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hopesworlld · 2 months

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౨ৎ he made my doll heart, light up with joy

౨ৎ 𝗽𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴 — step!bro anakin x fem!reader

౨ৎ 𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆 — your stepbrother anakin found your diary and now he wants to make all your dirty fantasies come true

౨ৎ 𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁 — 4k

౨ৎ 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 — swearing, stepcest, mentions of weed and alcohol, mean!anakin, face slapping in a sexual context but not discussed beforehand, smut ( mentioned masturbation f and m, hickeys, unprotected sex, p in v, choking, hair pulling, praise, a little degradation, use of the term slut/little slut, titty fucking, squirting, oral sex m receiving ) i think that's everything !

౨ৎ 𝗵𝗼𝗽𝗲 𝘀𝗽𝗲𝗮𝗸𝘀 ! — feeding the girlies 🫶🏻

part one part three masterlist

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it had been a couple of days since anakin had found your diary and your mind had been stuck on him since then, each time you saw him your mind was filled with images of that night, the look on his face as he guided his cock into your mouth, the way he felt filling you up, spilling his cum onto your face and chest. you longed for him again, and he knew that and he fucking loved it. he would walk around the house shirtless, shorts hanging off of his hips with no boxers beneath leaving his cock print visible beneath. it took everything within you not to grab him there and then and tug his shorts down and choke on his cock.

you knew he was playing the long game, seeing how long he could make you wait before you came to him begging, tears staining your cheeks and core aching. so you waited, watching, longing but you had done this before, had been holding those dirty little fantasies inside of you for so long so this, you could hold on. sitting in your bedroom hands shoved down your panties toying with your clit until you came picturing anakin sitting in his bedroom, pumping his flushed cock wishing you would give in. so you decided you were going to play anakin at his own game, wearing short skirts and tight fitting tops, forgoing bras and underwear and purposefully bending over when you knew he was behind you giving him the perfect view of your cunt beneath the frilly fabric, grinning when you heard him hiss quietly beneath his breath.

it became a new sick obsession for you both, anakin brushing past you, hands trailing along your spine, grasping at your hips, playing with your skirt's waistband. while you would creep behind him and run your hands down his chest, or slip past him pressing your ass against his crotch. it lasted for a week before everything collapsed.

you were laying in your bedroom, both your father and shmi out on a date night, and anakin was out with friends so you had the house to yourself, though it was about as fun as to be expected, so you decided to write in your diary detailing the games you and anakin had been playing that day.

/ i really thought he was going to give in today, i wore the tiniest skirt i have, it’s hardly even a skirt, so short i haven't worn it since i bought it but god it’s hard, anakin promised this isn't over but i didn't realise i was going to have to beg for it and i don’t want too. he knows i want him, i creamed all over his fucking cock and still, he’s making me wait. i just want him to give in, grab me and fuck me senseless again, i haven’t been able to cum properly since last week, no matter how much i want to it’s like my body needs him, i fucking hate it. god, why won’t he just do something?

“writing more fantasies there, angel?” anakin’s voice cut through the peaceful silence of your bedroom, you titled your head to face him, taking in the skin-tight black jeans that clung to his legs and band t-shirt, the heavy black liner around his eyes, he looked utterly sinful.

“nothing to say,” you replied shortly, turning your face back to the diary, gaze scanning the page, you could feel him still staring at you but decided to remain silent, if he wanted to play this game you would play it.

“oh, baby’s got bite, huh,” anakin snickered, crossing the room and perching himself at the end of the bed, “feeling a bit worked up?” he asked and you scoffed, raising your eyes, watching the way his gaze trailed over your body suddenly aware that you were wearing only a white vest top and a pair of pink cotton panties, you hadn’t expected him home tonight. usually, he and his friends would be out for hours on end not returning until the sun rose, but it was hardly half past eight.

“you wish,” you said with a small smile rolling your eyes at him, watching as his eyes darkened.

“wanna play like that, baby? okay, why don’t you hand me that book and show me what you are writing,” he offered, hand held out expectantly and a shudder ran down your spine as you met his gaze, he was testing you, tempting you to give in.

“why? you gave me what i wanted. you want me fucking say it,” you bit out, but your facade was fading but anakin… anakin broke.

“think now you’ve had my cock you can talk to me like i’m a fucking idiot?” he seethed, reaching over and ripping the diary from your grip and dropping it on the bed before straddling your hips, using one hand to pin your hands above your head in a bruising grip, “acted like a fucking slut all week, flashing me that desperate pussy, practically begging for it and now you wanna act blase?” he was angry, enraged as he glared down at you and you had never felt so small.

“anakin i…” you began to say but he shook his head.

“shut up,” he sneered, “sluts don’t get to talk, they shut their mouths and listen,” and you knew you shouldn’t, your brain was screaming at you to not give in, but that other part of you, your needy cunt needed this, needed him so you nodded. “look at you, all brave until you think you are gonna get cock, embarrassing,”

“i’m sorry,” you spewed out, and before you could even process it his hand was coming up, slapping you harshly around the face leaving behind a burning sting, you gaped up at him, shocked at his action and he smirked.

“i told you to be quiet but you can’t fucking listen can you, so you know what i’m gonna do?” he asked you and all you could do was stare at him, “nothing,” he replied simply letting go of your hands and climbing down from atop of you off of the bed, “you want me you know where to find me,” he said, sending you a teasing wave leaving you alone with a stinging cheek and throbbing cunt. you couldn’t even bring yourself to get off that night, simply curling on your side and hoping, but anakin never came.

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the following day you were unsure of what to do next, cheek-stained rosy and cunt still aching, what you weren’t expecting was to see anakin the second you entered the kitchen, his eyes widening when he saw your face.

“shit,” he gasped walking over to you and cradling your cheek, you blinked up at him stunned, “i didn’t realise i… angel, fuck” he looked horrified, “i was so fucked when i got home last night and i, god,” anakin didn’t know what to say, pretty blue eyes so heart-achingly pained.

“it’s okay,” you said softly but he shook his head frantically.

“it’s not okay, i didn’t ask i just did it, fuck, i was so cross faded, baby, you don’t have to forgive me,” anakin had never been so nice to you ever, maybe after he had fucked you within an inch of your life, but this anakin was so impossibly soft you felt something with you shift, lust melting into something more malleable, something warm and light and it terrified you.

“ani, it’s okay,” you repeated, leaning up and planting a kiss on his lips, it was confident but you had to try, and anakin wilted, arm slipping around your waist and pulling you in, your bodies pressed so close they were practically one. the kiss was soft, a sweet caress of lips on lips before anakin pulled back and planted a soft kiss on your cheek. “wanna know a secret?” you asked him and anakin looked into your eyes, only sincerity glowing in them.

“always, angel,” he whispered and a small smirk twisted itself on your lips.

“i liked it,” you say watching as anakin’s eyes widen before a grin stretches across his face, his hand still resting on your hips pinching down slightly and making you jump.

“cheeky slut,” he teased, leaning in and peppering kisses along the length of your neck making you shiver in delight, “i need you, angel,” he murmured against your neck, “you’ve taken over my entire brain, can’t think of anything but you,”

“take me,” you whispered, “you’ve haunted my thoughts for long enough, ani,” it was a mess of teeth and tongue as anakin pulled you in again, lifting you into his arms, you wrapped your legs around his waist letting him carry you from the kitchen up the stairs, only breaking the kiss to look where he was going every few seconds before suddenly you were being laid back onto your bed, anakin hovering atop of you.

“i’m not gonna be gentle this time,” anakin told you, hands resting on your hips, “i need to make you mine, ruin you for any other man that tries with you, you are fucking mine,” he groaned out, grinding his hips against yours, the delicious thrill of his half hard cock settled between your thighs enough to drive you wild.

“you’ve already ruined me,” you confess like a sinner would on their knees before the priest.

“fuck,” anakin hissed, he grasped the skin of your thighs hiking them up so that they sat around his waist, “want everything from you, don’t hold back,” he demanded, and you knew that you were gone, this sick story was coming to a close and a new book was already in the making as he reached between your bodied and cupped your aching sex.

“yes, yes,” you pleaded, grinding your hips against his hand, you needed to feel him, to have him explore every inch of you and make you his.

“let’s get you out of these clothes, pretty,” he cooed, hands slipping under your top and tugging it off revealing your perky tits beneath, nipples hardening against the cool air, he groaned, cupping them in his large hands and squeezing, “such gorgeous tits, will you let me fuck them a little, baby?” he asked you and you whined.

“fuck yes, want you to come all over them, ani please,” you said, hands falling to the waistband of your shorts, it was an awkward shuffle of bodied as you managed to push them down and kick them from your legs while anakin grinned, still looking at your tits in awe.

“wanna mark them up, let everyone know whose tits they are,” he said, not waiting for confirmation before sinking down and suckling the tops of your breasts, a jolt of pain shot through your body making you shiver in delight. he sucked until the marks were bright red and lay stark against your skin, running his tongue over them soothingly before moving to the next until your breasts were covered. “holy shit,” he gaped.

“s’ pretty,” you murmered looking at the marks he had created.

“so pretty,” anakin agreed, “the fucking prettiest, along with this cunt, been dreaming about having this again,” he told you, tracing his fingers through your aching folds, “always so wet for me, angel,”

“take your clothes off,” you huffed, hips jittering, “wanna see you,” you pleaded, hands clumsily coming up to his belt and tugging at the cuff trying to unloop the fabric.

“desperate girl,” he smirked but obliged, tearing his shirt over his head in a swooping motion before following suit with his jeans, tugging the belt free as you watched in fascination as his jeans and boxers finally came down and his cock sprang free from its confines, hard, flushed and aching.

“anakin,” you hummed in delight at the sight, desperate for him.

“never meet a girl so needy for cock, look like you’ve just won the lottery,” anakin snickered, dragging his cock through your folds, soaking the tip before slapping it against your clit, you hissed at the contact lifing your hips to meet his but anakin pressed his hand your your stomach holding you down. “not yet,” he told you, “get the diary, i promised you a fantasy,” he smirked.

“anakin,” you huffed, pouting, “you know what i want, you don’t need that,” you said but he shook his head.

“wanna read your dirty words first, angel, come on,” he prompted planting a soft slap to your ass cheek making you squeal, scrambling up the bed and grabbing the little diary from its place beneath your pillow and handing it to him. he flicked the pages open, scanning through some older entries along with some older ones, his smile widening as he read your desperate words. “god, you are fucking filithy,”

“stop it,” you cried ripping the book from his hand and reading the page.

/ anakin stood behind me in the kitchen today and i purposefully bent over so that my skirt would come up, i wasn't wearing any underwear so he saw everything, i’m pretty sure i heard him moan. it made me so wet i wonder if he noticed, i wanted him to grab me and ram his cock inside me. i’ve seen porn where girls get fucked from behind, pinned against a counter or on their hands and knees, hair threaded through their partner's hands, tugging them back. or sometimes the guy had his hands wrapped around their throat. i bet anakin is good at choking, his hands are so big, he could probably fit his hand around my neck easily and choke me out, i tried it myself, squeezed hard enough that it made my head spin, i think even without my vibrator i would have cum so fucking hard from that. i hope he gives in soon.

“wanna feel my hands around your throat, angel?” anakin asked you, “want me to pound you from behind, take you like a slut? should have known you would love that,” you moaned at his words, slamming the book shut and tossing it from the bed.

“yes, ani, you know what i want so please, please do something,” you begged, crawling over to him and straddling his hips, wet cunt dragging against his hard cock, he groaned, grasping your hips tightly and rocking against you, his cock head catching at the rim of your swollen hole.

“gotta let you ride me one day, baby,” he murmured into your ear, “but right now i want you on your hands and knees, ass up,” he prompted and who were you to ignore instructions? you quickly moved into place, trying to remember who the girls do it in porn, the position was a little uncomfortable, knees not used to holding your weight like this, anakin ran his hand along your back soothingly, unlocking the tensed muscles that rippled beneath his touch revealing a subtle arch as you dipped down against the bed, breasts brushing against the cotton sheets. “look at that,” anakin said, “fucking perfect,” not seeing him made your skin prickle, every touch seemed to set your nerves on fire, especially when he drew his hands to your rounded ass, grasping at the flesh with keen fingers.

“ani, stop teasing,” you complained earning a sharp slap on your ass, the pressure making you jolt.

“needy little slut,” anakin spat, “just trying to appreciate the view but you are so focused on getting something inside that desperate cunt, want it so bad then fucking take it,” and he was inside you, despite his harsh words anakin was gentle with you, only pushing the tip into your dripping hole and holding it there for a few seconds before pushing deeper, your walls greedily sucking him in, his cock a weclome introusion after weeks of needy fingers helplessly pressing at your gummy walls, clumsily chasing a phantom release.

“yes, yes, yes,” you chanted, head dropping down against the bed as anakin began to thrust, the burn was expected, you hadn’t had him in weeks and with no prep you were bound to be a little sore, but you wanted this, wanted it to hurt, wanted to remember the feeling of him inside of you for days to come. his thrusts were shallow at first, hardly sinking all the way in before pulling out again, he continued this for a few moments, hands grasping at your hips before you began to whine, “ani, it’s okay, i need you harder, deeper, wanna feel your cock in my fucking stomach,” you simpered, dirty words pouring from petal lips, but it worked, you felt anakin’s dick twitch inside of you.

“such a dirty mouth, angel,” he groaned, hand threading through your hair and yanking, the action jerking you backward so that anakin was fully sheathed inside of you and you fucking loved it, moaning loudly at the feeling of being so full, the pressure of his cock head against your cervix and the burn of your scalp would have been enough to make you cum, but then he began to jackhammer inside of you, hips thrusting at a brutal pace, filling every inch of you.

“oh my god,” you screeched, tears glossing your eyes, as you let anakin abuse your sopping cunt. tip pressing against the spongey spot inside of you that made your head spin.

“that’s it, baby, scream for me,” anakin hissed, hands bruising on your hips, as he sank deeper, and deeper, you swore you could feel him in your guts, this angle allowing him to go deeper than he had before, he was everywhere, you vaguely wondered what it would feel like if he spilled inside of you, cum coating your insides, it was disgusting, so, so wrong but you knew you would have to ask him for it one day, maybe leave it in your diary and hope he finds it, but you had little time to ponder as anakin’s hand untangled from your hair and began to creep its away around your throat, just holding it, waiting.

“ani,” you pleaded, his fingertips dancing along your pulse point, palm warm even against your fiery skin.

“you want it?” he asked, squeezing ever so slightly so that you could feel the pressure but not enough to cut off air flow.

“yes, want it so bad, anakin please,” he laughed, a dark mocking thing that made your pussy cleanch.

“come on, angel you can beg better than that,” anakin litled, you couldn’t see him but you knew he was smiling, amused by the pathetic girl wrapped around his cock, so desperate for him no matter what he could say or do, you would still trail after him cock hungry and begging.

“choke me, ani, please, want your hands around my throat, want you to fuck me like a slut, please, please, need it so bad, please, ani,” you didn’t had to wait to see if you begged well enough before anakin’s hand tightened, pressing in all the right places to cut off your wind pipe, a dull aching feeling lingering as the blood rushed from your head, it was hypnotic, something welling inside of you, loving the control he held over your entire body. you were his, whether he wanted it or not. the slick sound of your cunt taking his cock filled the room not that your moans were cut off, it made you shudder.

“baby, baby,” anakin panted, hips stuttering inside of you, “fuck, you are a dream, angel,” he said, voice shaky, “gonna need you to cum soon, you feel so fucking good wrapped around me, don’t think i can hold it much longer and i still need to feel those tits around me,”

“fuck,” you cried at the sound of his shakey voice, words garbled by anakin’s hand around your thoat, he loosened it for a moment allowing you to gulp in a large breath of air before it tightened once again, thumb pressing against your pule point, you whimpered, tears spilling down your cheeks as you let anakin rock against you.

“play with your clit for me, angel,” anakin told you, pace not slowing but you could feel his dick twitching, you did as he said, one hand sliding to the sticky mess between your thighs, you were tempted to feel at the place between the two of you, the connection of his cock deep inside of you but you worried that would set anakin off, so you began to circle your clit, the loss of one arm to balance with make you shaky, body jerking forward violently so anakin grabbed your other arm, wrenching it behind your back and holding it there, other hand still on your throat, his body supporting your entire weight. it was fucking heavenly, you were completely at his disposal, he could do anything he wanted to you and you would let him.

“mmh,” you stuttered out, voice lost beneath anakin’s vice grip, that coil in your stomach welling, you could feel it expanding, coiling down your spine and encasing your entire lower body. you needed it, that lust you had felt for weeks reaching closer to a crescendo, you wanted him to ruin you, to tear you in two a bury himself beneath your skin so you could feel him forever. your heart pounded against your chest, body aching with want.

“that’s it,” anakin cooed, “you can let go, come all over my cock, angel girl,” he whispered, squeezing your throat tighter, white spots danced in your vision, the feeling of his cock head bullying your cervix, the dizzying lack of air in your head and the way he held you, it was enough to send you spinning. everything went dark, you felt entirely weightless, the glow of your orgasm consuming your entire body and you were gone.

when you came too, anakin was hovering over you, your body now laid flat and he looked adoringly down on you, bottom lip pinched between his teeth.

“oh, baby,” he sounded awe struck, you blinked up at him, hazy from the force of the orgasm that had consumed you, “you squirted, angel,” he told you and you looked down, his entire cock and stomach was sodden as well as the sheets beneath you two, you gaped, stunned.

“i did that?” you whispered and anakin swopped in, peppering kisses along the curve of your lips.

“yes, yes you did, so fucking hot, never seen a girl squirt in person before, it was fucking insane,” anakin said, almost giddy, “such a good girl, angel, something out of a dream i swear to god,” he continued too kiss you, along your lips, trailing across your cheeks and you squirmed, hands shakily coming to his shoulders.

“ani,” you say, breathlessly, still taken aback by what you had done, like anakin you had only seen squirting in porn, you couldn’t even imagine that you yourself could do it.

“yes, baby, anything,” he sounded frantic, hips rutting against the wetness between your thighs, still chasing his relief as he praised you.

“my tits,” you gasped out through over sensitivity as he cock brushed your swollen clit, “fuck my tits, ani, please,” he pulled back, a dreamy smile painted on his lips as he shuffled up the bed, hips stradling your stomach.

“you really want this?” he asked gently, and you nodded, you needed this, needed him to come, you watched in bliss as he reached behind him, coating his palm in your wetness and smearing it between your tits until the skin glistened before guiding his cock along the silken channel, “push them together for me, angel, make it nice and tight like your pussy for me,” he instucted, your hands dragged up your sides and too your swollen breasts, pressing them together, your thumbs trailing along the marks anakin had left before.

“yes, just like that,” anakin whispered, rutting his hips, cock sliding between your tits with a squealch. his cock head bumped against your chin and impulsibely you dipped your head, capturing the weeping thing between your lips and suckling, it was a mess of spit, slick and cum and anakin moaned, louder than you had ever heard him moan before. you glanced at him through your lashes and almost lost it, anakin looked wrecked, lips parted and stained crimson, hair ruffled atop his head in messy waves, eyes wide as he looked down at you, and when you made eye contact he cried out, hips stuttering as he came in your mouth. you tried to swallow as much as you could, but some escaped and dripped onto your tits in a milky stream.

“angel,” anakin’s breathing raged as he pulled his spent cock from your mouth and you smiled up at him, body still weak but all you could feel was light, it burned bright within you and extended out like sunlight leaking through the clouds at dawn. “you… i… i have never come so hard in my life than i have with you,” he laughed breathlessly, you echoed the sound as he sank onto you, head pressed against your soiled chest but he didn’t care and neither did you. it was your mess that you had made together, and you loved that thought more than you should.

“same,” you managed to say, exhaustion consuming you as you curl your arms around anakin, relishing in the feeling of his warmth.

“i have no choice now,” anakin said, “you are my fucking girl, i don’t care about what our parents say, this is it for me, i need you,”

“anakin,” you gasped, taken aback by his confession, what was he saying? what did this mean now? how could you ever tell your parents how this sick obsession had bloomed into something more, it was wrong, twisted, and despicable, but you couldn’t ignore what you felt and you knew it was him, he was it for you.

“don’t worry, angel, i’ll work it out,” he murmured against your chest and you nodded, anakin knew what he was doing, or you could only hope he did as he finally came around again and scooped you into his arms to take you to clean up in the bathroom.

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maybe another part…

tags : @prettypinkprincess15 @insomiacslut @johnbassplayercutie @espinathena-17 @srry-notsorry @vmpIover @dazednstars141

tagged people who asked for a part two !

#hopes fics !#anakin skywalker #hayden christensen #anakin skywalker fanfiction #anakin skywalker x reader #anakin skywalker x you #star wars #star wars fanfiction #emo anakin #anakin #anakin modern au #anakin skywalker smut #anakin smut #anakin x reader #anakin x you #darth vader x reader #sam monroe #stepbro!anakin #star wars anakin

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erideights · 8 months

Text

Little pieces here and there (3)

Pairing: Buggy x Fem!Reader (One Piece Live Action)

Chapters: one, two, four, five

Word Count: around 2K again.

Warnings: minimum context of the arlong park part of the story (background), MUTUAL FLIRTING, forbiden pinning of them both, Buggy has his body back *wiggling eyebrows*, sexy times

A/N: devil works hard but i'm working harder, every 5 free min i have from work/class/practices i'm writing on my phone, i'ts actually insane and i love it (ROAD TO CHAPTER 4?? If you like this one and want the next one, please let me know!)

Oh, he was mad. He was really mad.

Maybe "sexually frustrated" was a way more accurate term given the circumstances but the feeling was so strong, so visceral, he was sure he was reaching a point where jumping to the sea to end that agony -even if a bit exaggerated, like him always, everywhere and for everything- was justified.

Somewhere in Arlong Park, Buggy could feel the boner pressing his pants, demanding to be satisfied; dirty talk was one of his true passions and when (Y/N) played that card on him, being capable of picturing himself with her on his lap, that damn woman so -actually- close to his face in that moment he was already tasting her lips, her low, smooth voice driving him insane, he could not help it, but get turned on so easily and so strong is been hours, and he's still mad, incapable of stop thinking about that.

That is, perhaps, the reason he feels relief as soon as the sun rises and Usopp is back on the helm again, asking for directions as Buggy, in fact, demands to go faster. Like instead of slicing and dicing his body, his power could control the wind that propelled the boat or the force of the waves against the hull.

(Y/N) ran away just after such a -even if brief- conversation. She may have broken his balls with that dirty trick, but she was equally a victim of her own game. She knew what to say to push Buggy and leave him so stunned -to speak- that the poor clown didn't have the chance to fight back at that moment, not without his body to help him keep her in that kitchen, lift her up on the counter, force her to back down, regret even thinking she could do that to him, and then, only then, yes, fuck her until she wakes up the rest of her little and - according to him - pathetic crew with her moans.

Or so the girl imagined, leaning against the door of her room, eyes closed, heart slightly racing, fighting the temptation to lie down on the bed and masturbate thinking about what had just happened.

Which included him. Him!! What the hell, was she actually losing her mind? All that damn flirting had really gotten into her, for fucks sake, because regardless of her finding him quite interesting when they met, this attraction was something else.

Lately everything around her was something else. Did she really think through the decision of leaving her mercenary life behind and follow those kids to the Grand Line? Did she really think through the decision of flirting back with a psychopath clown?

Because in the end it's just that, right? Flirting. Was nothing else, is nothing else, and will be nothing else. She doesn’t want it to be something more, that's for sure; there's no need for unnecessary complications and extra headaches. In the meantime, it's fun, a bit of a backfire kind of situation, a bit -sexually- frustrating, but fun.

After a good ol' resting night and already some hours into the new day, (Y/N) notices that it's been a lot, since their encounter in the kitchen to be precise, that Buggy not only doesn't flirt with her, but doesn't talk that much or even look at her as amazed as before. Of course, he is, also, way less annoying, which Zoro subtly points out clearly pleased with how calm, nice and silent this morning is.

At some point she shakes her head, knowing, or at least guessing, the reason for this behavior, so she decides to check no one's around and the rudder is locked in the right direction, and then goes to where the bag with his head is, closed probably by the sniper when he got the last indications he needed from him. She opens it, lowering it until the clown's head is free on top of that barrel.

"How are you doing, Bugs?" she starts with a funny little smile, looking intently at him as she leans her back forward to leave her face level with his. "It's been hours I don't hear your raspy voice, I'm starting to miss it."

Silence. Absolute indifference besides the sidelong glance he gives her because let's face it, Buggy is annoyingly proud, extremely, exaggeratedly, but he loves attention. He likes nothing more than receiving it, no matter where, when, and from who, and she could see it as soon as they met.

"Also your silly nicknames for me" She grants, giving in. She would also be mad as hell if someone leaves her as horny as she knew she left him, so she doesn't have any problem being the one to start the tug-war this time.

"Already tired of the shidiots?" He finally asks, almost drily, after a minute; now he is the one to play difficult, huh? "No wonder, they don't even know where to start being pirates."

"Oh, of course, because no one compares to the famous Buggy The Clown, the colorful nightmare or the East Blue." Playful, she retreats a bit, resting her hip in the barrel, arms crossed over her chest.

"Quit the sarcasm doll, you know I'm right." Well, he was, in fact, right. None of them had real experience in the whole i-wanna-become-a-pirate thing, still, they were doing pretty good to be newbies. She was quite proud of them.

"I cannot wait to have my body back" he then murmurs, adding before she could say anything else about her new friends. "To do what?" She asks, you know, like she didn't know.

"Take a guess"

"Recover your spotlight? Find a new crew and a way to enter the Grand Line to go search the One Piece and be the king of the pirates?" (Y/N) mocks, clearly enjoying being the annoying one this time.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah'' Buggy rolls his eyes, scoffing. ''All that, but not before making you regret what you did last night." To that accusation she gasps, resting her right hand over her chest "What did I do last night?"

The clown falls silent again, but his mood is completely different. Right now he's not pissed off, it's obvious that this time, instead of flirting with her in a casual and natural way, he’s thinking what to say, choosing carefully his words to return a fraction of the effect she had on him hours ago.

His eyes darken, and his voice goes octanes lower and raspier. "Sweetheart, there will be no possible escape from what I plan to do with you. At the slightest opportunity I will make you cum on me so many times you will be the one to find the One Piece without needing to go to the Grand Line, but first…'' He pauses, breathes, and lets it go calmly, like the intimidating, psychopathic calculator she saw at the circus and not that flirty cartoonish version she got to know on the ship. ''you will beg for it."

She knows she shouldn't surrender to this type of tease, but she also can't and doesn't want to avoid it. Getting heavily carried away, without thinking about it twice, one of the girl's hands slides to the back of his neck, slipping under the bandana, and tugs his hair aggressively as she leans in again to speak close to his face. He grunts in pure satisfaction, closing his eyes for a second. Of course (Y/N) is, once again, taking advantage of the fact that he cannot defend himself no being more than a head, and the fact is that he enjoys like a condemned bastard those small but intense gestures the girl has given him since they met at the circus.

He can't wait to break a woman like her. And oh, he will.

"Are you sure about that?" Hearing distant steps, someone from the crew coming out on deck and climbing the stairs, she gets some distance from him, acting naturally, closing the bag again around his head. "My expectations just skyrocketed, I hope you don't disappoint."

By the end of the day, the Konomi Islands begin to appear on the horizon, and as soon as they set foot on them, shits get really serious. The situation of the poor people who live there is heartbreaking, so for two days, no one dares to make a single joke, Luffy's usual energy and bubbly positivity is nowhere to be seen, and of course, the interactions of (Y/N) and Buggy are reduced to = 0. The clown's head is no longer of any real use to them, and it’s poor Sanji, the new recruit, who’s carrying it around just in case.

At least until they reach Arlong Park.

Again, (Y/N) is not exactly the type of mercenary expert in martial arts and although she knows how to defend herself, fighting like Zoro or Sanji is, in few words, impossible. Her only advantage is being very, very fast, and knowing how to use the scenery to her advantage, so it doesn't take long for her to hide here and there among the different tents and attractions in the area to get rid of the most straggler fishmen, with a knife she got long ago during one of her jobs, capable of cutting their tough skin easily.

Everything happens so fast and is so chaotic that apart from some screams and blows in the background and having seen Usopp running towards the forest, (Y/N) is completely unaware of what is happening in the main complex.

A strong pull on her left arm activates her flight or fight response as one last fish falls dead to the ground in front of her. Raising the knife, in a quick movement, she tries to defend herself by aiming at the stranger's neck, although in vain; a pair of lips whose red has already been worn for days impact against hers, stealing her breath, a small moan escaping her. Eyes wide open, she barely registers the blurry color of Buggy's nose when two strong hands squeeze her hips as if the life of the clown depended on it, pushing the girl against the wall of the building behind them, cornering her without any type of delicacy.

She hadn't heard from him since they reached the island. Hell, she didn't even know he had got his full body back and was already so close to it that air was unable to pass between each other.

Of course, the moment the clown's head joined the rest of himself -the feeling much better than he remembered- he fucked off his captors and decided to flee. Not before making a vital stop along the way.

The ideas about how to proceed with her once he was whole were very, very different in his wild fantasies, but when he saw the girl's back, he knew that the only thing that would -partially- calm his yearning would be to kiss her before disappearing as fast as possible. To taste her lips, to feel her warmth.

Still not recovered from the shock of the kiss, Y/N doesn't remove the knife from the clown's neck, but he couldn't care less; quite the opposite. He is so turned on and waited so much -again, exaggerated- for this he doesn't know yet how he will be able to break the kiss, take distance from her, and run away.

Passionately carried away, moved by his most primitive instincts, Buggy sneaks one of his legs between hers, pressing in between them as Y/N inhales through her nose and her free hand flies to his vest, pulling it a little.

It wasn't the time, nor the place, to think about fucking that asshole, but damn, after all the teasing and the tension and the adrenaline of the fight--

And just when she starts fully giving in to him, he retreats just enough, panting a bit, and looks at her now red, stained lips, eyes darkened and full of lust. Just like hers.

"Hate to leave you like this sweetheart but I have things to do and places to go. I don't want people relating me to Arlong, I would hate the bad press on my persona." He whispers, cracking his usual cruel, playful smirk when he finally puts some distance between each other.

‘’It's time to exit stage left.’’ Buggy adds, theatrically raising both hands in the air. ‘’I promise I’ll see you around.’’

And like this, he stars running away again. Where? She doesn't know, or even guess at this moment, too busy registering the kiss in her memory, the way his lips felt on hers, how his nose pressed her cheek the entire time, or his hands grabbed onto her for dear life.

Bastard.

''You better'', she whispers to herself.

#buggy x reader #buggy the clown #buggy one piece #buggy the clown fanfiction #buggy x you #op buggy #one piece live action #one piece x reader #captain buggy

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silverwhittlingknife · 15 days

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How would you describe Tim's people skills? Especially when you compare them to Dick's?

Hi anon, this was a fun ask!! I picked out a few panels for each of them (comforting friends, a bit out of sync with friends, fighting with friends, and offering practical support to friends) just to get a quick look at their people skills in action, and then I rambled on about my thoughts on their strengths and their weaknesses.

(Caveat: I'm going to try to focus on my ideas about differences between the two of them, since we're comparing, but I do think they're socially more similar than not, so you might also want to check out @bitimdrake's post on Dick and Tim's similarities for the big picture!)

Short version: I think they've both got good people skills. Dick's are a bit better and more natural, whereas Tim's are more practiced and learned (in ways that sometimes show).

Let's start with Dick first, and then I'll get back to Tim.

Dick

Comforting friends in Titans Secret Files:

Dick: Will you go back in there and sit down? This is my house. You don't need to clean up after me! Donna: I know, I just... I just ... Dick: Hey, hey... what's the matter? Donna: Nothing. It's nothing. Dick (reaching out to supportively grip her shoulders): Donna, this is me here, remember?

A bit out of sync with friends (but still getting along well) in Titans 3:

Dick: The movie runs 98 minutes. So if we fast-forward past the coming attractions and watch only half the credits, I can still make it back to Blüdhaven in time to - Roy: Nightwing, chill. Team morale demands that you relax and enjoy yourself.

Fighting with friends in Titans 13:

Dick: We haven't used it much, Changeling. But that's gonna be different. Starting right now. Our performance against Tartarus and the HIVE was unacceptable. Each and every one of you should thank God you weren't killed. Kory: How dare you? How can you just stand there talking to us like we're a military detachment -

Giving support to relative strangers in Nightwing 87:

Neighbor 1: Oh, he - he's a true gentleman, you know? Always holds the door, or helps me up the stairs with my groceries if we both come in at the same time... Neighbor 2: ...used his motorcycle to jumpstart my car one morning and even got my brother-in-law a job with Wayne Enterprises when he got laid off... Neighbor 3: ...and he's very, very, very nice and doesn't talk down to me. Plus he lets me use his basketball.

Offering practical support (making dinner) in Prodigal:

Tim: I can't believe you can actually cook... Dick: I like to eat. Tim: So does Bruce - but he had to order Chinese last night. Dick: That's where I'm one up on him - I've lived on my own without an Alfred. Still miss him, though... He was good for a lot more than cooking and cleaning. Tim: Yeah. But at least we don't have to miss him on empty stomachs.

Strengths:

I think Dick's people skills are pretty simple: he has them! He's good at people! And I tend to think of Dick's people skills as so automatic they're mostly instinctive. It's not something he really has to think about because it's so ingrained in him. A combination of natural talent plus a childhood spent around sociable performers means Dick's just really highly attuned to the people around him.

And I don't think he's particularly obvious about it. So e.g. you could be having a conversation with Dick where he didn't seem like he was paying close attention, but if there was An Important Moment where you got anxious for a moment or let something important slip or let a bit of anger show through etc. - Dick will have picked up on it, even if it's unconsciously, and it'll stick with him and come back to him later.

And just generally - I think Dick has good instincts for who he can trust and who he shouldn't trust; when he's treading on conversational landmines he'll often pick up the unease even if he doesn't have the context to know why there's a problem; if he's trying to comfort and trusts his instincts he'll often do the right thing even if he can't justify in words why he felt like that was the right thing to do.

So I think for Dick, there's always the level of conscious awareness - the things he's aware he knows, if you will - and the level of unconscious awareness - things he senses, but maybe can't explain, or maybe doesn't want to know so he's suppressing the thoughts.

So he's good at leading, and he's good at comforting, and he's good at listening, and he's good at figuring out the right thing to say...

Like, he's good at all of it, so it's actually sort of difficult to elaborate because there's just not that much nuance? Given any particular interpersonal situation, Dick has an excellent chance of getting a quick read on some random guy he's just met and then getting the reaction he wants pretty fast, whether it's intimidating the guy or comforting him or getting him to cooperate or taunting him until he loses his temper, etc etc etc.

Obviously Dick's not a mind reader, and he can get things wrong, especially when he's in the throes of one of his own personal crises, but generally I think Dick's very very sure-footed with people, even with strangers.

Weaknesses:

This isn't a weakness precisely because Dick's usually doing it on purpose, but he'll sometimes have fights with his friends because they think he's acting overly professional/detached and he thinks they're not being professional enough. So e.g. in Titans 13, you can see Dick's set up the room almost like he's leading a business meeting, and he's the boss lecturing them, and they're reacting by getting mad at him. Part of this is basically a Traditional Bat Problem - Tim's friends also balk because they feel like Tim's keeping them at a distance - but Dick tends to lean especially hard on "I'm The Leader Here So Shut Up And Do What I Say" professionalism / distancing.

When things are going well, Dick's friends may grumble at his intense professionalism but basically appreciate it (this is basically how things go in their reunion in TT vol 2); when things are not going well, though, it becomes a point of tension. Generally, Dick gets extra-professional as a coping mechanism when under stress, as here in TT vol 2 12:

To the extent that Dick falters with social skills, it tends to be almost exclusively with people he knows well, not with strangers. Dick sometimes struggles with maintaining relationships, largely because he's often juggling multiple responsibilities; he'll sometimes get hyperfixated on something and deprioritize his more stable relationships (so e.g. when he gets fixated on trying to fix Blüdhaven and gets distracted from his relationship with Babs).

Somewhat relatedly, if things start going wrong in his own life, he tends to self-isolate out of shame and avoid everyone he thinks of as more put-together. So, for example, in the aftermath of Blockbuster, he's a self-destructive mess who's trying to dodge and/or drive away Clark and Roy and Tim (all people who care about him and would want to help), but Sophia Tevis and Rose are two messed-up young strangers in trouble and their obvious neediness trips his "urgency" meter, plus he may be a mess but they have no context to realize that so he doesn't feel so self-conscious, and he's able to be drive-by super-helpful to them and then dive right back into privately self-destructing.

Also not a weakness per se, but he tends to be a bit of an introvert in general - he and Wally are close, but they go long stretches of time without catching up; when he's spending time with friends, usually it's Donna / Wally / the Titans / Tim visiting Dick rather than the other way around; he's more likely to get cajoled into joining a team than the other way round - Wally talks him into rejoining the Titans and Roy talks him into joining the Outsiders. He likes people and likes spending time with friends, but he's usually not the one initiating a social gathering. He's self-aware about this; in Titans 9, he muses, "It's not the newness that's the problem. The problem is the old stuff. The ruts. You know someone long enough - well enough - and you fall into a rut with them... you completely take the relationship for granted..."

Relatedly, because Dick's pretty self-contained, he has a recurring problem where loved ones interpret him as distant or detached or indifferent even when he's still passionately attached - both Kory and Babs break up with Dick in part because they feel like he's not really that committed to them (also there are mmm Problematic Plotlines involved but I'm ignoring those for the purposes of this post), and in both cases IMO they're misreading him. He's deeply upset by both breakups and responds with big declarations of feeling and, uh, proposing marriage shortly afterward. (Okay, so he's not ALWAYS sure-footed sdfdsfs)

When Dick's getting something wrong, it's usually because he's upset and overcompensating - when things with Kory and Babs are tense, he tries to fix it with Big Gestures; when Vic's mad at him about spying, he missteps with an elaborate secret plan culminating in a big dramatic offering of a new body which Vic does want... but he's still understandably miffed at Dick for making a bunch of decisions behind his back instead of talking to him. Dick guesses right about something Vic will want, but because Dick when he's feeling guilty tends to slide into I-Am-The-Leader, I-Must-Fix-Everything-By-Myself, I-Am-Responsible-For-Everything mode, he forgets that the whole original problem is connected to not respecting Vic's autonomy / right to make decisions for himself, and that a better gesture would be asking Vic what he wants instead of once again making decisions on his behalf without consulting him. (I'm sympathetic to Dick's spying-on-Vic plan on account of how Vic did turn into an evil moon for a bit - comics are bonkers, you guys sdfdsfs - but I'm also very sympathetic to Vic feeling that he deserved fuller disclosure here.)

And you can see similar patterns in lower-key conflicts too: every time Dick gets accused of being just like Batman, it's usually because he's coming off as harsh or detached or uncaring (sometimes on purpose because he's pushing people away; sometimes just because Dick handles grief and fear by shutting down; sometimes because his the-buck-stops-here leadership style can come off as overly-detached), even though Dick actually cares SO SO MUCH, all the time, about everyone he knows.

But honestly... these weaknesses exist, but they're minor in comparison to his strengths?? Dick's a guy with a lot of very strong friendships for a reason. He's true as steel and once he cares about you, he cares about you forever. <3

OKAY! So that's Dick. Let's finally move on to...

Tim

Comforting friends in Joker's Last Laugh 3:

Tim: Babs? Is everything okay? (hugs her)

A bit out-of-sync with friends (but still getting along well) in Young Justice 7:

Cassie: A campout isn't a campout without a real fire. It's no fun at all. Tim: But the generator is far more efficient, Cassie. It's non-polluting, it poses no threat of forest fire, and it's... it's ... (taking in everybody else's expressions, sighing, reversing course) It's no fun at all. Impulse, can you...?

Fighting with friends in Adventure Comics 3 (stonewalling, avoidance, and lying!)

Conner: You weren't picking up. Tim: I didn't know it was you. Conner: I turned off my caller ID blocking. Tim: I was busy. I am busy. Conner: Too busy to talk to your best friend? Tim: Yes. No.

Giving emotional support to relative strangers in Robin 98 / 100 / 156:

Wesley: I just wanted to thank you. They tell us at the meetings that it's important to let people know how you feel. You did a lot for me - making me sober up. If you hadn't taken the time to notice - (Later) Tim: You're gonna stay strong, right? (Wesley: Right.) Tim: You're gonna stay sober, okay? (Wesley: Okay.) Tim: You're gonna do it 'cause - Wesley: 'Cause if I don't you'll come back and kick my butt all over campus. Tim: Uh huh.

(The redhaired guy was about to jump. Tim convinces him to sit down and talk first.) Tim: So, you're in college? Guy: Yeah, I'm a freshman. How'd you know? Tim: Just a hunch. I'm guessing you don't like it much. Guy: I always hated high school. Always felt like I was outside looking in, never part of any group or anything. I was on the diving team but even then I didn't feel like part of it. The only good thing was that was where I met Lori, my girlfriend.

Offering practical support (medical care and tea) in Batgirl 59:

Tim (treating her injury as she shares her traumatic past): Whoa. That's ... horrible. Cass: That's nothing. Stephanie and I used to laugh about - oh... uh... never mind. Wait, Tim. I... I'm so ... stupid, I don't - Tim: You're not stupid. Want some tea? Cass: I ... uh... yeah. Thank you.

Strengths:

Tim! I think Tim's also pretty decent at people - not as good as Dick, but hardly anyone is?

I tend to think of Dick as instinctively good at people, and Tim as more consciously good at people.

Tim spends a lot of time being intentionally watchful: observing, spying, psychoanalyzing people, paying careful attention to what they say, thinking about what makes them tick. (And Tim psychoanalyzes himself, too. Tim is studiously engaged in the study of Tim, and of Tim's friends, and of Tim's family. He's often playing a role, even when that role is "Tim Drake.")

So e.g. in Red Robin, at one point Tim has an elaborate domino-falling database where he's compiled a list of villains he wants to fight and how he wants to fight them, all leading up to a very careful takedown plan for Boomerang where he's thought through and anticipated Boomerang's every move ahead of time... and he's basically right! He gets it all right!

And this kind of intensely-studied logical chess-game of "he will do this for this reason, and then this for that reason, and the other people will respond in this way, like a series of dominos, and I've thought through all the possibilities" is Very Tim to me, and I feel like... this is just the sort of thing that Dick would never ever do?

And mostly Dick wouldn't do it because he wouldn't have to. When Dick's skeptical of James Gordon Jr., he goes to talk to the guy and feel him out, and he ethically feels obliged to give him the benefit of the doubt because there's no evidence against him, but he's got a bad feeling and doesn't trust him and secretly slaps a tracer on him because he's got an instinct he'll want it, and he's right: James Jr. is up to something, and that tracer is exactly the thing that Dick needs.

And similarly if Dick wanted to goad James Jr. into doing something, I think he'd go off and meet him and goad him into doing it, and he'd have an instinct for what to say to make that happen - I think the whole elaborate domino plan that Tim comes up with for Boomerang would feel unnecessarily complex to Dick. Not that Dick doesn't make complicated plans, because he absolutely does, but Dick doesn't usually overthink people.

Similarly, if Dick had been the little kid in Lonely Place of Dying, he'd have gotten worried and gone straight to Bruce and talked to him, not gotten worried and taken photos of Bruce from a distance and then come up with an elaborately overthought plan to go to New York and track down his estranged son and fix him that way. And, like. Kid!Tim's not entirely wrong! He's correctly picked up on a very real and very strong connection between Bruce and Dick even though he doesn't know either of them! And given how little actual information Tim has, this is actually an impressive plan (it's a bad plan, because Tim doesn't know about their fights, but it's an impressively solid plan given that his entire information basis is "watched them from a distance and collected news reports"). But this isn't how Dick thinks about people.

Backing up to a more general point: Tim values people skills really really really highly. I think "uses interpersonal skills to help and comfort other people" is one of Tim's highest values and arguably the highest value - he imprinted on Dick because he was kind, and then imprinted on Batman because he was comforting Dick. And he has six million After-School-Special-style plotlines where he tries to comfort / advise / rescue / etc. people in various stages of emotional distress and who are using bad coping mechanisms. His very first outing as Robin involves talking down a semi-suicidal shooter; the big finale of YJ has Tim talking Secret down from her rampage; he's very gentle when he's comforting his girlfriend after she confides in him about a maybe-attempted-rape; he talks down a suicidal college student in Robin; plus there's the entire concept of "Batman needs Robin" in the first place; not to mention his obsession with the importance of friends; and so forth.

So it's something that he's good at because it's something he values and works at. His people skills are conscious and learned. He does a fair bit of amateur psychoanalysis of other people's problems, and he's generally good at identifying the problems, even if he's not always great at fixing them. And he's often playing a role, or imitating other people, rather than being himself; he invests a lot of time constructing alternate identities; he's often more comfortable wearing a mask. (It is just so typical of Tim that his civilian friendship group is the DCU version of D&D players.)

So his practiced-people-skills work decently well, because he's diligent and he cares a lot, and he's better at people when he's older than when he's younger. And he's extremely good at things he's had a lot of practice with, like meeting new schoolmates, or making small talk, and he's friendly and he likes people, and he's good at learning scripts and following them, and he only tends to misstep when he's distracted or unusually anxious or when he's in a situation where normal social norms don't help. (Of course, since he's a vigilante and not an ordinary person, distracted / unusually anxious / weird situation are all things that happen more often than you might think!)

I also think Tim has a few caretaker instincts that have become automatic - generally he's hyperaware of when people are upset and usually tries to reach out or fix it, and even when he's trying to keep himself at a distance he'll slide into caretaking sometimes - so e.g. there's that moment in Batgirl with Cass when Tim's kinda upset with her for siding with Batman (and distancing himself from other people in general), so he's not intending to get close to her, but also what we see him doing is treating her wounds and then getting her tea. And meanwhile Cass actually wants to reach out, and she's intensely observing him and worrying and wanting to help, but what she actually does is... drink the tea. That Tim got her. While she stays firmly on her side of the couch.

(I tend to think of Cass as slightly similar to Tim but at the very very very beginning of her learn-to-people journey here? Like Tim, she cares!! A lot!! And she's successfully understood that Tim's upset, and she knows when she's put her foot in her mouth. But she's not sure what to do yet.)

Weaknesses:

Tactless! This is a tricky word because I think people sometimes hear 'tactless' and misunderstand it as 'generically rude,' but that's not quite the issue - Tim's quite polite most of the time; his problem is that his default mental monologue is very detached / psychoanalyzing / analytical, including about himself and things he's emotional about. He'll often be analyzing his own emotions even in the process of having them (I also talk about this a little here, though it's mostly a post about Dick and anger), and Tim's also constantly analyzing other people.

This means that if he doesn't edit his brain-to-mouth filter, he can come off as too detached or professional or calculating.

This is obviously similar to Dick's problem of coming off as too detached / professional - again, they're both Bats - but it's not quite the same thing, and I think this distinction is most obvious if you look at the places where they're doing it on purpose and picking fights:

Dick's most likely to pick fights by pulling rank: "I'm the boss, you all fucked up this mission and you better not do it again, shape up or shut up." This is a kind of distancing that's about Dick-the-impassive-boss and you-the-subordinate.

By contrast, Tim's more likely to pick fights via hostile psychoanalysis: "I notice you're being snide about Cass again, but we both know you're actually just mad that Bruce cares about her more than he cares about you." When he's miffed, both his inner monologue and the things he says tend toward 'uncharitable analysis of your emotional weaknesses,' and this is something he periodically directs at Bruce / Jason / Damian. This is a kind of distancing that's about Tim-the-hostile-analyst and you-the-unfortunate-target-of-analysis.

(Caveats: I don't think Tim's above trying to pull rank if he can, but he rarely has the opportunity; Dick's not above jabs at other people's weaknesses when he's very defensive and feeling attacked - junkie, elevator - but IMO he's more likely to pull rank, whereas Tim's jabs are more likely to be wrapped up in insulting psychoanalysis, so e.g. Jason's insecurity is his problem. The Jan Brady of the Batfamily.)

You can see related similar-sounding-but-different issues if you look at some of their respective breakups. So e.g. Dick has a breakup with Babs in which she thinks he doesn't care about her, and Tim has a breakup with Cassie in which she thinks he doesn't care about her. And these breakups are different for six million reasons (among other things, Dick and Babs have a pretty intense romance, whereas, uh, Tim and Cassie have had one date and IMO she's very right that they're better off as friends).

But you also get some useful character notes:

Babs is wrongly anxious that Dick's mostly in love with nostalgia for their past rather than the person she is now (he 100% does love the person she is now!) and she's being unfairly bitchy about Catalina, but she's also correctly noted that he's gotten into the habit of deprioritizing their relationship in favor of vigilante busywork & that he's been a bit pushy in swooping in protectively rather than letting her fight her own battles, so when she's accusing him of being a control freak it's not completely coming from thin air; Dick responds by getting hurt, upset, and direct (he gets furious and punches something, but then makes a big sweet sincere emotional speech to her about how much he cares and values her, albeit one that's so caught up in his own emotions like wanting to "protect" her that he's not slowing down enough to take in her insecurities).

Cassie has correctly realized that dating Tim is a bad coping mechanism and she really needs to just deal with her grief over Conner; when she starts crying, at first Tim moves to comfort her, but when she actually clarifies the breakup, an upset Tim responds by aggressively de-emotionalizing the conversation and pretending he's being totally logical and not emotional about it - he first wonders aloud if he's a bad detective for not seeing it coming and then attempts a bonkers guilt-trip suggestion that it's their duty to date in order to uhhh avoid turning evil in the bad future (sdfsfdsfdsfds sure tim nice try)

This isn't because Tim literally doesn't have feelings, because of course he does! But often, the more upset he is, the worse he gets at clearly expressing those feelings, and the more he intellectualizes them or avoids discussing them.

(Caveat: The trouble with any distinction is that it's easy to exaggerate it in ways that are oversimplified, and I want to emphasize that this doesn't reduce to "Dick always expresses emotions, Tim is never emotional," or anything like that. Dick has a bunch of complicated feelings about the intensity of his emotions because he values control and detachment and often is trying to be more detached (I talk more about this in the context of anger here and here); Tim often retreats to faux-analytical detachment when he's actually very emotional; and these are tendencies rather than one-note 24/7 truths - Dick is completely capable of intellectualizing away his emotions; Tim is completely capable of just getting straightforwardly and directly upset. But if you're looking for broad distinctions, I think it's fair to say that Dick's usually better at directly using his words and expressing his emotions, even if he sometimes feels self-conscious shame about it later, whereas Tim tends to self-sabotage and deflect and hide by producing intellectualized faux-logic instead of just being direct about what he wants or what he's feeling.)

An unrelated issue is that Tim also tends to get intrusive when he's anxious, and it gets worse the more he cares about you. Tim really really really wants to know what's going on and has an intense Need To Help, which generally works out for him - this is the entire reason he pushes his way into the Batfamily! - but it's easy to imagine Tim running into people who might not appreciate his busybody sneakiness; so e.g. secretly stalking your friend because he has a bruise, or running your friend's DNA, etc., is... stuff that all comes from how much Tim cares, but also it involves a very fuzzy relationship with other people's privacy, so Tim's friendships that stick around tend to be with people who find this kind of intense observation to be caring rather than pushy. Relatedly, Tim's version of "be protective" can overlap with "be condescending," which means he tends to get along best with confident people like Bruce, who could punt him into a wall and who thus finds Tim's 'disapproving medic' shtick endearing instead of insulting.

Tim also struggles to connect to people for whom he doesn't have an obvious "script" or who don't respond to his usual scripts. So e.g. offering Gar a "you don't like me but let's be friends" handshake worked; offering Cass a "let's be friends" handshake worked; offering the same thing to Damian did not go over so well; and I think this kind of "it usually works so this is my habit now?" thing is very Tim, and I don't think it's the sort of mistake that Dick would make.

More broadly, because Tim's people skills are conscious and learned - the effort sometimes shows! He stares at people. He secretly spies on them. He pokes around in their secrets. Dick can be paying close attention to you and seem like he's not, so that his awareness seems effortless and less intrusive. I think Tim's awareness tends to be a bit more effortful.

That said, though, I don't think that Tim's intensely-observing-you shtick is necessarily obvious except to people who are fairly socially-skilled themselves. When I write fanfic, I generally write from Dick's POV, and I tend to write Dick being hyperaware of when, say, Tim's observing him, or trying to figure out what's going on with him. But I think of that as more "Dick's good at reading Tim and really aware of being watched, so every attempt at subtlety stands out in neon lighting," and I think to someone who's less good at reading people than Dick is, Tim is a lot subtler.

And I think for e.g. someone like Cass, who really struggles with people skills, Tim seems impossibly and naturally good at interactions in the same way that to Tim, Dick seems incredibly good at it.

#ask tag #dick grayson #tim drake #hi anon this is SO OLD i'm so sorry sdfdsfds #i am very slow & this is very long because i kept adding things to it but this was a very fun ask thank you <3

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gglitch1dd · 23 days

Text

Well... aren't you a pretty doll? Pt 4

Army Soldier Midoriya Izuku x Secretary Reader

Context: After having spilt your drink on the man, you finally meet him for dancing.

Note: Set in the 1940s/1950s

[PART 3] [Well… aren’t you a pretty doll- Masterlist]

“One… two… three… smile!” The picture was taken as you stood next to Midoriya with a bright smile on your face. He pulled you in for a hug, bright smiles on both of your faces. You couldn’t have been happier. Today was your wedding day and you felt like the luckiest girl in the world to marry the man you loved more than anything in the entire world.

He placed a gentle peck to your lips, finally being allowed to do so in public now that you were both married. Midoriya had the brightest smile on his face as he looked down at you. His eyes were filled with nothing but love for you right now as you stood in your white wedding dress. It had belonged to your mother but just had some few adjustments to suit the modern day and suit you even more.

“Alright, you two.” Bakugou let out with a roll of his eyes, despite how annoyed he seemed, the man was dressed in his best uniform, formally pressed and his hair done just for the occasion. “Enough with all the lovey dovey hum bug.”

Eijiro chuckled as he had an arm around Mina as she stood next to him. “Aww, let them be, Katsuki. You only get married once.” He spoke from experience as he had Mina at his side.

“Come to think of it,” Midoriya started speaking as he looked down at the watch on his right wrist. “It’s time we best be going, doll.”

You hummed. “Alright then.”

Your dashing husband (something you felt giggly about just saying), put his hand to the curve of your back before putting his other hand up with a smile and a wave. “We’ll be heading off now.” He stated as you both started heading away from the front of the chapel and towards his car.

“Enjoy the three days off!” Kaminari shouted, the moment you looked away Kaminari, Sero and Sato made gestures and wiggling eyebrows that made Midoriya roll his eyes but smirk. “We’ll see yall soon! Have fun!”

“You treat her right, Izuku!”

Your green haired husband ignored the words from his friends as he helped you into the car, and the both of you were off. You couldn’t believe you were married. Just sitting next to him now was a dream come true. A year ago, you would have never believed that you were married to the man of your dreams, that you signed the certificate and changed your name to Mrs Midoriya.

Midoriya had a resting smile on his face, one that hadn’t left the entire day and you couldn’t exactly blame him, he was excited and so were you. Excited for this new life together you would be living.

He soon parked outside the new little home you had both bought. Nothing fancy but it was perfect for a start. You giggled as you saw it. “There it is!”

Midoriya laughed as he stepped out of the car first before moving to get you out from the passenger seat. Your feet were barely on the ground for five seconds before Midoriya swooped you into his arms making you shout in surprise. He had a big grin on his face as he kicked the car door closed and moved towards the front door.

“Sorry, Y/N but I always wanted to try this since I was a boy.” He told you excitedly as he brought you up the two steps of the porch up to the front door. He moved to unlock the door, holding you with one arm for a moment, catching you off guard at such strength. Once the door was opened, he went back to holding you in his arms. He looked down at you. “Time for me to carry you through the threshold of our first home together, doll.” He spoke lowly, his eyes on you and nothing else.

You moved to wrap your arms around his neck and you smiled. You put your noses together. “Together.”

He couldn’t help the full blown grin on his face as he kissed your lips for a few seconds making you melt in his arms. He separated with a soft chuckle before carrying you across the threshold into your new house. You looked around at your home. It was nowhere as big as your parents house, but you loved it even more. This was the home you and your husband would occupy. The thought made you warm inside.

Midoriya carefully put you down onto your own two feet. “So what do you think? Spruced it up myself.” He told you.

You turned to him with an excited look on your face. “Oh Izuku, I love it!” You told him honestly as you quickly moved around to check the ins and outs. You picked up the skirt of your dress as you went walking to the kitchen. The setting sun cascaded a dark orange glow around the house. “The kitchen is wonderful!” You told him honestly. “I have counter space.” You walked back into the entrance hall by the living area with a smile. “Oh…” You put a hand over your mouth. “We can entertain our friends here for poker nights!” You motioned to the dining table as you looked at him. You quickly looked towards the back. You gasped. “YOU GOT ME-”

“A washing line.” Izuku chuckled with his arms folded as he watched you in fascination to how excited you were over a small house that you could now call all your own.

You let out an excited squeal as you went back over to him. “Now I don’t have to hang clothes inside anymore.” You told him happily. “Was that a hen house I saw outside?”

“Mhm.” He nodded his head. “They’re coming in tomorrow and next thing you know, we’ll be having eggs in the morning.” He had his hands on your hips as you smiled up at him as though he gave you the world, which you felt like he did. He took you gently, guiding you further into the house to the bedroom hallways. “Then there’s our room and the spare.” He motioned to the left and to the right.

You turned your attention to the room on the left, the spare one. It didn’t have much inside other than some of your and his boxes from when you had your things moved here. You looked around at the blank room that had so much potential. “What are we going to do with this one?” You asked. “Is it storage?”

“Well…” Midoriya started as he walked slowly over to you, moving to stand behind you, his head moving to rest on your shoulder. “It could be junior’s room.”

You turned to look at him with a face that felt like it had been right in front of the fire. You raised an amused eyebrow at the green haired soldier. “Junior?” You asked with a soft giggle. “My, my, Izuku. I thought we just got married five minutes ago?”

He chuckled as he buried his pink face in the crook of your neck. “I can’t help it doll.” He let out lowly with a kiss to your neck. “With you in my life, I couldn’t help but think about it.” Slowly he took you by the hand and pulled you over to the master bedroom.

You looked around with wide eyes at the room. A bed for the both of you, a dresser too with side tables too. Before your husband could open his mouth and speak, you turned around and started pushing him outside. “Out.”

“Huh?!” He asked surprised.

“I need to get ready, and I can’t do that if you’re here. Out, out you large man!” You hearded him out of the room with light shoves before closing the door in his face.

Your poor husband was probably so confused but you had to calm your racing heart. Your mother had told you about what would happen on your wedding night, she had told you about the likes of any committed relationships between two grown consenting adults. So you knew that now was the time for something you had decided to wait for marriage to do. You took a deep breath as you got to work on undoing your dress.

It took some shuffling, tripping, a five minute pep talk and your best perfume before you cleared your throat, opening the door. “Izuku.”

You didn’t even have to wait long as not more than three seconds later, your man appeared in the doorway. “Am I finally allowed in doll, cause-” Midoriya stopped talking as his eyes landed on you.

You sat on the bed with your hands on your knees. You weren’t sure what to do as you sat in a short nightgown. You tried to fight off embarrassment as you looked away from him. You cleared your throat as you shuffled. “W-well?”

Midoriya was speechless as he took slow steps closer to you. His pupils were blown out, leaving small slivers of green. He let out a stuttered breath as he cupped your face in his large hands. “You look gorgeous, Y/N.” He told you gently, making you smile. “Are… are you sure you want to do this?” He asked you genuinely.

You put a hand over his own. “I am.” You nodded your head. “However, Mina told me that I might just make a mess. I’m not sure what she meant but I’m sorry if I do.”

Izuku paused before the side of his mouth twitched in a smirk as his eyes went half lidded with a dark veil of lust over his eyes. “I think you’ll be alright doll.”

You both jolted out of bed at the loud abrupt sound. You gripped the mattress as everything started to shake. Before you could even respond, Izuku quickly got out of bed and went to grab your dressing gown. “Honey, we got to go.” He told you, his voice trying to be louder than the distant bombings.

You shakily got out of bed but stumbled into his arms. “An air raid?” You asked.

He nodded his head, and when you looked up at him, you were surprised. The look on his face wasn’t one like yours. It wasn’t fear nor anxiety. It was almost as if a switch flipped. It was a dull empty look in his eyes that you had never seen before. Midoriya held you as you just managed to slip on your gown but then another bomb fell nearby making you shriek and by instinct cover your head.

Midoriya picked you up, sweeping you off your feet and started racing out of your bedroom. He opened the back door and looked up at the sky. Planes flew over head, the dull flags of your enemies painted at the bottom. He frowned but raced down the steps to the backyard fence. You saw some of your new neighbours that you had just got to meet a week ago after your wedding, were going down the alley at the back of your houses.

You saw Kirishima and Mina, the large redhead motioned to the both of you, still shirtless from bed and Mina had her curlers in and was in her night gown. “Come on!”

Midoriya carried you as you raced to the bomb shelter that was nearby for your block of the neighbourhood. He slid down the dug out where an officer in uniform stood with the door open. He motioned for all of you to come inside. Midoriya placed you down on your feet, allowing you to enter with him as you and other neighbour’s stood together huddled in the bomb shelter. Just as Kirishima stepped in, with Mina in front of him, another one went off.

You gripped onto Midoriya who held an arm over your head and kept you against him, a serious look on his face as the shelter shook for a moment at the sound and impact. You felt tears in your eyes, but you held him for dear life as the lights flickered.

“Izuku, we just got married a week ago!” You stressed as you stood in your army secretary uniform.

Your husband combed his hair back. “I know doll, but it’s gotten real serious now. They are calling out everyone to head out.” He told you honestly. If he could stay here with you, he would. The week that you were married was heaven on earth. It was a week where he could forget he was a soldier and the two of you were just two young people happy and in love. Just twenty-one and happily together. However, the bombs were horrible last night and in the early hours of the morning after the bombs had stopped, a call came. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

And that was the reassurance he told you even as you stood by the train going to wish him off. You frowned as you hugged him for dear life, your arms wrapped around him, afraid he would slip fade away. He placed a kiss on your forehead. “I’ll be right back.” He whispered.

You buried your face in his shirt and nodded. “Come back to me.” You whispered.

“I always will.”

“Don’t get yourself killed, Izuku.”

“I promise I won’t, doll.” He moved to tilt your head up to look at him, a gentle smile on his freckled face. “We’ve got the rest of our lives together.” He reminded you. “And everytime I look at this…” He pulled out a silver locket, a locket that revealed a picture of you. You eased at the beautiful item. You had got him the locket as a wedding present but you didn’t know that he would put that photo there. He smiled at the look on your face. He pointed down to it. “I’ll remember what I’m fighting for.” He reminded you.

You sighed but nodded your head. You held your hands towards yourself, knowing that if you didn’t you’d never let go of him and end up following him onto the train. He gave you a tip of his hat as he turned to board the train. You felt fear wash over you as tears flooded your eyes. “Remember I packed you and your friend’s scones! Eat while you can!” You called after him as the train let out a chuft as all the men started boarding.

He smiled at you as you watched him disappear on. You tried following the few glimpses of him further as he entered another cart where you saw other soldiers you knew. Midoriya chuckled as he peaked out the window at you. “I promise I will, doll.” He called out to you.

“Also sleep while you can! A delirious man is a dead man!” You called out to him. “I put your rosary in your pocket so don’t forget about it! Pray every night, Midoriya Izuku, I mean it!”

A loud chuckle came as Kirishima put an arm around Midoriya, with a sharp smile on his face. “Don’t worry, Y/N. We’ll keep him alive for yah!” he told you. You gave him a grateful smile. Mina let out a nervous sigh as she looked up at her husband. Kirishima gave his wife an air kiss. “I’ll see you soon Mina!”

Mina looked up at her husband as she clutched at her necktie in anxiety.

You looked back up to Midoriya and tried giving him somewhat of a smile, just for him. He looked at you with a gentle one but then you saw it slowly start to dissipate. He frowned for a moment before he pushed forward. “BOYS!” He shouted at the new cadets that were far too green to be sent to war yet but they stood on standby. Some of them jolted at being called out from a higher ranking officer. “Lift up my wife please!” He motioned towards you. They quickly scrambled over to you, making your eyes widen. “And don’t you dare grab her behind! Any one of you get smart ideas and I’m making sure there’s an extra seat on this train just for you!” He shouted making some of the other soldier on board with you laugh.

You were lifted up onto two shoulders and hosted up halfway closer towards your husband. He took off his hat as he basically pushed half himself out the window, Kirishima and Sato holding him so he didn’t fall out. With one arm he pulled you close to him and pulled you into a needy kiss. You ignored the cheering from soldiers and the heat on your cheeks as you held his face in your hands. For that moment, there was just you and a man who didn’t want to go to war, didn’t want to fight in this hellish bickering of leaders, but he was going for you.

The train let out a whistle and he separated from you. Tears lined his eyes as he looked down at you. “I’ll write to you everyday doll. Everyday that I can! I promise you!”

You were put down back on your feet as you held your hankerchief with his initials on it. You tried to wipe the tears but you gave up. You waved to him. “I’ll be waiting!” You told him.

Mina stood beside you as you finally took a few steps back just as the train let out steam, ready to leave. “I haven’t told Eijiro.” She finally revealed.

You looked at her wide eyed. “You haven’t!” You asked shocked. “Well Mina you have to tell him now! You don’t know how long he’ll be gone.”

She glanced at you and then at the train. She let out an angry groan but quickly ran up. “Eijiro! EIJIRO!”

“HUH?” Kirishima peaked his head out as he looked to his wife. Her pink curled hair framed her beautiful brown face. He smiled as he waved his hand. “Bye Mina!”

“NO! Eijiro!” She let out frustrated as she looked up at him. “I’m-“ The train let out another whistle as the gears creaked as the train started to move.

“WHAT!” He shouted as he squinted to try and read her lips.

Mina broke into a brisk jog. “I’M PREGNANT!” She shouted up at him as she ran next to the train.

“You’re-” Kirishima’s big ruby eyes widened in shock, as he looked at her bone pale. His hands gripped the window tightly as he nearly leaned out the window the entire way, his red hair blowing in the wind. “YOU’RE WHAT!?”

“YOU’RE GOING TO BE A DADDY!” She shouted as she stopped running, halting at the railing that forbid her from going any further. She took a few steps back as she watched her husband disappear as the train kept chufting on. Tears went to her eyes as she covered her mouth.

You walked up to her and pulled her into a hug. “It’s okay. We’ll be okay.” You assured her.

“What did she say?” Midoriya asked him as him and Sato finally pulled him back into the train cart.

Kirishima looked as if he was out of his body for a moment as he shakily sat down on the leather seat with wide eyes. Bakugou raised an eyebrow wondering what got the redhead so spooked. He let out a stuttered breath. “I’m going to be a daddy.” He let out unsure.

At that news, Midoriya looked at him surprised before laughs spilled out all around. Supportive pats on the back and shoves were sent Kirishima’s ways. “Congratulations, Eijiro!”

Kirishima put his hands in his hair. “And I left her all alone.” He let out pale. “I know she’s a strong woman and hell would rather freeze over than her give up on something but…”

Midoriya saw the fear in his eyes, not at being a father but at leaving his wife and unborn child alone during such an important and scary time in their lives. He leaned over to his friend that was opposite him. “Eijiro.” He put his hand on Kirishima’s shoulder. The redhead turned his ruby eyes to look up at the green haired man. Midoriya gave him a smile. “We are leaving behind some strong women, they’ll be just fine. But you’ve aught to remember, we fight for them. We fight for our wives, and our families. That’s why you’re here and she is back there. No one likes war, but we fight to save those we love.”

-Glitch1d

#izuku midoriya x reader #izuku x reader #mha x y/n #deku x reader #midoriya izuku #izuku midoriya #bnha midoriya #midoriya x reader #izuku x y/n #bnha #deku x y/n

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sleeplesssmoll · 6 months

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Vertin's personality and traits based on in-game context.

Contains Spoilers.

Will update when I find more tidbits about our beloved Timekeeper.

Updated: March 15 2024

Vertin sucks at math.

Not much to say here. Although, this is another difference between her and Sonetto, who loves math. I hope they do something with this later because it'd be fun.

Vertin is 16 confirmed

While this isn't a personality trait, I did see some debate about her age since it wasn't officials stated until now and it was assumed through context. Prisoner in the Cave explicitly confirms her age. Vertin became Timekeeper when she was 12 and has been the the TK for the past 4 years.

Vertin is a pianist and a painter.

You can see a piano in the back of her office in the Suitcase by the window. It makes sense in regards to Vertin's musically inclined Arcanum. There's an easel and stool in her office too. She doesn't merely collect art, she creates it. Vertin also owns a camera (official artwork released) too and mentions her photography in the begining, so this isn't new but I thought I should add it.

Vertin's still playful under all her composure.

We know baby Vertin was a little menace, but we can still see a spark of that mischief in her later years. For example, Vertin slapping a fake mustache on Regulus to avoid Sonetto really captures this. We can tell from other characters' voice lines that Vertin will most likely play along with their shenanigans. She'll chirp like a bird in response to Rabies talking about his bird friends (Wilderness interaction). She'll help Sonetto during hide and seek (Wilderness). She watches movies with Eternity and An An Lee. X asks her for help with his projects. Going through her crew's voice lines really paints a better picture of how she interacts with others. The voice lines point to someone playful and curious when she's not in work mode.

Vertin was a gremlin.

Vertin's love language is giving.

We know baby Vertin loved to give gifts to a reluctant Sonetto, but that part of her still exists. She tried to grant everyone's last wishes during the 1929 Storm. We also know she gives Lilya alcohol as a gift upon her return from 1929. She is also very direct. We see her ask people what they want or what can she do for them throughout the story. To expand further, you could say she likes fulfilling people's desires instead of limiting it to material gifts. We can see more of instances of this during the Green Lake event, especially in the way she protects Jessica from the Foundation. She also tried to get Regulus funding for a ship. I love the Suitcase Dad meme, but it's rooted in nuggets of truth.

She was a crappy student, yet she was also a resourceful gremiln. Vertin never liked the institution! Honor student? Top of the class? Never. Teachers are filled with that "Godamnit Vertin" energy toward her too. I hope we see more gremlin energy in the future.

One-sided childhood friends.

Vertin is a collector.

Sonetto and Vertin were desk mates but Sonetto couldn't stand Vertin when they were kids. She even tried to avoid Vertin at times but Vertin persisted with her gifts. We can see this in the hallway scene. Sonetto's about to change routes to avoid Vertin but Vertin called out to her to give her a frog she caught. Kinda funny how Sonetto can't stand Vertin but also can't resist her when they were kids. Vertin and Matilda were actually closer back then. Well, at least until the tear gas incident. Sonetto changed after Vertin was hurt and the rascal wasn't around to bother her. I feel like this tidbit says a lot about Vertin and her influence on people.

Baby Vertin collected rocks, bugs, and frogs. Adult Vertin collects painting and mementos of people she's lost. Things were simpler as a kid.

Vertin is stronger than she looks.

She was a wild child and she's still got it years later. Vertin can run for long periods of time, endure injuries, and climb obstacles. That, and she's still essentially a child solider. We see her hold her own when she needs to fight solo doing stuff like dodging bullets. Sonetto and Matilda also exhibit these freakishly athletic traits, especially Sonetto.

Vertin befriends people in every Era, despite knowing she'll lose them.

Compared to the other children raised by the Foundation, Vertin's traveled the world and witnessed loss in every Era. This opens doors to a whole new set of questions. How did she change over time? How do the Arcanists she recruited before the story treat her? Did she have crushes in previous Eras? Were the oranges just as bitter? Vertin seems to get close to people very easily and doesn't build walls around herself despite the trauma. You'd think someone who's lost so much would stop trying to get close to people, but she doesn't.

Vertin is optimistic.

Even as a child, she was full of hope. It's why she fights for the future and is a core part of her personality. She needs to fight for all those she lost and stop the Storm from taking more lives.

Vertin gets quiet when embarrassed/shy.

She'll blush and fall silent, but she doesn't stammer or go all tsundere. We can see this in voice lines. Sonetto's high praises make her cover her face with her hands. Eternity gets a reaction out of her when she holds her hand. She also blushed when she received surprise smooch and fell silent.

Vertin has a unique scar on her back.

Vertin is a tactile person.

Arcana mentions the scar after Vertin was shot multiple times in the back by Schneider. It's a big scar and new theories about the scar are ongoing and interesting!

In several voice line interactions, Vertin is patting people's heads or holding their hands. Not all her crew mates are on board with it, some seem confused, and others play along. We can also see examples in story like her handing Sonetto a frog while gently grasping her hand or her taking Regulus's hand to lead her into the Suitcase. Here is a post with the evidence to back this claim.

Vertin sucks at arcanum but her deep understanding of arcanum is uncanny.

The story mentions her weak arcanum skills throughout the story. They really want you to remember this. Also, her arcanum didn't manifest until sometime after the break away event but before the events in the prologue. During her stay in the guardhouse, she doubts if she's even an arcanist and mentions her arcanum has yet to manifest, which is wild. Smoltin is fighting with her tiny hands and wit in this chapter. However, in the prologue it's mentioned Vertin's understanding of arcanum and her perception makes her unique amongst arcanists. She's also considered more "rationale" than other arcanists. You can read more about this here.

Vertin is stealthy.

Smoltin sneaks around to play outside. She steals food for herself and the Ring from the Staff Canteen, which has better quality food than what the kids get. This tells me she's done this before. Adult Vertin also sneaks around the Walden to find Schneider. She makes maps, tracks guard routes, and avoids detection since whe was a kid.

Tooth Fairy was one of the few Foundation members who cared about Vertin.

Tooth Fairy is the one who gave Smoltin the toffees (chit chat voicelines). She also covered for Vertin on a few occasions to protect her from punishment. She remembers Vertin faking her illness to skip class, but her bruises and wounds were real. The Foundation does have a few kind hearts that genuinely care about the children. The causes of Vertin's injuries is up to speculation.

#reverse 1999 #vertin #reverse: 1999 #reverse 1999 spoiler #spoilers #timekeeper #long post

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vivwritesfics · 8 months

Text

Keep on Rolling - MV1

Chapter 2.5

Summary: Lando's best friend having feelings for anyone on the grid? Impossible, right? She worked with them, sharing her friendship with the grid with the world via the FormulaY/N youtube channel.

After film a video including... spicy water (alcohol), everything changes between her and a certain world champion. Good thing she hasn't had a crush on him since his F1 debut, right?

Right?

500 words

This one is just a filler chapter. You don't have to read it for the rest of the story, but it may come up again (this'll just give context to something coming up later in the story)

Series Masterlist

"You look like shit," said Charles as he walked over to Y/N. She looked up at him and glared, although he couldn't see it through her sunglasses.

"You don't and I hate you for it," she threw back.

Charles sat on the chair beside her. "That's because most of us stopped drinking when we felt tipsy. Because we're, you know, grown-up, sensible Formula One drivers," he explained.

"Ass," she muttered under her breath. "Can we go and get food?"

Charles stood up and helped Y/N to her feet. They left the hotel and wandered around the streets of Miami until they found a quaint little cafe.

With seats out front and a bookshelf in the back. It wasn't that busy, and the pastries displayed in the window looked lovely. The seating area in front of the cafe was surrounded with bright and colourful flowers. The seats themselves were black and metal, covered in cushions that looked designed by Cath Kidston. Umbrellas covered them, keeping the seats in the shade.

Y/N sat down while Charles went inside and got them their coffees. He came back out and sat beside opposite Y/N. She still hadn't taken off the sunglasses. "Have you seen the footage from last night yet?" He asked.

A waitress came over with a tray full of coffee and pastries. She set them down, tucked the tray under her arm and walked away.

Picking up the coffee, Y/N took a long sip. "Not yet," she said. "I don't think I'm brave enough to look at it."

Charles let out something close to a giggle. Not quite a laugh but still more than a giggle. "You should be looking forward to it. It was good fun," he said, picking up his pastry.

"I need to tell you something," she said suddenly and put down her coffee. This was serious. Charles still had a hold of his pastry, but he wasn't eating it, instead waiting for Y/N to say something. She took in a breath and began. "Last night, after you all left, Max stayed behind."

Charles' eyes went wide. "You didn't..."

"No! No, Charles, no. Oh my god, no. At least, I don't think so. He was still dressed and I was under the covers, so I think we're in the clear," she explained and went back to drinking her coffee.

"So Max took care of you when you were drunk. What's the problem with that?"

Y/N's empty coffee cup hit the little dish it usually sat in. "The problem is that I... liked waking up beside him," she said, nibbling on her pastry. Her head was far too sore for this.

"You have a crush on Max?"

She shook her head. "Crush is such a childish word. Let's just say I have a thing for him and I wouldn't mind if he had a thing for me."

They finished up in the coffee shop and left, wandering around the streets of Miami. They didn't go back to the hotel room right away. Y/N went into a shop, one specifically for tourists, and bought a fridge magnet. To commemorate the trip, she thought, justifying her purchase.

Like she needed any more memories from this trip.

(The middle picture is the design I picture on the seat covers)

Taglist (Open): @sticksdoesart @eviethetheatrefreak @eugene-emt-roe @glai1023-blog @mqcherie @itsjustkhaos @chonkybonky

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nordschleifes · 3 months

Text

what happens after midnight?

➝ it was just supposed to be ten months of fun and traveling the world. but you didn't count on your heart going against you

➝ word count: 6,5k

➝ warnings: sugar relationships, hospitals, smut

➝ author's note: finally a finished work!

The watch on your wrist indicated that it was 5:30 PM. Pursing your lips, you watched through the screen set up in hospitality as the blue and pink car pulled into the pits for the second time. The momentary confusion that took over the place was replaced by frustration when the engineer's voice sounded across the room.

— Let's retire the car.

The silence that followed could seem melancholic, even given the context. However, you knew that the man inside the car was biting his tongue, holding back all the words that the frustration of yet another race unfinished that season, on that very day, would make him shout over the radio.

“I’m not a kid to whine, Y/N”, you heard him repeat in your mind, the phrase accompanied by the mischievous smile that made your internal organs turn into jelly. You had no idea what it would be like to live without seeing that smile.

Seeing that he was out of the car, you got up from your desk and silently slipped through the halls of the team facility. Something about that lonely walk made your heart sink even more, until you found the door with his name, the white letters against the navy blue background.

Fernando Alonso.

Your paths crossed months ago. With your student debt growing and the salary you earned during your internship being barely enough to pay your share of the bills for the apartment you lived in with a colleague, you decided to turn to the suggestion of one of your friends, whose life you had given a turning point after registering on a website specializing in sugar relationships.

The first few weeks were unpromising. The guys you had expressed interest in seemed more interested in more pictures of your breasts than in actually talking to you and coming to an agreement. Until, during a break in your shift at the hospital, a suggested profile caught your attention.

The main photo appeared to be professional, taken on the deck of a yacht, and showed a man with dark hair and the shadow of a smile on his face with his arms crossed. The other images were more informal, one taken next to an airplane window and another in the gym, a headband and the bulging veins on his neck indicating that he was exerting himself.

In the profile description, he presented himself as Fernando, a 41-year-old Spaniard looking for someone who could accompany him on his travels in exchange for a generous payment. The idea of getting paid to travel seemed interesting, but it definitely didn't fit with your idea of continuing your studies to become a doctor in Miami.

That night, you ended up not touching the heart on the screen.

However, as fate would have it, at the end of your internship, you did not receive the letter of recommendation that you needed so much to apply for the residency program that you had dreamed of since the beginning of your degree. You were passionate about the field of pediatrics and the idea of working in one of the great children's hospitals in Florida, the Holtz Children's Hospital, were always in your mind.

— Y/N, it is clear that, despite you being an excellent intern, you have been making silly mistakes when filling out the forms and records — your advisor said during your last meeting — Furthermore, the reports are far below what we expect from a student with your ability.

— But, my grades…

— They are sufficient, yes, but the program requires more than grades, Y/N — he said, as he removed his glasses — It requires residents to be in their best shape, both academically and mentally. And it's clear to me that you don't meet the second requirement.

You blinked. Was it so obvious that you were tired?

— So, what should I do? — you asked, trying to swallow the lump in your throat.

— I would advise you to try to apply for it next year.

— But, what can I do until then?

— I would recommend that you rest a little before continuing with your plans — he replied, smiling — Maybe learning a new hobby would be good. That or even a trip around the world, who knows.

Leaving your advisor's office with your dreams postponed had been a blow to you. However, his words reminded you of the man who was looking for someone to travel with. Sitting in your car, you searched for his profile and, after a deep sigh, you typed a short message, a simple question.

Still looking for a travel companion?

The answer didn't take long and came in a playful tone.

So obvious?

Well, that's what it says on your profile.

Good to know that you read it.

I thought it was something basic.

You'd be amazed at how many women don't read it before sending a message.

I can't blame them, your photos are much more interesting.

The conversation between you flowed almost naturally. He seemed intelligent, good-natured and, above all, interested in your life and career, asking questions and sharing little details, like the fact that his sister was also a doctor, just like you wanted to be. It was impossible to deny that there was an interesting chemistry between you.

However, this was not a flirting game, but rather, a business deal.

Do you still want to accompany me on my travels?

Well, I wouldn't be answering you if I wasn't interested, would I?

Very funny.

I'm just being honest.

Looking at the three dots flashing on the screen, there was some anticipation building up in your chest.

I like honesty. It's a good quality.

I assume you're honest too.

I am. So much so that I want to do this the right way. Can we meet next week?

Will you be in Miami?

In fact, in New York. But I can take a detour, what do you think?

Perfect.

Your first meeting was at a high-end Japanese restaurant, located on Claughton Island, called NAOE. You even thought you were in the wrong place, since the space was completely empty except for the employees who were preparing the dishes next to the chef, who was wearing a sort of white kimono. However, after identifying yourself, the maître d' confirmed that you were in the right place and asked you to sit at the only table that had been prepared there, conveniently behind a bamboo screen.

Fernando arrived shortly after, making you jump to your feet.

— Good evening, Y/N — he said, before placing a chaste kiss on your cheek — It's a pleasure to finally meet you.

— The pleasure is all mine.

After settling in at the table, the waiter wrote down the drinks you had chosen before returning to the kitchen. However, the request from the man in front of you only made you even more curious.

— Aren't you going to drink anything tonight?

Fernando smiled a little.

— I don’t drink.

— Never?

— Never. After I realized that alcohol wouldn't make me go faster, I chose to give it up — he replied — I don't smoke either, if that's your next question.

—Actually, my next question would be if I can drink in your presence — you smiled.

— As far as I know, we haven't signed anything. You can do whatever you want.

Dinner continued without any of you mentioning the agreement that had made him fly to Miami to see you. However, at the same time as you were eager to settle everything with him, something told you to let him bring up the subject.

— Are you always this quiet? — Fernando asked, as he put down the glass of water.

— No — you said, after swallowing the piece of sushi you were chewing.

— So there's something bothering you.

— No, there isn't.

He stared into your eyes, seeming to read between the lines of your words. Then, he let out a sigh, reaching into his pants’ pocket and taking out his cell phone.

— You want to talk about our agreement, don't you?

— Well, that's what you came here to do, isn't it?

— Actually, my intention was just to enjoy some good Japanese food alongside an interesting woman — Fernando said, while searching for something on the device — But, if you prefer to get straight to the point...

He held out the phone toward you. When you picked it up, you noticed that there was a document on the screen, with the title “Relationship Agreement” in bold letters at the top of it. Something about those words made your stomach churn with tension.

— I asked my lawyer to write a draft to guide our conversation. However, I want to make it clear that there are some topics that are non-negotiable for me…

— Sex? — you asked, raising an eyebrow.

— Confidentiality — Fernando replied — I'm a discreet person when it comes to my personal life and the last thing I want is my face on the cover of gossip magazines.

— So sex is negotiable?

— You're very interested in this topic, aren't you?

— Are you not interested?

A mischievous smile appeared on Fernando's lips.

— No — he replied — It's in the contract, if you want to take a look. Page three, if I'm not mistaken.

You scrolled through the document until you found the section that talked about intimacy, reading it carefully. In the document, sexual relations and any contact that could be classified as such were completely prohibited, as your relationship would be limited to the emotional context.

— This means…

— That I don't want sex from you. I just want your company, guapa.

— And you're going to pay me for this? — you raised an eyebrow.

— Yes, as described in the section on financial support — Fernando replied — The trips will be paid by me, as well as all your expenses while you are accompanying me. I will also give you a monthly allowance to do whatever you want with it.

You looked at his phone again, thoughtfully.

— You'll have an apartment in Monaco too — he murmured, as he ran his index finger along the rim of his glass.

— I will? Why?

— Because I want you around, Y/N. Besides, making you come back here every time will be too exhausting. Believe me, the first time is amazing, but after doing this for 20 years, flying has become the part I hate most about my job.

Pursing your lips, you looked up at the driver.

— And how long would that be valid?

— Until midnight of November 20th.

That's how you agreed to become Fernando's traveling companion, as he preferred to put it. And you could only describe those last few months as “a dream”.

When the door to the small room opened, you jumped up in the chair you were in, waking up suddenly from your daydreams. On the wall, the clock indicated that it was already past 6PM. Walking through the door, Fernando held a white towel in his hand and a bottle of water, keeping his head down. Behind him, Edoardo, his physiotherapist, was saying something in Italian, which he wasn't paying attention to.

— Prepare qui le nostre cose e, dopo la gara, lasceremo tutto alle persone dell'Aston — the driver replied, before raising his head and finding you in front of him. Pursing your lips, you fought your own frustration to be open to accepting his. And today, more than ever, Fernando needed you.

Dropping his things haphazardly on a small table placed next to the door, he walked over to you in silence, allowing you to wrap your arms around him and hug him. The silence that followed made your heart tighten in his chest. It wasn't the end of the season he deserved, quite the opposite.

— What happened? — you asked.

— Water pump — Fernando replied, the irritation evident in his voice — That shitbox…

You let out a sigh, stroking the back of his neck.

— It's okay, Fer. Now it's over.

Lifting his head, the driver looked at you, brushing aside a strand of your hair.

— Yeah. It’s over.

— Are you happy? — you asked in a low voice.

— That it’s over? I think so — Fernando said, while you watched a drop of sweat run down his temple — But, I have the feeling that I could have done it differently.

— Differently?

— I think I waited too long, guapa — he murmured.

— But it's over now. And you will move on, to a new place, with new people.

Fernando smiled a little.

— Yeah, I will.

He walked away from you to change, taking off his overalls and underwear to put on his shorts and blue team shirt. Meanwhile, you approached the table where his things were, such as his cell phone, his pass and the blue cap he had been wearing all day. Taking the accessory, you turned to him, who was sitting in a chair, tying his sneakers.

— Your cap — you said, smiling.

— Is my hair that bad?

You nodded, causing Fernando to laugh before stretching his hand towards you. However, you didn't hand it to him, preferring to push the strands that were on his forehead before positioning the accessory on his head. After arranging the strands at the back, he stood up with a smile.

— Thank you, guapa — the driver said, giving you a kiss on the cheek before heading towards the door and, consequently, the cameras that awaited him. After the door closed, your eyes found the hands of the clock on the wall.

“There’s still a long way to go”, you thought.

Between meetings, photos, goodbyes, welcomes and a long break for dinner, you and Fernando arrived at the double room you shared late at night. However, contrary to what you expected that morning, you didn't feel relief that the marathon was over or anxiety about finally catching your plane back to the United States.

You felt an almost suffocating sadness.

— What time does your flight leave tomorrow? — Fernando asked, settling down on the sofa in the small hall that connected the rooms while you placed your bag on the table in front of the television.

— Eight in the morning, I guess — you murmured, turning your face towards him — Why?

— Not at all, I just — he hesitated for a few seconds, running a hand through his hair — I wanted to know.

— Do you want to take me to the airport?

— Sincerely? No.

The coldness of the response made your throat tighten. Part of you wished he had replied that he wanted to take you to the airport. Part of you wanted him to say that he would like to spend every possible second by your side before you, inevitably, had to follow your own paths, your own destinies, that weren't tied to each other.

— You think it will be easier this way, don't you? — you murmured, trying to hide the pain in your voice.

— No — he replied, his eyes searching yours. You didn't want to look at him, but at the same time, you knew that this could be the last time you would do that — I think, one way or another, it's going to be the hardest thing I've ever done in my life.

The silence in that room was the longest that had ever stretched between you during all those months of coexistence.

— Why would it be?

— It doesn't matter now, Y/N.

You pressed your lips together, feeling something tighten in your throat.

Going back to Miami was the last thing you wanted at that moment. You wanted to be by his side. You wanted to wake up every day to his voice humming some song whose lyrics you didn't understand. You wanted to see the smile on his face every time you commented on an article about pediatrics that you had read.

However, you needed to go back. Those last few months had just been a detour, a break from his monotonous routine. There were people, commitments, a residency whose selection you had passed with flying colors, a lifetime of taking care of children waiting for you to move on.

And moving forward meant leaving Fernando behind.

You didn't notice the moment the first tear ran down your face, nor the second. But you noticed the movement of the driver in front of you, approaching with heavy steps. Placing his hands on your face, his expression was serious, almost dark, contrasting with the heat in his eyes.

— I have to let you go in peace — Fernando said softly, his thumb sliding over one of the tears that was stuck on your cheek.

Your lower lip trembled. You just wish it were all easier.

— Please, Y/N — Fernando continued — Don't ask me to take you to the airport. Don't ask me to say goodbye to you. Don't ask me to see you leaving, because I won't bear seeing you get on a plane without me.

At that moment, you had no idea if you would be able to get on a plane in a few hours. Not without Fernando by your side, carrying his trusty black backpack and making some comment about having a sweatshirt ready for you to wear when you get cold during the flight.

So, you asked the only question your mind was capable of formulating.

— What time is it?

— What?

— What time is it, Fernando? — you repeated, seriously.

Still holding his face, he turned his wrist slightly to look at the hands of the black Richard Mille he was wearing.

— Two past midnight — he murmured — You’re free now.

— No, I'm not free — you replied, bringing your face closer to his.

— But…

— I stopped being free a long time ago, Fernando.

Fernando's expression seemed sad, which made your heart feel heavy inside your chest.

You didn't know how to explain to Fernando that you would never be free again simply because you were completely in love with him. So much so that you hadn't even realized the exact moment it had happened.

Maybe it was the day he saw you reading an article about early childhood nutrition and asked you to explain the impact of cow's milk on babies. Maybe it was the day he took you on his motorbike to a viewpoint so you could watch the sunset over Monaco. Maybe it was the moment he introduced his world to you, describing every detail with enchanting passion. Maybe it was the day you pressed that heart on your cell phone screen, right below his photo.

And no piece of paper could control what your heart felt.

Using whatever courage you had left, you tilted your head and closed your eyes, brushing your lips against his. The touch was delicate and subtle, but enough to fill your chest with an almost unbearable heat. You had thought so much about what that moment would be like, fantasized so much about the different possibilities, imagined so many times what it would be like to be in Fernando's arms, that you felt a little hesitant about continuing.

However, the decision about the direction of that shy kiss was made by the driver. Moving closer to you, he placed your mouth completely against his, hands sliding towards the back of your neck. After a few seconds, he pulled away, panting.

— Y/N…

— Please, Fer.

However, he pulled away from you, pain evident in his green-stained eyes.

— No, Y/N — Fernando said, in a firm tone — Don't make this more difficult than it needs to be for both of us.

— You're the one who's making it difficult — you replied, feeling more tears filling your eyes — I want this...

— But you don't need this — he growled — You need to go back to your city, to your apartment, to your life. And this life has no place for me, just as there is no place for you in mine.

The statement was like a punch in the gut. Taking a step back, the feeling was of having awakened from the best dream of your life to find a true nightmare. Mentally, you questioned everything that had happened so far, from the dinner in Miami to that kiss permeated by your desire for him that had been repressed for so long. “So it was all a lie?”, you thought, as he walked towards his room.

— Fer…

— Goodbye, Y/N — he murmured over his shoulder, before disappearing into the dim light, with the door closing behind him.

Your skin felt cold, even in the residual desert heat that remained inside the suite. It was almost unbelievable that this would be the end of those ten months of smiles, jokes and laughter as the two of you traveled the world. A dry and cruel goodbye, without even looking back.

Walking slowly towards your room, you couldn't help but feel a strange emptiness inside your chest. Dropping down on the mattress anyway, you realized how exhausted you were, both physically, courtesy of the intense pace of a race day, and emotionally, with the mix of completely opposite feelings that made your lower lip tremble.

You felt that it was unfair, that the way you were being discarded by Fernando was cruel, not to mention painful. And the worst part was not being able to understand the reason for that attitude, for that cold look that shattered your heart. However, your rational side soon began to whisper in the back of your mind, condemning you for believing that he could see you beyond who you were from the beginning.

An acquisition. A product. A pretty thing for him to drag around the circuits.

That realization made tears run down your face, anger and sadness spilling out of you and making you sob loudly. You even thought about smothering your crying with the pillow, but you didn't move, allowing it to echo off the walls of the room, until it lulled you into a deep, dreamless sleep.

You woke up to the sound of your cell phone's alarm clock. Rubbing your eyes, you stared at the ceiling for long seconds before finally working up the courage to get up from the bed and move forward.

Exactly as Fernando had asked.

As soon as you arrived in Miami, you decided to buy, with the money you had saved in the last few months, a studio near the beach, in addition to arranging the documentation for your residency at Holtz Children's Hospital, which was about to begin. Watching the fireworks that lit up the sea and announced the arrival of a new year, you promised yourself that the months to come would be better than the previous ones.

And by better, you meant no trips, no adventures and no crazy things.

No looks, no jokes, no laughter.

No men, no athletes, no Fernando.

The first few months passed in a blur. Hospital shifts took up much of your time, and your free time was spent reading articles about intriguing cases and organizing your new place. You didn't even notice spring arriving in the city, much less the anticipation for the great sporting event that the city would host in the following weeks.

You were making your first round of the rooms in the west wing of the hospital when, upon entering a room, you came across a little boy playing with a model of a dark blue Formula 1 car. Swallowing hard, you smiled widely.

— Good morning, Mrs. Melendi.

The boy's mother jumped up from her armchair.

— Good morning, doctor — she replied — Greet her, Omar.

The boy looked up at you.

— Hi.

— Good morning, Omar — you greeted him, placing one of your hands on the guard of his bed — How are you feeling today?

— Well — he replied, returning his attention to the cart.

— He spent the night better, doctor, breathing better. But he is still coughing a lot and complains of chest pain.

Accessing Omar's chart on your iPad, you pursed your lips as you thought. The boy's body should already be fighting harder against the infection in his lungs, but his history of asthma didn't make you so optimistic in this regard. This was one of those cases that would ask for patience, both from you and from the boy's mother.

— Well, the night has already brought a good sign. However, the cough will still persist for a while, as the body is trying to get this fluid out somehow. For now, let's continue with what was prescribed and I'll ask the physiotherapy team to send someone here to do some exercises to speed up the release of this secretion, okay?

— Doctor, does this mean I'll be able to see Checo?

You blinked, trying to process if you had understood correctly.

— Who?

— Checo, the Formula 1 driver! — Omar exclaimed — He's going to race here this week!

The Miami Grand Prix, you had completely forgotten about that.

— Ah, I see — you smiled — Everything will depend on your progress. If you take your medication correctly and undergo rehabilitation, I can try to release you by Friday. What do you think?

The boy agreed to your proposal, seeming excited about the prospect of seeing his idol race. However, as you left the room, you felt completely dazed, the memories of the previous year filling your eyes with tears.

That was a weekend of ups and downs, with a punishment causing Fernando to lose the measly two points he had managed to gain. However, those days had been worth it just for the opportunity to introduce him to your city and see how he was enchanted by every detail.

— Doctor? Are you okay? — someone asked you. Looking to the side, you found one of the nurses looking at you somewhat confused.

— Yes, everything is fine.

— Did something happen to Omar?

— No, he's progressing well — you replied, trying to compose yourself — I'm going to ask the rehabilitation staff to do a respiratory therapy session to speed up the drainage of fluids.

— Is the medication dosage still the same?

— Yes, everything’s the same — you murmured, before continuing your rounds, trying to ignore the memories that had been awakened during the visit to Omar's room. However, the task became more difficult when a notification with a painfully familiar name appeared on your cell phone during one of your breaks.

Hi, how are you?

Staring at the screen in almost disbelief, you took a few seconds to type a response, trying to balance your emotions in a single line.

Hello, Fernando. I'm fine, thanks for asking.

Are you in Miami?

Yes, why?

I found your sweatshirt in my apartment. I wanted to give you back.

The photo that accompanied the message made something turn in your stomach. That was your favorite sweatshirt, the first one you had bought when you entered university, and at that point, you had already come to terms with the fact that it was lost forever.

Oh, do you want me to go take it back?

No, I can give it to you. Where are you?

I'm still in the hospital, you can leave it at reception.

I want to hand it personally to you. I can stop by your place later, what do you think?

You were already regretting your answer as you walked to the entrance of your studio, feeling suffocated by anxiety. However, when you opened the door, it was as if you had come to the surface to breathe again, the familiar warmth spreading through your chest.

In front of you was Fernando. He didn't seem to have changed at all since the last time you had seen him, on that fateful night in Abu Dhabi. With a shy smile on his face, he wore a green shirt with the familiar silver wings of Aston Martin, the team he was racing for that year, as well as a white box in his hands.

“This color makes him even more handsome”, you thought to yourself.

— Hi — the driver said softly.

— Hey.

— Can I enter?

— Yeah, sure — you replied, opening the way for him.

The driver passed you silently, taking in the space you were living in. Seeing him there, in the place you had chosen to recover after the mess that had been that Sunday in Abu Dhabi, was strange, not to say wrong. However, this was definitely not the time to question whether his presence there was appropriate or not.

— Everything’s good? — you asked, trying to start a dialogue with him.

— Yeah, all very well. And with you?

— All good.

— It's yours? — he questioned you, gesturing with his finger to refer to the place.

— Yeah, it's mine. I bought it as soon as I got back here — you replied.

Fernando approached a shelf where there were some photos of the trips you had taken with him. There were images from all over the world, from Japan to Brazil, some with your silhouette highlighted or even his. However, he didn't seem to notice that particular detail, as he pointed to another framed image.

— Sardinia?

— Monaco. It's the beach in front of your apartment.

The silence that stretched between you was long, almost deafening. Crossing your arms, you tried to maintain a neutral expression, trying to focus on anything other than the charming lock that fell across his forehead.

— Do you miss it? — Fernando asked.

— Monaco? Not much, I didn't spend enough time there.

— And me?

You looked away to the apartment door, giggling awkwardly.

— I thought you were coming to give me back my hoodie, not do an interrogation.

— Here's your hoodie — he said, harshly, extending the box towards you — And this isn't an interrogation, Y/N. I just asked a question.

— About how I feel about you — you murmured, taking the box and placing it on your dining table.

— Is it wrong to ask?

— When that question doesn't make any sense, yes, it's wrong — you replied, looking over your shoulder.

— Why?

— Because it's wrong, Fernando.

— That's not an answer, Y/N — he replied — Come on, why doesn't it make sense?

Turning at once, anger rose like a hot wave across the back of your neck.

— Because you just discarded me like I was a fucking defective toy.

Fernando looked at you, seriously.

— You know that's not how I see you.

— No? And when you said you didn't have any space in your life for me? Isn't that discarding?

— Y/N — the driver murmured, running a hand through his hair.

— What? — you growled — Is this the way you show that you like me, that you care about me? Saying you don't want me near you?

You didn't have time to react before he advanced towards you, stopping just inches from your face. Fernando was so close to you that you could feel the heat of his skin, as well as the warm and slightly sweet smell of the cologne he was wearing at that moment. It was different from what he normally wore, but it wasn't all bad.

— Would you rather I forbid you from returning? That I stopped you from realizing your dreams? — he returned — Would you prefer if I locked you in a cage or put a collar around your neck to have you all to myself?

The words were stuck in your throat, your bottom lip trembling.

— I know my place in your life, Y/N. And I can't fight it, I can't fight the fact that I can't go further.

— Can't, or don't want to? — you asked in a low voice.

Fernando stared at you for long seconds, as if he was measuring his own words. Bringing your hands up to his face, you stroked the gray speckled beard you loved so much but had never been able to convince him to keep.

— I can't — he murmured, as his thumbs drew circles on his cheek — Y/N, please...

— But you want it — you stated, your eyes going down to his mouth, where his tongue slid to moisten his own lips — You want me.

— Yes, but…

— Then take what you want. Kiss me, touch me, make me what I was from the beginning, from the moment you looked at me for the first time.

The seconds of silence that stretched after your words seemed endless. Bringing your face closer to his, your nose lightly touched Fernando's, almost as a foreshadowing of what was about to happen.

— Make me yours — you whispered.

The moment his lips touched yours was sublime. Your chest filled with a hot, overwhelming sensation, your hands gripping his face tightly. At that moment, you tried to hold on to that feeling of finally being in the place you always imagined yourself in: in Fernando's arms.

It didn't take long for his tongue to invade your mouth, his hands squeezing your waist and bringing your body closer, as if he wanted you two to become one. And personally, that was your only desire at that moment, as you slid your lips down his neck.

— You've always been a naughty girl, haven't you? — Fernando asked as soon as you nibbled on his ear, your fingers squeezing your skin — So naughty, so beautiful...

Taking a few steps back, the driver escaped from you momentarily, sitting on the gray sofa you had in the living room. With his hands to your shirt, you didn't need any words from him to rip it off your body, your shorts sliding down your legs soon after. Taking in the sight of you completely naked for the first time, an almost boyish gleam appeared in Fernando's eyes.

— You are much more beautiful than I imagined…

— You mean you imagined me naked? — you questioned with a suggestive smile, while positioning your knees next to his legs, straddling his lap.

— It's hard not to imagine when you wore those indecent little pajamas of yours to bed — he murmured, his hands sliding down your thighs, while you supported yourself on his shoulders — That baby blue one was wonderful.

— Do you want me to put it on?

A mischievous smile appeared on his lips.

— Now that I've taken off your clothes, I'm not going to ask you to put them back on — Fernando replied, taking his hand to his face and, with a subtle movement, bringing his lips to his in a delicate, almost careful kiss. It was up to you, after a few seconds, to wrap your arms around his neck and ask for passage to explore his mouth the way you wanted.

Sliding his hands down to your butt, the driver made you stand up, bringing his face to one of your breasts. The soft touch of his tongue made you shudder, your fingers digging into his dark curls as a moan escaped his lips.

— I could hear you moaning all night long — Fernando murmured against your skin, his eyes fixed on yours, getting drunk with the pleasure in your expression — Asking, begging for me, the way I always imagined...

It didn't take long for you to start to feel the arousal become uncomfortable, almost painful. You needed more, much more than just kisses and nibbles on your breasts. Lowering your hips just above the not-so-discreet bulge in his shorts, you looked at Fernando, trying to condense what you wanted into a look full of desire.

Without saying anything, he repositioned you a little back, giving him some space to open the button and zipper of your shorts, sliding them and your underwear down. The movement allowed his dick to be revealed, hard and particularly large, with the veins standing out along its length. Biting your lower lip, you brought your index finger to one of them, following the path from the base to the tip, feeling Fernando's muscles tense.

— What do you think?

Looking up at him, you smiled.

— Good.

—Wasn't that what you imagined?

— It's hard to say, since every time I imagined your dick, it was in my mouth or my pussy.

Bringing a hand to your face, Fernando caressed your cheek.

— You are very naughty.

You chose not to answer, rising again to align your own entrance with his cock. Then, you lowered yourself, feeling him enter inch by inch, settling inside you. Closing your eyes, you allowed a moan to escape your lips, as did Fernando, who grunted against your neck.

After a few seconds, you started to move, testing angles and rhythms, until you found one that you liked. With your hands resting on his shoulders, you alternated between quick vertical movements, followed by slower, deeper thrusts. At that point, her breasts were completely red, marked by Fernando's teeth and hickeys. Marks that you would carry with pride, because it was his mouth and his passion that had done it.

— You're so beautiful — he growled, as his hands roamed over her skin — How could I have been able to let you go...

You couldn't resist the urge to kiss him again, searching for Fernando's lips as if they were the surface and you were looking for air to breathe. In that tangle of arms, hands and fingers, you felt complete. Finally complete.

— I'm going to... Oh my God, Fer, I'm going to cum — you whimpered, as you slid your hips back and forth, rubbing your clit against his pubic bone. Noticing the agony in your expression, he slid his hand until he reached your most sensitive spot. Then, massaging it, he brought you to orgasm, making you let out a loud moan, your muscles shaking and your head lolling back.

Beneath his body, Fernando took a few seconds before reaching his peak, spilling himself inside you with a loud moan, his hands holding your hips tightly to stop your movement.

The silence inside the room wasn't complete due to your heavy breathing. With your forehead pressed against his, your eyes were closed, absorbing that moment and the entire range of feelings that filled your chest with an inexplicable warmth.

— Y/N — Fernando whispered.

— Yeah?

— What now?

You moved your face slightly away from his, analyzing his furrowed eyebrows and anxiety-filled brown eyes. You knew it was impossible to turn around or simply pretend it hadn't happened, especially when you were sure you wanted to do it several more times. But did he want that?

— Well, we have two ways — you started, brushing his bangs away from his forehead — We can classify this as an accident on the road and go back to our lives...

— No, definitely not.

— Or we can stop fooling ourselves and actually live this.

— This? — he raised an eyebrow.

— This. Our relationship — you tried to classify it.

— And by truly living, you mean…

— Without pretending that we don’t have feelings for eachother.

Fernando pressed his lips together, looking away from yours. He was definitely hesitant about taking that step. And you were sure you wouldn't let him leave you there, with that doubt hanging over you.

— Do you want me to come back with you to Europe? — you asked softly, making him look at you again.

— Would you come back?

— If you wanted.

The driver let out a heavy sigh.

— I don't want to ask you this, Y/N.

— Why not?

— Because I don't want you to give up everything for me and my career.

— You talk as if this is the only place in the world where there are hospitals accepting residents — you countered, placing your hands on his cheeks — I'll find a way, Fer. We'll find a way. But I ask you just one thing.

— What?

— Don't leave me here, alone.

Fernando smiled, bringing his face closer to yours.

— Never, guapa.

#fernando alonso fanfic #fernando alonso fic #nordswrites #f1 fanfic #f1 fic #formula 1 fanfic #fa #formula 1 fic #formula one fic #formula 1 x reader #formula one x reader #fernando alonso x reader #fernando alonso #formula one fanfic

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leclsrc · 1 year

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a certain romance ✴︎ cs55

genre: fluff!, humor

word count: 4.5k

A love affair is never an easy thing to keep under wraps. Or, the four times your two brothers almost catch you and Carlos together, and the one time they finally do.

notes... reader is a leclerc, one sexual allusion but it’s not bad, french that is basically translatable thru context clues

auds here... req’d, sort of twice! was gonna make this a full fledged fic but i went with the short route to keep it brief. i hope u like this anon/s :) title from a song of the same name by the arctic monkeys. also there is use of y/n which i generally don’t like using in fics bec i feel it disrupts the flow, but it wouldn’t have fit any other way so. must b all... enjoy!

If you told Carlos Sainz that he—a full grown, mature, twenty-eight-year-old man—would be tiptoeing on the balcony of a hotel in Monaco (shirtless and fully terrified, no less) eight months from now, he would laugh at you. But he’d be doing so anyway, fearing something in the room behind him rather than the alarmingly high distance he’d be possessing over the road below. He’d inhale, exhale, recites a few proverbs to keep himself calm. But now, if you told him, he would mumble something along the lines of estúpido, because really, how the hell would he get himself into that situation?

Don’t worry. He’s going to find out.

“I’m not really looking to date,” he says wisely, taking another swig of his beer. “I think racing is the number one thing on my mind. And it’s difficult to maintain a balance of both.”

Lando clears his throat, tipsy from having exhausted his drinks and then some. “Mate, quit being a pessimist. You Spaniards, I swear. That’s not necessarily true. I made it work.” He presents two thumbs, pointing them toward his beaming, dopey face.

Carlos stares. “Luisa broke up with you.”

“Right then, you arse, twist the knife,” Lando mutters exasperatedly, his thumbs drooping down and his smile dropping. Carlos can’t help but throw his head back in amusement, eking out apologies in between bouts of laughter. The younger just mocks the laugh, finishing the beer he’d been drinking.

The two are on the balcony of Lando’s flat, overlooking the expanse of Chelsea. The subject of girlfriends and looking for love had been between them for a while now, seeing as they were both single; they’d often greet each other with a Got a girlfriend yet, cabrón? And, while the conversation was generally harmless, it did tend to push Carlos into a state of introspection regarding his own love life.

“But honestly, really.” Carlos says. “I just don’t know if a girl is what I need right now. Unless somebody perfect drops on my lap.”

“I’m going to ignore how pervy that sounds—but I get it. I guess the career thing’s just the priority, huh, mate? And speaking of career”—Lando rifles through his jacket pocket and fishes his phone out—“we’re going to be late for dinner if we don’t leave in the next fifteen.”

Ah, dinner: the only reason Carlos had chartered a jet to London earlier today in the first place. Proposed out of sheer fun and then carrying on because it actually seemed like a doable idea, Lando had texted a few drivers and invited them and however-many-pluses they wished to bring to an upscale restaurant in the city as a way to get in touch.

It didn’t seem ideal, until they realized that 1. Lando, George, and Alex were already in London, and 2. Charles was with family and had a meeting there, too, and—well, at that point Carlos had basically succumbed to peer pressure and gotten on a jet straight to the UK. Lando always had a penchant for making these plans and spending the entire time making dirty jokes and/or getting tipsy and/or using his camera to take pictures of any and everyone, which really just made the dinners all the more fun.

They clean up the bottles of beer they’d drank from, and Carlos pulls his coat on by the door, still unused to the overcast British weather. “Who’s there later?”

“The boys, Arthur… Lily, Carmen. I think. I mean nobody brought their mums or whatever. That’s all of ‘em, I suppose.” Lando inspects his outfit in the mirror by the entryway and swaps out his jacket for a different one, ushering Carlos out the door and into the waiting car. Something about I’d rather be driven around than drive a pretentious sports car around the city looking like a daft prick.

They’re halfway to the restaurant, both on their phones, when Lando suddenly gasps softly and goes, “Right, and Charles’ sister is going too.”

Carlos looks up, interest piqued. He hadn’t heard much of Charles’ sister before—you’d dropped by a few races, and had always been present for the entirety of the Monaco weekend, but you weren’t engaged in racing as much as Charles’ other siblings. He’d shaken hands with you and made the polite, necessary, albeit totally rushed small talk. “Y/N,” he recounts. “Right?”

“Yessir,” Lando says, letting Drake filter through the AUX of the car. “The one in law school.”

He nods, trying to pick out specific memories. None really come to mind—it’s all introductions that repeat themselves. Hi, Carlos Sainz, Charles’ teammate. Oh, hi, I’m Charles’ sister. He faintly recounts finding you pretty, but having not seen you at the paddock for quite a while, he considers his memories dubious at best. He leans back and listens to Lando rap Rich Flex with an obnoxiously posh accent instead, and figures if he dies now, at least he wouldn’t have to keep hearing this.

The restaurant is nearer than they anticipate, so the Drake rap-along session is cut blissfully short, the pair being ushered into the private seating area, coats taken and wine served. They join George, who, at his insistence, had made the reservation in the first place even if Lando had suggested the restaurant, and Carmen.

“Charles and Albon?” Carlos asks when he takes a seat, greeting the couple.

“Charles and Arthur are on their way, but Alex is stuck in Harrods with Lily and Y/N. They got busy looking for shoes or something. Poor guy,” George says, half-laughing.

“I so wish I met up with the girls beforehand,” Carmen mopes, “the sale at Harrods is amazing.”

The conversation descends into a multitude of different topics, as they always do when Lando and George lead the way—racing (obviously), Carmen, Daniel Ricciardo even, dogs, any plans of adopting dogs, and then, because George Russell is a little shit, he says: “Feels nice being the only guy with a girlfriend at the table right now, innit?”

Carmen pinches his arm but he persists with a smile. “No, but really. You two are just about the most eligible bachelors ever and still single. What gives?”

“I for one am not into monogamy at the moment,” Lando says matter-of-factly. “I’m twenty-three, mate. I’m trying to have fun. But Mr. Almost Thirty here is a different case.”

“Ay,” Carlos gripes. “It’s not an involuntary thing. Just want to focus on racing.”

He prays then for this topic to come to a close so he won’t have to explain himself all over again, and reprieve comes in the form of Charles and Arthur entering the room. Already Charles is talking, before he even takes a seat, and Arthur is nodding along—something about how London traffic sucks, how are your streets so small, mate, oh my God Harrods is so full, Lily and Y/N have been at it for hours, poor Alex, he volunteered to stay. The guy spouts words quickly and easily, in an accent that sounds both English and French.

The rest of the wait time happens fast—Lily and Alex rush through the entrance, apologizing for being late. The lines are so long, Lily explains, taking a seat and leaving the other side empty. When her boyfriend tries to sit there, she swats him away, goes, babe, no, that’s for Y/N. So her boyfriend sits woefully across her and beside Carlos instead.

“Where is Y/N?” Charles asks. Carlos is also curious, albeit inwardly. He didn’t even know you were arriving until late, and still he hasn’t seen your face.

“Sorry, I had to check something with the valet,” a voice goes, and then you’re sliding into the seat across him.

The thing is, Carlos has been stunned before.

It’s sort of a non-negotiable when you go into such a demanding, high-risk sport. If he’s careening into another car, or the side of a circuit—obviously, it stuns him. Everything spins into slow motion for a few nerve-wracking seconds. But he’s also been stunned in all the good ways: when he can tell he’s in the lead, when he overtakes the car in front of him, when he bounds past the flag and realizes it’s a podium finish. So, yes—Carlos is fully familiar with the gut churning, belly spinning delirium of being stunned. So familiar, in fact, that he’s grown familiar with it, developed a second skin for it, welcomed it with open arms.

Which also explains the way he sees you laughing quietly at something Lily says and subsequently realizes, with apprehension and dread, that he is stunned.

—

The first time it happens is after the dinner—not just the dinner, but the drinks and the London walk that followed, accompanied by three noisy and drunk tour guides (read: Lando, George, Alex). Charles and Arthur, almost as drunk, follow the tour with loud jabs of their own, and Lily and Carmen are filming everything on their phones. You’ve been on your phone checking an email, and Carlos takes a call from his cousin, which naturally leads both you and him to trail behind the group.

So, when you’re both done taking calls and checking emails, it’s the two of you left to your own devices. You swing within the awkward few moments of deciding whether to rejoin the group or just keep trailing behind, your shoes clicking softly against the cobblestone pavement, accompaniments to Lando’s loud singing of Piano Man.

“What’d you think of the wine?” You ask, your accent sliding easy into the syllables but not losing its distinctiveness.

He pretends to ponder, even if he’d given Lando a full-scale review when they first left the restaurant, and turns back to you. “It was okay. A bit too sweet for my taste.”

“Exactly! That’s what I told Arthur, but he found it perfect. I guess kids these days just don’t have taste.”

You both laugh at your sarcastic use of “kids”, knowing you’re just two years older than your younger brother. Carlos opens his mouth to speak, trying to find footing, the perfect suave thing to say to possibly land himself in a position to flirt.

Right then, Lando reaches the crescendo of Somebody to Love (he can’t ever finish a song), and then Charles is turning around to find you and Carlos engaged in conversation. His lips stretch into a mischievous smile.

“Aye, Carlos! Back off the baby sister, mate!” He slurs, clapping Arthur on the back to catch his attention.

Arthur’s eyes narrow playfully, darting in between you both. Carlos just raises a middle finger in response, sending the brothers into unnecessarily extensive bouts of laughter. You roll your eyes, blowing a raspberry. “Putain. These fucking shitheads never leave me alone.”

George is in the middle of teaching Charles to say sod off instead of back off when Carlos purses his lips and, on a whim, turns and goes: “Is there a rule against dating drivers?”

You try and fail to hide a smile. “Hmm. None, I don’t think.”

Silence. Then you speak again, coy. “Why do you ask?”

“No reason,” Carlos says. London is suddenly a place of magic. “No reason at all.”

—

It’s at an afterparty, the second time it happens—and technically the first where you and Carlos actually connect properly. In hindsight, it might’ve been stupid to flirt with him in the middle of the dance floor—something he thankfully realized in the moment, taking your hand and guiding you through the throng of people into the back exit.

Nobody said first kisses had to be remarkable in the romantic sense. Sometimes they’re in seedy European alleyways, with a fist bunched into his polo and a hand on your hip. It had to happen this way, because how else would two months of beating around the bush culminate? Because even if you’re drunk, you can’t stop thinking about how much you want to kiss him again. Tomorrow morning. And the next.

You pull away, but he speaks first, voice rushed and semi-sobered. “Let’s not.”

Humming, you try to swallow the lump of distress in your throat. “Why?”

“Because,” he says, nervous now, gulping. “Because—of the bro code.”

You stare. “Is that a Spanish thing?”

“B-ro c-ode,” he says again, enunciating the syllables; the Spanish accent doesn’t go away, and neither do his hands, hot and big on your hip and waist.

You move your hand from where it’s fisted into his shirt, cupping his neck. Then you burst out laughing, much to Carlos’ confusion. “That is so not a thing,” you press, unconvinced.

“It is. Bro code. I just crossed that line, dios mio,” he says, clearly way more stressed than you are.

“Bro code isn’t upheld for boys over twenty-one,” you say haughtily. Right then, you hear Arthur’s voice through the door and it swings open a few seconds later. In the span of those moments, you shove Carlos away nervously and attempt to look like you weren’t doing anything.

Arthur’s on the phone, speaking in quick French when he sees you and Carlos at a respectable distance. He tilts the phone away, mouths What’s up?, pointing at the both of you.

“I felt like vomiting and he was nearby,” you reply, nodding. He’s out of view, exiting the alleyway within seconds and back on the phone.

You exhale, and turn back to him. “Okay, so maybe the bro code is a thing.”

He looks at you as if to say no shit. “I don’t think we should do this,” he says, but his tone betrays himself.

“Okay,” you say. “Okay.”

“Right, yes.”

A beat. “Can you kiss me again?”

—

Against all odds, you and Carlos had managed to successfully start dating under your brothers’—ergo the majority of your mutual circle’s—noses. You’d only let it slip to a few close friends and family, and in Carlos’ case, Lando, because Lord knows the guy could not keep his mouth shut for the life of him. And even if it was stressful, and it often felt like any moment would be interrupted by somebody catching the both of you on the phone, or even together, neither of you could deny how good it was.

It’s five months later—five months of pure bliss, for the most part. Save for multiple close calls, you and Carlos had enjoyed each other’s company. You’d tried to navigate how everything would work once you realized you both wanted something more out of the relationship, but neither of you wanted to deal with the hassle of your overprotective siblings yet. You’d resorted to hours of FaceTime, everyday texts, and if the world was on your side, the occasional date.

The last method is easily your favorite, you both—and when the drivers get three weeks off and Carlos spends it in Las Vegas, that’s how it happens, the third time. Carlos visits you at your hotel, relishing in the eleven-thirty emptiness of the communal area, swimming in the jacuzzi and giggling about something into Carlos’ neck. You barely remember the joke; you’re honestly just welling up with enthusiasm and an endless supply of laughs that your boyfriend is finally with you.

Your head is still dug into Carlos’ neck, laughing about something else now, when you hear faraway footsteps. Having grown used to being a pseudo-patrolman, your eyes dart up immediately, and your stomach drops when you see, seriously, of all fucking people—Charles and Arthur.

“Oh my God,” you mutter, dumbfounded. A hand wet with jacuzzi water taps frantically on your phone; sure enough, you’d gotten texts from the both of them about dropping by your hotel for drinks. “Oh my God, oh my God.”

You disembark from your position on your boyfriend’s lap, hoping the hickey he sucked onto your neck won’t be visible from meters away. Your eyes shoot up again, and they still haven’t spotted you. Holding your breath and bracing yourself, you turn to Carlos, place two hands on his shoulders, and shove him underneath the water.

They spot you then, waving enthusiastically. “Drinks!” Arthur shouts, mimicking a beer bottle with his hand. You chew your lip nervously, raising one hand and waving back.

“Don’t wait up and I’ll just meet you at the bar!” You holler, watching as they pass through the entrance at a truly leisurely pace.

Once they’re in, you haul your boyfriend up and he breathes deeply, anxious. “Puta madre.”

“I think we should tell them soon. I don’t want you literally dying just for the sake of keeping us a secret,” you say, maintaining a safe distance and constantly turning toward the entrance just in case. You reach for his hand underwater.

“It’s thrilling, actually,” he winks.

“I’m sorry if it’s a bother.” You say woefully, guilt eating at you a little bit. But he takes your hand, squeezes it among the jacuzzi bubbles.

“Nothing’s a bother with you.”

—

Charles knocks on your Monza hotel room door when it happens the fourth time, opening it once he finds it unlocked—and then freezing when he finds you buried in your duvet ’til your shoulders. You’re in your silk pajama top, arms and mouth outstretched into a yawn when your eyes meet, hair disheveled. You blink.

“Charles.” You say confusedly, letting your arms drop. “Tu vas bien?”

“Mmm, ça va.” He pauses. “Et toi?”

“Moi aussi,” you say casually. “Any reason you came into my room without waiting for me to answer the damn door?”

He smiles, as if remembering why he invaded your privacy. “Right, I came in here to ask if you’ve seen Arthur.”

“I’m clearly by myself in bed, so no,” you respond cuttingly. “Last I checked he was walking around with Lando.” The two had become fast friends after the London dinner.

Your elder brother hums, then moves to take a seat on your bed, to which you quickly reach over, grab a complimentary soap bar (on the bedside table and not the shower, which you’d found weird), and toss it square at his face. “Ah—ay! What the fuck?”

“Don’t come near me,” you say. “I’m sick.”

“Sick? What rubbish. You were literally at the paddock hours ago totally fine.”

“Don’t be daft. Not that kind of sick, you arse—”

“Not that kind of sick,” he mocks, exaggerating his accent and raising his voice a few octaves to sound like a silly version of you. He raises an accusatory finger. “You lie, you lie!”

“I am not lying,” you insist irritably, sitting up a little and cocking your brow. “Tu es insupportable!”

You slide into a flurry of angry French and Italian in your valiant efforts to defend your innocence, and Charles is infected into doing the same. Eventually the room is just filled with indistinguishable insults and scoffed phrases of merde, ah bon?, and immensely accented What thuh helliz your problem?s. You even chuck another hotel soap at him for extra measure, but he manages to catch it this time. It’s childish, like many of your petty fights born out of irritance.

“I’m on my period, you prick,” you say as a last resort, once the insults have run their sufficient course. “I couldn’t be arsed to find Arthur.” His eyes narrow, doubting you, but ultimately he admits defeat, walking back to the door to exit your room. The door’s out of view of your bed, so you brace yourself, waiting for it to open and click closed.

“You better not be harboring a fugitive in here!” He says, but only half of here is heard before the door clicks shut and drowns him out. The tension leaves your body and you heave a deep sigh, relaxing backwards and biting your lip.

The thick silk duvet flips upward and Carlos surfaces, face flushed from being in hiding for so long.

One arm is still curled around your thigh, the inner part of which is rubbed raw from his facial hair being against it. You stare at one another with dopey smiles on your faces, relieved that you’d managed to act fast and flip the huge blanket over Carlos—although he had conveniently been in that position to begin with.

“Do either of you ever shut up?”

“One more word and I’m kicking you,” you say, reaching an arm out to stroke his jaw. You smile, laughing a little. “I’m not bluffing.”

“Scary, princesa,” he teases, hauling himself up to press a lasting kiss onto your lips. You smile into it, out of relief that your nosy elder brother didn’t catch you, but also out of the way your heart swells when Carlos smiles.

—

“You’re absolutely sure it’s the right room number?”

“100% positive. 613, Y/N Leclerc.”

“And not any other Leclerc.”

“Mate, I just said Y/N. Get a grip,” Lando scoffs. “My investigative skills pay off. Still don’t understand why you couldn’t have just asked her yourself, seeing as though you two are, I dunno, dating.”

“It’s a surprise, man,” Carlos says cuttingly, facing the lobby of the Hôtel de Paris. “Alright, thanks, cábron. I’ll see you soon.”

“Get some!” The Brit whoops, and then Carlos is taking the elevator to your room.

He didn’t think of himself as much of a surprises guy, but then again—he didn’t think of himself as much as a flowers and teddy bear guy, but he’d gotten you those every month since you became official; he didn’t think of himself as much of a physical touch guy, but he was always the one initiating hugs and cuddle sessions. The list goes on.

He knocks, fiddling with the rings on his fingers.

Much to his relief, it really is you who answers, with the face of surprise he wanted out of this. Before you utter a word, he’s dipping down to kiss you, and you find yourself returning the kiss, knowing you’d lost your boyfriend’s presence for so long. It quickens fast, and Carlos wedges himself in, kicking the door closed behind him.

You pull away. “Wait, I—”

He kisses you again, and you can’t resist, laughing at his persistence. He pulls away to tug his shirt off, and that’s when you crash back to reality. “Mmmm—Carlos, this isn’t my room!”

Everything happens fast after that.

The door starts opening and Carlos hears Charles on the other side of it, talking about there was a room mix-up, Y/N, this is mine and 615 is yours—he misses the rest of the sentence, clutching his singlet to his bare chest and allowing himself to be pushed by his girlfriend out the door of the balcony. Thinking he’s safe if just for a moment, he turns, but finds he still sees the room—the curtains don't cover him enough.

And if he can see the room, he figures, the room can see him. And if the room can see him, Charles will see him when he’s fully inside.

You’re gesticulating wildly with your hands, trying to find a way to distract your brother, turning away from Carlos briefly to maybe just accept your fate. Charles shuts the door, facing you and, consequently, the balcony doors. Your heart seizes. Surely, Carlos must be there—there’s no other place left for him to hide, unless he miraculously fit his blocky, broad frame behind a random potted plant.

“Something wrong?” Charles says, and you whip around. The balcony’s blissfully empty.

“N…othing.” You say. “Nothing.”

“D’accord,” he says promptly. “So. Dinner?”

Your head spins, unable to formulate a reply. Where could Carlos have hidden?

The balcony is a bit wide, but the entirety of it is visible, and, well—Carlos is clearly not. There’s one lawn sofa, and one plant, neither of which seem to harbor your favorite Spaniard, so where the fuck is he? Because of course, he’s not stupid. Surely. He’s twenty-eight, you think.

What kind of guy would climb onto the banister of the Hôtel de Paris just to hide from his girlfriend’s older brother?

Carlos cannot believe he’s on the banister of the Hôtel de Paris just to hide from his girlfriend’s older brother.

In the scurry of it, he hadn’t even gotten properly dressed. So here he is, braving the frigid sixth-floor air and the harrowing height at which he stands, brandishing his shirt like it’s a flag and standing like he’s on a podium. He feels like he’s about to die for love. Like some Shakespearean hero.

But when he digs deep he figures he doesn’t actually mind at all. Sure, he feels like he’s on the brink of death, but he realizes it’s for you in the end, and that comforts him. He never thought he’d do this, ever, not even if he was paid, or bet on, or for a Real Madrid win. He leans back and ignores the asphalt below. He’ll stay here as long as he needs to.

“Mate, get down from there.” Carlos looks up to see Charles and Arthur going absolutely mental, even taking a few photos for good measure. Relieved, scared, and just glad his stint on the banister is over, he climbs off and pulls his shirt back on, crossing his arms. He spots you inside, smiling but also insisting they delete the incriminating evidence.

In the end, seriously? This is the reaction you and he hid from for eight months? You walk over to place yourself beside Carlos, watching your brothers. Two fools laughing at everything, each other, their sister, and her boyfriend. “Jig is up,” Charles says. “But we’ve known since you two kissed outside that club.”

You roll your eyes; clearly, you’ve already been told this information. But Carlos is slack-jawed with shock—they did all that on purpose. How fucking cheeky, really. He figures they gave Lando the wrong room number through the grapevine, too.

“But,” Charles says, wiping real tears from his eyes, “I know you love my sister, mate, so I’ll be the first to say I approve. Arthur will be the second.”

“I approve,” says Arthur dumbly.

“We approve,” they say in unison, then they’re laughing all over again. You swat both of their arms in retaliation, which causes the teasing to subside.

“Now, cábron,” Charles says gleefully, “we do have a couple of questions for you…”

You squeeze his hand. Even if he prefers the banister, your presence is comforting all the same, and he’d answer any totally unnecessary, pointless, silly question from your brothers if it means he gets to hug you again later. If you told him eight months ago he’d be this in love, he would’ve laughed in your face. But here he is anyway.

It’s comforting.

#f1 #carlos sainz #carlos sainz drabble #carlos sainz smut #carlos sainz imagines #carlos sainz fanfic #carlos sainz imagine #carlos sainz x reader #f1 x reader

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scoobydoodean · 5 months

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Okay so in 1.03 Dead In The Water, there's this exchange Sam and Dean have at one point in regards to Lucas—the little boy who watched his dad drown, who Dean connects with during the episode:

DEAN Andrea said the kid never drew like that till his dad died. SAM There are cases—going through a traumatic experience could make people more sensitive to premonitions, psychic tendencies. DEAN Whatever's out there, what if Lucas is tapping into it somehow? I mean, it's only a matter of time before somebody else drowns, so if you got a better lead, please.

And the last time I watched this episode, I went "Oh cool! A little Psychic!Sam Easter Egg." Right? Sam goes through the traumatic experience of losing Jess, and he's tapped into "whatever's out there" (the yellow eyed demon) and he's having premonitions about what he's going to do next. Which definitely makes a lot of sense.

But when I was gif-ing stuff from 1.03 today, I realized that... funnily enough, within the context of this episode we also have some fun stuff relating to the "slightly psychic Dean" posts that have gone around this year... Or if you prefer, Cassandra!Dean. Cassandra, in reference to the prophet in Greek myth, cursed by Apollo to utter true prophecies but never be believed.

Dean often knows when bad things are going to happen in Supernatural. He doesn't have visions—but he has "bad feelings" and makes predictions that turn out to be scarily accurate at times. Of course we can infer that Dean is just good at 1) reading people and 2) understanding how sequences of events tumble one by one in a row like so many dominoes. It's another sign of his incredible intelligence. But it IS fun to think about Dead In The Water as the first indication of Cassandra!Dean.

First, because Lucas has premonitions, and Lucas and Dean are paralleled and connect on an emotional level.

Dean and Lucas have similar traumatic childhood experiences. Both watched a parent die and both lost the ability to speak afterwards:

DEAN You're scared. It's okay. I understand. See, when I was your age, I saw something real bad happen to my mom, and I was scared, too. I didn't feel like talking, just like you. But see, my mom—I know she wanted me to be brave. I think about that every day. And I do my best to be brave. And maybe, your dad wants you to be brave too.

Dean is able to connect with Lucas through their shared traumatic experience. He's the only one who's able to get through to him—and after a short conversation and just drawing together for a while—much to his mom's shock. Dean is able to understand what Lucas is feeling without Lucas saying it.

Second, because Lucas has bad feelings that tell him the locations where the spirit will strike next, but no one listens to/believes him.

...Kind of like people usually don't listen to/believe Dean's bad feelings.

DEAN Anyway. Well, maybe you don't think anyone will listen to you, or, uh...or believe you. I want you to know that I will. You don't even have to say anything. You could draw me a picture about what you saw that day, with your dad, on the lake.

Of course, this line is just Dean paralleling Lucas with himself and his own reasons for not speaking, but it must hit home, because Lucas begins communicating with Dean through drawings.

Further, despite Sam also knowing Lucas is having premonitions, when Lucas reacts with extreme distress to the idea of going home and clings to Dean desperately, Sam still... doesn't think it means anything. He thinks the case is over.

Third, Dean has a bad feeling that the case isn't over, and Sam doesn't believe him.

The sheriff had just threatened to arrest them if they stayed in town, so of course going back to town is a big deal. When Dean turns around based on a bad feeling, Sam thinks he's just being paranoid.

SAM But Dean, this job, I think it's over. DEAN I'm not so sure. SAM If Bill murdered Peter Sweeney and Peter's spirit got its revenge, case closed. The spirit should be at rest. DEAN All right, so what if we take off and this thing isn't done? You know, what if we've missed something? What if more people get hurt? SAM But why would you think that? DEAN Because Lucas was really scared. SAM That's what this is about?

Dean sticks to his guns, and they arrive just in time to save Lucas's mother from drowning in a bathtub.

#1.03 #he is literally cassandra #pk rewatches spn number ?#parallels #season 1

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honeyhotteoks · 6 months

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this night together - chapter eleven (j.yh + s.mg)

chapter eleven: a new love song

chapter summary: time, and a well worded letter, heals all wounds. finally, it's time to let go.

warnings: nothing really, social drinking, etc.

notes: reminder that if you're reading this on or around 12.3.23 when it's posted, i'm uploading three chapters at once! if you haven't read chapter ten, go do that before you skip ahead!!

pairings: alpha!yunho x alpha!mingi x omega!reader

genre: smut, a/b/o/omegaverse, angst, fluff, romance, polyamory

word count: 5.2k

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The party is bright, bursting with light and color and art. You can feel Hongjoong’s presence everywhere from the moment you step through the doors and you almost feel underdressed. You selected your outfit for him, something a little bolder than you’d normally do, but something that truly suits the occasion and the honored guest. You adjust the top of your black trousers and glance down to ensure the cream white blouse that is parted open is still firmly secured with the hidden tape you painstakingly applied. You hope your lipstick is staying put.

The listening party for New World’s new mini album is in full swing, but the night is about more than just that. Their tour has ended, everyone back on Korean soil, and it will be the first time anyone will hear the album from start to finish and the first time you’ll be face to face with them again.

Three months of nothing, no contact except the letter. The letter you’ve read about a hundred times.

You texted Wooyoung, San, and Seonghwa of course, and they mentioned Yunho and Mingi occasionally, but always in the broader context of what they were doing on tour. You saw them in pictures, travel shots on Instagram or Snapchat stories of their nights out, but otherwise nothing. For three months you let it marinate, and your feelings haven’t changed in the slightest. All you have to do now is find them in this crowd and clear the air.

It’s no surprise you’re as late as you are, your stomach was in knots getting ready and leaving your apartment had you practically coming apart at the seams. The idea of talking to them is simple, but you’ve rehearsed what you want to say over and over and you can’t imagine how they’ll respond. You take a glass of sparkling wine from one of the caterers and realize there are far more people here than you thought there would be. When you pictured a listening party you expected an intimate crowd, but the gallery space KQ rented is full of faces, some you know and some you don’t. You’re pretty sure you’ve missed the album playthrough at this point, you just hope no one’s noticed your absence.

“You look so good!” A voice from behind you makes you turn, and you smile when you see Dahan in her sparkly wrap dress.

“So do you,” You give her a quick, friendly hug.

“This is your first one, right?” She asks, looking past you to find a drink tray.

“Listening party?” You clarify, “Yeah,”

“This is definitely the nicest one so far,” She all but whispers to you, “New World is pulling in that tour money now,”

“Ah,” You nod.

“Usually it’s at a nice restaurant or something, not quite so many people,” She explains, snagging a drink, “not that I’m complaining, dressing up is fun,”

“Do you see Hongjoong at all?” You crane your neck and look through some of the bodies, but you can’t really see anyone else you know closely.

“Mm,” She joins you, “no, but Yujin and some of the others are over there,”

You follow her gaze, “Perfect,”

She starts weaving through and you follow, keeping close to her and protecting your drink as you side step around and behind people.

When you make it to the little circle of BB Trippin dancers, you slot right in alongside Dahan and give everyone a smile, “Hey,”

Everyone greets you warmly, but you wonder absently where your little pocket of close friends are hiding. Yujin draws your attention though when she says, “Jaemin’s here,”

“He is?” Your eyes widen. You barely ever see him, but it does make sense that he would attend an opportunity to bump elbows with people in the industry.

“Mhm,” She nods, “I saw him talking to Yunho earlier.”

Butterflies curl in your stomach, “Yunho’s here?”

“Mhm,” She takes a sip of her drink, “somewhere,”

“You look really nice,” Minseok interrupts, stepping a little closer so you can hear him better, “I like the whole, you know,” he gestures up and down to indicate he means your outfit and you nod.

“Thanks,” You nod, “you clean up nice too,”

“Oh yeah?” He shrugs, “Thanks,”

You start to turn back to Yujin who looks like she has something more to say, but Minseok keeps going, “Have you met Hongjoong?”

“Oh,” You start.

“He’s a nice guy,” He continues, “you’d like his vibe, or at least, I think you would,”

“Actually,”

“I’m not sure if you know this or not, but it’s his voice that’s on a lot of the initial guide tracks we get,”

You do know that, but you nod and take a long sip of your drink, ice slipping down and connecting with your lip as you tip it back a little further.

“He’s a bit eccentric,” Minseok continues.

“Who’s a bit eccentric?” Seonghwa cuts in, stepping into the circle and cutting smoothly between you and Minseok, another drink for you ready in his hands.

Minseok’s lips close.

“Hi, Hwa,” You smile, “that for me?”

“Of course,” He trades your nearly empty glass for the full one and leans in to press a fast kiss on your cheek, “you look beautiful,”

“Stop,” You resist the urge to actually nudge him in front of too many people and give off the wrong idea about how close the two of you are, but you give him the best withering look you can.

He ignores you though, “Who’s eccentric?”

“Oh,” You do your best to keep the smile off your lips, “Minseok was just telling me about Hongjoong,”

“Mm,” Seonghwa glances to the side at him, “is he?”

“Artistic might be the right word,” Minseok corrects himself.

“Well, that’s true,” You nod.

“Oh,” Minseok blinks, “so you know him?”

“Well, yes, I,” You start to say but Seonghwa cuts you off.

“Speak of the devil,” He nods and when you turn you catch sight of Hongjoong heading right for you both. He’s dressed in the most decadent dark blue velvet suit you’ve ever seen, and the combination of that and his freshly dyed blue hair makes him look like more of an idol, not a producer.

“My ears were burning,” Hongjoong says wryly, and then his eyes flick over you, “I love this,”

“I thought you might,” You grin, moving forwards to greet him with a hug, “congratulations, Hongjoong, this is all beautiful,”

“Thank you so much for coming,” He gives you a squeeze, “we keep missing each other for dinner,”

“I know, I’ve been so busy lately,” You tell him, “but let’s plan something soon,”

He nods and smiles and then turns his attention to the group, “Thank you all so much for coming,” he says.

Minseok looks a little put out next to Seonghwa, and you hope you didn’t embarrass him, but he and everyone else greets Hongjoong and they loop through the congratulations on the finished album. Once pleasantries are done, he focuses his attention back on you, “I have someone I want you to meet,” he says.

“Oh?”

“Mhm,” His hand settles on your back as he turns to the group, “can I steal these two for a bit?” He nods his head towards you and Seonghwa.

He doesn’t really wait for permission, he’s just being polite, and he steers you out of the circle and starts walking you back through the crowd closer to the stage area.

“When did you get in?” Hongjoong asks Seonghwa as you walk.

“This morning,” He says, “we were supposed to land last night but our flight was so delayed leaving LA,”

“Thank you for coming anyways,” Hongjoong smiles, “I’m sure you’re exhausted,”

“It’s fine,” He shrugs it off, “we’ll get back on timezone soon, I’m sure,”

“Flight was okay otherwise?” You ask, but Seonghwa catches your eye and gives you a knowing smile.

“Mhm,” He nods, “We’re all home safe and sound, I’m sure everyone else is here somewhere,”

“Good,” Your throat feels tight, the idea that around one of these corners you’ll find Yunho and Mingi, “that’s good,”

After three months without any contact, you’re going to have to physically restrain yourself from blurting out how you feel the second you see them. The last time they saw you was awkward at best, and considering the way you left things after the fight, the quickest way to confuse them would be to tell them you want them back with no apology, no preamble. But either way the words still form on your tongue in your imagination, and you’re mid internal monologue when Hongjoong stops walking and brings you back to reality.

“y/n,” He says, gesturing to the couple across from you, “Seonghwa, I’d like you to meet Choi Jongho and his fiance Kim Eunji,”

“Oh!” You can’t help the surprised sound that leaves you, “You’re the vocalist Hongjoong has told me so much about!”

Choi Jongho smiles politely, eyes flicking to Hongjoong, but then he nods, “That’s me,”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you both,” You dip your head in quick acknowledgement.

“So, you’re y/n?” Eunji says before Jongho can finish out the polite greetings and confusion runs through you.

She’s looking at you with warmth and kindness, and it’s not often that omegas meeting each other for the first time are quite so positive and open. You’re used to a little hesitation, especially when alphas are around, everyone becoming a little territorial in mixed company, but Eunji seems unphased.

“I am,” You nod as your brain starts to catch up.

“Hongjoong mentioned you,” She explains at your confused expression, “I was hoping I’d get a chance to say hello,”

“He did?”

“Sorry, let me explain,” She smiles, “my little sister is debuting with your company soon,”

“Oh!” Your brows shoot up and you run through the girls you’ve worked with to realize the common surname, “you’re Jiwoo’s sister?”

“Yes!” She nods excitedly, “We’re very proud of her,”

“That’s so nice,” You smile, relaxed now that you understand her abrupt familiarity, “she’s a very good dancer,”

Eunji beams.

“She’ll be debuting as main dancer,” Seonghwa nods, “for good reason,”

Jongho smiles, his hand sweeping a warm line up and down his wife’s back, “Jiwoo says you and the others have been very kind during their preparations,”

“Well,” You nod, “they’re working very hard, and I’m sure debut must be scary enough, there’s no need to add extra pressure,”

“It is,” Jongho hums knowingly, and you recall Hongjoong mentioning he was from another idol group that had disbanded. You wonder idly in the back of your mind how difficult it really was for him judging by the brief expression on his face.

“Exactly,” Hongjoong offers, “I thought you’d all like to meet considering the mutual acquaintance,”

“Absolutely,” You say, “it’s been lovely,”

Eunji is about to say something more, but Seonghwa’s hand brushes your upper arm and he leans into your ear, “At the bar,”

“What?” You glance up at him and he nods past Jongho and Eunji. Your eyes follow his.

The air leaves your lungs, but you feel Seonghwa’s thumb brush a comforting line over your skin, “Go,”

“Hwa,”

“If you’ll excuse us,” Seonghwa interrupts you and gives a dazzling smile to your party, “her partners just arrived and it’s been a few months with the tour,”

You’ll have to have a word with him about his word choice later, you notice the way Hongjoong’s eyes widen, but Jongho and Eunji just nod with understanding. The bond between alphas and their omega isn’t something to be taken lightly, and they take a step back to clear your path.

You recover just enough to leave with normal pleasantries, “Thank you, sorry to run,”

“No, no, of course,” Jongho nods, “it was nice to meet you.”

“If I ever drop by the studio to see Jiwoo,” Eunji adds, “I’ll make sure to say hello,”

“That would be nice, I look forward to it,” Your body is all but screaming at you to move now.

“Well,” Seonghwa pushes you forwards, “I’m sure we’ll see each other later on in the evening,”

Hongjoong says something more but you don’t quite hear it, and suddenly you’re being propelled forwards. Seonghwa dips his head towards you ear, “Good luck, be braver than I would be,”

And then you’re alone, surrounded by bodies but alone nevertheless.

You’re not exactly prepared for how you’re going to feel when you see them again. It’s been months, and the first thought that strikes you is how much they’ve changed in such a short time. Mingi looks broader somehow, but his face looks a little thinner and more angular, like he’s lost weight from all the performances and training and travel. Yunho’s hair is a little longer, the back a shaggier against his neck, but intentionally so, and the cut of his jacket makes his shoulders look wider. You want to barrel into their chests and tug them as close to you as you can, but instead you take a steadying breath and just give yourself a second to drink them in.

You can’t stop yourself from smiling at the way they stand side by side as they wait for their drinks at the bar, and butterflies ripple through you, but despite everything you felt while they were gone there’s no fear. You just missed them, really and truly missed them.

You’re moving before you consciously think it through and you watch their eyes widen when they see you coming, but it only spurns you on faster until you’re all but crashing into their sides at the bar.

“Hey,” You’re just so happy to see them you can’t get the grin off your face, “you’re back,”

“We’re back,” Mingi nods, and you can see the hesitation in his face.

“I’m,” A million words run through your mind, but you settle on the truth, “so happy to see you,”

“You are?” Yunho’s brows go high.

“Yeah,” You step a little closer, letting the words you’ve been holding finally roll off your tongue, “this isn’t the place to talk, but yes, I’m happy to see you, I missed you both.”

Mingi exhales heavily and his lips quirk up.

Lowering your voice a little more, you hold Mingi’s gaze, “I got your letter,”

Yunho’s head twists to the side, confusion all over his face as he looks to Mingi for clarity.

“We should talk,” You want to reach out so badly, but you hold it back for now, “but I wanted you both to know I’m sorry too, and I’m really glad you’re home now,”

“Me too,” Mingi nods.

“Good,” You sigh, “that’s good,”

“Are we okay?” Mingi glances between both of you.

“Yes,” You nod, “I still think we should talk, we left things badly before, but I thought a lot about everything and I don’t want things to be uncomfortable anymore.”

In the background you hear the speakers cut off the ambient music, and someone taps on a microphone to check that it’s connected. You glance towards the stage and see someone preparing to introduce Hongjoong.

“Should we go somewhere?” Yunho asks, “Now?”

The man on stage clears his throat into the microphone.

You shake your head, “Not tonight, I want to be here for Hongjoong,”

“Of course,” He backtracks.

You reach for him this time, resting your hand on his forearm, “But maybe later this week when you’re settled we can just clear the air. I have some things I want to tell you,”

He swallows tightly, and you can feel that he’s a little nervous but he nods, “Sure,”

“I just,” You step back and look between them both, “I didn’t want you to stress about coming back to the studio,”

The relief is palpable between all three of you as Hongjoong takes the stage, and Mingi says, “For a second I was worried you weren’t going to be here,”

“No, I was just running so late,” You admit.

“You’ve been okay?” He asks.

“I am,” You nod, “you both are?”

“Good,” Mingi says.

“Tired,” Yunho shrugs, and you suppose you can see a little of that in his eyes.

“Seonghwa said your flights were delayed,”

“Something like ten hours,” He sighs.

“Are you sure you’re okay to come back tomorrow already?” You press them, “You’ll be jet lagged,”

“We’ll be fine,” Yunho smiles a little at your concern, “don’t worry,”

There’s a pause, a bubbling lull between you, but you can’t keep yourself from saying it, “I really am so glad to see you,”

“Me too,” Yunho says.

Mingi nods, but then his eyes flick up and he gestures behind you, “Someone’s looking for you,”

You check over your shoulder and see Wooyoung lingering nearby and when he catches your eyes he points to his glass and then to you, checking to see if you need another and giving you a smooth out if you need one. You shake your head and turn back to Yunho and Mingi, “I should go,”

“Okay,” Mingi says.

You think suddenly if you walk away without making a plan you’ll think of nothing else all night until you can’t sleep, “Saturday,” you blurt out, “are you free?”

“Yeah,” Yunho says and Mingi nods.

“Let’s get dinner,” You say it before you can panic and take it back, “you can tell me about tour and I can… I have things I want to tell you,”

“Just say when and where,” Mingi says, “we’re there.”

“Okay,” You sigh, “good, perfect,”

You can practically feel Wooyoung hovering at your back and you take a deep breath as you step away, but part of you wishes you could just take Yunho up on his offer to get out of here.

“y/n,” Yunho smiles a little, stopping you in your tracks, “you look happy,”

“I am happy,” You tell him honestly.

“That’s good,” He breathes.

“Saturday,” You nod, “I’ll catch you both up on Saturday,”

You see a flicker of something in Mingi’s expression, but then he smiles, “Wouldn’t miss it,”

You turn before you lose your nerve and run straight into Wooyoung carrying two full glasses of champagne.

“Everything okay?” He asks, pushing a glass into your hands, some of the bubbling liquid spilling over the sides and over your fingers.

“Good,” You assure him, tugging him away from the bar and towards the back wall where you can talk to him unobserved.

“I wasn’t sure if you needed rescuing,”

“I didn’t,” You tell him, “I was doing fine,”

“Shit,” He grimaces, “did I fuck up your moment?”

“No, no,” You shake your head, “we’re meeting on Saturday, I’m going to talk to them then,”

Something’s a little hurried in his face though, his eyes glancing past you again and again, and you can feel that he’s not exactly present.

“Woo,” You start but he locks his eyes with yours and cuts you off.

“I think I just met the love of my life,” He stammers, “I might fucking faint,”

“What?” You hush him, pressing him back into the wall behind you, “Are you serious?”

“I’m not going to faint for real,” He swats your hands away, “but I don’t know, y/n, I can’t breathe. My fucking chest is tight,”

“Holy shit,” You manage.

“I know,” He nods, “I know,”

“You’re not close to your heat are you?” You probe him, wondering if you need to make a break for San and Seonghwa.

“No,” He shakes his head, laying a cool hand on his flushed cheeks, “it’s nothing like that,”

You nod relieved, “Well, then what happened?”

“Okay,” He takes a long steadying breath, “you see that guy on stage? The one to the left of Hongjoong?”

“Choi Jongho?” Your voice spikes up and he shushes you frantically.

“No, oh my god,” He waves his hand to get your volume down, “he’s engaged, y/n, no, the other one,”

You look to the left of Jongho and take in the third man on stage. He’s the one who introduced Hongjoong, his voice low and velvety soft. He has long blonde hair that brushes his collar bones, the top half gathered into a messy but chic bun. You can tell from here he’s handsome, devastatingly so, with a cool expression and his lips parted just enough to make you wonder how he kisses.

“Oh,” You nod, “got it,”

“Exactly,” He runs a panicked hand through his own hair.

“He’s an alpha?” You surmise, “Did you catch his scent or,”

Wooyoung’s shaking his head frantically before he can finish his words, “He’s a beta,”

You can’t control the surprise in your expression, Wooyoung’s only ever really gone for alphas. It makes sense, most omegas do, considering the hindbrain of it all, but Wooyoung’s looking about as wrecked as you’ve ever seen someone.

On stage, Hongjoong gestures towards the two men on his left and you switch your focus from Wooyoung’s whining panic to the man addressing the crowd, “I have one more announcement to make tonight,” he says, “something that would not have been possible to announce without Choi Jongho. I don’t think I need to tell you what a talent he is and how lucky we are at KQ to have brought him on. We have a preview of something we’d like to share, once again, something I felt very creatively supported in by Kang Yeosang,”

“That’s him,” Wooyoung hisses next to your ear and you refocus, “Kang Yeosang,”

“Shh!” You hush him, but by the time you can hear Hongjoong again, he’s moved on to announcing that he’s going to preview Jongho’s new single, and you roll your eyes to refocus on Wooyoung, “So who’s this guy?”

“Creative director,” He explains quickly, “album art, concepts, the works.”

“Damn,” You manage.

“He’s so fucking smart, y/n, you have no idea,” He breathes.

“So you actually talked to him?”

“Talked to him?” He laughs, “I had his cock down my throat like thirty minutes ago,”

“Jesus Christ, Wooyoung, that’s too much information,” You smack his arm.

He rolls his eyes and continues, “We bumped into each other in the hall, like physically bumped into each other. I spilled my drink all down his nice white shirt,”

The shirt Yeosang is wearing is still crisp white, so you assume there’s more to this story before he even keeps going.

“I felt like an idiot,” He admits, “pulled him into the bathroom and told him I could fix it right up with a little club soda,”

“Okay,”

“He barely said anything at first,” Wooyoung continues, “I was just rinsing his shirt out while he stood there half naked looking like Michalangelo or something,”

“I don’t think Michaelangelo was very cut,” You smirk.

“The statute,” He swats you, “you know the one, don’t fuck with me,”

“Okay, fine, go on,”

“Anyway,” He sighs, “I was just talking, keeping the conversation going, fucking babbling while I washed out his shirt and then before I knew it he had me pressed up against the mirror with his tongue down my throat,”

“Wow,”

“One thing led to another,” He blushes again, “and then we just talked while I finished drying his button down,”

“Wow, again,” You breathe.

“I know,” He breathes, “I’ve never felt like this,”

“Okay,” You squeeze his hand, “but, Woo, this is a good thing,”

“I know, but I’m kind of fucking terrified,” He admits, “is this how you felt?”

“Pretty much,”

“It’s awful,” He admits.

“Tell me about it,”

The crowd around you starts clapping, the speeches are over, and the men on stage start to head down the side steps to rejoin the crowd as the single begins to play. Everyone in the room is listening attentively to the music except you and Wooyoung.

“What are you going to do?” You ask him, your voice low.

“Go home with him,” Wooyoung checks his watch and then presses his untouched glass of champagne into your hands, “I’ve got to go,”

“Whoa,” You shake your head, “are you sure that’s a good idea?”

“I’m a big boy,” He rolls his eyes again.

“Text me his number, and his address,” You insist, “and check in with me tomorrow. If you don’t, I’m calling Seonghwa and San.”

“Oh my god, please don’t do that.” He grimaces, texting you Yeosang’s contact information anyways.

“Don’t make me,” You tell him.

“Fine,”

“Have fun, please be safe,” You’d take his hand, but yours are full of champagne. You hope the genuineness of your expression gets your point across to him.

“I will,” he promises, “and I’ll call you. We’ll talk all about Saturday too, I just,”

“I get it,” You nod, “honestly, I do,”

“Thank you,” His eyes soften, “and please, don’t tell San and Seonghwa. Not yet,”

“I won’t,” You assure him, “just go, be happy,”

“You too, okay?” He smiles, “Whatever it is, you do it. You deserve it after all this,”

Your stomach warms at that, and you know he’s right, you just want to do this the right way for once. Over Wooyoung’s shoulder you see the blonde man in question smoothly cutting his way through the crowd, and you nod towards him, “Get out of here, I’ll talk to you tomorrow,”

He’s gone without another word, just a rushed smile as he weaves his way towards Yeosang, a bright and beaming grin now on his face. He’s a goner, you can see it clear as day. A brief flickering question passes through your mind of how this might affect his dynamic with Seonghwa and San, but given the way your best friend is lit up from the inside it doesn’t even matter. If you deserve to be happy like that, so does he, however it happens.

With Wooyoung gone, you take a moment to survey the room, but you can’t find your group anymore. You see people from KQ you recognize, but your normal BB Trippin group is nowhere in sight and Yunho and Mingi are no longer towering over everyone at the end of the bar. You listen to the rest of the new single, something soulful and rooted in R&B just like Hongjoong had described to you all those months ago.

As you listen to the crooning love song, your mind loops through the encounter with Yunho and Mingi, of every microexpression and you get lost in your plans for Saturday yet again. How you’ll tell them you’re sorry, how you’re ready to move on and to be honest with one another. How much you still want them, that you might love them.

You don’t know how long you’re standing there by the back wall, thoughts tumbling over what-ifs when you’re brought back to reality.

“Tough night?” A voice makes you jump, a little more champagne dipping out of your glasses as you turn to the side.

“Hey, Minseok,” You laugh a little, “you scared me,”

“Sorry,” He smiles, begging off, “I just meant the two drinks, and you know, hiding in the corner,”

“Oh,” You shake your head, “no, Wooyoung ran off and stuck me with his glass. Do you want?” You offer it to him.

“Sure,” He nods, smoothly taking the glass from your hands.

You take a quick sip from yours and clear your throat softly, “So, enjoying the party?”

He nods, “It’s nice, but honestly I was just about to get out of here and call it a night,”

“Me too,” You nod. You’d try to say goodbye to Hongjoong, but he’s been tied up all evening mingling, and without any of your friends in sight it seems as good a time as any to slip out.

“Let me walk you out,” He offers, plucking the champagne from your fingertips and placing both glasses on one of the nearby side service tables.

You probably would have finished it, and a flicker of annoyance passes through you, but you let it pass and nod, “Sure,”

You’re not far from the door, and he organizes grabbing both of your checked jackets as he makes small talk, “Are you taking the train or,”

“I’ll probably order a car,” You usually do when it’s late like this and you’ve had a few drinks despite the extra cost.

“Me too,” He nods, passing your jacket over.

You shrug it on and search for something to say, but Minseok isn’t as forthcoming and chatty as some of the other dancers, “Do you live closeby?”

“More towards Itaewon,” He zips his jacket and gestures towards the exit doors that will lead you out onto the street.

“Mm,” You nod, pushing through the doors.

“You know, we could,” Minseok starts to say, but the minute you step aside you finally see some familiar faces.

“There you are!” You smile, and your familiar group of dancers turns at your voice.

Minseok says something else, but you don’t quite catch it and you spin to apologize quickly over your shoulder before rejoining your friends.

“I thought you left,” San ushers you over to their group.

“Good timing,” Seonghwa adds, “my car’s not far, you want a ride?”

“Sure,” You nod, you’ll never turn down a less expensive rideshare.

Yunho and Mingi are talking with Jaemin at the edge of the group, but you catch Mingi’s glancing eye and give him a smile. It’s impossible to just smooth over your last real conversation with them, but you’re trying to signal in every little way that you want to move past it, that his letter meant something. You’ll lay out the rest for them as soon as you get them alone.

He smiles back, quickly catching that you’re about to leave and you can see that he wants to step away from the conversation he’s having about some missteps from the tour.

“Have you seen Wooyoung?” San asks, bringing your attention back.

“For a second,” You nod, but look away from quickly as you try to tell a vague white lie, “I think he already split,”

He hums, but then Seonghwa gently taps your back, “Car,”

“Oh, perfect,” You step with him and turn to the group, “goodnight everyone, see you in the morning!”

Dahan and San both give quick, small waves.

“Goodnight,” Mingi says, his conversation stuttering to a pause so he can address you, “see you,”

“See you tomorrow,” Yunho adds, nodding.

Your stomach feels like it might flutter right out of your body.

“I’ll have him drop you first,” Seonghwa says as he helps you into the car, jogging to the opposite side to get in himself.

As the car pulls away you feel lighter than you have in months, and seeing them again makes everything feel so much more sure. They’re real, they’re back, and they want to see you too. Everything else falls to the side, for once the path forwards is crystal clear.

#this chapter was honestly fun and i hope you like the introduction of other ateez members!!!!#honeyhotteoks fics #ateez fics #this night together fic #yunho x reader #mingi x reader #yungi x reader #yunho fic #yunho ff #mingi fic #mingi ff #ateez fic #ateez series #ateez ff #ateez #yunho #mingi

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candlewaxandp0lar0ids · 1 year

Text

you’re so gorgeous it makes me so mad || Hyunjin

[Picture credit: 너는봄]

Pairing: Hyunjin x f!reader

Summary: There’s you, there’s Hyunjin, and then there’s the girl that thinks that flirting with him will get her somewhere. It doesn’t, but it does get you to fuck him in the bathroom

Word count: 4.4k

Genres: PWP, bit of fluff

Warnings: smut, unprotected sex in the context of a long-term established relationship, sub!hyunjin, oral (male receiving), vaginal sex, fingering (female receiving), jealousy, possessiveness kink?, hints of praise kink, bathroom sex, semi-public sex, implied College AU, dancer!hyunjin, this is quite filthy by my standards lol, some feelings in there too but it’s quite soft.

Hyunjin always looks most in his element when he’s performing.

That is what makes him so fascinating to watch when he’s on stage. His focused expression, the way his body moves exactly how he wishes it to, with no room for error. Confidence and power radiate from him and light up the room, forcing all the eyes to focus on him. He’s the heart of any stage he’s on, easily eclipsing others.

Sitting in the audience, you’re always taken in by what a sight he is, no matter how many times you’ve seen it. Beads of sweat travel down his body, hips roll with the rhythm, and you know for a fact that anyone who meets his eyes during the performance will feel like he’s staring straight into their soul. His long hair are like a halo around him, only perfecting the look — blonde, and he looks like a sinful angel, red or black, and he’s a demon.

You think that’s why you also enjoy watching him when you’re at parties.

Sure, it isn’t as obvious then, but to the trained eye, there are telltale signs. One of them is the fact that he never hesitates. He never stumbles on his words, never has to stop himself in the middle of a sentence because he forgot where he was going with it, never gets it wrong. His expressions remain controlled, even when he throws his head back laughing, even when he high-fives his partners as he wins whatever drinking game they’re playing and performs happiness. He always times the moment when he runs his hand through his hair just right, and his smile is a smirk, lifting only one corner of his lips. He never fails to meet his interlocutor’s eyes, and, it is not rare for the other person to lose their train of thought under the attention he gives them.

It’s almost as interesting a sight as when he’s on stage, but it also isn’t Hyunjin.

Maybe that’s why it doesn’t bother you so much that you’re watching from across the room, leaning against the door frame, as he’s playing a game of pool with some of the other dancers from the company. You don’t feel too embarrassed about staring, because you’re certainly not the only one who’s interested in the way his long, muscular body looks as he leans over the table.

From where you are, you can’t get a good look at his ass, though.

Shame.

You should probably find something else to do. You could get a hold of Jisung, he’s always fun to be around; find out what Minho’s up to and how he’s going to ensure that the party descends into chaos; or, more simply, go sit down next to Seungmin and enjoy a nice conversation — until Minho inevitably recruits the both of you for his scheme, of course.

Or you could stay here and keep watching Hyunjin like you’re interested in the game of pool — what are the rules again? —, knowing full well that he’s aware of your eyes on him and that he’s enjoying the attention.

“Oh, I am so going home with him tonight,” a voice comments to your right, just a little too loud, making you glance in that direction.

There are two girls there. The one that spoke is tall, with legs for days. She has a beer in her hand, and she's twirling a lock of bleached blonde hair around her finger. Her eyes are, without a doubt, set on Hyunjin. And you’d bet she wanted you to hear it.

“He looks like sex on legs,” her friend comments, clicking her tongue appreciatively.

The remark makes you grimace, though you try to hide it. It’s not that you don't get the feeling behind the comment, it's just that it feels weird to hear people actually talk about Hyunjin like that in front of you. If you were more confrontational — or if you’d had a little more to drink — you probably would have snapped.

Shit, you should have gotten Minho when you had the chance. He would have said something.

“You’re not the only one who's going to be shooting your shot,” the friend adds, like an afterthought.

“Yeah, but I’m the only one who’s in the same league as him,” the blonde chuckles, and you see her eyes darting in your direction for less than a second.

You raise an eyebrow. So that was the point she was trying to make. There’s probably a time where the comment would have made you shrink on yourself, thrown you into a self-deprecating loop. Right now, you just hide the smile that threatens to break on your face by taking a sip of orange juice.

‘Cause you’re the designated friend-who-has-to-stay-sober-just-in-case of the night.

You still don’t say anything, this time less because you don’t want to fight and more because now, you kind of want to see where this goes.

As if on cue (ha), the game of pool ends. Blondie sees an opening and takes it immediately.

Maybe you’d be happy for her, or a little impressed, if she hadn’t already proved to be such a bitch.

You watch as she saunters close to the table and asks if she can play, as Hyunjin hands her a cue and she makes sure to make eye contact and brush her fingers against his. There’s an ever so slight slip of the mask during which Hyunjin’s eyes move towards you, before he gets back on script.

It doesn’t take long for blondie to start missing shot after shot, and to turn around at Hyunjin, pouting and asking if he can give her a hand.

It’s well done, you’d give her that if she wasn’t trying to fuck him and if she hadn’t practically insulted you to your face.

Hyunjin’s the perfect mix of helpful and gentlemanly. He doesn’t wrap himself around her like she clearly wants him to, but he does give her pointers, and you can’t help but frown when he puts his hand on her back to guide her. She looks delighted, clearly seeing it as a victory. Hyunjin glances in your direction, and you reply by raising your eyebrow.

It would be easy, really, to walk over and start fighting for his attention as well, but that would make you just another part of the show, and that’s not what you do. It’s not that you can’t perform, it’s that you won’t do it for people’s entertainment — and this would entertain them.

So, once Hyunjin’s eyes are back on the table, with a tint of red coloring his ears, you let yourself slip away. It is something you have a hard time understanding about him, how hard it is for him to do things that would displease the people around him, things that don’t fit with his role. Especially because, underneath it, he’s nothing like the character he portrays.

Having gotten out of the sea of drunken bodies, you find a window that’s unoccupied, in an empty corridor, and you lean outside, taking a deep breath. It’s not exactly ideal; there are people smoking two windows to the right and it makes your nose scrunch in disgust, but at least it’s colder inside than out. The night is filled with the sound of cars rather than the silence you’re craving, and the stars shine dimly with all the light pollution. Still, it’s outside, and it may not be great, but it’s truthful. What you see is what you get.

The word people used most to describe Hyunjin was mysterious. Though he was at every party, he stuck with a small group of friends, and sometimes the people who danced in the same company as him. He was quiet, but he was also a good listener, and there was something about the way he held himself — tall, shoulders straight —, about the way he grinned, about how his eyes took in the people around him, that fascinated them.

There were lots of other words thrown around to talk about him. Arrogant, confident, cold, hot, scornful, selective — enough contradictions to make your head spin.

You’re convinced that no one would use those words to describe Hyunjin by anyone who actually knows him. Hyunjin is— He’s one of the sweetest people you know. He gets embarrassed when complimented and avoids eye contact. He’s shy, not arrogant or scornful, and forging genuine relationships takes him time and energy, two things he rarely has to spare. He ugly cries when watching dramas. He doesn’t like the attention nearly as much as he likes the effort itself, likes knowing that he does well. He gets exhausted after every performance, whether it’s being out in public or on stage, and afterwards, he just wants to stay inside, and get taken care of.

Ideally, by you.

Large hands come to rest on either side of you as you feel a chest against your back and a quick kiss pressed against your neck.

“Everything okay?” Hyunjin asks.

It’s interesting to you how even his voice changes. It’s always softer with you. Even when you’re hanging out with his friends and when he’s joking around with Felix or Minho, it’s like he’s not— projecting it. Like he’s not performing anymore.

“I didn’t mean to upset you,” Hyunjin mumbles into your neck, breath warm against your skin, and you turn around with a smile.

The worry in his eyes dissipates as you wrap your arms around him, threading your fingers through his hair. It’s black at the moment; you recently helped him go back to the color after he got tired of being blonde. It’s damaged still, but that doesn’t stop you — and you enjoy the shiver that goes through him when your nails graze against the nape of his neck.

“I thought you liked it when I get jealous?”

Immediately, his hips stutter into you and his eyes go wide.

“I—” He clears his throat, hands tightening around the railing behind you. “I don’t want to hurt you,” he says, dodging the remark.

“I’m not hurt,” you hum. Truth is, you’re not really the jealous type. You don’t think you could be with Hyunjin if you were. You’ve had a few… outbursts, though, at the beginning of your relationship, which left you ashamed at first — at least until you realized that Hyunjin was very much into it. You wouldn’t have expected it, considering the fact that he was clearly uncomfortable with other people’s possessiveness over him, but he seems to feel differently about you doing it.

Which is why you don’t hesitate too much about pushing one of your legs between Hyunjin’s legs and pressing your thigh against his crotch.

“But I could be jealous.”

Hyunjin remains still, but there is a tension to his body. It’s obvious to you that he’s trying to hold himself back, to resist the temptation of humping your leg like a dog. As his eyes search yours, trying to figure out what’s going on in your head, you can feel him growing half hard against you, can see his tongue darting out to wet his lips, can see the way they part as he draws in a quick breath.

“A-are you?” he asks when he only finds playfulness and teasing in your demeanor.

“Hmm,” you say, flexing your thigh just to hear a low hiss coming from him, tracing small circles on his neck with your index finger, “I certainly think that it wouldn’t hurt to give a little reminder of what's mine.”

It’s always a delight to see Hyunjin give in. It rarely takes much pushing — you wouldn’t try to get him to do anything he doesn’t want — but the thrill is not in the chase. It’s in the way his eyes widen, in how he bites his lip as the tiniest of whimpers rises from the back of his throat, and it's in the jerk of his hips into you.

In this moment, you know you have all of his attention, in a way none of the people that surround him ever will. That look in his eyes right now, behind the desire, is the same you see when you wake up in his arms, is the same you sometimes catch him giving you when you’re working at the table of your apartment and he’s on the sofa watching his dramas.

It’s a look that is exclusively yours.

“Would you like that, Hyunjin?” you purr. One of your hand comes to cup his face, thumb gently brushing against his jaw. His skin is soft under your fingers.

You see him hesitate, let him take his time. Finally, he leans towards you and kisses you, soft and slow. You let him set his rhythm, feel him get more impatient when you don't take the lead. His hips move once more against your thigh, more demanding this time, and you can feel him growing harder.

You pull away from the kiss and he chases after you before stopping himself. You suspect he probably had to fight himself to avoid letting out a whine in protest.

“We should probably take care of that, don’t you think?”

It’s not that you wouldn’t like to see him humping your leg until he comes in his pants, but you don’t think the setting is ideal for that. The two of you still need to get home after that, and you know Hyunjin would absolutely hate having to walk around in sticky underwear — though you don’t doubt that he would very much enjoy the moment preceding that.

“Yeah,” Hyunjin replies, voice low and raspy. “Yeah, we, er, we should.”

You grab his hand, pulling him after you. He offers no resistance, is perhaps even just a little too eager to walk after you. Most times, you think there is something feline about him, about the grace with which he moves. In times like these, though, he’s much more like a puppy, and that’s just as cute.

You beeline for the bathroom, pushing Hyunjin inside when you see it's empty. You might piss off a few people, but you can't find it in yourself to care when you finally give in and press yourself against Hyunjin, hands roaming over his body, and kiss him hungrily. The moan he gives comes muffled by your mouth. Much to your regret, you won’t be able to hear him get loud in here.

Oh well. The night’s still young. Ditching this terrible party surely won't hurt.

You don't hesitate to palm him through his jeans. He’s rock hard now, pants tight around his cock, and he pulls away, biting his lip to keep himself from crying out. There’s loud music outside, and there are definitely other people fucking somewhere else in the building, yet you still tease as your fingers trace his length.

“You can’t make too much noise in here or they’ll hear you, babe.”

Hyunjin nods, pressing one hand against his mouth. You know your touch is too light to provide him much relief — it just gives him an idea of the pleasure — yet he’s already blushing up to the tip of his ears. You can’t resist adding a little bit of fuel to the fire.

“Do you want everyone in here to know that you’re mine?”

The effect is immediate. He pushes himself into your hand and his eyes open to give you a pleading look.

How could you ever resist him?

After a glance at the floor — it looks clean enough and you’re going to leave it at that —, you drop to your knees. You take a little more time than you need to unzip his pants and pull them down over muscular thighs, mostly so you can hear him whine your name in protest. Then, finally, you free his cock, and it springs out of his boxer, hard against his stomach.

Now, you’re not someone who pays that much attention to guys’ dicks in general. It’s not the tool it’s the way you use it and all that, plus you’ve found that some guys assume that size is all that matters and don’t bother putting it any effort. That being said, even you know that Hyunjin is big. Just thinking about the way his cock stretches you makes you press your thighs together. You’re growing wetter by the second, and seeing that Hyunjin's already dripping with pre-come doesn’t help. You reach up to tease his tip with a finger. Hyunjin whimpers into his hand.

“So hard for me, babe,” you coo. “All for me, right?”

You see his cock twitch, and he nods fervently.

“Yes, yes, just for you, puh-please—”

He’s just too cute, you think, and then you wrap your lips around the head of his cock, glancing up to see him throw his head back. The hand that’s not pressed against his mouth and doing a poor job of keeping the moans to spill out comes to grab your head, though he doesn’t try to push himself deeper. You move your tongue against the head, taking your time to wet it properly. You can feel the muscles of Hyunjin’s thighs twitching desperately, and the knowledge of how much you’re affecting him is insanely hot to you.

With one hand, you reach between your legs, easily sliding a finger inside yourself, soon followed by another. You take his cock in deeper as you keep fucking yourself with your hand. Your eyes are focused on him, on all the delicious ways in which he expresses his pleasure. You know he’s trying his best to control himself, yet his hips keep jerking forward, shallowly fucking your mouth even as he’s trying not to. You moan around his shaft, and a more high-pitched sound comes out of his throat when he feels the vibrations.

As his hand isn’t enough, you see him pushing two fingers inside his mouth and biting down on them softly. The sight is absolutely sinful, and you can’t resist rewarding him by hollowing your cheeks around him. Of course, that only makes him try harder to contain the noises, but that just adds to the fun.

“God, Hyunjin,” you groan, pulling off of his cock briefly, giving him a reprieve, “you’re so fucking hot for me.”

He blubbers something around his fingers — ‘just for you’, you suspect — and you get back to his cock with a grin. You press wet kisses along his length, flicking your tongue against it, and wrap your hand around the base to stroke it carefully. You don't want him to come just yet, though the moment is definitely approaching. Can’t hog the bathroom all night, after all.

You interrupt your ministrations for a few seconds, which is enough for Hyunjin to glance back down at you, pouting slightly.

Cute.

Without any more hesitation, you take him your mouth as far as you can. There’s no way for you to fit him all inside your mouth, but it’s more than enough for him to choke around his own fingers as he desperately tries to contain his noises and throws his head back. His legs are trembling now, back arched against the wall. You would give a lot to see him from another angle, because you’re sure he’s a sight right now.

Pictures, maybe. He might be into that. Hm, you’ll have to bring that up later.

For now, you focus on making the moment as pleasurable for him as possible. Pressure is growing stronger between your thighs too, and you've started teasing your clit, hips rocking as you get closer to your own orgasm.

Hyunjin whines, begs around his fingers, you think, but it’s when you feel him twitching in your head that you pull back. He blinks, eyes blurry, and gives you an adorable pout.

“W-why…?”

You push yourself up to kiss him briefly, swollen lips just absolutely irresistible to you. You know he doesn’t mind tasting himself on your lips, but you don’t drag the kiss on for too long. You’re reaching your limit as well.

“Do you want to come inside my mouth or my pussy, babe?”

Being given the choice when he’s already half fucked out means that Hyunjin hesitates, both options clearly appealing to him. You give a light, gentle squeeze to his cock as you pepper kisses down his jaw.

“C’mon, you have to give me an answer or I’ll just use my hand,” you grin against his skin.

“N-no,” he’s quick to reply, “your pussy, I want your, uh, your pussy.”

You chuckle, then wrap a leg around his waist. A strong hand grabs to your thigh for support, fingers digging pleasantly into the supple skin.

“Then go for it,” you hum, “I’m all ready for you.”

His cock presses against your wet folds, and Hyunjin whines. You take him in your hand, lining him against your entrance. As he pushes into you, slowly, to make sure you have the time to adjust yourself to him, you pull his head to yours, kissing him once more. You swallow all of the little noises he makes as he gets inside you, and that way you make sure any sound you make isn’t too loud. You usually have good control over yourself, but this position — with you standing up against the wall, one leg around Hyunjin — often has you weak.

Tonight, though, it seems that Hyunjin is the one who has a harder time controlling himself. Once he’s all inside you, the movement of his hips becomes erratic, and he buries his head in your neck, teeth worrying your skin in a surprisingly pleasant way, as his whines get more high-pitched and desperate.

You reach between your legs to rub at your clit. The stretch you feel is perfect, and even if Hyunjin fucks you sloppily, chasing his pleasure with irregular movements, the sight and the thought that you got him like that, that you are the only one who could ever get him like that are enough to get you to the edge.

“That’s it, Hyunjin,” you whisper in his ear, knowing you won’t last long now, “come for me, babe, all for me, show me that you’re mi—”

Hyunjin spills himself inside you with a final moan, and in those final moments you arch yourself into him, allowing the pleasure to blind you for some delicious seconds after being in control the whole time. You ride the orgasm on his cock, eyes closed, with one hand in his hair and the other holding on tightly to his shoulder.

As you come down from your high, you think he’ll be lucky if your nails don’t leave a mark.

“Fuck,” Hyunjin whispers in your neck, “fuck, I, that was—“

Yeah, you think he surprised even himself there, and you smile as you press soft kisses to his temple.

“You okay?”

“More than— More than okay, yeah.” Then he finally looks at you. The blush hasn’t subsided at all. If anything, it’s more present right now. “Was that— was that okay for you? I didn’t—”

Oh.

“I enjoyed myself very much,” you reply softly. “You were perfect, Hyunjin.”

“I’ll— make it up to you. I promise.”

“You have nothing to make up for,” you grin, “but I’m sure we can figure something out.”

He pulls out of you carefully. Now that he’s come, he’s much more attentive, hands on your hips so you don’t have to put too much weight on your legs just now, and now you’re the one whose breath catches in your throat. That look on his face, when he’s careful, considerate, gentle with you, that’s when you get weak for him. You don’t think he’s fully aware of that just yet, especially because you’re the one who leads in the bedroom more often than not.

You’ll show him, eventually. You’re not the best at demonstrations of affection, but you try. You can only hope he knows how much he matters to you.

“All good?” he asks you, and you can’t find anything to say at the way he looks at you then, so you pull him down for an urgent kiss — no lust, this time, just the absolute need to feel him against you. He smiles at you when you part, looking a little surprised.

“I don’t know what I did to deserve you,” you say. The other confession doesn’t make it past your lips, not tonight, but still Hyunjin softens, and you think — you hope — he knows.

“I wouldn’t ask for anyone else,” he replies.

Then someone bangs on the bathroom door, and the tenderness of the moment is broken.

“I’ll clean myself up,” you say with an eye-roll, “you can get out there. I’ll be here in a minute.”

Hyunjin licks his lips, then nods.

“Okay. I’ll see you.”

He kisses you, soft and sweet, completely unlike you, and then he’s out.

When you follow — it takes you a little more than a minute, and even then you can’t wait til you get home and take a shower — your eyes look for him instinctively.

Ha.

You’d almost feel bad for the girl who’s trying to get his attention, touching his arm and flirting with him, right after he’s come inside you. Normally, you’d let it slide once more. Hyunjin isn’t big on pda, tries to keep that part of his life more private, and you can’t say you care for it either. As a result, it’s pretty easy for people to be unaware that you’re a couple, particularly since you’re such a, er, unexpected one. The girl just doesn’t know.

But she kinda had it coming too.

You make your way to Hyunjin and casually slide your hand down his arm so you can intertwine your fingers with his. The look he throws you then is surprised — but it’s also delighted, and you reply with a smile.

“I’m thinking of heading home soon, babe, you’ll walk me back?”

The slow understanding on the girl’s face, the way her mouth drops open like it would in a comic book, and the flash of, you think, embarrassment in her eyes is fucking priceless. It would be enough to make you coming over worth it. Yet it’s nothing compared to the butterflies you get in your stomach when Hyunjin gives you the brightest smile — the one that makes his eyes almost close, the one you never see at this kind of parties.

“Sure.”

And if, later, he teases “since when do you call me babe outside of the bedroom?”, well… it’s still all more than worth it.

if you saw this being posted last night: no you didn’t ♥ basically i’m stuck at about a third of all the projects i’ve tried to work on lately, so I decided to write porn. i hope you enjoyed it, any feedback or reblogs would be greatly appreciated. thank you for reading this!

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