiled to herself, a mixture of warmth and uncertainty flowing through her. She didn’t know what to do with the words they were exchanging, but she knew she didn’t want them to stop.

One evening, Y/N had just finished dinner when she received a message from Jenson. The time difference made it impossible for them to chat during the evening sometimes, so she tried to soak in the brief moments they could have together. But tonight, something was different.

Jenson:

You look amazing in your photos. I’m sorry I don’t tell you that enough, but I think about you every single day.

Y/N stared at the screen for a moment, her chest tight. It was rare for Jenson to be this open with his feelings, and though he wasn’t professing undying love, the sentiment felt significant. It hit her in a way she hadn’t expected.

Y/N:

I know it’s crazy, but I think about you every day too. And I can’t wait for you to come back. We still have a lot of things to figure out, but we’re getting there, right?

Her fingers hovered over the keyboard, unsure of how to express the anxiety she felt. Their connection was growing, but the distance still felt like a wall, a barrier they were constantly pushing against. It was difficult to keep pretending that everything was fine, that everything would just work out.

Jenson:

We are getting there. And when I come backâ€¦ we’ll have time to talk about everything. No more running away from it.

Y/N felt a small knot form in her stomach. There it wasâ€”he was hinting at it. The conversation that had been building for months. But she wasn’t ready to have it. Not yet.

As the weeks turned into months, the little things continued to add up. Y/N started to see a change in Jensenâ€”less the carefree playboy he had been when they first met, and more of the person he was when he was with her. More thoughtful. More present. It was subtle, but it was there.

Sometimes, when he was back in the UK, he’d call her in the middle of the night just to hear her voice. He’d send her pictures of the places he visited, like an old pub or a quiet little street that reminded him of her town. He would even text her to tell her about the music he was listening to, asking her if she knew the band, a way to feel closer to her even when they were on opposite sides of the world.

And Y/N found herself doing the sameâ€”sending him songs that reminded her of their time together, asking him about the races and his life in the paddock. She made an effort to learn more about his world, even if she couldn’t be physically present in it.

One day, after a particularly long day for both of them, Y/N sat on her porch, sipping a glass of sweet tea, watching the stars flicker above. Her phone buzzed in her pocket, and she pulled it out to see a text from Jenson. She smiled softly at the screen. It wasn’t much, just a “How’s your day, love?” but it hit her at that momentâ€”she wanted him here. Not just for the convenience or the comfort, but because he was her person.

Maybe they hadn’t said the words out loud yet, but it was becoming more and more obvious that they were both waiting for the other to take the first step. Neither of them wanted to risk putting their feelings on the line, but it was only a matter of time before they had to face the truth about what they were.

But for now, they were content to continue in this quiet, unspoken dance. For the first time, Y/N wasn’t afraid of where this would go. She just needed to be sure he felt the same way.

The days began to blur together in a comfortable, familiar rhythm. With each passing message, each late-night call, the invisible threads connecting Y/N and Jenson grew stronger. They were learning to trust each other from a distance, and in their own way, they were starting to reveal more than just the surface-level pleasantries. The laughter, the playful banter, and the occasional deep conversations about life and their hopes for the future became the foundation of something undeniably real.

Jenson’s race schedule was relentless, but whenever he could, he’d make time for her. Sometimes, it was a quick message in between meetings, or a call while he was relaxing at the hotel after a race. He was always the first to check in, even if it was just a brief, “How’s my favorite girl?” He knew it would make her smile, and that small action seemed to mean more than words could express.

Y/N, for her part, found herself looking forward to those messages more than she cared to admit. The day was never truly complete until she’d heard from him. She’d often find herself re-reading his texts, savoring his words, even if they seemed simple.

It wasn’t just the big gesturesâ€”like when Jenson would surprise her with a gift, or when he would insist on calling her even though it was early morning where he was. It was the little things: the way he’d text her first thing in the morning, even if it was just a single word, something casual. “Good morning,” he’d say. “Hope you slept well.” A sentiment so small, yet it carried with it so much warmth.

The hardest part was being so far apart. Y/N often thought about how different things might be if she could just hold his hand, feel his presence beside her. There was a yearning, an ache, that grew in her chest. She had tried so many times to convince herself that she was fine with the distance, that the space between them didn’t change how she felt. But the more they spoke, the clearer it became that what she felt for him was more than she had ever intended.

She missed him in ways she didn’t know how to put into words. Not just his presence, but the ease with which they spoke to each other, the way their conversations flowed naturally, as if they had known each other for years. It felt like something more was there, like something deep inside her was waking up, something she hadn’t allowed herself to feel in a long time.

It was a weekend at the end of the season when things shifted, at least in Y/N’s heart. Jenson had just wrapped up his final race of the year, and although it had been a successful one, he was tired. His voice on the phone that evening was laced with exhaustion.

Jenson:

I’m glad it’s over. I love racing, but I’m so ready for a break.

I can’t believe how much I miss home, especiallyâ€¦

â€¦especially you.

Y/N smiled softly at his words, even though a slight ache lingered. He missed her, he said it often enough, but was it just the novelty of being back home after the season? Or was it something more?

Y/N:

I miss you too. You’ve got no idea how many times I’ve thought about what I’d do if you were here right nowâ€¦

Probably make you eat all the fried chicken in town.

Jenson let out a laugh, and for a brief moment, Y/N could hear the weariness lifting from his voice.

Jenson:

I could be convinced to do that. But only if you promise me some sweet tea on the side.

Y/N laughed, the sound genuine, filling the empty space between them.

Y/N:

Deal. But don’t expect me to go easy on youâ€”our chicken is some of the best in the world.

The conversation moved on, the banter easy and light, but as the night stretched on and the silence fell after the laughter, it was clear that both of them were holding back. There was an unspoken tension hanging in the air, something neither of them was willing to address fully.

Over the following weeks, the tension between them continued to grow, stretching tighter and tighter until it became almost unbearable. Their conversations deepened, the awkward silences between texts becoming fewer as they began to trust each other more and more. Jenson started to talk about things he hadn’t mentioned before, sharing more about his life outside of racingâ€”the parts of himself he kept hidden from the world. The vulnerable side of him was slowly creeping into their conversations, and Y/N couldn’t help but find herself opening up in return.

She told him about the things she hadn’t shared with anyone elseâ€”the quiet insecurities she kept hidden behind her confident smile, the fear that she wasn’t enough. The fear that someone like Jenson, someone who had so many options, could never truly care about her the way she wanted him to.

Y/N:

Do you ever feel likeâ€¦ you’re not enough? Like no matter what you do, it’s just never good enough for the people around you?

Jenson paused for a long moment, and Y/N could almost feel the weight of his thoughts on the other side of the line.

Jenson:

All the time. Especially in this world, with all the expectations. But it’s not about being enough for other people. It’s about being enough for yourselfâ€¦ and the people who matter.

Y/N’s breath hitched at his words, the warmth of them settling over her like a soft blanket.

Y/N:

I don’t know if I’ll ever feel like I’m enough. Not forâ€¦

Not for someone like you.

There was a beat of silence. Jenson’s voice came back, quieter, more serious.

Jenson:

Stop. You’re more than enough. You don’t have to be anything other than who you are for me to care about you. I care about you, Y/N. More than I’ve cared about anyone in a long time.

Y/N’s heart skipped, a flutter of hope and disbelief. His wordsâ€”simple, but heavy with meaningâ€”felt like a balm to the insecurities she had kept locked away.

Y/N:

Jenson, Iâ€¦

But she couldn’t finish her sentence. There was too much she wanted to say, too much that was left unsaid, swirling in her chest. Yet, for the first time, she realized something important: she didn’t have to say it all right now. Not yet.

But someday she will.

The airport was bustling, voices and footsteps echoing off the tiled floors as travelers rushed by with suitcases and backpacks. Y/N stood near the arrival gate, shifting her weight from one foot to the other, her palms damp despite the cool air-conditioned breeze. She glanced at the screen above, her heart skipping when the words “Arrived” flashed next to Jenson’s flight.

She adjusted the strap of her bag and straightened her posture, her nerves working overtime. It wasn’t the first time they were meeting in personâ€”not even closeâ€”but something about this moment felt different. More important.

When Jenson finally stepped through the doors, her breath caught in her throat. His figure was unmistakable, even from a distanceâ€”tall, lean, effortlessly confident, with that slight tousle of blond hair she’d come to associate with his charm. He was dressed casually in dark jeans and a plain white T-shirt, a leather jacket slung over one shoulder, but he looked every bit the celebrity she’d only seen on magazine covers before she knew him.

But then he saw her, and his whole face lit up. That cocky, F1-driver persona melted away in an instant, replaced with something softer, something just for her.

Jenson’s grin widened as he made his way through the crowd, and Y/N felt her heart stutter in her chest. He moved with purpose, his strides long and confident, until he was standing right in front of her.

“Hi,” he said, his voice low and warm, as though they hadn’t spoken just hours ago on the phone.

Y/N smiled back, her lips trembling slightly. “Hi.”

And then, before she could think of what to do next, he pulled her into his arms.

It wasn’t a hesitant hug or an awkward side squeeze. It was a Jenson hugâ€”all-encompassing, firm, and grounding. His arms wrapped securely around her shoulders, and his chin rested against the top of her head. He smelled of something familiarâ€”faint cologne and the faint scent of jet fuel clinging to his clothes.

“I missed you,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

Y/N closed her eyes, sinking into the embrace as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “I missed you, too,” she admitted, the words coming easier than she expected.

He pulled back just enough to look at her, his hands resting on her arms. “You look good,” he said, his eyes scanning her face with an intensity that made her cheeks heat.

“Liar,” she teased, rolling her eyes. “I’ve been up since five, and I spilled coffee on my shirt this morning.”

Jenson laughed, his grin crooked and charming. “Still beautiful,” he said simply, shrugging off her protests.

Her heart skipped at the sincerity in his tone, but she quickly waved him off, reaching for his carry-on bag instead. “Come on, let’s get out of here before someone recognizes you. You’ve been in the States for five minutes, and I’m not in the mood to play bodyguard.”

Jenson chuckled, grabbing the handle before she could take it. “You know I’d love to see you in action, protecting me from my adoring fans,” he said, but he let her lead the way toward the parking lot.

They fell into an easy rhythm as they walked, their footsteps echoing side by side. Y/N felt her nerves settle the more they talked, their banter as natural in person as it had been over the phone.

By the time they reached her truck, Jenson whistled low. “Still driving this thing, huh?” he teased, eyeing the old Chevy with mock skepticism.

“Don’t start,” Y/N said, shoving his shoulder playfully. “She runs just fine, and I don’t want to hear about your fancy cars. I don’t need a Ferrari to get to the grocery store.”

Jenson smirked as he tossed his bag into the back seat. “Fair enough. But if you ever want to take one for a spin, you know who to call.”

They climbed into the cab, and as Y/N started the engine, she caught him watching her from the passenger seat. “What?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Nothing,” Jenson said quickly, but his grin gave him away. “I’m just glad to be here. With you.”

Her chest tightened at his words, and for a moment, she didn’t know how to respond. Instead, she focused on the road ahead as she pulled out of the parking lot, the weight of his gaze lingering on her profile.

The drive back to her place was filled with easy conversation, Jenson recounting stories from the season and Y/N filling him in on life in her small town. But beneath the lighthearted exchange, there was an undercurrent of something deeper, something unspoken.

When they finally pulled into her driveway, the sun was beginning to set, casting the house in a warm, golden glow. Y/N killed the engine and glanced over at him.

“Welcome back,” she said softly, her voice carrying more meaning than the words themselves.

Jenson smiled, his eyes warm. “It’s good to be back.”

They lingered for a moment longer, the air between them thick with unspoken emotions. But then Y/N shook her head, breaking the spell.

“Come on,” she said, pushing open her door. “You’ve got bags to unpack, and I’ve got dinner to make. Let’s go.”

Jenson followed her inside, but as he stepped through the threshold, he couldn’t help but think that this little house, this small-town life, already felt more like home than anywhere he’d ever been.

Jenson sat at the kitchen table, his long legs stretched out in front of him, as Y/N bustled around the kitchen. The scent of garlic and onions sizzling in a pan filled the air, mingling with the faint citrus of her dish soap and the cozy warmth of the house.

He leaned back in his chair, watching her as she moved. She wasn’t graceful in a conventional senseâ€”she wasn’t a whirlwind of elegance or perfect precision. But there was something about the way she worked, the confidence in her movements, the small, absentminded hum she let out as she stirred the pan, that felt utterly captivating.

Y/N glanced over her shoulder, catching him staring. “What?” she asked, narrowing her eyes playfully.

Jenson grinned, unbothered by being caught. “Just thinking,” he said casually.

“About what?”

He shrugged, his smile widening. “About how I forgot how good your cooking smells. I think I’ve been spoiled by too many bland European hotel breakfasts.”

She rolled her eyes, but her lips twitched with a smirk. “Flattery won’t get you seconds,” she quipped, turning back to her work.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he shot back.

But as he watched her, his grin softened into something quieter. For months, he’d been living out of suitcases, rushing from one race to the next, surrounded by glamor and chaos. And yet, sitting here in her kitchen, with mismatched chairs and a wobbly table, he felt more at peace than he had in a long time.

Dinner was a simple affairâ€”pan-seared chicken, mashed potatoes, and green beansâ€”but it tasted like comfort. Jenson made a show of piling his plate high, earning a fond eye roll from Y/N.

As they ate, the conversation flowed easily. They talked about everything and nothing, from his races to the latest town gossip. Y/N told him about how Mrs. Abernathy’s cat had gone missing for a week and turned up in the church rafters during Sunday service, and Jenson nearly choked on his water laughing at the mental image.

“I can’t believe you left that out of your texts,” he said, wiping his mouth with a napkin.

“I can’t believe I’m sitting here listening to an F1 driver laugh about Mrs. Abernathy’s cat,” she shot back, her eyes sparkling.

Jenson leaned forward, his elbows resting on the table. “Hey, just because I drive fast cars doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate a good small-town scandal.”

Her smile softened, and for a moment, they just looked at each other. The quiet stretched between them, comfortable and warm, but heavy with something unsaid.

After dinner, Jenson insisted on helping with the dishes despite Y/N’s protests.

“You’re a guest,” she argued, snatching the dishrag from his hand.

“And you’re a terrible host for letting me sit here while you do all the work,” he shot back, grabbing it right back.

They ended up working side by side, water splashing onto their shirts as they bicker over who was better at drying. At one point, Jenson flicked a few droplets at her, and Y/N retaliated by smearing a soapy hand across his forearm.

“Truce!” he laughed, holding his hands up in surrender.

“Thought so,” she said smugly, though her cheeks were flushed, and her smile lingered.

Later that evening, they found themselves on the porch, a blanket draped over their laps as they sipped sweet tea and listened to the cicadas.

Jenson tilted his head back, looking up at the stars. “You can’t see this in London,” he said, his voice quieter now.

“Too much light pollution?”

He nodded. “Too much of everything, really.”

Y/N glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. His profile was relaxed, his features soft in the dim porch light. He looked far removed from the fast-paced world he usually inhabited.

“You ever think about slowing down?” she asked, her voice tentative.

He turned to her, his brow furrowing slightly. “Slowing down?”

“You knowâ€¦ finding somewhere quieter. Somewhere like this.” She gestured vaguely to the dark expanse of trees and open sky.

Jenson was quiet for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then he smiled faintly. “I think about it sometimes. But I don’t know if I’m ready to leave it all behind yet. Racing’s been my whole life for so longâ€¦ it’s hard to imagine anything else.”

Y/N nodded, her chest tightening at his words. She wasn’t surprisedâ€”it wasn’t like she’d expected him to suddenly declare he was done with F1. But still, the thought of him leaving again, of this fragile little bubble they’d built bursting, made her stomach twist.

“Doesn’t mean I don’t like being here, though,” he added, his voice softer now. “With you.”

Her breath hitched, and she looked away quickly, her fingers tightening around her glass. “You better,” she said lightly, forcing a teasing tone. “You’ve got a bed and a home-cooked meal, after all.”

Jenson chuckled, but he didn’t press the moment. Instead, they sat in silence, the night stretching around them, their unspoken feelings hanging in the air like the stars above.

It started as a small moment, barely noticeable at first.

Jenson was sitting on the couch, scrolling through his phone as Y/N fussed in the kitchen. He had just returned from a jog, and his hair was damp, sticking to his forehead. A faint sheen of sweat clung to his skin, and he was still catching his breath.

“Do you want sweet tea or water?” she called from the kitchen, her voice distracted.

“Water’s fine,” he replied, not looking up.

A minute later, she appeared in the doorway, a glass in each hand. “Here,” she said, holding out the water, but her brow furrowed when she took in his flushed face.

“Jenson, you look like you’ve been running in a sauna. Did you even bring water with you?”

He smirked, leaning back against the couch. “What can I say? I like a challenge.”

Y/N rolled her eyes and muttered something under her breath, setting the glasses down on the coffee table. Then she grabbed a small hand towel off the counter and tossed it to him.

“Wipe your face before you sweat all over my couch,” she said, but her tone was soft, bordering on affectionate.

Jenson caught the towel with one hand, grinning as he dabbed at his forehead. “You’re a tough crowd, you know that?”

“Someone has to keep you in line,” she retorted, crossing her arms.

That was when it hit him.

He didn’t know if it was the way her lips quirked into a small, teasing smile, or the way she tilted her head, her hair falling over one shoulder. Maybe it was the warmth in her voice, the way it always softened just for him, no matter how much she pretended to be exasperated.

Jenson stared at her for a moment, something tightening in his chest. It wasn’t the first time he’d noticed how beautiful she wasâ€”not in the conventional, polished way he was used to seeing in the F1 paddock, but in a way that was uniquely hers. Her curves, her freckles, the way she moved through life with an easy confidence that didn’t try to impress anyone.

She wasn’t trying to impress him, either. She never had. And that made her all the more magnetic.

“You’re staring,” she said, narrowing her eyes.

He blinked, jolting out of his thoughts. “Am I?”

“Yes, and it’s creepy,” she said, but her cheeks flushed, and she turned away quickly.

Jenson chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Sorry. Justâ€¦ got lost in my thoughts.”

“Maybe get lost in them somewhere else,” she muttered, busying herself with the dish towel hanging off the oven handle.

But as she turned back toward the kitchen, Jenson’s smile faded, replaced by a quieter, more serious expression.

Oh no, he thought, leaning back against the couch.

It was a fleeting realization, but it hit him like a bolt of lightning.

He liked her.

Noâ€”not liked her. He cared about her. Deeply.

The thought sent a jolt of panic through him, and he leaned forward, running a hand through his hair. He’d spent years carefully compartmentalizing his life, keeping emotions at arm’s length to stay focused on racing. But thisâ€¦ this was different. She was different.

Meanwhile, in the kitchen, Y/N was trying very hard not to think about the way Jenson had been looking at her.

She scrubbed at the counter, even though it was already clean, her mind racing. There had been something in his gaze, something that made her feelâ€¦ seen.

She caught a glimpse of herself in the reflection of the microwave and frowned. She wasn’t the kind of woman who turned heads, especially not for someone like him. Jenson Button was out of her league in every possible wayâ€”internationally famous, absurdly good-looking, and charming enough to make a stone blush.

And yet, sometimes, he looked at her like she was the only person in the room.

She shook her head, scolding herself silently. She couldn’t afford to read into things that weren’t there. Jenson was kind, sure, and maybe he enjoyed her company. But that didn’t mean he saw her the way she sometimes caught herself seeing him.

Still, as she placed the glasses in the sink, she couldn’t stop the small flicker of warmth that lingered in her chest.

Jenson lay awake that night, staring at the ceiling in the guest room. His thoughts were a tangled mess, looping back to Y/N no matter how hard he tried to focus on something else.

He hadn’t planned for this. He never planned for anything outside of racing. His world was fast cars, constant travel, and shallow connections that didn’t ask for too much of him.

But Y/N wasn’t like that. She wasn’t like anyone he’d ever met.

She was steady, grounded in a way that made him feel like he could slow down without losing himself. And that scared him.

He turned onto his side, running a hand through his hair. “Get a grip, Button,” he muttered to himself, but the words felt hollow.

Because no matter how hard he tried to push it down, he couldn’t ignore the truth anymore. He wasn’t just fond of her. He wasn’t just enjoying the time they spent together. He was starting to feel something deeperâ€”something that terrified him almost as much as it thrilled him.

In the kitchen, Y/N leaned against the counter, her hands wrapped around a mug of tea. She stared out the window at the dark yard, the faint reflection of herself staring back at her.

Jenson had been actingâ€¦ strange. Or maybe she was imagining it.

She thought about the way he’d been looking at her earlier, the quiet intensity in his gaze that had made her heart race. But noâ€”she was reading too much into it. She always did this, always let her imagination run away with her.

He was Jenson Button, for crying out loud. Handsome, charming, and so far out of her league it was laughable. She was just a small-town girl with a soft middle and a life that wasn’t half as exciting as his.

“Get it together,” she murmured to herself, taking a sip of tea.

Still, she couldn’t shake the thought of his smile, the way his voice softened when he talked to her, or how he’d spent hours fixing her porch railing last week without being asked.

Her chest ached at the thought. She wanted to believe there was something there, something real. But she was terrified of letting herself hope, only to have it all come crashing down.

The next morning, Jenson was up early, standing on the porch with a cup of coffee in hand. The sun was just starting to rise, casting the yard in shades of gold and pink.

Y/N stepped outside, pulling her cardigan tight around her shoulders. She paused when she saw him, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Morning,” she said softly.

“Morning,” he replied, glancing over his shoulder. “You’re up early.”

“Couldn’t sleep,” she admitted, leaning against the porch railing.

Jenson nodded, his gaze drifting back to the horizon. “Me neither.”

They stood in silence for a moment, the air cool and still around them.

Y/N glanced at him, her eyes tracing the line of his profile. He looked thoughtful, almost vulnerable in the early morning light.

“What’s on your mind?” she asked quietly.

Jenson hesitated, his fingers tightening around his mug. “Justâ€¦ thinking about how nice it is here,” he said finally.

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “That’s vague.”

He chuckled, a soft, almost nervous sound. “Maybe it’s because I don’t have to rush off somewhere for once. Feelsâ€¦ different.”

“Good or bad?”

“Good,” he said, his voice dropping slightly. He turned to look at her, his blue eyes catching hers. “Really good.”

Y/N’s cheeks warmed under his gaze, and she looked away quickly. “Well, don’t get too used to it. Small-town life isn’t for everyone.”

“Maybe not,” he said, his tone thoughtful. “But I think some parts of it suit me.”

She glanced at him again, her heart skipping a beat at the way he was looking at her. For a moment, it felt like he was about to say something else, something important.

But then the moment passed, and Jenson took a sip of his coffee, turning his gaze back to the horizon.

The days that followed were full of small moments that seemed to hum with unspoken words. Every interaction between Jenson and Y/N felt charged, as if they were both walking a tightrope and too afraid to look down.

It started one afternoon when Y/N needed to pick up some supplies from the hardware store.

“You’re coming with me,” she declared, handing Jenson the keys to her beat-up pickup truck.

“Am I driving?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah. I want to see if you’re as good on four wheels without the sponsorships.”

Jenson smirked, sliding into the driver’s seat. “You might regret this, you know.”

The ride started off lighthearted, with her teasing him about his overly cautious turns and him joking about the truck’s distinct lack of horsepower. But as they drove along the backroads, the conversation quieted, replaced by a comfortable, almost intimate silence.

Y/N rested her elbow on the open window, the breeze tugging at her hair. Jenson glanced at her, taking in the way the sunlight caught the soft curves of her face, the gentle rise and fall of her chest as she breathed.

“You look happy,” he said suddenly.

She turned to him, surprised. “Do I?”

“Yeah,” he said, his voice quieter now. “I don’t know. You justâ€¦ seem at ease out here.”

Y/N felt her cheeks heat, and she looked away, focusing on the road ahead. “Guess I like the simple things,” she said softly.

Jenson nodded, gripping the steering wheel a little tighter. “Me too,” he murmured, almost to himself.

Later that evening, they were in the kitchen again, preparing dinner together. It had become a routine of sortsâ€”Jenson insisting on helping, even if it meant burning himself on the stove or mismeasuring spices.

“Careful with that,” Y/N said as he reached for a hot pan.

“I’m fine,” he insisted, but the moment he touched it, he yelped, pulling his hand back.

Y/N grabbed his wrist instinctively, tugging him toward the sink. “You’re impossible, you know that?” she muttered, running cool water over his hand.

Jenson winced but didn’t pull away. “And yet, you keep me around.”

She rolled her eyes but didn’t respond, focusing on his hand instead. Her fingers were gentle as they brushed against his, and the warmth of her touch sent a jolt through him.

He looked down at her, his chest tightening at the sight of her so close, her brow furrowed in concentration.

“You didn’t have to do that,” he said softly.

She glanced up at him, her lips parting as if she was about to say something. But then she froze, her gaze flickering to his, and the air between them shifted.

For a moment, neither of them moved. Her hand was still cradling his, and he could feel the faint tremor in her fingers.

“Y/N,” he started, his voice barely above a whisper.

But she stepped back quickly, releasing his hand as if it had burned her. “You’re fine,” she said, her tone brisk. “Just be more careful next time.”

Jenson swallowed hard, his heart pounding. “Right,” he said, forcing a smile. “More careful.”

That night, Jenson couldn’t sleep again. He found himself wandering onto the porch, his thoughts racing. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep this upâ€”skirting around his, pretending she didn’t affect him the way she did.

He was leaning against the railing when Y/N stepped outside, her cardigan wrapped tightly around her.

“Couldn’t sleep?” she asked, her voice soft.

“Yeah,” he said, glancing at her. “You either?”

She shook her head, joining him by the railing. “Too much on my mind.”

They stood in silence for a while, the night air cool and crisp around them.

“Can I ask you something?” Jenson said finally, his voice hesitant.

“Sure,” she said, turning to look at him.

“Why’d you let me stay here? When my car broke down?”

Y/N blinked, caught off guard by the question. “Because you needed help,” she said simply. “Andâ€¦ I don’t know. You seemed nice.”

Jenson chuckled softly. “Nice, huh? Don’t hear that one often.”

“Well, don’t let it go to your head,” she teased, but her smile faltered as she caught the serious look in his eyes.

“Y/N,” he said quietly, leaning against the railing. “Iâ€¦ I don’t think I’ve ever felt as at home anywhere as I do here.”

She stared at him, her heart pounding. “Jenson, you don’t have toâ€””

“I mean it,” he interrupted. “You’ve got this way of making people feelâ€¦ like they matter. Like they’re enough.”

Her breath hitched, and she looked away, her grip tightening on the railing. “Don’t say things you don’t mean,” she said softly.

“I do mean it,” he said, his voice firm.

She shook her head, her throat tightening. “You don’t know what you’re saying. You’ll leave, andâ€””

“And what?” he asked, stepping closer. “And it won’t matter? Because it does, Y/N. It matters.”

She didn’t respond, her gaze fixed on the horizon.

The tension hung heavy between them, the weight of their unspoken feelings pressing down like a storm about to break.

The words Jenson had spoken lingered long after the conversation ended. Y/N felt them settling into her chest like a weight she didn’t know how to carry. She avoided him the next day, busying herself with errands and tasks that didn’t need doing, her heart racing every time she thought about the way he’d looked at her.

Jenson noticed her retreat immediately. She wasn’t as chatty over breakfast and didn’t tease him about forgetting to add sugar to his coffee. He’d catch her looking at him when she thought he wasn’t paying attention, but the moment their eyes met, she’d turn away, busying herself with something trivial.

He gave her space, though it gnawed at him. He wasn’t sure what he’d said to spook her, but he knew her well enough now to recognize the walls going up.

That evening, Jenson found her in the garden, kneeling in the dirt as she pulled at weeds with a stubborn determination. The golden light of sunset framed her in a soft glow, and for a moment, he just stood there, watching her.

“Need any help?” he asked finally, his voice breaking the silence.

She looked up, startled, and then shook her head. “No, I’ve got it.”

He crouched down beside her anyway, picking at a stubborn root. “You’ve been avoiding me,” he said casually.

Y/N froze for a moment, her fingers pausing in the dirt before she resumed her task. “No, I haven’t.”

“You have,” he said, his tone light but his gaze steady. “Did I say something wrong?”

She sighed, sitting back on her heels and wiping her hands on her jeans. “It’s not you, Jenson. I justâ€¦ I’ve got a lot on my mind.”

“Like what?” he asked gently.

She hesitated, chewing on her bottom lip. “You’ll leave soon,” she said finally, her voice barely above a whisper. “And everything will go back to normal.”

Jenson frowned, his chest tightening at her words. “Is that what you want? For things to go back to normal?”

Y/N didn’t answer, her eyes fixed on the dirt. “Doesn’t matter what I want,” she said softly. “That’s how it is.”

A few days later, a storm rolled in, heavy rain pounding against the roof and windows. The power flickered out just after dinner, leaving the house dimly lit by candles and the occasional flash of lightning.

Jenson found Y/N in the living room, curled up on the couch with a blanket wrapped around her shoulders. She was staring out the window, her expression distant.

“Mind some company?” he asked, holding up two mugs of tea.

She glanced at him, her lips curving into a small smile. “Sure.”

He sat down beside her, close enough that their shoulders brushed. The warmth of him seeped through the blanket, and Y/N felt her pulse quicken.

“Storms like this always remind me of home,” he said after a while, his voice soft.

“Really?”

He nodded. “We don’t get them as often in England, but when we do, they’reâ€¦ peaceful, in a way. Everything slows down.”

Y/N hummed in agreement, her gaze still fixed on the rain. “I like them too. Makes me feel cozy.”

They fell into a comfortable silence, the sound of the storm filling the space between them.

After a while, Jenson turned to her, his expression unreadable. “Do you ever think about leaving this place?”

Y/N blinked, caught off guard by the question. “Not really,” she admitted. “It’s home. It’sâ€¦ safe.”

“But doesn’t it feel small sometimes?” he pressed gently.

“Not small,” she said, her tone thoughtful. “Justâ€¦ enough. For me, at least.”

Jenson leaned back against the couch, his eyes scanning her face in the soft, flickering candlelight. “You deserve more than enough, Y/N,” he said quietly.

Her brow furrowed, and she turned to look at him, confusion flickering in her gaze. “What do you mean?”

“I mean you shouldn’t settle,” he said, his voice steady but low. “You’re smart, kind, and you’ve got this way of making everything around you feelâ€¦ brighter. You could do anything, be anywhere. Why stay in one place?”

Y/N chuckled softly, shaking her head. “You make it sound so easy.”

“Maybe it’s not,” he admitted, his gaze unwavering. “But I think you’re brave enough to figure it out if you wanted to.”

Her smile faded slightly, and she pulled the blanket tighter around her shoulders. “Not everyone wants the same things, Jenson. I’m happy here.”

Jenson opened his mouth to argue, to tell her that happiness didn’t have to mean staying still, but something in her tone stopped him. Instead, he sighed, nodding. “If you’re happy, that’s what matters,” he said, though the words felt heavy on his tongue.

They sat in silence after that, the storm continuing to rage outside. But the quiet between them wasn’t peaceful anymoreâ€”it was thick with the tension of things unsaid, the unspoken questions hovering just out of reach.

Later that night, Jenson found himself unable to sleep again. The storm had passed, leaving the house eerily quiet. He wandered into the kitchen, expecting to find solitude, but instead, he saw Y/N sitting at the table, a cup of tea cradled in her hands.

“You too, huh?” he said softly, stepping inside.

She looked up, startled, and then smiled faintly. “Guess we’ve got the same curse.”

He poured himself a glass of water and leaned against the counter, watching her. The candle she’d lit on the table cast a soft glow, illuminating the thoughtful expression on her face.

“You seemedâ€¦ upset earlier,” he said after a moment.

Y/N hesitated, her fingers tightening around the mug. “I wasn’t upset,” she said carefully. “Justâ€¦ thinking.”

“About what?”

She took a deep breath, her eyes meeting his. “About what happens when you leave,” she admitted. “And howâ€¦ empty it’s going to feel around here.”

Jenson’s heart clenched at her words. He wanted to tell her he felt the same, that the thought of leaving made his chest ache in a way he didn’t quite understand. But he couldn’t bring himself to say itâ€”not yet.

“Maybe it doesn’t have to be,” he said instead, his voice quiet.

Y/N frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, we don’t have to justâ€¦ disappear from each other’s lives,” he said, his gaze steady. “We can stay in touch. Call, writeâ€”whatever you want.”

She smiled faintly, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “It’s not the same, Jenson.”

“No, it’s not,” he agreed, taking a step closer. “But I don’t want to lose this. Whatever this is.”

Y/N looked at him, her chest tightening at the sincerity in his voice. For a moment, she thought about reaching out, about bridging the gap between them and admitting that she felt it tooâ€”this pull, this connection she couldn’t quite explain.

But instead, she looked away, her voice barely above a whisper. “It’s late. We should both get some sleep.”

Jenson nodded slowly, though his heart ached as he watched her stand and disappear down the hall.

Neither of them said it, but they both knew: the growing tension between them was becoming impossible to ignore. And sooner or later, something would have to give.

The morning after their late-night conversation, Y/N moved through the house as though nothing had happened. She greeted Jenson with her usual smile, poured him a cup of coffee, and busied herself with her day. But there was a new carefulness to her movements, as if she was trying to tiptoe around the growing weight between them.

Jenson, however, couldn’t stop watching her. Every glance lingered longer than it should have. He started noticing all the little things about her he hadn’t beforeâ€”how her laughter was soft but always genuine, how she hummed while doing dishes, or how she twirled the ends of her hair when lost in thought.

It hit him all at once that he was in trouble.

He’d told himself he was only passing through, that this was just a temporary reprieve from the chaos of his life. But Y/N had snuck up on him, wrapping herself around his thoughts and making it harder to imagine leaving than he cared to admit.

A few days later, Y/N suggested they visit the local Sunday market. “You can’t leave without at least seeing it once,” she said as they pulled into the gravel parking lot.

The market was a lively sprawl of vendors selling everything from fresh produce to handmade crafts. Y/N weaved through the crowd like she’d been doing it her whole life, and Jenson followed close behind, his gaze drawn more to her than to the stalls around them.

At one point, she stopped at a booth selling jars of homemade jam, chatting easily with the older woman behind the table. Jenson stood a step back, hands in his pockets, watching the way Y/N’s smile lit up her whole face.

“You’ve got yourself a good one there,” the vendor said, nodding toward Jenson with a knowing smile.

Y/N’s cheeks flushed, and she shook her head quickly. “Oh, no, we’re notâ€””

“Not yet,” Jenson cut in smoothly, stepping forward.

Y/N turned to him, her wide eyes narrowing in a mix of amusement and exasperation. “Don’t start.”

He grinned at her, his tone teasing. “I’m just saying, the lady has a point.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, but her heart stuttered at the way he looked at herâ€”like she was the only person in the world who mattered.

That evening, after the market, they sat on the porch watching the sun dip below the horizon. Jenson leaned back in the creaky rocking chair, a glass of sweet tea in his hand, while Y/N sat cross-legged on the porch swing.

“Today was fun,” he said, breaking the silence.

She smiled. “I’m glad you liked it. You didn’t have to come along, you know.”

“I wanted to,” he said, his voice soft.

Y/N glanced at him, her smile fading slightly as their eyes met. There was something in his gazeâ€”something warm and steady that made her heart skip.

“Jensonâ€¦” she started, but her words faltered.

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “What is it?”

She hesitated, her fingers curling around the edge of the swing. “You’reâ€¦ different than I expected,” she said finally.

“Good or bad?” he asked, his tone light but his eyes serious.

“Good,” she said quickly. “It’s justâ€¦ I didn’t think someone like you wouldâ€¦ fit here.”

He tilted his head, studying her. “And yet, here I am.”

Y/N’s breath caught as his words hung in the air. For a moment, it felt like the world had gone quiet, the only sound was the soft rustle of leaves in the breeze.

But just as quickly, she looked away, standing abruptly. “It’s getting late. I should head in.”

Jenson watched her retreat, his chest tightening. He didn’t stop her, though every part of him wanted to.

The tension between them was growing unbearable, but neither of them was ready to take the first stepâ€”not yet.

The tension from that night lingered, casting a shadow over their days. Y/N kept herself busyâ€”working on her garden, running errands, reorganizing the kitchen cabinetsâ€”anything to avoid sitting still long enough to dwell on the way Jenson had looked at her.

Jenson, on the other hand, was quieter than usual. He still cracked jokes, still offered to help with chores, but there was a thoughtfulness to him now, a weight behind his smiles. Every so often, Y/N would catch him watching her, and her stomach would do a nervous flip.

One evening, Jenson found her in the backyard, sitting on the porch steps and staring out at the darkening sky. He hesitated for a moment, then stepped outside, letting the screen door creak behind him.

“Mind if I join you?” he asked softly.

She shook her head, her voice barely above a whisper. “Not at all.”

He sat beside her, their shoulders brushing. For a while, they didn’t say anything, just watching as the first stars began to appear.

“You’ve been distant,” he said finally, his tone gentle.

Y/N sighed, resting her chin on her knees. “I don’t mean to be.”

“Is it because of me?”

She turned to him, startled by the vulnerability in his voice. “No, it’s not you, Jenson. I justâ€¦ I’m trying to figure some things out.”

“Like what?”

She hesitated, then shook her head. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It does to me,” he said, his voice soft but firm.

Y/N looked at him, her chest tightening at the sincerity in his eyes. For a moment, she thought about telling himâ€”about admitting how hard it was to keep pretending that she didn’t care about him more than she should.

But instead, she looked away, her voice barely above a whisper. “It’s justâ€¦ hard, knowing you’ll leave soon.”

Jenson felt his heart twist at her words. He’d been thinking about it tooâ€”about how his time here was running out and how the thought of leaving her behind felt more unbearable with each passing day.

But he didn’t know how to tell her that. Didn’t know how to admit that somewhere along the way, he’d stopped thinking of this as a temporary stop and started thinking of it as home.

Instead, he reached out, his hand brushing hers lightly. “I don’t want to make this harder for you,” he said quietly.

“You’re not,” she said quickly, her voice thick with emotion.

But the look in her eyes said otherwise.

That night, as Y/N lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling, she couldn’t stop replaying the conversation in her head. She thought about the way Jenson had looked at her, the way his voice had softened when he said he didn’t want to make things harder.

It was at that moment that she realized the truth: she cared about him. More than she should. More than she’d ever wanted to.

But what scared her most wasn’t her feelingsâ€”it was the thought of what would happen when he left.

Because she knew that no matter how much she cared about him, she wasn’t sure she could survive another heartbreak.

In his own room, Jenson stared out the window, his mind racing. He couldn’t stop thinking about the way Y/N had looked at him on the porchâ€”like she was holding something back, something she was afraid to say.

He’d told himself he wasn’t going to fall for her. He’d promised himself that this was just a temporary escape, nothing more.

But as he sat there, the truth finally hit him: he was already too far gone.

And now, he didn’t know how to tell her without risking everything they’d built.

The clock on the nightstand glowed with faint light, reading just past 2:00 AM. Y/N had been tossing and turning for hours, her thoughts chasing themselves in endless circles. She stared at the ceiling, willing herself to sleep, but her mind refused to cooperate.

She was startled by the soft sound of a knock on her door. Sitting up, she hesitated, her heart racing. “Come in,” she said quietly, her voice carrying across the still room.

The door creaked open, revealing Jenson. He was barefoot, dressed in a rumpled T-shirt and sweatpants, his hair tousled like he’d been trying to sleep but had given up. He leaned against the doorframe, looking sheepish.

“I couldn’t sleep,” he admitted softly, rubbing the back of his neck.

Y/N blinked, her heart skipping at the sight of him. “You too?”

He nodded, stepping inside. “Yeah. Kept thinking aboutâ€¦ things.”

She scooted over, patting the empty space on her bed before she could second-guess herself. “You can stay here. If you want.”

Jenson hesitated for a moment, searching her face for any sign of reluctance, but all he found was quiet warmth. With a small smile, he crossed the room and slipped under the blanket beside her.

They lay side by side, neither saying a word at first. The room was silent except for the sound of their breathing, and the space between them felt like it was charged with unspoken words.

Y/N turned her head slightly, glancing at him in the dim light. “What’s keeping you up?” she asked softly.

Jenson hesitated, staring up at the ceiling. “You,” he finally admitted.

Her breath hitched, and she froze. “What do you mean?”

He sighed, turning his head to meet her gaze. “You’ve been on my mind, Y/N. A lot. More than I know how to deal with.”

Her heart raced, and she looked away, her voice barely a whisper. “You’re leaving soon, Jenson. You shouldn’t be thinking about me like that.”

“Maybe I shouldn’t,” he said, his tone quiet but firm. “But I can’t help it.”

The silence that followed was thick with tension, and Y/N didn’t know how to respond. Instead, she shifted closer, resting her head on the pillow just inches from his.

“You’re too good at saying things that make me feel vulnerable,” she said finally, her tone light but her words heavy with meaning.

Jenson chuckled softly, his smile faint. “Only because you do the same to me.”

She shook her head, her lips curving into a small smile. “We’re a mess, aren’t we?”

“Maybe,” he said, his voice softer now. “But I’d rather be a mess with you than have it all together with someone else.”

Her breath caught, and she stared at him, her chest tightening at the vulnerability in his eyes. She wanted to reach out, to touch him, to tell him that she felt the same.

Instead, she whispered, “Goodnight, Jenson.”

He smiled, his voice low as he replied, “Goodnight, Y/N.”

As the night stretched on, they stayed close, their breathing eventually evening out. Neither of them slept much, though, their hearts too full and their thoughts too tangled to find rest.

The first light of morning filtered through the curtains, casting a soft glow across the room. Y/N stirred first, blinking awake, her head still resting on the pillow beside Jenson. For a moment, she simply lay there, trying to steady her breath, and letting the warmth of the moment soak in.

Jenson’s presence next to her felt both comforting and confusing, like she couldn’t decide whether it was something that should feel natural or something that had crossed a line. She was painfully aware of the way his body was close to hersâ€”how his warmth seemed to draw her in, as if they were tethered by something unspoken.

As she shifted slightly, trying to not wake him, she noticed he was already awake, his blue eyes quietly watching her. His gaze was softer than usual, unguarded, and it made her stomach flip in ways she wasn’t sure how to handle.

“Morning,” she whispered, her voice rough from sleep.

He smiled faintly, the corners of his mouth pulling up in a way that made her heart skip. “Morning, love,” he murmured, his voice warm with affection that felt both unfamiliar and incredibly familiar at the same time.

Y/N sat up, immediately regretting the distance she’d put between them. She ran a hand through her messy hair, trying to act casual, but the air felt thick with everything they hadn’t yet said.

“Sleep well?” she asked, trying to break the tension but feeling like she was only adding to it.

Jenson stretched, pushing himself up to lean against the headboard. “I did,” he replied, voice quiet. “It was nice. Having someone here.”

Her heart thudded in her chest, and she felt that same ache she’d been trying to ignore. She quickly averted her gaze, clearing her throat. “Yeah. I didn’t sleep muchâ€¦ but it’s okay.”

He glanced at her, noticing the way her hands fidgeted in her lap. “You sure about that?”

Y/N glanced at him, her eyes meeting him for the briefest of moments before looking away again. “Yeah, I’m fine. Justâ€¦ thinking.”

Jenson raised an eyebrow, sensing the shift in her tone, the way she seemed to retreat into herself whenever the conversation ventured into deeper territory. “Thinking about what?” he asked softly.

She hesitated, unsure of how to explain it without it sounding like she was overthinkingâ€”like she was pushing him away before he could do it to her.

“Aboutâ€¦ us,” she admitted quietly, her voice barely audible.

The words hung in the air between them, and Jenson’s breath caught. He wanted to reach out to her, wanted to pull her back from the wall she was building around herself. But he stayed still, waiting for her to speak again.

“I think,” Y/N began, her voice wavering slightly, “I think we’re both pretending that this doesn’t mean anything.”

The vulnerability in her voice hit him like a wave, and without thinking, Jenson leaned toward her. “It means something to me, Y/N. More than I know how to say.”

Y/N’s breath hitched, and she looked at him then, her gaze intense and searching. “I don’t want to get hurt,” she whispered, the words spilling out before she could stop them.

Jenson’s chest tightened, and for a moment, he didn’t know how to answer. He wanted to promise her that it wouldn’t happen, that he wouldn’t hurt her, but those kinds of promises were harder to make than he ever imagined.

Instead, he simply reached out, his hand resting gently on hers. “I won’t hurt you, Y/N. I swear.”

Her eyes softened at the sincerity in his voice, and for a moment, it felt like the distance between them vanished. It was just the two of them in that quiet room, no walls, no fearsâ€”just the weight of unspoken feelings they both tried so hard to ignore.

But as the moment lingered, she pulled her hand away gently, the vulnerability in her eyes replaced by that familiar wall she built to protect herself. “I need to get ready,” she said, her tone suddenly distant again.

Jenson nodded, a sense of longing sweeping through him as he watched her stand. He didn’t want to push her, but he couldn’t help the way he wanted moreâ€”more of this closeness, more of her trust.

“Okay,” he said quietly, his voice heavy with words unsaid.

As she left the room to get dressed, Jenson lay back, staring at the ceiling, and for the first time in a long time, he felt unsure about what to do next.

The day unfolded with a quiet tension that neither of them acknowledged, but it lingered in the way they moved around each other. They kept busy with small tasks, the kind of mundane things that allowed them to avoid talking about the emotions that seemed to hang between them like an unspoken truth.

Y/N tried to distract herself by cleaning the kitchen, her hands moving mechanically as she wiped down counters and put away dishes. Jenson, on the other hand, was working on his laptop in the living room, but his focus seemed to shift between the screen and her. Every time she moved, every time she let out a small sigh, his gaze would wander to her, studying her with a mix of longing and uncertainty.

Finally, he couldn’t take it anymore. The need to break the silence between them was overwhelming, and he stood up from the couch, moving toward the kitchen where she stood, her back turned as she stacked plates.

“Y/N,” he said softly, his voice hesitant.

She froze for a moment before turning around slowly, her eyes meeting his with a guarded expression. “What is it?”

Jenson stepped closer, hands shoved in his pockets as he regarded her carefully. “I can’t just keep pretending like nothing’s going on between us.”

Y/N swallowed, the ache in her chest intensifying. “Jenson, Iâ€””

He interrupted her gently, his voice low but firm. “No. I need to say this. I don’t know what’s happening between us, but I can’t keep ignoring it.”

A silence stretched between them, thick and heavy, before Y/N finally spoke, her voice small. “What do you want me to say? I don’t know what this is, Jenson. I don’t know how toâ€¦ how to make it work.”

The uncertainty in her eyes was like a punch to his gut, and he wanted to reach out, to pull her closer and promise that they could figure it out. But he didn’t want to pressure her, didn’t want to force something that might break them apart before they even tried.

He stepped even closer, his hand reaching out, his fingers brushing hers. “I just want you to know that I’m here, Y/N. I don’t know what this means, but I’m not going anywhere unless you tell me to.”

Her chest tightened, and she glanced down at their hands, the warmth of his touch seeping into her. “You’re leaving soon,” she whispered, her voice cracking with emotion.

“I know,” he said softly. “But I’m not asking you to make any promises. Justâ€¦ don’t shut me out.”

She met his gaze, her walls slowly beginning to crumble under the sincerity in his eyes. “I’m scared, Jenson.”

“I know,” he said, his voice low and comforting. “I’m scared too.”

For a moment, they simply stood there, their hands brushing, their hearts beating faster than they could control. And in that moment, everything else seemed to fade awayâ€”the uncertainty, the fear, the walls they’d built.

Finally, Y/N exhaled, a shaky breath escaping her lips as she took a small step closer to him. “I don’t know how to do thisâ€¦ but I want to try. Justâ€¦ don’t break my heart, okay?”

Jenson’s heart skipped, and without thinking, he pulled her into a gentle embrace. “I won’t. I promise.”

And as they stood there in the quiet kitchen, the weight of unspoken feelings between them seemed to lift, even if just for a moment. Neither of them had the answers, but they both knew one thing: they were willing to take the next stepâ€”together.

The next few days passed in a haze of shared momentsâ€”quiet mornings over coffee, brief smiles across rooms, and a tension that neither one of them was willing to address fully, but both of them felt. Jenson and Y/N had reached a silent agreement that they would take things slow, not rushing into anything, but not letting the opportunity slip by either.

They hadn’t kissed yetâ€”not that either of them hadn’t thought about it a hundred timesâ€”but the thought of crossing that line felt like it would change everything between them. It would no longer be something soft and simple. No, a kiss would make it real.

And neither of them was quite ready for that.

One evening, they found themselves sitting on the porch as the sun set, the sky painted in hues of pink and orange. They hadn’t said much, simply enjoyed the peace of each other’s company. Y/N had leaned back against the old wooden railing, her legs pulled up beneath her, and Jenson sat beside her, his arm brushing against hers but not quite touching. The silence felt comfortable, for once.

Y/N glanced at him, her eyes soft as she watched the last bit of light fade over the horizon. “You leave in a few days,” she said, her voice a little softer than usual, like she was acknowledging something she didn’t quite want to face.

Jenson nodded, not looking at her, but the slight crease between his brows was enough to tell her that he was thinking the same thing. “Yeah. I guess I should get used to it.”

“You don’t have to,” she said quietly, almost as if she were talking to herself. “You don’t have to get used to it.”

His eyes met hers then, and for a moment, neither of them spoke, just sat there, the space between them charged with a thousand unspoken words. Finally, Jenson spoke, his voice steady but unsure. “I don’t want to leave things like this, Y/N. I don’t want to walk away fromâ€¦ whatever this is. Not without knowing we tried.”

Her heart fluttered in her chest, and she found herself holding her breath. The honesty in his voice, the vulnerability, was something she didn’t know how to handle but was also drawn to more than she was willing to admit.

“I don’t know if I can do long-distance,” she said softly, her gaze dropping to the worn wood of the porch. “I’m not sure I’m cut out for it.”

Jenson reached over, his fingers grazing her hand lightly, and she stiffened at the contact, but he didn’t pull away. His hand lingered, just enough to reassure her that he wasn’t going anywhere. “I’m not asking you to. I’m asking you to try.”

She turned to him, her heart pounding. “You really want to try? Even with everything you know?”

Jenson’s lips quirked up into that familiar, almost unreadable smile. “You think I’d come this far without knowing what I’m getting into?”

Y/N shook her head with a small laugh, her heart in her throat. She didn’t know what to say, or if there was even anything that could be said. What could they do? What would happen when the distance between them was real? When their time together was a memory, and she was left trying to hold on to something she wasn’t sure was real?

But Jenson didn’t seem to care about the distance.

“I don’t have all the answers, Y/N,” he said after a long pause. “I can’t promise that this will be easy, or that we’ll always know what comes next. But I can promise that I’m willing to try. I want to try with you.”

Her breath caught again, and she found herself giving him a soft, hesitant smile. “I don’t know what that looks like,” she admitted, her voice barely a whisper. “Butâ€¦ I’m willing to see where it goes.”

He smiled then, a real smile that reached his eyes, and Y/N felt her walls cracking just a little more. She let out a shaky breath, her hand reaching over to touch his, letting the warmth of his skin seep into hers.

“Me too,” she said, voice steady now. “I’m scared, Jenson. But I’ll try. I’ll try if you will.”

And for the first time in days, the tension between them shiftedâ€”subtle, but there. There was still uncertainty, still a lot of things they hadn’t said, hadn’t done. But for now, this was enough.

They didn’t need to have it all figured out. They just needed to try.

The following days were a whirlwind. They spent as much time together as they couldâ€”sometimes talking, sometimes just sharing the quiet moments they both seemed to crave. And when the day of his departure finally came, there was an unspoken agreement between them that they’d take the time they had left and make the most of it.

At the airport, as Jenson stood with his suitcase, ready to board, Y/N stood in front of him, her hands clasped together nervously. She had no words, no promises, no expectations. Just the raw emotion of everything they hadn’t yet said.

He smiled at her, stepping forward to pull her into a brief, yet lingering hug. “I’ll text you when I land,” he said softly, his voice low.

Y/N nodded, her heart racing. “I’ll be waiting.”

And with that, Jenson turned to leave, but not without glancing back over his shoulder once more. He caught her eye, a look of quiet certainty in his gaze, before he disappeared through the security gates.

Y/N stood there, watching him go, knowing that this wasn’t the end. It wasn’t even the beginning yet.

It was just the next step.

And for the first time, she was willing to take it.

The days after Jenson left were a blur of work and small, fleeting moments of quiet reflection. Y/N found herself in a familiar routineâ€”waking up early, going to work, taking care of things around the house. But there was an emptiness in the space where Jenson’s presence used to linger. The subtle weight of his absence hung heavy, but she didn’t let it consume her. Not yet.

Every evening, without fail, her phone would buzz with a message from him. It started with a simple “Hey, how’s your day?” and progressed to longer conversations as the days went by. They talked about everything: the weather, his travels, her work, and sometimes, the little things that made them smile.

But the real conversations, the ones that truly bridged the distance between them, happened late at night, when they shared their thoughts, fears, and frustrationsâ€”those moments when they felt like they were both on the same side of the world, despite the miles between them.

One evening, after a particularly long shift at work, Y/N found herself sitting on her couch, her phone clutched in her hands. She had been texting Jenson all day, and now, there was a new message waiting for her.

Jenson:

“I miss you. You have no idea how much.”

Y/N’s heart did a little flip, her fingers hovering over the keyboard as she tried to gather her thoughts.

Y/N:

“I miss you too. It’s been weird here without you.”

There was a pause before Jenson replied, and when he did, his message felt heavier, more earnest.

Jenson:

“I don’t think I realized how much I’d get used to having you around.”

Her chest tightened at the words. She had been avoiding admitting how much she’d gotten used to him tooâ€”how his presence had become so much a part of her life that even the quiet felt different without him there.

Y/N:

“I thought I’d be fine, you know? I’ve done long-distance before, but with you, it’s different.”

She paused, biting her lip. It was true. This was different. She couldn’t quite put her finger on why, but she knew it had something to do with how easily they’d fallen into each other’s lives. How natural it all felt.

There was another pause before Jenson’s reply came through.

Jenson:

“What do you think we’re doing, Y/N? Because I don’t want to play it safe anymore. I don’t want to keep this thing hanging in the balance. I want to know what we areâ€”if we’re something.”

Her heart skipped a beat. That was the question she’d been afraid to ask herself, the one she had danced around with every text, every conversation. What were they? What did this mean?

But the truth was, she already knew.

Y/N:

“I think we’re something, Jenson. I just need to figure out what that looks like.”

Jenson:

“Then let’s figure it out together.”

Her breath caught in her throat, and she smiled softly at the screen, even though he wasn’t there to see it. Maybe they didn’t need all the answers yet. Maybe they didn’t need a plan right now. What mattered was that they were both willing to try.

As the conversation continued, Y/N found herself slowly allowing her heart to soften, to let the distance between them feel a little less vast. They were building somethingâ€”something realâ€”and that was enough for her, for now.

The next weekend, Y/N had a quiet Saturday planned. She was about to start making breakfast when her phone rang. The caller ID made her pauseâ€”Jenson Buttonâ€”and she immediately smiled, the warmth of his voice already filling the space between them.

“Hey,” she answered, keeping her tone casual, though her heart was racing. “How’s the UK?”

“Cold,” he said with a slight chuckle. “But I’m getting through it. Missing the sun though.”

Y/N laughed lightly. “I bet you are.”

There was a pause, a beat that stretched between them, as if neither of them were quite sure how to start this conversation, but they both knew it had to happen.

“I’ve been thinking,” Jenson said after a moment. “About us. About how this long-distance thing is going to work. And honestly, I think it’s going to be hard. But I don’t want us to just survive itâ€”I want us to thrive, even with the miles between us.”

Y/N felt her heart swell at his words. She hadn’t realized until that moment how much she needed to hear thatâ€”to know that he wasn’t just going through the motions, but actually cared enough to make this work.

“I think it can work too,” she replied, her voice steady but warm. “It’s going to take time, butâ€¦ I’m willing to put in the effort. I want to see where this goes.”

“Then we’ll make it work. We’ll figure it out together.” His voice softened, a tenderness that made her feel like he was right there beside her. “No matter how many miles are between us.”

Her heart fluttered. “I think I’d like that.”

Over the next few weeks, their relationship continued to grow. The calls and messages didn’t stop, and they found themselves sharing more of their lives than they had when they were physically together. Y/N would send him pictures of the flowers blooming in her garden, and Jenson would send videos of his training sessions or his quiet moments in the UK.

There was a rhythm to it nowâ€”an unspoken understanding that, even though they were far apart, they were still a part of each other’s lives. Slowly, that distance felt less like a barrier and more like something they could overcome, one message at a time.

One night, as they both sat in their respective spaces, looking at the same moon from different corners of the world, Jenson sent a message that made Y/N’s heart flutter even more than before.

Jenson:

“I can’t wait to see you again. I’m counting down the days until I’m back in the States.”

Y/N smiled softly, her fingers lightly tracing the edges of her phone screen.

Y/N:

“Me too. I think about that a lot.”

Jenson:

“And when I get back, I’ll make it worth the wait.”

Her chest tightened at his words. This was real. Thisâ€”what they hadâ€”was something worth fighting for, worth waiting for.

And she realized, with a small, content smile on her face, that she wasn’t just waiting anymore. She was ready to see where this would take them.

It was a Tuesday evening when the news broke. Y/N was sitting on her couch, laptop open in front of her, doing a bit of work, when the notification popped up on her screen.

Jenson Button Announces Retirement from Formula 1

She blinked, her hand frozen mid-air as she processed the headline. Her heart skipped a beat. The news felt surreal. She clicked on the link, reading the article carefully, absorbing every word as it sank in. Jenson had made the decision to retire from Formula 1 after an illustrious career, and while the news wasn’t exactly shocking given the whispers that had been floating around, it still hit her like a punch to the gut.

Before she could really process it, her phone buzzed. It was from Jenson.

Jenson:

“You saw the news, huh?”

Y/N stared at the screen for a moment, the weight of his decision hanging heavily in the air between them. She took a deep breath before typing out her reply.

Y/N:

“Yeah, I just saw. Are you okay?”

There was a long pause before his response came through. The little dots on her screen blinked in anticipation, but it wasn’t like him to take so long to reply.

Jenson:

“I’mâ€¦ fine. It’s been coming for a while, but it still feels strange to say it out loud. To really know it’s over.”

Y/N’s heart went out to him. She knew this wasn’t just a career choice for himâ€”it was a part of who he was. The thought of him stepping away from something that had shaped his entire life made her feel a mix of sadness and empathy. But more than that, she knew he had to be feeling conflicted, and she hated that he was carrying this weight alone, even if they were hundreds of miles apart.

Y/N:

“I can’t imagine how it must feel. But I’m proud of you for making this decision, Jenson.”

She waited for his response, hoping it would help him feel a little less alone.

Jenson:

“Thanks. It means a lot, more than you know. I’ve been thinking a lot about what’s next. About how I’ll adjust, you know?”

Y/N’s fingers hovered over the keyboard. She could feel the weight of his words, the uncertainty in them.

Y/N:

“You’ve always known what’s next, Jenson. But this time, it’s about finding a new path. And I’m sure you’ll find it.”

There was another pause, and when he replied, it was more vulnerable than she’d ever seen him be.

Jenson:

“I hope so. But I can’t lieâ€¦ it’s scary. It’s hard to let go of something that’s been such a big part of who I am.”

Y/N exhaled deeply, setting her laptop aside. She grabbed her phone and dialed his number without hesitation. It only rang twice before he picked up, his voice low and tired.

“Hey,” he said, sounding like he’d been waiting for her call.

“Hey, Jenson,” she replied softly. “I know this is a big deal. You’ve been part of F1 for so long, and I can’t imagine how you’re feeling right now. Butâ€¦ I just want you to know, I’m here. You’re not alone in this.”

Jenson’s voice was quiet on the other end, the usual cocky confidence gone, replaced by something more vulnerable. “I don’t want to lose that feeling, you know? The excitement of racing, the adrenaline, the focus. It’s all I’ve known.”

“I get that,” Y/N said, feeling a lump form in her throat. “But you’ll find a new kind of excitement. It’s just going to take time. You’ve always been driven, and you’ll find something else that makes you feel alive. I know you will.”

There was a long silence between them, and Y/N could almost feel the weight of his emotions as he processed her words.

“You really think that?” he asked, his voice almost a whisper.

“I do,” she said, her voice soft but firm. “And you don’t have to do it alone. You’ve got me, Jenson. And I’m not going anywhere.”

His breath hitched on the other end of the line. “Iâ€¦ I don’t deserve you, Y/N. I know I’ve said this before, but I really don’t.”

Y/N closed her eyes, taking in a deep breath before speaking. “You don’t have to deserve me, Jenson. You just have to be yourself.”

There was a long pause before Jenson finally spoke again, his voice quieter than before. “I’ve missed you more than I thought possible.”

Her heart skipped a beat at his words. There was a vulnerability there she hadn’t expected, a rawness that made her chest tighten.

“I’ve missed you too,” she said softly. “So much.”

Over the next few days, Jenson’s retirement began to dominate the headlines. It was hard for Y/N to escape the constant media coverage. She could hear the discussions among her colleagues, the murmurs about Jenson’s decision and what it meant for his career, but every time someone brought it up, her mind went back to the conversation she’d had with him.

She wasn’t just supporting him as a fan anymore; she was supporting him as something more. And that meant a lot, both to her and to him.

Despite the emotional heaviness of it all, their connection only seemed to deepen. They spoke even more than usual, and each conversation felt more intimate, more real. She found herself sharing more of her own fears and dreams, feeling like she could be open with him in a way she hadn’t before.

He, too, seemed more willing to open up. He shared memories of his racing daysâ€”the highs, the lows, the moments of doubt and exhilaration. And with each shared story, Y/N felt closer to him. He wasn’t just Jenson Button, the Formula 1 driver. He was Jenson, the man who had become such a central part of her life.

They didn’t have all the answers. They still didn’t know what the future held. But for the first time in a long time, Y/N felt like they were moving forward together, even if the road ahead was uncertain.

The uncertainty didn’t scare her anymore. Not when she knew they had each other.

After Jenson’s announcement, everything seemed to shift. They spoke daily, not just in the evening like before, but throughout the dayâ€”texts, voice messages, and long calls that stretched late into the night. There was something more between them now, a closeness that wasn’t just built on shared moments or chemistry, but on understanding.

Jenson had a lot to work through after his retirement. There was uncertainty in his voice sometimes, but it was clear that his life was about to change in ways he hadn’t prepared for. But Y/N was there, offering him more than just words of comfortâ€”she was there to listen, to share in his anxiety, and to help him process it all.

One evening, after another long call, Jenson said something that had been lingering in the back of his mind for a while.

“I don’t want to go back to the UK just yet,” he admitted, sounding like he was finally letting go of something. “I’ve been thinking about it a lot, and I justâ€¦ don’t want to be alone with all of this. I don’t want to face it all without you.”

The vulnerability in his voice made Y/N’s heart race. She couldn’t deny that a part of her had been hoping for this, hoping for him to need her as much as she needed him. And yet, hearing it out loud made her feel both nervous and relieved at the same time.

“I can’t leave you hanging, not after everything we’ve shared,” Jenson continued. “I’ve spent too much time on the other side of the world, and now that I’m not racing, I don’t want to miss out onâ€¦ us.”

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat. She’d known that things had been changing between them, but hearing him say it so openly left her reeling. She hadn’t been ready for thisâ€”didn’t know how to process it all. But in the same breath, she felt something warm spread through her chest. There was a spark between them that hadn’t been there before.

“Iâ€¦ I’m not going anywhere either,” she managed to say, her words filled with a mix of confidence and fear. “I just want you to be happy, Jenson. That’s all I want.”

His voice softened. “You make me happy, Y/N. I thinkâ€¦ I think you’ve been the one thing that’s made sense in all this chaos.”

Y/N couldn’t stop the smile that tugged at the corners of her lips. There was no more denying itâ€”this wasn’t just friendship. They were building something deeper, something that neither of them had expected but both were starting to embrace.

A couple of weeks later, Jenson did something that had Y/N’s heart racing once againâ€”he booked a flight to visit her. He’d managed to clear some space in his schedule and, instead of heading back to the UK, he chose to come to North Carolina.

The days leading up to his arrival were filled with a mix of excitement and nervousness. It had been so long since they’d spent time together in person, and now, they were about to be in the same place again after everything that had happened.

When he arrived at her place, the moment their eyes met felt like the world had shifted. He looked the sameâ€”handsome, his familiar smile that made her heart raceâ€”but there was something different in the way he looked at her. He was no longer just the guy she admired from afar. He was the man who had shared his fears with her, who had made her feel seen and heard in ways no one else had.

They stood there, facing each other, unsure of how to bridge the distance that had grown between them, despite the fact that it felt like no time had passed at all.

“So,” Jenson started, his voice a little nervous. “This is different, huh?”

Y/N chuckled softly, her hands tucked into her pockets. “Yeah, it is. But it’s good.”

There was an awkwardness in the air, the kind that came from both excitement and a little uncertainty. It was the tension of two people who were finally giving in to something they’d both been avoiding for too long.

Jenson took a step closer to her, the space between them closing in a way that felt intentional, as if they were both moving in the same direction without fully acknowledging it.

When he reached her, his hand gently brushed against hers, a soft, tentative contact. She looked up at him, eyes meeting his, and in that moment, it all felt right.

“I’m glad you’re here,” she whispered.

“Me too,” Jenson replied, his voice low but filled with meaning.

Without saying another word, he leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. It wasn’t passionate, but it was full of tendernessâ€”an unspoken promise that this, whatever this was, was real.

For a few moments, they stood like thatâ€”just the two of them in the quiet of the room, both of them holding on to something that was growing stronger by the minute.

They didn’t rush things. They didn’t need to. This was a new beginning, one they would take step by step, together.

And for the first time in what felt like forever, they both felt like they were on the same page, with no more doubts to hold them back.

Over the next few days, things between Y/N and Jenson unfolded slowly but steadily. There was an ease in their interactions that had been absent before, but also a deeper connection that they hadn’t fully acknowledged until now. The tension that had once been palpable was still there, but it felt like the space between them had narrowed, each touch, each glance, pulling them closer together.

Jenson was learning how to be present, really present, in a way he hadn’t been able to before. With racing behind him, he was now navigating the quieter moments of life, and Y/N was right beside him, offering him the kind of peace he hadn’t known he needed.

They spent mornings together, sitting at her kitchen table, sipping coffee, talking about everything and nothing all at once. It was casual, unassuming, and yet every conversation felt like a step closer to something more. Every shared laugh, every lingering touch, was a quiet testament to the bond they were building.

But even in the midst of all of this, neither one of them dared to vocalize what they were feeling. They didn’t need to, not yet. There was still time. And time, they realized, could be their ally.

One night, a week into Jenson’s visit, they decided to take a walk through the nearby park. The moon was full, casting a silvery light over the trail as they walked side by side, the only sound being their footsteps crunching against the fallen leaves.

There was something about the stillness of the night that made everything feel more intimate, more fragile. Jenson’s hand brushed against Y/N’s, and this time, neither of them pulled away. It was subtle, a quiet exchange, but it felt like the world had shifted again.

They stopped at a small wooden bench, sitting down next to each other. The air was crisp, and Y/N wrapped her arms around herself, drawing her jacket closer to her body. Jenson looked over at her, his gaze lingering, the words he’d been holding back finally finding their way to the surface.

“I’ve been thinking about what you said the other night,” Jenson began, his voice quieter than usual, as though choosing his words carefully. “About howâ€¦ you didn’t want to rush into things.”

Y/N glanced up at him, her breath catching slightly. She wasn’t sure where this was going, but she was almost afraid to interrupt the moment.

“I’m not rushing anything,” she said softly, her eyes meeting his. “I just want to make sureâ€¦ that this is real. That we’re both ready for whatever comes next.”

Jenson’s expression softened, his hand reaching out slowly to touch hers again. This time, the gesture wasn’t tentative. It was deliberate.

“I get that,” he said quietly. “And I thinkâ€¦ I think I’ve been scared, too. Not just about us, but about everything changing so quickly.”

Y/N nodded, feeling her heart swell with understanding. She had been scared, too. Scared of what might happen if they gave into this undeniable pull between them. Scared of the inevitable complications, the vulnerabilities that came with caring for someone so deeply.

“I think I’m ready, Jenson,” she said after a long pause, her voice steady but filled with the truth of everything she’d been holding inside. “I’m ready to see where this goes.”

Jenson’s heart gave a little leap at her words, and he squeezed her hand, his thumb brushing over her knuckles. He could feel the tension in the air, the anticipation hanging between them like a spark waiting to ignite.

“I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life,” he said, his voice low and sincere.

And that was itâ€”the moment everything shifted. No more doubts, no more hesitation. Just the quiet certainty that whatever was coming next, they would face it together.

The next evening, after a quiet dinner at her apartment, Jenson found himself standing in front of her once again, this time with a different kind of look in his eyes. The playful teasing from before had been replaced with something deeper, more honest.

He took a slow step closer to her, his gaze never leaving hers. She could feel the pull between them, the magnetic force that had been building over the last few days. This time, there were no distractions, no worries about the future, just the two of them at this moment.

“You’re not scared anymore?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper, but full of meaning.

“No,” he replied, shaking his head slowly, his smile soft and genuine. “I’m justâ€¦ grateful. That I’m here with you.”

And with that, he leaned in, brushing his lips softly against hers. It was a kiss that was gentle, tender, but full of everything they hadn’t said out loud yet. It was the beginning of something new, something neither of them could have predicted.

When they finally pulled away, both of them were left breathless, caught in the quiet aftermath. But the lingering feeling wasn’t uncertaintyâ€”it was peace. The kind of peace that came from knowing that despite everything, they were exactly where they needed to be.

As the days passed, their connection grew stronger, more natural. They spent the rest of his visit exploring, laughing, and just being together. And every time they looked at each other, it felt like the world outside their little bubble didn’t matter. There were only two of them, and that was enough for now.

No one knew what the future held, but they knew that, for once, it didn’t matter. They had each otherâ€”and that was a start.

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