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allforhee · 4 months ago

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— 𝐈𝐓'𝐒 𝐀 𝐂𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐈𝐒! (ONESHOT) | LEE HEESEUNG

୨୧ pairing — secretary-general!lee heeseung x delegate!fem!reader

synopsis: decelis high's academic weapon, future valedictorian, model un prodigy especially in the crisis council, and top-notch secretary-general of the mun club, lee heeseung has it all. from earning constant "best delegate-s" left and right, no one dared to go against his stances in any debate. until a student like you transfers into decelis high. as a soon graduating senior, you were a newbie to press. but with your endless love for writing, you'd managed to steal the hearts of your peers. it was your first mun, and you didn't expect much. but when heeseung finds out about an article you've wrote about his arrogant performance in a recent committee session, he is set to strike you down.

୨୧ genre — kinda angsty but with happy ending, high school au, secgen/crisis delegate!heeseung x press delegate!reader, academic rivals to lovers, dumbasses in denial, a brief moment of rivals in public but lovers in secret, one sided rivalry

୨୧ warnings — a lot of model un terms (hope you guys can understand), cursing, hurt no comfort, heeseung highkey hates reader, reader is a bit feisty and could care less but she lowkey has parental issues, featuring all the other enhypen members, aespa's winter aka minjeong, txt's yeonjun and beomgyu, stray kids’ i.n, gidle's shuhua, and ive's wonyoung, one bed trope, forced proximity

୨୧ word count — 13.3k (not proofread, but will slowly edit/make changes to tiny minor mistakes found)

୨୧ author's note — dear readers, i'm back from a long overdue hiatus with a new layout and theme! this fic is long as HELL i didn't expect it to reach this long omg. i also changed up a couple details so it will be quite different from the teaser! i’m so sorry for the long overdue wait, senior year of high school has been so hectic, and i’ve been finally able to finish this so enjoy :) omg holy shit y’all are finally reading my full length fic i’ve been harboring since what? february?

𝐋𝐄𝐄 𝐇𝐄𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐔𝐍𝐆 had it all.

the walls of his room were littered with delegate lanyards from conferences across the globe, "best delegate" certificates framed all over his house (and a couple crumpled up inside his desk to fit the space), and a collection of trophies stood in every nook and cranny.

no one at decelis high dared to go against his stance. whenever it was, whether it was a moderated caucus or unmoderated, he'd always have his country or character's placard raised high, ready to speak, or leading whatever bloc was being formed.

there was no doubt that no one had ever beat him. it was no doubt that he was decelis high's mun club's secretary-general, and those who chose to go against him either got crushed in fear or knew when to step back.

even with his "best delegate" status, he wouldn't have gone far without his best mates, park jongseong, sim jaeyun, and park sunghoon.

park jongseong or jay, most known for his cold stares in the debate room, ready to make a delegate tremble, would always chair crisis. he was decelis high's deputy secretary-general alongside heeseung. and although being heeseung's best mate, he never favored him when it came to awarding. it's just that he was naturally talented.

sim jaeyun, known for his popular slogan around the school; "jake it till you make it!", was the strongest when it came to knowing what a country or character believed in. his research skills were like a pirate on the hunt for lost treasure, he had all the facts, the data, and the proof to back up any stance. whatever heeseung needed to know, jake already had his back.

and park sunghoon. even though he was the quiet one of the bunch, his position papers never ceased to appeal to any chair. even if he wasn't as strong in speaking out during committee sessions, his fingers were his weapon. the guys would always ask him why'd he chair press and not join in the heat with them, he'd always answer with "my words are stronger than my actions." where jay would always respond with "isn't that the other way around bud?"

the four were unstoppable when it came to model un. lee heeseung was unstoppable. he was. until you came along.

you were quiet at first. everyone just saw you as the new girl who transferred for her senior year. nobody cared. until decelis high's annual mun conference, which happened to take place a couple weeks after the first day of school.

students from all over the country gathered at decelis high once a year to join in on the fun. various councils were presented at decelis mun, from heeseung's favorite council, crisis, and multiple others like unhrc, who, unsc, disec, unicef, and your favorite, press.

without a doubt, you registered yourself for press, opting that you didn't have the guts to join any other council. you feared you'd tremble listening to another delegate question your stances and ideologies.

your parents would always encourage your writing. as a child, you loved to write little imaginary stories about your life as a princess. writing stories about the love you've seen in your parents, you were set to write a book. but when your mom passed away a few weeks before your senior year of high school, and your dad constantly traveling for work, you had resorted yourself to watching the news all summer long, spiking your interest in being a journalist, where all you had to do was report whatever was going on, spit out what had to be said, and done. you didn't need to think long and hard on what your character was supposed to do next to support the storyline, no opinions, no biases.

as you stepped into your assigned council's room, you felt a gush of wind. the nervousness had gotten to you more, seeing all the socially bright journalists with their laptops open and chatting amongst each other happily.

"hi! you're a new face! oh and you're cnn! me and you will be best buddies! bbc here!" a girl squeals, she has a bright smile and a oh-so friendly demeanor. no doubt a popular trait amongst the press council.

"minjeong! don't scare her off. we're so sorry, she sometimes comes off a bit too much to new people. i'm wonyoung, the co-chair for press." she introduces herself.

"oh, hello. i'm y/n. i just transferred to decelis this year. it's my first time at press." you smile. you lost all your socialite cheerfulness over the summer, but meeting minjeong and wonyoung felt like you've been recharged. "oh and i'm the journalist for cnn?"

the girls take a glance at your nametag, examining you, before wonyoung cuts, "first time? don't worry sweetheart, we'll tell you all about it! right hoonie?"

a tall figure walks up to the three of you, no doubt a intimidating face. "y/n right? i'm sunghoon, the chair for press." he asks.

"yes yes this is her! oh we've got to tell her all about press! first timer alert!" wonyoung beams, before entangling her hand with sunghoon's. there was no doubt that the two were a couple.

"ugh, okay you two cut it off! we're journalists, we gotta be professional!" minjeong argues, playfully slapping wonyoung's arm, causing her to let go of sunghoon's.

at first, you had no idea what you were stepping into. but when chair sunghoon welcomed you to press with his icy-blue eyes and quiet demeanor, the other journalists supporting each other when it came to writing their articles, you felt right at home.

it didn't feel like it, but two days of endless debates went on, countries arguing left and right, and articles written on the current hot topic. the tension was surely rising, and your fingers were tired.

you were glad it was all over.

at every post-conference social, before awards were handed out, the articles the journalists from press wrote would be released to the conference for the other delegates to read. besides their usual gossip box, the articles the press wrote were always the fuel to the fire.

one article stuck up to heeseung. it read; "secretary-general heeseung's love for crisis interferes chair jongseong's chairing process, now who's really chairing crisis?"

heeseung swore to himself that he's never seen a girl like you. so quiet yet so powerful in her writing. hearing rumors that you've only just recently transferred to decelis high. even sunghoon himself was surprised to meet a talented journalist like you, a first-timer at press.

"it was her first time?" heeseung protested, "i mean- she's so quiet and reserved, if she had been doing press for years, i wouldn't be surprised. but this is her first time?!"

"what do you mean she's quiet? look at hoon, he never says a word in comses, but look at him chairing press. and i would never mind you tagging along in crisis, you always give out good insights." jay interrupts his thoughts.

heeseung complains, "i understand that, but her innocent face says nothing to what she wrote about me!"

"her articles were critical. they were precise and to the point. there was never a single weak spot in her articles. i think she's gonna make a run for my position." sunghoon defends.

"it's just one article hee, it won't affect your entire track record anyways." jake compliments, giving him a pat on the back.

heeseung believed what jake said was true. he did have an outstanding track record. "best delegate"s here and there, one silly little article wouldn't ruin his entire reputation.

as the clock strikes seven, social night was slowly coming to a close. decelis high's third annual mun was coming to an end. all that was left was to hand out the awards.

heeseung made his secretary-general speech as usual, a couple thank you-s here and there, before he handed it over to the chairs to announce the awards.

as he was walking down the stage, he felt a couple stares from mostly the press council linger. fixing his tie, he shook it off before taking a seat in the front row.

awards were handed, from best position papers, verbal commendations, honorable mentions, most outstanding delegates, and of course, best delegates.

the press council was saved for last. sunghoon asked heeseung if he could be given more time to rethink his options for the awards, and as his best mate, he let him. in reality, sunghoon didn't need time to rethink his options. he and wonyoung knew who was going to win best journalist. sunghoon just wanted to save the best for last.

when heeseung hears sunghoon's announcement for best journalist, it clicks.

"and the press council's best journalist award goes to none other than... l/n y/n!"

cheers could be heard from across the conference room. minjeong practically jumping on you when they heard your name mentioned. you rushed to the stage with a red face and a still shocked reaction, receiving the certificate along with the medal. wonyoung gave you the biggest bear hug known to man, whilst sunghoon gave you a firm handshake.

you felt the cameras flashing at you, taking pictures from what felt like every single angle. unbeknownst to you, heeseung was glaring at you from the front row.

best journalist. best journalist? his mind was running all over the place. how could he? how could sunghoon, his best friend, let such a writer like you, who wrote a devious article about him, win best delegate?

a single glance at the other delegates of the press council only angered him more. amongst them were laughs and snickers. he swore he heard a journalist say; "looks like mister secgen is upseeet!" but decelis mun only happened once a year. he wouldn't have the need to care about you every other day.

or so he thought.

heeseung felt like you were everywhere. at every lunch break, you were always sitting across his and the boys' table, laughing at nonsense with yunjin and wonyoung. during free periods, you'd be at the library, hunched over your laptop or head deep in a book. and at mun club, you just had to be there.

he hated that you were gifted like him. he hated that his friends favored you. he hated that sunghoon would always send you to their rival school's muns to participate in their press councils. he hated that you always won. he hated that you were clouding his mind every single day.

you hadn't but uttered a single "thank you," to lee heeseung. as decelis high's secretary-general, you didn't think he'd care about you. you were just a writer. you had no strength in the debate field, no reason for lee heeseung to care. but why was he being so cold?

it started when you applied for the harvard model congress. you were ecstatic to find out you'd be attending the conference. obviously, you told minjeong and wonyoung all about it. even striking up small talk with sunghoon.

"that's amazing y/n. i mean, harvard model congress? that's big!" his tooth-rotting smile bringing a cheerful mood.

"you went from winning best journalist in schools across the state to varsity level in just a few months!" minjeong squeals, as she hugs you. you were really lucky to have such caring best friends.

laughing along in the mun club room, you could feel heeseung's glare from his desk. headphones on and focused onto his laptop screen, you felt a strange feeling resonating off of him.

heeseung was fuming. the entire club applied for harvard model congress. heeseung got in. his mates did. and of course, you also did.

it was supposed to be a three day long weekend with his mates full of debate, laughter, awards, and getting drunk on social nights. but no. you and your friends would be there too.

heeseung didn't understand why everyone was so trusting of you so easily.

even jay, was friendly with you. "well y/n, i think you're going to make a run for hee's job!"

wonyoung rolls her eyes at jay. "he should be scared. you've rose up through the ranks like jake's receeding hairline."

"hey! my hair is perfectly fine, thank you!" jake cuts, huffing at the ridiculous comment about his hair.

"yo hee! we gotta work out the letter to the school so we can get a few days off. come over here, you look like you're burning holes into your laptop!" jay chuckles, receiving a smack on the arm from jake.

a quick but surprising slam! from heeseung's laptop emitted a low echo throughout the room. followed by a ruffling of him throwing his decelis almameter over his shoulder, and another loud slam! of the mun club room's door. lee heeseung just stormed out.

"oof, what's got into him?" minjeong asks, her face contorting into an anxious look.

"i don't fucking know, he's been at it since decelis' annual mun. throwing temper tantrums left and right." jay sighs, concerned for his best friend.

"well i guess that temper is living up to my article." you suggest, letting out a huff and a subtle eyeroll.

sunghoon takes a deep breath before realization hits. "now that i think of it, he's been at it since you've joined our core team." while he points at you.

"what does that have to do with me? i didn't do shit. all i do is sit, join muns, write, and win awards for us. would he rather i'd be getting verbal commendations instead?" you sigh. you've done nothing but bring pride to decelis high's reputation.

wonyoung laughs, patting you on the back. "it's not about winning verbcom or bestdel, it's about heeseung finally finding his match."

"exactly! he's gone on and on about constantly winning at every mun. he's always complained about needing more of a challenge. and no shit he's been jealous of your achievements." minjeong pipes in.

"that's ridiculous. i don't understand crisis as much as he does, i'm just a journalist on the press council! he's basically just being an ass to me, that's all." you confessed, you and heeseung were basically on different levels. he was secgen and lover of crisis councils, whilst you were just one of the head journalists and co-editors of the press division.

"maybe he likes you? i don't know!" jake squeals, lifting his shoulders in question. jay and sunghoon gives him a slap on the shoulder each, a glaring stare between the three.

"no no, lee heeseung is a cold-hearted son of a bitch with an ego to feed every other day, there's no way he can feel shit." minjeong debates, a hint of anger in her voice.

"woah girl, what's got you mad? i get you two grew up together but that's a lot to say about heeseung." wonyoung asks her.

"i know it's a long story, but y/n deserves to know. right?" minjeong asks, waiting for you to nod to continue. "every single day of my life, i was my parents' star girl. i love my parents for supporting me. but ever since heeseung moved in next door, i was demoted from best girl in the neighborhood to second best to heeseung. ever since we were eight, heeseung didn't like to lose. to a boy he'd be a good sport. but when he lost to me in a mere storytelling competition, he'd throw a tantrum. that's heeseung to me. he's nothing but an egotistical ass who has to win everything."

you sigh, hearing minjeong’s words. "and you know what y/n?" she continues, "he's never lost it since we were 13. and you, y/n, have officially made him lose his mind. again."

this year's harvard model congress was held at seoul national university, the dream university of many korean students. the seven of you stayed at a hotel nearby, settling in.

sunghoon picks up the keycards at the check-in counter, "okay so there's three rooms in total, the girls are sharing, me and jake are in one room, which leaves heeseung and jay—"

"i'm sorry sir," the hotel staff interrupts him, "but the rooms are already divided by the hotel and cannot be changed. it says here, room 745 is for miss kim and miss yang, room 746 is for mister park, mister sim, and the other mister park— mister jongseong, and room 777 is for—"

"great. thank you. alright, let's settle in and get ready for opening night." heeseung sighs, grabbing his suitcase and your shared room's keycards before heading to the elevators. you gave the rest of the group a shaky smile before following heeseung.

the moment you two entered the lift, and as heeseung tapped the keycard and pressing the button for the seventh floor, you could feel the tension.

as the lift begins to move upwards, heeseung lets out a sigh. "look, l/n. we're sharing a room by casuality, so don't make it a big deal."

you huff shakily, "a big deal? you're the one who's been avoiding me all year! i barely disturb you and all i do is win awards for decelis. what else do you want from me?" your voice slowly getting angrier.

as heeseung opens his mouth to answer, the lift comes to a halt as its doors open, signaling that they've reached the seventh floor.

heeseung holds the lift doors open, so you can exit it with ease. you were surprised with this gesture. coming from him who could care less about your presence, you were baffled.

as you both reach at your hotel room, heeseung gave you one of the three keycards given before tapping his at the hotel room's door.

and as if your romance stories came to life, you spotted an oh-so familiar trope sitting in the middle of your hotel room. there was only one king-sized bed.

"shut the front door." you sighed, looking at the clear situation in front of you.

heeseung entered behind you, "i clearly have, what are you talking abou—"

"no dumbass, it was a metaphor. i'm talking about this." you exclaimed, pointing your finger at the bed.

"great. i'll call up room service and get this sorted—"

"no it's fine, it'll be too much of a hassle and social night is in two hours. besides, we're civil adults, and we're here for only two nights. we can bear 72 hours living through this stupid one bed trope."

"fine. just so you know i'm taking the left side."

heeseung dropped his bag near his side, as he was trying his best to keep his composure. sharing a room with you was bad enough (that's what he keeps telling himself), but a bed as well? he'd rather win verbal commendation than share a bed with you.

you were unpacking your necessities before you decided to break the ice. "heeseung just so you know—"

but before you could finish, heeseung was already out the door. before the door closed, you could hear a mere; "i'll go down for social night. you do you." and a click! of the door.

you scanned the room that was once filled with such tension, spotting your room keycard on the bedside table.

you took off your sweater and switched to something a bit classier for social night, changing to a blood red dress you had packed to match harvard's colors. minjeong and wonyoung had helped you choose it a couple days prior, the conversation reappearing in your mind.

"harvard's got nothing on you with that dress! watch out best journalist!" minjeong hypes you up as you're trying it on in the changing room.

"are you sure it's not a bit too much?" you questioned, feeling insecure in the dress.

"too much? my guess is heeseung would drop dead seeing you in that dress. after all, he is in love with you." wonyoung giggles, which earns her a slap on her arm from winter.

"just own it y/n. maybe layer it with a leather jacket if you get cold?" minjeong suggests. you look at yourself in the mirror once more. maybe this would be the turning point between you and heeseung's rivalry. maybe he'd look at you and decide that he no longer hated you and instead loved y— no. enough of those thoughts.

as you touched up your makeup from earlier this morning, you headed out to find wonyoung and minjeong waiting at the lobby.

"there you are— oh that dress looks, damn!" minjeong exclaims, covering her mouth with her hand to hide the utter shock.

"i just know heeseung's going to gape at that dre—" before wonyoung could finish her sentence, she earns a smack on her arm from minjeong. "ow minie! i don't want my arm to be black and blue at social night! which starts in... thirty minutes. we should get to campus and fill in our registrations so we're set."

opening night was a blast. harvard model congress knew how to throw a goddamn banger of a opening night.

there were so many things to see. a karaoke booth, a photobooth station, a merch station, even a snack booth filled to the brim with various snacks and drinks.

after receiving your lanyards and a couple papers where you'd find your assigned councils for the next day, you, wonyoung, and minjeong, were set to let lose one last time before you were head deep into your laptops, writing articles for the next three days.

entering the room littered with decorations and other delegates, you and the girls entered the ballroom hand in hand, in awe with the decor.

wonyoung spotted the boys immediately, already saving a table for the seven of you. the three of you walked to the table, which had name plates for all your names. wonyoung next to sunghoon, jay next to jake, minjeong on your right next to you, and heeseung on your left.

sitting at the assigned seats and listening to the opening remarks by harvard model congress' secretary-general, the food was served and you all dug in.

although this was only the first of two social nights, you and the girls had to make the best of it. from abusing the “free photobooths!” booth, and filling the room with echoes of musical ballads, your first night at harvard model congress was deemed memorable.

before you knew it, you were dragged to the back of the room, as wonyoung pulled out a small paper bag—which turns out to hold a couple bottles of liquor, you grabbed your glasses and started pouring.

you could see out of the corner of your eye—the girls downing shots of tequila (in secret, cause you didn't want to get caught), and the guys coming along to take a shot or two. but heeseung looked, tense.

jake slapped him on the back, giggling, “come on man, loosen up a bit! mun isn’t all about the awards and the roles, it’s about the memories!”

“and the friends we make along the way, am i right?” jay chimed in, with a teasing tone.

before you knew it, heeseung grabbed an entire bottle and downed what was equivalent to maybe 4 shots, wonyoung squealed, arguing the fact that it was a very expensive bottle of liquor.

“dude! that’s from my dad’s cabinet, it’s at least 500.000 won!” she argued, grabbing the bottle out of his hands.

as you tried to ignore his gaze, minjeong gave you your first shot—which you downed immediately, but it only made you feel like heeseung’s gaze was burning holes into you more.

heeseung sighed, “give me another one.” holding his hand out for someone to pour him a shot. “come on, i don’t got all day.” before sunghoon poured him another shot—which he downed immediately.

you hated the feeling of his stare. it felt, uncomfortable, but you liked it? the more he stared, the more you downed more shots. before you knew it, opening night came to a close, and you were stumbling your way down the hallway with wonyoung and minjeong, before finally finding your room. and in your drunken state, you passed out.

burning pain. your eyes couldn’t handle the bright light emitting from what seemed to be all around you. as you open your eyes, head spinning, you flopped back down onto your bed, exhausted, and with the hotel room ac, you felt frozen.

but as you get comfortable onto the bed once more, you feel a sense of warmth engulf your body. it felt welcoming. comfortable. maybe a bit too comfortable for your sake. but the warmth was soothing. it was, moving?

you shot back out of the bed, trying to rub your eyes to focus back onto the warmth, but that warmth pulled you back into its embrace. as if it needed you to survive.

as you try to recollect the events of last night, your usual 7am alarm rung. what a great way to ruin the moment.

a groan echoed from that warmth you once clung to, a familiar sound, a familiar… voice?

“l/n, what time is it?” it asked.

fuck.

"chill y/n, you'll be fine." you whisper to yourself, walking to your assigned council's room. from the rest of the journalists in your gang, you had been assigned to report on different councils. while wonyoung and winter were assigned to report on the ASEAN council, sunghoon to report on the UNHRC council, you were unfortunately assigned to the crisis council. just to your luck. your mind was still stuck in what happened this morning. you met your chairs, shuhua and beomgyu, role call was held, and your first committee session began.

while you were typing away a starting paragraph for an article, a bright face comes to greet you. "oh hello, l/n y/n right? i'm jungwon, the journalist for KBS! i sit right next to you in our council room."

"oh hello! i'm y/n, reporting for the new york times, it's nice to meet you." you smile, offering a hand out for him to shake, which he accepts.

"so, you got assigned to crisis too huh?" jungwon asks as you nod, "honestly it's one of the worse councils to report on because everything is moving... too fast." he sighs.

"i don't mind the speed, it gives me inspiration to write. but everyone has their capacities right?" you try to reason, whilst jungwon gives an agreeing nod.

not long after some small talk before you could enter crisis' council room, another boy tags along. his bright smile clearly infectious as you and jungwon couldn't help but smile at his bright appearance.

"annyeong! nice to meet you i'm sunoo!" he smiles, his blonde hair reflecting the lights in the room.

you shake his hand as a boy with blonde hair and black streaks tags along behind him before slapping the blonde’s arm, "i'm nishimura riki, you can call me riki. can’t believe i flew all the way from tokyo for this."

“yah! your writing is fine riki, your good shots will steal the show.” sunoo assures him, before looking back at you, and smiling.

riki sighs, before turning on his camera “i wanna get the redhead over there, heard he’s super good at mun or something..”

you blink as you realize riki was talking about none other than—heeseung.

"oh him? yeah he's my secgen." you tell him, the sentence floating out of your mouth. jungwon and sunoo turn to you with gaping mouths.

"wait- what? he's YOUR secgen? THE lee heeseung?" jungwon exclaims.

you furrow your eyebrows, "um, yeah? what's the big deal about him?"

sunoo's face lights up, as he prepares his words. "girl, he's the most highest ranking student in the high school mun circuit! his countless awards and times he's chaired makes him a legend. he's a literal model un weapon, even delegates with the veto powers are scared of him." he explains.

as you open your mouth to respond to his comment about heeseung, one of the chairs of the crisis council exits the room to greet you.

"ah hello journalists, you're here. i'm yeonjun, the head chair for crisis. we currently have unmod going on right now so you're just in time. we'll give you guys a couple opportunities to interview the delegates, but please be mindful." he explains.

you and the three boys smile back at him, before he opens the council room door and lets you in.

"delegates! i'd like to introduce to you all the journalists from the international press institute council, who will be observing our committee session. we have yang jungwon from KBS, kim sunoo from associated press, nishimura riki from NHK, and y/n l/n from the new york times. please treat them with the upmost respect.

a couple delegates say their greetings, and even explaining the current debate going on, as the four of you smile back at them. the crisis council was a popular council, and you can tell that from the amount of delegates in the room.

as you return your laptop back into your messenger bag and pulling out a notepad, a pen, and some sticky notes, you look back up only to lock eyes with heeseung. his gaze was deadly. you give him a slight smile, which he responds with an eyeroll.

the only thing you hated about being a journalist was the interviews. you needed to research, but having to interact with people you don't know? you'd rather kill yourself. it just happened that heeseung's stance was interesting enough for you to pass a post-it note to him, which he threw away.

so you were surprised to see him walk towards you during break, as you had thought he had rejected your interview offer.

"l/n, you wanted to interview me?" he'd asked you, no bad tone in his voice.

you looked at him surprised, kinda shocked, "umm, yeah? are you okay with that."

"i'm good. just, make it quick."

you open your notes to find your question you wanted to ask him, "um, do you mind if i record?" you asked, which he nodded. "okay, so as the delegate of colombia, what steps would you take to face the ongoing drug trade happening in your country? as a journalist, we have not seen you speak up much lately, so i'd like to know your thoughts."

"um, thank you for the interesting question, well i think—"

it was unlike him to treat you like this. unlikely for him to keep his cool. as you try to remember the words he was saying as you hold out your phone to record him, nothing was catching on. it was as if words went in one ear and out the other.

he was so professional. the way he walks, and the way he talks—the way his lips move when he talks, the way he explains his stance—the way he’s saying the words—the way his lips move to pronounce it, oh and the way he-

“l/n? are you done? i’m wasting my precious break time here.” heeseung asks you, breaking you out of that trance.

you compose yourself, hitting the stop button on the voice recorder app, “oh yeah, sorry, i was thinking of another question to ask you—got carried away…”

heeseung rolls his eyes at you, before thanking you and scurrying away.

what had gotten into you? you’ve never seen heeseung in that way before. he’s always been just a secretary-general to you. who also happens to hate you. you think.

but as the unmoderated caucus comes to a close, you return back to your council room, ready to write an article on heeseung’s stance. after all, you still had a day’s left worth of committee sessions, as well as a press conference held at the crisis council.

the press council room was chiming with the clicks and clacks of keyboards, journalists writing articles left and right. you were in the middle of writing once again another filler article, as you had no idea what to write for your mandatory article. as you look through your gallery, observing pictures you took earlier for your articles, you can't help but notice heeseung in his element.

as you're typing a possible title for your mandatory article, you hear from beside you, "hey, what's going on with you and heeseung?" sunoo asks, as you turn to him in shock, as you were in the middle of writing an article.

you laughed nervously, "what? nothing's going on between us. he practically hates me." you sigh.

jungwon pulls his chair over to you, placing his laptop on your table in the process, "i don't think so. not from what i saw last night."

you gasped at what he said, "and what i saw this morning! i could practically feel the tension emitting off the two of you as you were interviewing him. i've never seen a man so intrigued before." riki chimes in.

"this morning? nothing happened, i was interviewing him on his stances and whatsoever for a possible article! that's all to it!" you defend yourself, trying to get back into your article.

"y/nie, sweetie, i've seen way too many kdramas to tell that the way he's looking at you, is a look of love~" sunoo teases, smiling as if he knew something more.

jungwon and riki laughes at your expression, which seemed to resemble a disgusting look, but underneath that, you felt a sting in your heart. not a bad sting, a good sting.

"but hey you two seemed pretty cozy last night, i wonder what that was for?" jungwon asked.

riki gasps, "hey i took a picture! wait let me find it..." as he pulled out his camera, going through the camera roll. "here! you guys were dancing together a lot, and he basically was carrying you back to your room. what, did you guys get drunk or something?"

you choked on your water, as the events of last night start piecing together. "i remember taking a couple shots, he did too, but all i remember after that is falling asleep on my bed... i assumed my friends helped me to get back but now that i think of it... they were pretty drunk too."

taking another closer look at the pictures riki happened to capture, you saw two beaming smiles, and from the looks of it, it looked like you two were having fun. you've never seen him smile this much, let alone around you. the other picture resembled like a married couple. it was as if heeseung was trying to pick you up, but by the looks of your drunken states, it wasn't really working.

"wouldn't it be really funny if you guys accidentally fucked or something? that would explain the tension!" jungwon jokes.

you shake your head, before putting your face in your hands, "no way, not in a million years. our tension is, well, our tension! it's what happens normally!" you try to defend.

"no you're right won, they totally fucked. i mean the floor you guys are on? most of the rooms have king or queen sized beds. what would you guys be doing other than that? snuggling into each other till the sunrise?" riki assumes, scoffing afterwards.

your eyes widened in shock, as if jungwon cut your brain opened and took out the events of what happened this morning. you put your head in your hands once more before beginning to cry.

riki saw your reaction, "hey i didn't mean it that way! i mean it's- um... great? if you fucked? but if not then that's like, totally okay! i mean sex isn't for everyone—"

sunoo cut him off, shooing him away, "stop making it worse, ki-yah! y/nie? will you tell us what happened?"

you sniffed, not knowing why you suddenly burst into tears, maybe it was the frustration? you grabbed a tissue to compose yourself, "i don't know... all i remember is i woke up this morning, in his arms, and i just jumped out and got ready. we didn't even talk about it. all of a sudden he's back to his old self and he's being mean to me again."

you take a deep breath, sunoo rubbing you on the back, trying to calm you down. "he's been like this ever since i transferred. i was just the new girl who was a press prodigy, that's what they called me back at decelis, and i don't know, he's hated me every since. no reason whatsoever. i've tried to win his attention by winning muns and stuff but, it doesn't matter. he looks at me as if i disappoint him."

jungwon and riki both comfort you as well, before jungwon has a strike of realization. "you know, it's not that i wanna stir up delusion in your mind, but it's quite common for guys to hate someone because they like them. what if he has a crush on you?"

riki realizes as well, "yeah what if? what if all this time he's been trying so hard to hate you because he actually likes you?"

hearing the words likes you come out of their mouths makes you shudder in fear. no way he likes you. right?

before you knew it, your chair returns to announce that press conferences are due to start soon. and up first? was the crisis council.

stepping foot into the crisis room, with the information in mind, you start to notice the tiny little characteristics that match with the fact. the fact that the lee heeseung might as well have a crush on you. as you, sunoo, and two other journalists were guided to the front of the room, your chair explaining to the crisis delegates how the press conference was going to work, before giving the floor to the journalists.

you keep your head hung, distracting yourself by re-reading the questions you’ve written on your notepad, peeking through your hair, trying to take a glimpse of heeseung.

heeseung was in his element as always, head deep in his laptop, a couple volunteers passing by to give him a post-it note, filled with scribbles of other delegates wishing to be on his side. but as per usual, his critical self crumples the notes and puts it aside to his pile of other crumpled notes.

sunoo, on your left, nudges you in the arm, trying to snap you out of it. the moment you lift your head to look at the delegates and compose yourself, you catch heeseung looking at you.

with your bloodshot eyes, your usual smile fading, heeseung can’t help but notice what happened. you were fine last break. your eyes which used to be sparkling with curiosity had been traded for puffy eyes and a fake smile.

he wanted to come up to you, wanted to ask what’s wrong. but as your chair introduced the journalists, he’d wonder if it was just an impulsive thought.

each journalist had to share 10 minutes worth of press conference time to ask questions, a tight amount of time. as the journalist on your far left begins, the clock begins to tick. being the last journalist to ask, you begin to feel worried.

but as the mic is passed to you, and mere two minutes left on the clock, you scramble to compose yourself and your questions. “this journalist would like to open the question to the floor, with the excessive drug trade impacting the economy of your countries, what is an effective solution you’d have to decrease the drug circulation, but at the same time, would not damage your economy?”

placards were raised, and amongst them, were heeseung’s. you could see the colombian flag on his placard raised high, but as the journalist of the new york times, your work came first. therefore, you chose someone else. “yes, delegate of the united states?”

the delegate of the united states stood up, and you finally saw the name on his nametag. yang jeongin. he smirked at you, sending a wink. “thank you madam journalist for the intriguing question, as the drug trade across our country begins to increase…”

as you held your hand forward holding your phone out to record his answer, continuing to talk for the next minute. it felt like a lifetime. but in the corner of your eye, you could feel his gaze burning holes. heeseung held his placard high, glaring dead straight at jeongin even if he was still speaking. but as you thank jeongin for his answer, you open the question once more to the floor.

you hear a screech of the chair as heeseung, the only one holding his placard up, stands up to answer. but you don’t discern anything he says. you just stare at him. before you knew it, the clock rang, signaling that time was up.

sunoo nudged your arm once more, trying to snap you out of it. “you okay?” he asked, worry written all over his face. you nodded to tell him you were okay.

as you were escorted out of the room to head to the hotel restaurant for lunch break, you couldn't help but feel the same feeling of heeseung's gaze at the back of your head. you ignored him, walking out with sunoo by your side.

but you were stopped briefly by someone, none other than the delegate of the united states. "hey, that was a very interesting question you asked earlier at press conference. i was wondering if you need my insight on anything? given as i'm usa and you're the new york times." jeongin suggests, his usual smirk returning from before. sunoo winked at you, before leaving the two of you alone in the hallway.

you blink at him, "oh! yeah, i was thinking about gaining insight from, well our country's side of the story. so what can you tell me?"

your notepad flips open along the click of your pen, ready to jot down his words, before out of the corner of your eye, that sharp gaze returns. the burning stare heeseung emitted was back. you gulped and let out a breath you didn't know you were holding. "hey, um jeongin? could we find somewhere a bit more quiet so i can record the interview? i need to make sure everything is clear because i need to submit the questions to my chairs."

jeongin smiled, "of course sweetheart, i know just the place." before he took your hand and led you away. unbeknownst to you, heeseung was fuming.

as the two of you walked away, heeseung couldn't help but wonder. what's so great about yang jeongin anyways? compared to himself, his track record was not all that. yeah he may have won most outstanding or honorable mention a couple times, but never best delegate. consecutively.

heeseung felt a tap on his shoulder, before briefly turning around. jay was standing there with a cup of coffee. he grabbed it out of his hands before immediately drinking out of it.

"that's! hot coffee..." jay protested. but to heeseung, his rage burned hotter. "what's got your panties in a twist?" jay asked, sipping his own cup of coffee.

"nothing, just pissed at a delegate. per usual." heeseung lied. as the two begun to make their way to restaurant to eat lunch.

jay chuckled, seeing his pissed face, "dude, i've known you for over eight years, you don't get pissed at a delegate for no reason. this is harvard model congress for god's sake, everyone here? they're basically professionals. mun legends. i wouldn't have afford this shit if i wasn't good at it. the awards and prizes helped fund this hobby."

heeseung sighed, "it's not just a delegate. it's someone else."

"it's y/n, isn't it?" heeseung snapped his head to glare at jay, as if he grew three heads. "chill dude, i can tell. you're painfully in love with her."

"no no no, you don't get it, she's a menace to my track record. do you remember back at decelis mun before she transferred? her article basically ruined my record the next five muns? i basically had to avoid chairing so the rumors wouldn't be deemed true." heeseung argued, reminiscing the times.

"but you'd argue she's a damn good writer, isn't she?" jay defended, "i mean no one from decelis has won consecutively aside from you. and she comes in to make the decelis name proud. aren't you glad? you're secgen after all. you're just in denial."

heeseung sighed, looking at his cup of coffee, once full, now empty. "i'm not in denial! i'm just stressed with a couple delegates in committee session, unmoderated caucus was, stressful."

entering the restaurant, their eyes landed to the corner booth, where you sat face to face with jeongin. jay turned his head to look at heeseung staring deadset at the two. "well, whatever floats your boat man, i'm gonna get some lunch. unsc might as well go to crisis next comses." jay pats him on the back, joining sunghoon, jake, wonyoung, and minjeong.

heeseung stood still. he couldn't help but wonder. is this what love feels like?

"so, yang jeongin, what can you tell me about the united states' stance on the current illegal drug trade? i assume that the country is fully aware of it happening?" you ask, pressing record on your voicenotes app.

jeongin looked around, before reaching over and pressing the stop recording button on your phone. before you could protest, "okay cut the crap, what's going on between you and lee heeseung?"

you looked at him strangely, not expecting the sudden confrontation. "well, nothing? i don't know what you want me to say, this isn't part of the interview."

jeongin dug into his food, "screw that shit, i wanna know why your secgen is all on my ass. i mean i looked at you once at comses earlier, and he looked at me like i lit an orphanage on fire."

you almost choked on your pasta, "what the hell, dude. he's just like that. he hates my guts so much he has to make me feel uncomfortable everywhere i go. i literally bring home decelis as many awards as he has in the past two years. i don't get him."

"nah, i don't think that's hate. he looked at me as if he was clyde and i was trying to steal away his bonnie. that's a look of love."

you sighed, "the thing is jeongin, he doesn't care. i've done everything to pique his attention, best journalist awards left and right, i was supposed to run for deputy secgen but he didn't let me. he said i wasn't a true decelis muner yet. i mean 8 muns in the span of a couple months? and i've never lost a single one? he probably hates me because i chose the lamest council."

jeongin swallows his food before he comes to realization, "hey weren't you the journalist who wrote on heeseung back at decelis' mun? i remember felix-hyung, my friend, that he went feral over it. he was chairing unicef, and in the chairs' room, he overheard heeseung talking about your article. how it was going to ruin his track record, or something."

"i mean, i do remember briefly. wonyoung, my chair, said i was allowed to write about the chairs or staff, even if they were filler articles. i wrote about heeseung and jay out of interest, i didn't know their history." you confessed, feeling quite bad about the outcome. "i didn't want my article to end up being gossip or shit talk, i just wrote what i wanted to."

"freedom of the press, am i right?" jeongin laughed, "speaking of the devil." signaling heeseung heading towards your table.

heeseung stood at your table. "yang. l/n." before scooting next to jeongin's side of the booth. you couldn't help but move your eyes between the two. after what sunoo and the boys told you earlier, and jeongin's confirmation that basically people could tell, you sit there in silence.

heeseung clears his throat, "well i'm not seeing much interviewing going on, delegates."

you scoffed at him, "it's none of your business heeseung. we're all delegates, it's lunch break. you don't have to boss around all the time."

"our decelis guidebook strictly confers to not confide in the enemy. and here you are, with the enemy. you know if you spill precious information regarding us we'd be dead?" he scolded you.

a laugh escaped your throat, "the enemy? jeongin is far from the enemy to me. matter of fact, heeseung, you've been more of an enemy to me rather than a secgen."

jeongin whispered, "keep it down y/n, it's okay."

you stood up in anger, "no it's not okay! i've been trying my hardest to do everything i can, i've won consecutively since my first mun at decelis, i've done everything you ask for. i've done nothing but make the decelis name proud, but i just can't happen to make you proud. what do i have to do next? i do everything and all i do is fall at second best. if you hate me so much then kick me off the goddamn team! wouldn't want me tarnishing your precious track record by having a traitor on the team, would you? all this over a stupid article i wrote months ago." you walk away from the table, returning to your room.

heeseung was speechless, the rest of the room was in awe, normally delegates would be able to stay professional. even if there was a break up or something. even wonyoung and minjeong looked at heeseung in anger, meanwhile jake, jay, and sunghoon looked at him in disappointment. jeongin stood up and left the booth, avoiding any more anger out of heeseung. "if i were you, i'd apologize. that girl has done nothing but try to please you and make you proud. start there." jeongin added before leaving.

out of habit, heeseung hung his head low in embarrassment. this was worse than the time you wrote that article about him. as he stood up to confide in the boys for advice, he spots a small leather notepad in the corner of the booth. it was yours. he'd have to find you, face you and give it back. it wouldn't hurt to read a bit of what's inside, right?

running back to your room, you couldn't dare return till next comses. the fact that an entire room full of delegates and chairs had heard you scream at heeseung's face. and returning back to the bed you woke up from this morning, limbs tangled with heeseung, didn't really help.

hiding your face in your bedsheets, tears flowing freely, you couldn't help but smell the familiar cologne he had left behind. the smell stung your nose, and made your eyes water more. the scent that once plagued you, now had lulled you to sleep.

a blurry facade appeared, the sound of heavy noise music remained muffled. your feet were cold on the hotel floor, destination? room 777. you were swaying side to side, but thankfully you were able to hold on to a pillar, which was moving with you.

"we shouldn't have drunk this much, right l/n? i'm not even sure i'm prepped for comses tomorrow morning." the pillar said.

"you have it easy, lee. you don't have to write 4 pieces worth of mandatory articles and observe other council's committee sessions." you replied, a clear slur in your voice.

it, who turned out to be heeseung, laughed, and it was like music to your ears. "i thought you journalists just copy-pasted shit off google or something, didn't get why you'd have to sit in the back of council rooms."

you scoffed at him, "well, as secretary-general, you should've known better. if only you noticed what i've been doing all this time to get your attention, maybe you would've understood."

"you think i haven't been paying attention? i've had my eyes on you ever since you wrote that silly article about me back at decelis mun. 'who's really chairing crisis?' you do know me and jay have been friends since primary, right?" he argued.

"that i know know, lee. the fact that you caused all the fuss over an article that was purely for mun, and had no ill intention is just stupid. i just wanted to be able to express myself." you confessed, feeling underestimated.

he sighed, pressing the up button on the lift, "it's not that i fussed over an article, it's that you wrote about me. i don't see many people brave enough to write about a secretary-general." before he could continue, the doors to the lift dinged and opened, allowing the two of you to walk in.

"i mean," he stuttered, clicking the number seven on the lift's buttons, "you amazed me. i've never met a person who could express themselves so much through their writing. no one paid attention to me enough to write such a critical piece about me."

you smiled at him, "so i'm special? i was the first to write about you, right?" he chuckled at your cheeky comment, "yes you're a first. i wouldn't mind if you kept writing about me."

"but why'd you hate me? i've done so much for decelis to make you proud, but you still have a way to butcher me. i just wanted to impress you." you'd sighed into his chest, the world beginning to spin.

luckily, heeseung had caught you before you fell, right on time as the lift reached the seventh floor. he basically carried you out, trying not to drop you.

"if i hated you so much, i wouldn't be helping you get back to our room, nor would i be making sure you get back safely." he assured you, holding you in his arms.

you groaned in protest, "but you do, don't you? i'm never enough for you, after everything i've done. all the things i did—"

you were shut up by his lips on yours. out of the blue, with no warning signs, he had kissed you. out of habit you kissed him back, lips molding against each other as if you had been waiting for years, as if you couldn't live without each other. all hatred you held against him dissipated. your arms crawling towards the back of his neck to pull him closer, his own pulling on your waist.

he pulled away to take a breath, but you couldn't breathe. he was your oxygen. you connected the two of you together, chasing his lips, his touch, his presence. it was the sweetness, the flavor of love and lust hanging. you’ve been craving his attention, hell, even his touch for months.

but your lungs craved oxygen, forcing you to pull away, hiding your face in his chest. as you were taking in the moment, he chuckled, "i wouldn't have done that if i hated you, would i?"

waking up with a jolt, the memories of last night came rushing in. you thanked yourself that the two of you hadn't fucked, but the idea of kissing him and liking it gave yourself insight. you wondered if heeseung remembered too.

opening your phone and seeing the time, you rushed out of your room as you were late to your next editorial meeting. it being the last committee session of the day, all you had to do was submit your mandatory articles of the day, and you'd be done. running back to your council room, knocking slightly on the door, you rushed back to your seat.

"journalist, you're late. why is that?" shuhua asked, beomgyu beside her, taking notes.

you sat down and composed yourself, "i'm sorry chairs, i slept in during break. it won't happen again."

the chairs nodded at you, letting it pass. the room discussed about how press conferences was, reminding the journalists of the upcoming deadline, but your mind was in the gutter.

you touch your lips, and you feel the lingering taste on your tongue. you were shocked out of your trance with the knocks of the chairs' gavel hitting the sound block. with only an hour left to finish your mandatory article, you begin to type.

social night was an mun tradition. after a full day of committee sessions, all councils, no matter what their council was, it gave a chance for all the delegates to mingle amongst each other.

free from the deadline of your first mandatory article, you had the whole night to party it out before tomorrow, where you had to finish your final mandatory article.

social nights usually had themes, and tonight, harvard model congress' was inspired by bridgerton, along with masquerade masks were in array. you had packed a a black dress, which belonged to your mother. she’d always tell you to save it for a special occasion, a moment you wouldn’t want to forget. and for tonight, as you miss your mom's touch, you wear your dress with pride.

walking to the venue, and right before you could even enter, you’re immediately greeted by wonyoung and minjeong. "oh my god sweets are you okay?" wonyoung asked, holding your face, clear worry in her eyes. "we heard and saw what happened at lunch, good for you to finally confront the bitch." minjeong commented, which earned her, once again, another slap on the arm by wonyoung.

you nodded at the two, holding their hands, "i'm fine, don't worry. i just needed to get it out of my system, that's all."

"to think of it, i haven't seen him since. normally when you pass by the crisis room, you'd hear his voice bouncing off the walls..." wonyoung confessed, "that's very unlike of him."

minjeong scoffs at her comment, "who cares? he's been downplaying y/n's achievements for the past couple months, i wouldn't be able to stay quiet if i were you."

you sighed at the two bickering in front of you, "guys, i just want tonight to be about us. this is harvard model congress for god's sake, i want to make the best out of it. so can we stop the heeseung talk and have some fun? please?"

the two nodded at your request, not pestering you any further. you all walk into the venue, being handed masquerade masks. the venue was decorated to the nines, and it felt like a ball straight out of bridgerton. the three of you were guided to your delegation table, which seated you, the girls, jake, and sunghoon. but heeseung? he was no where to be found.

"where's heeseung? it's not like him to miss out on social night." jake asked you.

you sat down on your assigned seat, and the seat on your right, which was supposed to occupy heeseung, was cold and empty. "why are you asking me? he hates me, remember?"

jake shrugged, "i don't know, i just reckoned that since the two of you are sharing a room, you'd know where he is."

minjeong scoffs, "who cares? y/n got ready at me and wony's room anyways, so no, we don't know where he is."

"jay said earlier today that he's been looking for him. wonder where he went. and if he found him..." sunghoon tells the table, sipping on his glass of water.

stuck in your trance, you were snapped out of it by a screeching of a chair, one, being jay, and the other was right next to you. heeseung. he was in his usual suit and tie, a couple buttons on the top were unbuttoned. you glanced at his tired eyes, hidden underneath the masquerade mask.

"dude? where've you been?" jake asked jay, slapping him on the shoulder.

jay sighed and drank a gulp of his water, "looking for this asshole over here." while pointing at heeseung, "took me a while to find him literally on the rooftop. i swear seoul uni has the most crazy hideouts. i'm not even sure i can even find my way back."

"how'd you find your way there anyways?" sunghoon asked heeseung.

he sighed, "don't know. just, found it." his demeanor slipping away as you begin to see the raw brokenness. you didn't hurt his ego that much, right?

as the clock struck seven, waiters all around the room began laying out the meals. you took a glimpse of the dinner courses in front of you, not really having an appetite for anything. but you still tried to eat, tried not to waste your food, tried to seem okay in front of him.

heeseung, on the other hand, was trying his best not to combust. sitting next to you was hard enough, but the fact you were wearing such a beautiful dress had him awestruck. he also lost his appetite. he couldn't help but stare at you.

after dinner, your friends stood up and ran over to the dance floor, and you were unfortunately dragged along. a remix of many famous hits were played, before you sang your hearts out to iris, by the goo goo dolls. you felt someone tap you on your shoulder, which to your surprise you see jeongin.

"could i have this dance?" he asked, hand out for you to grab, iris still playing in the background.

you nodded and grabbed his hand before you two danced foolishly to iris, heels discarded, his suit as well, just dancing your hearts out. but you had your limits, you were tired and excused yourself to grab some water. before you felt a nudge on your right, as heeseung leaned towards your ear. "can we talk later? don't say no just yet, just follow the green post its."

he walks away, as you look at him in confusion. feeling bad for what you said at lunch, you decide to meet him and see what he has to say.

following the pins of green post-its he left behind, you find yourself at the hidden rooftop jay was talking about at dinner. you open the door to be shocked at the view. the stars twinkling in the night sky. and stood there near the edge, was heeseung.

you broke the silence, clearing your throat, "you wanted to speak to me?"

heeseung looked at you and your dress, his mind going places. "yeah. i did. i'm not expecting an apology. i deserve it."

"but why'd you hate me so much, heeseung?" you whined at him, sick of his jokes.

"the thing is l/n, i don't!" he shouts, walking towards you, "it's not that i hate you, it's that i hate the way you make me feel. i hate the way you're so good at writing, i hate the way you win everything to make me proud, i hate the way you know my weaknesses, i hate the way you never gave up. you're on my mind every fucking day."

you walk up towards him, pulling his suit to pull him down, and him not expecting anything, you slap him across his face.

heeseung immediately pulled back, "ow! what was that for?"

"that was for not telling me about how you felt. you didn't have to bottle it up, you know?" you scoffed.

"and you didn't have to either!" he protested back, pulling out a familiar journal. your journal.

you grabbed it from his hands, "how'd you find this? i didn't even realize it was missing..."

heeseung sighed, "you know for a smart writer like you, you're very forgetful." a smile beginning to emerge.

"what did you read, heeseung? tell me." you asked, afraid that your secrets would spill out.

heeseung walked towards you, "enough to know that you're too stubborn to even tell me the truth. if you'd been feeling this way for months then you should have told me."

you gasped at him, "i would have told you about it if you weren't such a dick all the time? and then you kissing me last night just added more fuel to the fire." not realizing what you said, heeseung cupped your face, which was full of confusion.

"you remember last night?"

you blinked. "everything."

he laughed, "then you'd know i wouldn't hate you as much if i was doing this, would i?"

the familiar taste of his lips returned as he kissed you. you held onto his hands as he caressed your face. the oxygen you once craved had been fulfilled. you strung your arms around his neck, clinging onto him for dear life. you could feel the burst of sparks just surrounding the two of you, a moment you both craved.

the wavering facade between the two finally faded, unleashing the raw desire the two of you had, rushing through your veins.

you pulled away, heeseung leaning his forehead onto yours, before he gave you his best smile. you blushed out of nervousness and proximity the two of you held, not used to this view.

"you still hate me now?" you joked, smiling at him. his eyes softened, before he laughed, and kissing you once more, not wanting to let go. and as the stars glimmered under the night sky, you forgot time ever existed. forget the committee sessions due tomorrow, it was the two of you against the world.

surely, waking up on the final day of the conference would give you a sense of peace, right? wrong. you had spent so much time last night making out and talking with heeseung that you forgot your final mandatory article was due soon. waking up from the bed the two shared, limbs tangled once more, this time, you weren't ashamed.

you kissed heeseung's forehead to wake him up, and despite heeseung's wishes to stay in and make out some more, you declined and got ready.

"can't you just stay? a bit late to the first comses of the day won't hurt your awards." heeseung groaned, asking you to return.

"i was late at yesterday's comses post-lunch, so i think i'm going to be a good girl and come early to this one." you replied, fixing your tie.

heeseung basically stood up and tried to pull you back to bed, "come on, just be my good girl. i promise you will be awarded with all of my kisses in the world."

you shook your head, "missing out on a couple kisses won't be the death of me. come on, you need to prep for comses too."

heeseung moaned in complaint, "no, i'd break my streak for you, i don't care. i just want to stay in with you, away from everybody."

you were able to crawl your way out of his touch, "nope! i'm not letting you lose your streak just over me. come on, get ready. i'm going down for breakfast."

"can i at least have a goodbye kiss before you go?" he pouted, and the way his eyes resembled bambi, you gave in.

you tried to just give him a quick peck, but his touch was so fragile and welcoming, that if you didn't stand your ground, you'd probably be pinned down till the rest of the day. but you didn't want that, so you let go of his touch, assuring him that you'd spend more time with him after the conference.

now, here you were, back in your conference room with a giddy look on your face. you couldn't help but dream of last night. even sunoo, riki, jungwon, along with wonyoung, minjeong, and sunghoon, were even surprised to see you better all of a sudden.

"okay is this some weird process girls do the cope with sadness, cause if so how do we fix her?" sunoo asked, concerned.

wonyoung was staring at you like you were beaming, "it looks like pregnancy glow."

riki basically spit out his coffee, "wait so they actually fucked?"

minjeong snapped at riki, "who fucked?"

"we had speculation that, y/n and heeseung fucked the first night, hence why she was out of it the next day..." jungwon explained to the rest.

sunghoon, the only person out of the group who happened to know heeseung the best, commented that; "no there's no way he fucked her. if they fucked, they wouldn't have been here."

"could you stop speculating that me and heeseung fucked?" you snapped at the group. not out of anger, but annoyed that you couldn't concentrate.

"sorry, but did you?" riki enquired, earning him a riki! from the group around him. "what? i just wanna know."

you sighed, standing up and packing a couple things, "who cares if we fucked or not? just leave us alone." as you head out of the council room, heading to the crisis room for some final details.

contrary to how you first felt when you walked into the room, your heart felt full of hope. that this time, heeseung wouldn't be staring at you with hatred, instead of love. you hoped you wouldn't distract him.

as you walked into the council room, you nodded at chair yeonjun, before taking a seat at the prepared seats for the journalists. you sit down, open your laptop as you're typing your final mandatory article. you tried to glimpse towards heeseung, but you were returned with the same feeling as yesterday. the sharp gaze was back. maybe it's because he's in is element? mun is important to him... you thought, and busied yourself to writing your article. since it was your final committee session, you just had to submit your article and return for the closing editorial meeting. quickly clicking submit, and the chairs deeming the final committee session over, you wanted to sneak a quick kiss before returning for your meeting.

you stood up from your seat and walked towards heeseung. he stood up and saw you, walking your way. instead of being greeted by a hug or a kiss, he brushed past you to talk to his fellow delegates. you felt a pang in your chest, the way heeseung ignored you like that. you thought everything was okay. the kisses you shared, the conversations you had. you looked back at heeseung only to see him busy talking with the other delegates, barely sparing you a glance. you left the room quickly, not looking back.

unbeknownst to you, heeseung saw you leaving, his heart barely surviving after treating you like that. you deserved better than him. he couldn't have it all.

the final editorial meeting of press councils should be a joy to you. no more deadlines, no more press conferences. but you were stuck in your head. repeating the interaction over and over in your head, you didn't understand a single thing.

after the comments and input from both the chairs and the journalists, chair shuhua decided to pull out the gossip box. you'd been informed prior about the gossip box filling at social night, but since you ran off with heeseung to make out the night away, you didn't have time to fill it in.

as shuhua and beomgyu begin to read the entries, earning laughter all around the room, a certain entry snaps you out of your trance.

"oh this is a good one! new york times from press and colombia from crisis actually fit really good together! hope the enemies finally turn into lovers! wait is this about y/n and heeseung?" chair shuhua asks, causing the whole room to look at you.

you looked at everyone strangely, "what? there's nothing."

chair beomgyu shook his head, "no no no, i don't think there's nothing. come on spill the tea, something must've happened the past three days."

everybody was waiting on your response. waiting for you to tell everyone what happened. you just wanted them to shut up. "okay well. we kissed."

the group of six who were pestering you earlier, gasped loudly. earning you a rumble of no shit's, wait actually's, and a loud jinjja?!

you couldn't help but sink back into your seat, still upset about the way he treated you earlier. "yeah, but he's treating me like shit again today, so. that's that."

the entire room aww'ed in disappointment, before the chairs read out a couple more entries, and adjourns the final editorial. you stand up to clean your table, taking out a pen to begin signing each others' placards. signing everybody else's, photo sessions were in array, and after you were finally allowed to have some free time before awarding ceremony.

awarding ceremony was one of those moments where you have hope, but at the same time you don't. you start rethinking choices you made during the conference, wondering if you made the right option. you headed your way to where the press council was sat at, where you met a couple other delegates, even bumping into jeongin, wishing each other a good luck!

you sit down between wonyoung and minjeong, which earned you an endearing hug from the two, assuring your problems with heeseung didn't matter. stuck in your head, you didn't notice the boys' absence in the room. and awarding had begun. the secretary-general of harvard model congress came up and made their speech, thanking all the delegates for participating and giving their best. chairs from other councils begin to come up to give their awards.

meanwhile, outside of the room, was heeseung cornered by jay, jake, and sunghoon.

heeseung, not caught up with the situation, looked at the three with confusion. "what did i do?"

jay scoffed, "what did you do? you managed to fuck it up again? what did i tell you?!" shaking the life out of him.

heeseung shook his head in confusion, not knowing what to do, when sunghoon came up to him, "look man, your little feud with y/n has to stop. i don't get you anymore. i thought you'd be good at this after helping me and wonyoung get together..."

"nah dude you're in denial. what do you mean you two basically confessed to not hating each other and then made out a bunch of times, only for you to leave her and ignore her like so? that's crazy." jake protested. that was the truth.

"i don't know what to tell you, but me and jake have got to get back for unsc awarding, but please think about it? i know you feel scared of this whole love thing, but i assure you, it's okay to feel this way." jay says, leaving with jake, which left sunghoon with heeseung alone.

heeseung didn't know what to do. for the first time in his life, everything was out of his control. he craved you and needed you, but he felt like he didn't deserve you. it was as if a crisis was happening in his own mind.

as he hears the cheers of the room with every award that is given out, his heart races. he hears the announcement where jay and jake both won best delegates, which they had been double delegating in.

sunghoon kept trying to comfort heeseung, not knowing what to say to him. "look, i may not understand the way your mind works, but i assure you that you deserve her. you've put yourself through it all for decelis, and the track record that we have wouldn't have been what it is now if it wasn't for you. i don't know what plan you're cooking up, but whatever it is, win her back." heeseung looks at sunghoon with sheer nervousness in his eyes. "press and crisis are left, so whatever you want to do? do it now. before its too late."

leaving heeseung alone outside the room, sunghoon walks back in, returning to where the press journalists sat. he saw you picking on your nails out of habit, nervous for the next awards. as your chairs walk up to the podium, sunghoon just hopes heeseung would do something.

as names begin getting called out, sunoo winning best pre-conference video, then riki and jungwon winning verbal commendations, wonyoung and minjeong winning honorable mentions, you held on tight to the tiny string of hope left. it was probably between you and sunghoon left. as you look around the room, heeseung is still nowhere to be found. you had hoped that maybe with this win, you'd make him proud once and for all.

"the final two journalists were a tight match. these two shown impeccable talent in their articles and presence the past three days." shuhua announces. "it is with our great pleasure that the most outstanding journalist goes to, park sunghoon!"

wonyoung, who was on the stage prior, basically screams in joy. you high five sunghoon before he winks at you, knowing you'd win best journalist. but a part of you still thinks you won't.

beomgyu gives sunghoon his award, before adjusting his mic. "this final journalist has pure talent in her writing, and have awestruck the both of us with her work. without further ado, we would like to present that the best journalist award goes to none other than... l/n y/n!"

relief. that's all what washes towards you. yes you've heard your name and the words best journalist go along too often, but every time it happens, it always feels euphoric. as you walk up the stage to receive your award, earning smiles from the other awardees, you couldn't help but look to the crowd.

you see jay and jake basically jumping up and down in joy, but heeseung was still nowhere to be found. a pang of disappointment burns in your chest as you walk down the podium with your certificate in hand. an array of congratulations! are heard, as you sit back down for the final awarding. crisis.

zoning out, after feeling the euphoria of your win, your mind drifts off to heeseung. how would he feel? was he proud?

as chair yeonjun announces the awardees, you are cut out of your trance with every round of applause. you see jeongin win most outstanding, and you cheer for him.

as yeonjun clears his throat for the final award, he begins his speech. "this final award goes to a delegate who really deserves it all. although this mun may have not been his best run, he deserves so much more than the title: prodigy. i'd like to present this best delegate award to none other than... you know what? lee heeseung get up here, get your award, and get your girl!"

with pure shock, you watch as heeseung bursts through the doors, run up to the podium, quickly shake his chairs' hands, grabs his certificate, and runs down. and he's running to you.

he drops his certificate on the floor, before engulfing you in the biggest hug he's ever given in his life. spinning you around, you squeal in excitement. he whispers in your ear an array of i'm so proud of you's, before putting you down, and kissing you in front of everyone.

you cling onto him, parting your lips allowing him to kiss you deeper and deeper, and the feeling of sparks flying around you made it feel like it would last forever. your ears muffle all the cheers surrounding you, only focusing on heeseung, and heeseung only.

he puts you down and rests his forehead on yours, exactly like how he did on the rooftop the night before. "how'd you pull this off?" you ask him, still on cloud nine.

"eh, had some help from chair yeonjun. didn't expect the bestdel though." heeseung laughs, holding you by the waist, tighter, and tighter.

you held his face closer, wanting to feel his touch, "why'd you do that? why'd you run?"

"y/n. i love you. i never knew how to say it all this time, because it's a feeling unlike any other. to the point it made me feel as if my life was in crisis. but that's when i realized i never had it all. not until i found you."

taglist; @riekiss @sesameoil721 @desistay @capri-cuntz @beomluvrr @shawnyle @tya0 @heexoolio @sunghoonsgff @spiderhanzzz (crossed out = i can't tag you)

back to my masterlist?

disclaimer: this, in no way, reflects the idol. this is purely fiction.

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saffusthings · 3 months ago

Text

Baby I Can Feel Your Halo

oscar piastri x personal assistant! reader

summary: the one where the world gets to become familiar with a new name: Y/N L/N. word count: 8.4k warnings: awkwardness, my attempt and poetic writing, poor understanding of how film and media works, Lando as a bit of a side character, poorly edited writing a/n: i can't tell whether this is half decent or nonsensical. inspired by That Viral Interview. i have a soft spot for this part of the story, so i hope you guys are able to like it too.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

She’s going to kill him.

Clicking her phone on to check the time for the umpteenth time as if it will make this stupid elevator go any faster, she lets out a huff. The tapping of her shoe acts as a placebo, perhaps. Or maybe this elevator is actually getting slower-

When the metal gates finally part, she bolts. As gracefully as one can, she awkwardly half-run, half power walks past the hall of doors until she reaches Room 307.

She doesn’t even pretend to knock. Glancing at her phone one more time - 27 calls - she slips a plastic card from the lanyard around her neck. When it beeps, flashing green, the door opens with a click, allowing her to storm in.

To her credit, she at least waits for the door to close before she yells.

“Oscar Jack Piastri!”

Oscar wakes to a fire. Or at least that’s what he has to assume is happening, considering someone is screaming his name at full volume. Eyelids barely open, he immediately sits up in bed. “M’awake! Jesus, give me a second,” he mumbles, trying to rub the sleep from his eyes.

Tossing him his pants that had been hanging in his closet, she goes around, picking up any stray items. “Put some pants on,” she grumbles. “C’mon get up, we’re already-”

“-running late,” he says defeatedly, eyes landing on the bedside alarm clock.

When he finally steps out of the bathroom, his brows are scrunched in confusion. She’s typing something on her phone, and definitely not trying not to look at him.

It’s been over a week since their almost-kiss in her office. She’s no rookie, she’s been more than professional since, knowing she can’t risk this. But a small part of her can’t help but think of how close his lips had been to her anytime she’s standing close enough to smell his familiar cologne.

She’s interrupted from her thoughts by the sound of Oscar’s voice, her thumb still hovering over her phone from her long forgotten text.

Trying to get the swoop of his hair to land in some sane looking way, he gestures to the pine green sweater spread out for him on the bed, the one she insisted he wear. “You sure about this?”

He watches her as she knits her eyebrows together as she gives him the once over. “Yes. You look good in green,” she explains, still entirely absorbed in sending an e-mail to their media liaison.

It’s only once he’s finally dressed that she gets up and gives him a look over. Her lips purse before she motions for him to stand closer. “C’mere.”

She aligns the seams that are supposed to trace along his shoulder, before using her hands to smooth out any wrinkles in the soft fabric. She stands back for a moment, before coming closer again, and pulling his sleeves up just a bit in a way that exposes some of his forearm. Assessing it one more, and seeming content with how it looks, before doing the same to his other sleeve.

Entirely unaware of the chaos his cardiovascular system seems to be undergoing, she gives him one last look over, and wipes a bit of excess moisturizer that had been left on his nose.

“There we go,” she says with a small smile.

Grabbing her things, she stands at the door before looking back for him. “Ready?”

“Yeah,” he says slowly, patting his pockets and searching the hastily made bed. “Just…”

“Good to go,” he announces, swiping his phone off the bedside table, and tucking into his pocket before following her into the hall. “Where are we headed?”

“They’ve set up in one of the conference rooms near the swimming pool” she says from over her shoulder as they make their way down. “It’s some Australian channel looking to do a segment on their hometown hero, so it should be a safe set. Of course, if they veer off course, let me know and I’ll take care of it. ”

“Will you be there? Or are you headed back to the office?” Oscar asks. His tone makes it difficult to differentiate whether he's nervous, wary, or doesn’t want her to be there, but he hopes she understands anyway.

“Yep,” she replies, smiling. Oscar wonders why his chest feels warm.

“That’s my job, remember?”

When he gets to hair and make-up, he can’t help but feel more than a little lost. Not because of the makeup, certainly - god knows Hattie has tested more than enough ‘smokey eyes’ on him - but rather because when he sits in the chair, the woman immediately asks what kind of look he wants to go for.

Huh?

He looks over to Y/N with desperate eyes.

Help me, please.

She’s quick to walk over and greet Lindsay, his stylist for today, with a warm smile. Once she’s sure that the stylist is okay with taking recommendations, the rest of it comes easily.

“We’ll wanna do some powder to counter the glare from the studio lights,’ she suggests, glancing at the woman for approval. Tilting Oscar’s face, the two women survey him analytically.

“It’s up to you if you want to add a little warmth, but no blush or color corrector or anything like that. And then his hair looks good like this, so we don’t need to do anything there. How does that sound?”

The elder woman nods in agreement before pointing at different parts of Oscar’s face and mumbling somethings to Y/N who nods along thoughtfully.

Finally, he’s left at the mercy of his stylist, as Y/N walks away.

Once the mic checks are complete and the people behind the large lights give the go ahead, one of the employees counts off the seconds before the cameras start recording.

Oscar spends those seconds looking over to wherever she is. She’s stood by one of the people carrying a large white panel, watching on to make sure everything runs smoothly. They’ve done this dance probably dozens of times, but the buzzing lessens once he assures himself that she’s still in the vicinity.

He watches her nod, giving him a reassuring smile, and then, Oscar is ready.

“And cameras are rolling 5… 4… 3… 2… 1.”

“We’re here now with Oscar Piastri,” the host says with a warm smile, “now in his second year of representing Australia in the highest level of motorsport - Formula One. Thank you so much for joining us, Oscar.”

“Of course, thank you for having me,” Oscar smiles, that polite cat smile that’s become associated with his name. “Just Oscar, is usually fine though,” he jokes, never one to feel too comfortable with high praise. The host laughs good naturedly, “Oh, the boy’s got jokes now, does he?“ Oscar seems to glow in the spotlight. Something about him, even in front of the cameras, seems to radiate comfort, familiarity. Even on TV, even with his rising stardom, his laidback posture and the crinkle around his eyes when he smiles suggests that he could be the boy next door, that he could be your boy next door. The cameras are not the only thing focused on him. “So Oscar, not sure if you remember, but you did a sit-down with us last year as well.” “Of course. I don’t forget that easily, Mick,” the driver replies easily. “I’m not that old.” “No, no, in fact, you’re quite young aren’t you? Only 23 and already in your second year of Formula 1.” “Yeah, feels a bit strange when you say it like that,” Oscar chuckles, “but yeah. It’s been a bit of a wild ride.” Mickie smiles. “One year closer to retirement, I imagine?”

“God no,” Oscar scoffs, shifting in his seat to get a bit more comfortable. He looks more relaxed this way, more open. “I’m not leaving without a championship, so you’ll be seeing me around for a while. Sorry to disappoint.” Laughing good naturedly, the older man shakes his head. “Far from it. You’re a hometown hero. You’ve got everyone here rooting for you,” he tells him, gesturing to the crew around them.” Smiling gratefully, Oscar nods. “Yeah, I’ve been pretty lucky with all the support. That always makes a difference.” “I’m sure it does. Who would you say are your biggest supporters?” “My parents, for sure. I’m sure there’s a clip of my mom talking about my… let's call them oddities, as a child,” Oscar laughs, referring to his habit of make-believing as a car around the house, or how he wanted car magazines read to him instead of bedtime stories. “If they hadn’t put up with me through that, there’s no way I’d be here now.” It’s clear as day that beneath the thin film of humor, there’s a chasm of sincerity. He really does love his family - always making time to call them during long trips away or even just because. Working on media with Oscar is (usually) pleasant for that same reason - you don’t have to give him PR-written responses or pre-plan his anecdotes to make the audience fall in love with him. He tells the truth, and they can’t help but fall in love all on their own. “I’ve also got other supporters too. Silent supporters, I guess you could call them, since you all don’t see their faces as much. But my sisters, my team, Y/N, the fans - they are the reasons I get to live my dream everyday.” Mickie nods in acknowledgement. “Of course. Though I see we’re name dropping now,” he teases. Oscar looks up at him, mild panic hidden behind his eyes. He’s only just about to adjust his cap - a predetermined signal to Y/N that he needs her to intervene somehow - when Mickie interrupts his train of thought. “You mentioned Y/N as one of your supporters. Could you tell us a bit more about that?” When Oscar looks at the man with the salt and pepper hair, he doesn’t see the usual malice or hunger that many reporters would have if they had been in the same position. Mickie has been good to him and his team in the past - not coming off as a dog with a bone, but instead as an easy conversationalist who happens to be genuinely curious about Oscar and his life. The young driver recovers easily from his momentary scare. “Oh, yeah. Y/N’s definitely one of my greatest supports. I’d tell you all that she works for me, but I think she might poison my coffee if I did that.” The two share a laugh, easing Oscar’s nerves a little. He subtly adjusts his watch instead.

It’s alright, I got it.

From behind the cameras, Y/N takes a small breath of relief. Though she’s pleased the conversation didn’t take a turn for the rumor mill, she’ll still be a little on edge anytime her driver is in the media’s playpen.

“Alright then. Without risking your coffee, what can you tell us then? That’s not a name we’ve heard too often around the paddock.”

“Yeah, I mean. It’s a shame too - she’s supposed to be my assistant, but with how much she’s involved in everything, we might have to come up with a better title for her,” Oscar smiles easily. Mickie gives him a smile, straightening his notecards into a neat stack. “Is that so? Must be high praise, coming from a big-shot like yourself.” The air is pleasant, the conversation flowing naturally. Even as an observer, the scene could almost be mistaken for a casual chat in a living room somewhere. Oscar shakes his head. “Not enough, actually. When I say I wouldn’t be here without her, I mean it literally. If she hadn’t come to my rescue this morning, I’d probably still be in bed!” Mick leans over, laughing. “Glad to see how much you value our time here together, Oscar!” “Even if I did, I value my sleep more,” Oscar deadpans, a sly smile on his face. “I don’t envy her job, not in the slightest.” “Fair enough, fair enough.” The conversation makes its own way from there - Oscar’s goals for this year, what people can expect from the team this season, how the new car has been.

“So what I’m hearing is that we have a promising season ahead?”

“I mean, every season looks promising at the start really, but yeah, I have a good feeling about this one. Cautiously optimistic, we’ll call it.” “Well I’m sure I’m not the only one when I say that I can’t wait to see what you have in store for us this season, Oscar.” “Wow, no pressure there. Thanks, though.”

The two share a laugh. It’s getting closer to the end of the segment, but with some time remaining. Mickie decides to take the conversation in a different direction. “Now that we’re done with all the shop talk.” he starts. “I was wondering if you could tell us what Formula 1 has been like for you personally. Last time around, during your rookie season, you mentioned that the intensity of the training and the magnitude of the races were some of the things that took some getting used to. Would you say the same is true now, or have you gotten used to it?” Oscar nods, thoughtful. “Yeah, I mean, your rookie season is always an adjustment. It took me some time to get used to that stuff, and I’d say I’m better at it now,” he answers honestly. “But that doesn't mean there aren’t still things I’m learning to get used to.” “What kind of things?” “As you can probably tell, the time zones are one thing,” he laughs, animatedly gesturing to where his eye bags would be. For a second, there’s silence as he’s given a moment to think, before he finally speaks again. “I’d say the people, too.”

“The drivers, the teams, or the fans?” Mick asks curiously. “The fans are pretty great,” he tells him. “But I think I meant like the drivers and their teams?” Oscar tries to explain. “Like, you have to understand that there’s so many people in this complex machine that is Formula 1. And every single person that’s there, is because they’ve got this insane drive to win - that includes the drivers, of course, but the engineers, and the strategists, and the trainers too.”

“Tell me a bit more about that.”

“I mean, like, even in Formula 2, with Prema, there was a certain level of friendship and camaraderie that gets overshadowed in Formula 1, because of just how competitive everything is,” he explains, gesturing with his hands. “It’s crazy how the drivers flip a switch for lights out or the chequered flag, because that’s what comes with competing at the highest level.”

The host nods, making an effort to understand.

“Would you say it strains relationships then? This sort of… dual personality that you and the other drivers have to have?”

“Honestly. To some degree, I imagine it has to. But that doesn’t mean we can’t be friendly with one another.”

“You’d mentioned earlier this year, in an interview with your company Quadlock, actually, where they asked you if you had any mates on the grid, and you replied with…” Oscar chuckles shyly, recalling the moment. “No friends, only enemies,” he quotes himself. “Exactly,” the older man chuckles. “Would you say the same is true for you now?” “The honest answer would be yes and no.” The man sitting across from Oscar raises an eyebrow at this, intrigued. “When you live in that bubble with people that are, at their core, just as competitive as you are..” he trails off, contemplating how to phrase it. “Let’s just say it has an interesting way of showing you who your friends and your enemies are.”

“And has it?” Mick asks genuinely. “Shown you your friends, I mean?” Oscar takes a breath before replying. “I mean, of course. There’s Lando, y’know - as my teammate, he’s always my greatest competitor but also the only one who can kind of understand where I’m coming from. Logan, also - you know we grew up through the lower Formulas together. He and I have been teammates in the past too, so it’s nice to have an old friend on the grid. Y/N too, y’know - we’re pretty close in age, and she’s really been there for the highs and the lows.”

“We’ve seen you interact with Logan and with Lando, but what would you say your friendship with Y/N is like?”

“I mean, we work together, so a lot of it comes from that,” he shrugs, not wanting to slip up and say the wrong thing. He signed up for the spotlight, but putting his assistant, his friend there without discussing it with her would be unfair.

“We work in tandem, you see - she takes care of everything outside the car, while I take care of everything in it.”

The interviewer hums thoughtfully. “That sounds like a dynamic that requires a lot of trust, I’d say.”

“Maybe, but she hasn’t let me down even once in two years.” For a moment, for a fraction of a second it feels like Oscar’s eyes glance in the direction of where she’s standing with the tech crew, but it must be a trick of her imagination. They’re standing in the shadows, and it’d be a stretch for her to think that he could even see her in the first place. “Not even once.”

“Would you say your friendship complicates this dynamic, or simplifies it?”

“Helps, definitely. Easier to get out of media duties that way,” Oscar jokes. Mickie laughs easily at that, before focusing on the subject once again.

“Really? You two don’t face any challenges with that? I’d imagine with the other drivers that that boundary is a bit more clear, what with them being your competitors and all.” Oscar lips press together, his tongue subtly running over his lower lip to soothe the pressure. “I think maybe if it were someone else, then it would be. But not with her.“

Looking over to the armchair, he can see that the other man looks surprised.

“You seem quite confident in saying that.”

“I am,” he says bluntly. Why wouldn’t he be?

“And what inspires that confidence?”

“Just who she is, really, “ Oscar answers with a shrug. On the other side of the room, Y/N waits for a signal that never comes.

What the hell is he doing?

This was most definitely not one of the agreed topics for tonight’s show.

“How do you mean?” Mickie can’t help but inquire.

“I mean the obvious thing to say here would be to say that we’re close in age,” Oscar starts, gesturing. “But it really is more than that. I’m lucky to work with an immensely talented team, especially with all the fresh talent McLaren’s brought on board this year.”

“Of course.”

“But as for her in particular…” The blonde seems to think for a minute. “I think, that in order for someone to understand how we work, they’d have to understand how she works,” he muses.

“And how’s that?”

“She’s like the light you need in order to see. With her perspective, her input, the fundamental way in which she operates - things make sense. She makes things make sense, really - whether that’s logistically, or with the car, and especially with me.”

The words tumble out of his mouth before he can even know what he’s thinking. The tricky thing about this cozy lounge setup that he’s seated in is that, from her, it looks nothing like the studios and press conferences and media pens that they’re used to. Here, there are no clambering reporters, no flashing cameras, no microphones shoved in his face.

It’s easier to forget that the world is watching.

“It’s a bit unfortunate that the fans watching this don’t get to see her as we do,” he says with a serious expression. “Because it’s hard to describe her personality, or even just her role if you haven’t existed in her orbit. There’s this… this spark that ignites with everything she interacts with.”

Oscar finds himself thinking of everything that happened on the road so far, every step that led them here. All he knows for certain is that his confidence is not unfounded. Sure, things were… less than ideal at the moment, but they’d go back to normal. He knew they would, he was sure of it.

Not so much because Oscar had a plan, but rather because he didn’t know what to do if they didn’t. They’d figure it out - that was their thing, after all.

He’s disturbed from his thoughts by the voice of another.

“A spark?” the older man prompts with a smile.

It’s almost frustrating when the words don’t come fast enough to keep up with his mind.

“When you’re expected to function at the highest levels, there’s a lot of moving parts underneath the shiny cover that no one really tells you about. Y/N has this intuitive sense and this unlearnable skill to take apart the most challenging complexities and put them back together into something wonderful.”

The studio falls silent.

“She sounds lucky,” Mick offers sincerely.

Oscar laughs dryly. “The way I see it, I’m the lucky one. McLaren certainly is.”

Mickie’s expression is open, leaving the silence available for him to fill.

Oscar, on the other hand, isn’t quite sure how they ended up here. Talking about Y/N wasn’t a preplanned part of the segment, but he doesn’t seem to mind. It’s surprisingly nice to talk about something besides how hot it is in the car or the rabbit food athletes have to eat or his opinions on the championship standings.

And it probably doesn’t hurt that talking about her is really quite easy.

“It’s an incredible gift to meet someone who complements each of your strengths and your weaknesses completely. And if that person happens to be someone who can somehow challenge you and support you simultaneously, then there’s nothing more that I need.”

The boom mic edges closer to the stage setup, careful not to enter the cameras’ parameters of visibility. There’s a shift in tone that’s apparent, something curious and authentic that seems to wash across the studio and everyone in it.

“Will we be seeing this dynamic duo in action anytime soon then?” the interviewer asks, charismatically guiding the conversation towards its conclusion.

“I sure hope so. Maybe you guys can finally convince her to do some of those McLaren challenges with us,” Oscar smiles widely, that dorky, lopsided smile of his. “Trust me, I tried, but somehow she won’t let me drive her around for a Hot Lap. Wonder why that is,” he shrugs, before both men share a laugh.

A hand in the dark silently signals for them to wrap up, indicating that the segment must come to an end.

“Well then, Oscar I see we’re being told to wrap,” he smiles, glancing over in the direction of the crew. Both men begin to go to stand up, extending their arms for a friendly handshake.

“Thank you so much for joining us once again. As always, it was a pleasure, and I know I speak for everyone here at Down Under Daily when I say that we can’t wait to see what the future has in store for you.”

Oscar nods, smiling, giving the man a firm handshake. “Thank you.”

Once the segment wraps up and the overhead lights come back on, the studio buzzes with the hum of activity. Uniformed crew members unpack and disassemble various machines and setups, beginning to clear out the studio. Oscar glances around, but his gaze keeps drifting back to Y/N, who stands a few feet away, chatting with one of the technicians. Her laughter cuts through the noise, bright and genuine, making something warm unfurl in his chest.

“Hey,” he calls out, a casual attempt to draw her attention. When she turns, their eyes lock, and for a moment, the world around them blurs. There’s something in her expression that sends a jolt through him, a flicker of recognition and a hint of something deeper.

“Hey,” she replies, her smile easy but layered, like they’re sharing some inside joke that only they understand. He shifts slightly, suddenly a bit squirmish under her undivided attention.

Not that he gets squirmish, of course. Oscar is the picture of cool and collected.

As her eyes scan him, she notes the slight flush of his skin, the way the muscles of his face are tense ever so slightly. It’s honestly a bit refreshing to see someone who isn’t always unfazed by it all, she thinks. She does her best to offer him a reassuring smile.

“That went well,” she comments, her voice carrying a lightness that contrasts with the tension simmering beneath the surface. It’s the kind of praise that makes him feel seen, but also a bit exposed.

“Thanks. Couldn’t have done it without you,” he responds, his tone sincere. Oscar isn’t one of those fools who thinks the whole orchestra runs around him. Even if it did, his mother didn’t raise him to be any bit unappreciative to everyone who works behind the scenes for his successes. He knows she’s more than just an assistant; she’s the one who keeps everything in motion, the anchor in the chaos.

Her gaze lingers on him, and for a moment, the air between them thickens. He’s acutely aware of the distance that’s very much there, yet it feels charged, like static before a storm. “I just do what I can,” she says softly, brushing a loose lock of hair behind her ear—an action so simple, yet watching it feels intimate.

Oscar looks away.

The moment stretches, and he senses a shift, a palpable tension that neither of them is ready to address. Memories of their almost-kiss hang between them, unacknowledged yet ever-present. He wonders if she feels it too, this strange blend of familiarity and hesitation.

The silence is uncomfortable in a familiar way, like the awkward pause that occurs when you can’t decide who should speak first. Oscar even opens his mouth to try to say something - though he’s not sure what - Y/N beats him to it.

“How’re you feeling?” she asks, her tone casual, but he detects a deeper curiosity behind her question.

“I guess just… figuring things out,” he replies, glancing down for a moment as he gathers his thoughts. There’s moments in the midst of the whirlwind of fame and fortune where it all truly feels surreal. Young Oscar always aspired to go fast, to push himself to the limit, to win, but this?

The spotlight, the admiration , the respect, the expectations? It was almost overwhelming, a heavy medal hanging around his neck that he’s still not used to wearing. Especially with the number of people that work day and night to give him a fighting chance at making his childhood dreams into reality, there’s no greater expectation than the one Oscar places on himself.

“Trying to get it right still, I suppose.”

“Yeah,” she agrees, nodding, her eyes searching his. There’s an intensity in her gaze that makes his heart race, as if she’s peering into the part of him he keeps to himself. Briefly, he wonders if she can read his thoughts sometimes.

Like on one of those teleprompters they use for broadcasts and award shows.

He wants to say more, to delve into this strange thing swirling between them, but the words feel stuck, caught in a web. The awkwardness between them might as well be a loose screw in his car - keeping him at the edge of his seat as he navigates the clunkiness that replaces the flow he’s used to. “I keep waiting to get used to it, but it never seems to happen,” he says finally, hoping to keep the conversation light.

“True,” she agrees, her smile faint but genuine. “But you manage.”

“Most of the time,” he admits, letting out a soft laugh that feels half-hearted, both playful and tinged with something meaningful. Oscar may have grown into this suave, clever, mature personality that he’s recognized for, but there are times when he still feels like the lanky teen with the acne and the too-short hair that climbed into a Formula car that very first time.

As the crew clears the set, Y/N steps back, her focus shifting to the flurry of activity around them. Oscar feels the space between them widen, the moment suddenly dissipating like a whisk of smoke. He wants to reach out, to anchor her back to him, but the tide of reality keeps them away.

“Ready to head out?” she asks, her voice interrupting the stream 0f his personal thoughts.

“Yeah,” he replies, an uncharacteristic hesitation slipping into his tone. He can feel the warmth radiating off her, and the longing rises within him, a familiar ache that refuses to fade. He elects to ignore it, in favor of using long strides to catch up with her quick ones to follow her out into the hall.

Oscar steals a glance at Y/N, her profile illuminated by the fluorescent lights, and he wonders what it would be like to bridge that gap. He recalls what it had been like the last time he'd been in such proximity to her - felt the warmth of body, the coolness of her breath, the ghost of her lips. For now, though, he settles into the silence, allowing the moment to hang between them.

Y/N leans against the small counter in her hotel room, the yellow light from the lamp seeming to warm the place. She stares at her phone, buzzing with a handful of messages, but her mind is tangled in thoughts of today’s interview. Hearing him casually mention her, smiling as he spoke, had left her feeling a mix of pride and confusion.

As she pours herself a cup of hot tea, she replays the almost-kiss in her mind - the way his breath had caught for just a moment. It felt like a line had been crossed, but they hadn’t addressed it. It hung in the air between them like an uninvited guest, and the last thing she wanted was to ruin the good thing they had.

Her phone buzzes again, the sixth time in the last half hour. This time, however, the contact name reads: Oscar. “How’s your evening?”

“Trying to figure out the chaos that is my notes,” she replies, glancing down at loose pages, and spiral books that are splattered across the coffee table.

“You always have chaos in your notes. It’s part of your charm.” His teases, knowing full well that no matter how chaotic her notes were, they were somehow still always loads better than his hurried scrawl.

The tone of the conversation feels light, teasing, friendly - but she’d be lying if she said it didn’t feel like something more—an unspoken understanding that neither of them wants to acknowledge.

“Charm, huh? I prefer to think of it as organized chaos.” She takes a sip of the warm herbal tea, now having cooled down to the temperature of her liking. It’s grounding these little rituals - which reminds her that she still needs to change out of her work clothes, maybe shower and do some skincare…

“Sure, if that makes you feel better,” he replies easily. Even just reading the words, she can practically hear the laughter in his voice.

A moment later, he decides to add, “I was just about to put something on the TV. You in?”

In a hotel room just a ways down the hall, Oscar’s heart rate increases. What the hell are you doing? He chides himself. He feels stupid - things were already weird, and now he probably just made them even weirder.

Relax, he has to tell himself. This isn’t new - in fact, this is normal. Like before - friends, just relaxing together after a long day of work. Airplane games of monopoly, friday happy hours, movie nights - all of this was perfectly normal. Right?

Thumbs still hovering over her keyboard, she hesitates. The idea of sitting together, sharing popcorn and laughter, sounded nice, but there was the lingering possibility that things would be strange instead.

Instead she types out, “Maybe. What are you watching?”

She could use a night off, after all.

“Something mindless, one of those cable shows they have on this thing. You know, to balance all the brainpower we exert during the week.”

She had to admit, he did make it sound inviting.

“Mindless does sound good. I’ll join you.”Oscar props himself up a bit better, leaning back on his elbow. The smile on his face is lit up by the blue light of his phone screen as he reads her reply. Forcing himself out of the unexpectedly comfortable position he’d evolved into, he gets up, phone in hand, before starting to work to make his hotel room look a tad more presentable.

He was not having a repeat of this morning.

He types out a reply. “Great. I’ll set it up.”

There is a brief pause, and he wonders if he should clear the air, just in case. He really does just want to have a relaxing evening with her - it had been a long time since they last had the chance. Conjuring up some courage, he types out another message to her. “So, about the interview…”

Reading that, Y/N’s heart races. She didn’t want to overanalyze his words, but it was impossible not to. She decides to go for the safe answer. “You did well. Really.” So maybe he was just overthinking it. The praise lifts some of the weight off his chest.

“Thanks. Felt good to share some insights. And the part about you… well, it was true.”

Had he really meant all of it?

There’s a fluttering sensation in her stomach. “Just doing my job.”

“No, really. It means a lot to me. You’ve been here through so much of it.”

The sincerity of his words has her forgetting this tension for a moment, allowing it to slip into the back of her mind. They had a rhythm, a friendship built on shared experiences, but now it felt precarious.

“I just want you to succeed, Oscar,” she tells him, words honest. “That’s all.”

“And you’re doing your part brilliantly. I honestly don’t know what I’d do without you.”

His words hang in the air, thick with unspoken feelings. He’s said those same words a thousand times before, but for some reason, this one makes her heart skip. She shifts her weight, feeling the heat rise to her cheeks.

“So, movie?” she suggested, wanting to steer the conversation away before she can get too caught up in her own messy thoughts..

“Right. I’ll get it ready.”

Rustling the duvet to make it appear slightly less misshapen. One of his hands seeks the remote to see what’s on at this time, and tries to pick the most tolerable option. Happy with his choice, he stalk over to the other side of his room, the show in the background acting as welcome background noise.

He then pulls out two packets of microwaveable popcorn from the welcome basket that had greeted him when he checked into the room, popping each of them into the microwave so the snack would be warm by the time she arrived.

Y/N stands outside the door to Oscar’s hotel room, feeling a mix of anticipation and nerves. Sure, she could use her emergency key card, but she decides that knocking feels less criminal. She knocks, and immediately the door creaks back to reveal his familiar face. His hair is mussed up, loose locks flopping to one side or the other. Her eyes are fogging with sleep, but the smile he wears is warm and sweet.

“Hey! Look who made it,” Oscar teases, stepping aside to let her in.

“Thought I’d save you from another night of mediocre cable,” she replied, a playful smile on her lips.

She hopes it comes less nervous than she feels.

“Trust me, you’re in for a treat. It’s ‘Chef’s Disaster’ tonight. Guaranteed chaos,” he says, leading her to the couch.

When she glances at the television that’s playing, she finds scenes of various chefs - forgetting ingredients, leaving the stove on too high, accidentally dropping their dishes.

“Ah, the best kind of TV,” she laughs, settling in beside him. The pair of them end up on opposite sides of a generously-sized, two-seater couch. Her mind begins to whir, trying to figure out if she’s sitting too far, if it’s too late to scoot a bit closer, would that make things weirder? But when she looks over to Oscar, his relaxed figure sprawled across his side of the couch, the knot in her chest loosens a little. She allows herself to get more comfortable, curling up on her seat. Finally breathing a little bit easier, she allows herself to lean back against the cushioning.

The show flickers on, and they immediately fall into a comfortable rhythm. Y/N reaches for the bowl of popcorn he’d prepared, gathering a handful of pieces to then to slip into her mouth.

They watch as the chefs try to organize their chaos into something presentable, laughing as they watch one of the younger contestants put an unseasoned chicken into the oven.

What happened to salt? Pepper? Common sense?

In the darkness of the room, their faces are lit up only by the glow of the changing scenes flickering across the TV screen. With a subtly yawn, Oscar stretches his arms, before one coincidently drapes itself across the back of the couch, right behind Y/N’s shoulders. He can feel how her hair tickles the skin of his forearm, but it only makes him smile. He’d missed this - time together, the two of them. Life had a funny way of making people feel so close and so far all at once.

When she can’t help but giggle at someone who’d forgotten to put the lid on their blending before powering it on, Oscar can’t help but look at her.

Even at this awkward distance, even with her too far to touch - he feels lucky. He’d be happy to stay like this - to only hear her laugh instead of causing it, to watch her smile from the sidelines - just to get to be in her orbit at all.

He wonders if the world might stop spinning on its axis if that wasn’t the case.

His certainly would.

“Okay, chef,” Oscar said, nudging her. “What’s your go-to dish?”

Turning to glance at him, she can’t help but smile. Oscar’s smile is contagious like that, she supposes.

She hums, thinking over his question for a moment.

“Honestly? I make a pretty decent chicken alfredo. You’d be impressed,” she replied, a hint of pride in her voice.

“Pasta, huh? Fancy,” he teases, wiggling his eyebrows at her. His heart does a strange fluttery thing when she laughs. “The only thing I can make reliably is scrambled eggs,” he admits, chuckling.

“Hey, scrambled eggs are a classic! Hell, all the eggs I make end up scrambled. But you should branch out,” Y/N says with mock seriousness, raising an eyebrow. “Maybe I should give you cooking lessons sometime.”

“Deal,” he says, his tone shifting slightly. Raising his hands defensively, he adds, “But no promises on the outcome.”

As they watch the chefs struggle with absurd challenges, the initial awkwardness begins to fade. They exchange jokes about the contestants, their laughter echoing off the walls. They laugh until their stomachs hurt, adding in their own commentary until there are tears in their eyes and their cheeks hurt from laughing. “I actually hate you,” she wheezes, throwing her couch cushion at him. “My nonexistent abs hurt, you asshole. Can’t you be a little more considerate?”

He catches her projectile weapon with an exaggerated ‘oof’, defending himself. “I was just providing valuable insights, really.”

The silence that settles thereafter as they try to catch their breaths is comfortable in the way that graceful snowfall is - familiar and calming, peaceful.

“What’s the worst thing you’ve ever cooked?” he asks, turning to her.

Y/N has to hold back a giggle, recalling a memory. She can’t remember how long its been since she was able to let loose like this. “I once tried to make soufflé. I think by the time I was done with it, it fell under the legal definition of what the pros call, ‘hazardous materials.’”

Oscar bursts out laughing, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “That’s a tragedy! You should’ve brought it here as a surprise.”

“I’m sure. Next time, I’ll bring my ‘signature’ dish,” she replied, rolling her eyes playfully.

Tilting her head back, she lets her eyes slip closed for a second just basking in whatever this is. It’s difficult to think of the right word for it, but quite frankly, she doesn’t care. She just wants to bottle it up and keep it with her forever. Just as they start to find that comfortable groove, a sharp knock interrupts them. Immediately, they both lift their head to turn to look in the direction of the offending sound.

“You expecting someone?” Y/N asks, her heart sinking slightly. She tries to push the feeling away. “Who is it?”

“Probably someone who doesn’t know the meaning of ‘do not disturb,’” Oscar grumbles, shaking his head as he gets up to walk over to the door.

He stands up and walks toward the door, leaving Y/N to focus on the flickering screen. But her mind drifted back to the lingering tension between them, their easy banter feeling suddenly fragile.

She nervously fixes her hair, tucking the loose strands behind her ears. Making sure she looks professional enough - and not like they were sitting a mere centimeter apart - she turns toward the door. Finally, he slides the pin aside, unlocking the door as he pulls it back.

“Who is it?” she asks him quietly.

There’s a pause for a moment, before Lando’s familiar voice calls through. “It’s me,” he replies, and Oscar seems visibly annoyed. Lando peers over Oscar’s shoulder, noting Y/N perched on one of the couches in the room.

Good, both of them were here. That’d make this a bit easier.

“You need to see this,” Lando tells them, careful to keep his tone even. Oscar nods, stepping aside and opening the door wider to allow Lando in.

“Yeah, of course. Come on in,” she replies at the same time, making sure she looks presentable. Hopefully whatever Lando has to say will save her from whatever awkwardness was probably about to ensue.

Lando pushes into the room and instantly notices that the vibe is… something. It’s *very* obvious that he’s interrupted something, but he doesn’t comment on it.

Interesting. He files the information away for later.

Instead, he holds his phone out in front of him, a news article pulled up on the screen.

“What is it?” Oscar asks, his gaze flickering between Lando and the screen.

Lando points to the small picture in the article, and Oscar’s jaw clenches, the muscle on the side of his face visibly pulled tight. Lando observes his teammate’s reaction, before he looks over to meet Y/N’s eyes.

“You might want to read this,” he says gently, his voice low. “You’re mentioned in it.”

That doesn’t sound right.

“I- What?”

Lando briefly wonders what the likelihood is that the ground will physically swallow him whole. Or that he might turn invisible. Or anything that means he doesn’t have to explain this.

“I don’t-“ He cuts off, struggling to put his words together, sighing. “I don’t know how they got their information, but some of these details…”

Seeing Lando - normally smiley Lando - looking so painfully neutral despite the anxiety that flashes in his eyes, feels deeply unsettling. Like dark clouds at a wedding or an empty chair at a birthday party, seeing Lando like this feels ominous, wrong.

He hands her the phone, watching her as she takes it and begins to scan the text. Words and letters blend into a blur, her eyes reading through the article - speculation after speculation on her current health status and how she got hurt. It reads less like news and more like pure gossip tabloid rumors.

There’s an odd sinking in her chest, some muscle winding itself tighter and tighter.

She can’t stop reading it, standing eerily still. Hidden amongst this clear violation of the privacy she’s held sacred for so long are some very specific facts that only Oscar and a select few other people should be able to know and recognize.

“This is-“ she starts quietly, her breath hitching in her chest.

It’s quiet. “This is bad.”

Her eyes continue to scan the article, and her mouth goes dry. Even when she knows it’s all mostly bullshit, there’s still a part of her that feels a little violated, like there’s suddenly not enough oxygen in the room. This is her life - her past and her trauma put on display. The most traumatic years of her life suddenly available for the whole world to read about.

She reads it yet another time, uselessly hoping for something to change, for the words to transform or dissipate like the final wisps of a nightmare.

“One has to ask—can you really call it a "dream job" when it lands you in the ER? Y/N L/N is clearly in need of a reality check. Whispers from insiders paint the picture of a young woman entangled in a life of chaos, fueled by impulsive decisions and reckless relationships. Is she simply a victim of her surroundings, or is there a more troubling narrative at play? Recently, Y/N was hospitalized with troubling injuries: extensive bruising and a suspected concussion, allegedly the result of a wild night that spiraled out of control. Sources suggest her aggressive tendencies may have exacerbated the situation, raising alarms about her behavior and its implications for McLaren. As Y/N navigates her tumultuous life, her influence over rising star Oscar Piastri comes into question. McLaren must now confront the uncomfortable truth: her erratic behavior could endanger Piastri’s career and the team’s reputation. The last thing they need is a scandal, especially when they’re striving for excellence on and off the track. The team's efforts to sweep this under the rug hint at deeper issues within their camp. Insiders are growing increasingly concerned that Y/N’s instability could tarnish McLaren’s hard-earned image, especially as rumors circulate. As Y/N begins her recovery, the pressure mounts on McLaren to manage the fallout. Fans and sponsors alike are watching closely, and the stakes couldn’t be higher. Ultimately, the future for Y/N is uncertain. Will she take this opportunity to change her trajectory, or will she continue to spiral, jeopardizing not only her own future but also the stability of McLaren? The racing world waits with bated breath, knowing that every decision could have lasting consequences.”

Lando’s expression is sympathetic as he watches her pale. Something guilty settles in his gut - he knows he didn’t cause this, but he doesn’t know how to protect her from it either. Lando has always held loyalty so close to his chest - growing up famous at such a young age forces you to learn that lesson quickly.

It's easy, then, to understand why Lando is the way he is. He's known for his friendly personality - his charismatic charm and his easy laugh - but there are a select few which Lando considers his closest friends. Those are people he answers even in the middle of the night, the ones he’d fly across the world to be there for.

But Y/N is standing in front of him like the very ground has been pulled from beneath her feet and he can’t do a fucking thing.

“Um, it’s- it’s okay,” she stammers, voice shaky. She tucks her hair behind her ears again, but they were never loose in the first place. A fragile mask of calm slips over her face, a familiar trick she’s performed thousands of times before

“I can take care of this. I- I’ll take care of this.”

Her heart feels like it’s stuttering in her chest but she knows better than to show it. Taking a short breath, she whirls around to make a beeline for her office. She’ll need to make a few calls, send emails to various liaisons and communication personnel, maybe reach out to HR and PR too-

“Hey, hey, stop.” Oscar reaches out and gently wraps his fingers around his bicep, spinning her around gently to face him. His eyes are worried as he searches hers for something true. He’s seen her upset before, but now her face is pale in a way he’s never seen before.

“Oh, right,” she chuckles awkwardly, suddenly remembering. “Lando, your phone.”

She holds the phone with the article displayed on it for Lando to grab, but she eyes the device like it’s very presence is toxic. She chuckles, but the sound is high pitched and forced. “Sorry, almost forgot!”

Lando slowly takes his phone from her, his eyes flickering between his friends for a moment.

“No worries, s’fine,” he says carefully, his eyes not leaving her face. “Are you actually okay?” That’s a stupid question, you idiot.

“Me?” she asks, as if caught off guard. “Yeah, yeah! I’m fine,” she answers, waving him off.

Oscars expression is stern, unconvinced - and he doesn’t bother to hide it.

“You seem a little, uh, upset,” he says delicately, his gaze flitting to her shaking hands. He immediately looks away, not wanting to draw any attention to it. He doesn’t want her to feel exposed.

“No it’s-” horrible, she wants to say. Instead, what comes out is, “It’s okay. I’m just trying to figure out what I need to do, that’s all.”

He hesitates, his brows furrowing at her attempts to downplay what’s happening.

“And your first thought is to go work?” he points out, a small hint of accusation in his tone.

It’s like she doesn’t even hear him.

“I’m going to fix this,” she tells him, giving both of them her most convincing smile, even as the corners of her mouth threaten to twitch downward.

Breathe.

And with that, she sees herself out of the room, already planning each action she needs to set into motion. She’s going to fix this.

a/n: thank you for reading this far! feedback means a lot to me. your likes, comments, reblogs, asks - that's the only way i can tell if you like the story so pls pls pls! all the feedback!!!

#formula 1 fic #saffu's works #formula 1 #oscar piastri fic #oscar piastri fanfic #oscar piastri x you #oscar piastri #oscar piastri angst #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri x assistant!reader #tw: abuse #tw: injuries

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tomlinfonda · 2 years ago

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Watching this scene for the first time, an interesting thought popped in my head: this sounds like Trent from season 1.

I wish I could add a video clip, because the tone of his voice is extremely reminiscent of an early Trent, cold and distrusting of Ted's methods. A specific line that came to mind is:

Well, sure, this show loves a parallel. I'm sure there's no theory to extrapolate from this, I thought for a second. Until my rewatch of the episode, which brought with itself a revelation:

There are 3 times in "The Strings That Bind Us" when Trent enters a room and starts a conversation with Ted about Total Football by saying his name.

Conversation 1: we have a colder Trent who questions Ted's choices as a football coach. This represents Trent from Season 1. I believe this calls back to their interactions before their dinner in 1.03, specifically the one I pointed out above.

UPDATE: As pointed out by @flamboyantcatastrophe, this is a DIRECT callback to their first ever conversation. Both times, Trent starts with "I just wanna make sure I have this right."

Conversation 2: we have a friendly, curious Trent. He is fascinated by Ted's way of thinking, wants to know what's on his mind. If you go back to the episode and rewatch this scene, you may notice the flirty tone in his voice and the way he walks being reminiscent of him approaching Ted in the Crown and Anchor pub in 2.07. This represents Trent from Season 2. .

There is also a specific callback to one of their scenes from that season (arguably, their most pivotal by that point):

"Like the man once said" // "As the man says"

Conversation 3 shows Trent having Total faith in Ted's methods, encouraging him and showing him full, unbridled support. This is obviously Trent from Season 3.

As there are parallels to other TedTrent moments in the previous two instances, I wonder if this one will be paralleled in future episodes (maybe even the finale). It's easy to imagine a romantic scene similar to this one. Hell, this one is pretty romantic already. If you've watched one or two romcoms, you must be familiar with romantic leads racing through airports, barging in through chapel (or press conference room) doors, trying to reach their love interest before they get on the plane, say "I do" or otherwise do anything else that might cause the door to close on their potential happy ending. Thankfully, the love interest stops that door at the last moment, throwing it open, calling out the name of the one they love, the one they can't let get away.

Another interesting bit is that Trent is shown picking up the rainbow mug and drinking from it between Conversations 1 and 2. Fitting, since C2 calls back to 2.12, and we know Trent came out before that. But could it actually be that he came out between Seasons 1 and 2?

Now let's talk a little bit about the Red String metaphor.

First things first, Jamie asks what's with the red string. The camera immediately cuts to Trent, who is wearing a red string bracelet.

Ted then explains what the red string symbolizes, and points out that said string is attached to the little fingers of soulmates.

Earlier in the episode, we have this shot of Trent's little finger pointing towards the red stripes on Ted's hoodie.

And later in the episode, Trent wears a red lanyard around his neck.

Something else I've noticed:

Their first scene in this episode happens in the press room, where they first met.

In the last scene of the episode, they are connected by a red wall.

Also, since their first scene in this episode calls back to their first meeting, could their last scene of the episode foreshadow their last scene together in the show?

I find it very interesting that in the "soulmates" episode, Ted's plot is book-ended by two scenes with Trent: one that happens in the room where they first met, one that is written like a scene in a romantic comedy. And between them, we have scenes that call back to the journey that brought them here. The thread of their history runs through this episode like an invisible red string, bringing them together, leading to an inevitable conclusion.

#tedtrent #tedependent #trent crimm #ted lasso spoilers #ted x trent #ted/trent

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gegewrites · 2 years ago

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Dr.House- rough day

I had a rough day during the week so this was created.

6/2/23

2.3k words

Not edited

Houses Pov-

It was now eight am, the group and I have already reconvened twice in the conference room. Yet there's no sign of (y/n). No phone call, we can't reach her either. So we're waiting. She's usually in the office by seven or seven thirty. eight at the absolute latest. She'll also take Any excuse to stay late...she's weird.

"Run some more tests." I glanced over at the conference room door and then back to the team,"anything to waste time, the one with all my answers isn't here."

"Are you-" I swiftly cut Cameron off, walking away from the white board.

"Go get a coffee while you're at it." I took hold of the handle to my offices door and foreman spoke.

"You can't be serious." I looked over at him and raised my brow.

"When have I not been serious? Come get me when (l/n) is here, or you have answers." I let my office door close behind me when I finished the sentence and walked over to my office. Leaning my cane against the side and sitting down in the rolling chair.

I had answers. This case simply wasn't that serious to really care. foreman, Chase, and Cameron can figure it out, and they will. If they don't, I'll spoil the surprise that its simply just a child that desperately just needs some anxiety medication pronto.

Your Pov-

This morning has been rough, and it just seems to be getting worse as the minutes drag on.

First, I wake up late, I wake up at five thirty everyday, I'm out of the house by six thirty. I like to have time to calmly get ready. Well, I woke up at Six, which leaves me already half an hour behind.

Then I find out The coffee pot never brewed, the timer never set. It was still flashing the set time of 5:20 AM at me, alerting me to my stupidity. I got a call on the home phone when I was making it…So now I need to get coffee at work, so now I'll be in a bitchy mood till I get it.

By the time I had gotten dressed and put on my basic makeup, and grabbed some other things I needed, I only have five minutes left to spare.

Today I put on these heels I had, I could walk miles in them, they were perfect. They were also right by the door and I wasn't looking for something to match this outfit properly, but these go with everything.

I grabbed my bag putting my phone, laptop, and other simple items into it, but realized the lanyard with my keys on it was missing. I quickly threw my doctors coat on, and scanned the table. I had my bag on a table by the front door. I opened it only drawer and it wasn't in there, only junk mail. I even shuffled it around. Now I was scrambling over my one level apartment. Stressfully lifting up my couches cushions. feeling in between the loveseats cushions, looking under them on my hands and knees.

I moved into the kitchen, which was a simply archway away from the living room left of the front door. I pushed away the simple litterings on the counter- newspapers, magazines, opened mail. Coming around the breakfast counter to scan the grey granite counter. I looked in the fridge, I looked in the mug cupboard.

"Where the fuck are they!" I yelled between gritted teeth, careful of the volume because of the time of morning and the presence of neighbors. I rushed into the bedroom and look along the dressers and night stands, getting down on my hands and knees again to look under the bed and as to my surprise. They weren't there. But my cat, Simon, was.

I let out a heavy and long exhale and I walked out of my bedroom, the tip hitting the floor angrily, avoiding using my heels to the best of my ability due to, once again, the time of morning and neighbors.

I was now a minute late according the the watch on my wrist. as I approached the door, I caught Glimpse of the doorknob, now approaching the whole situation with a different level of stress snd adrenaline.

They were on the fucking doorknob.

"You have got to be fucking kidding me." I manically laughed through sentence as I grabbed my bag and slung a strap over my shoulder.

I had to park further down the street last night, my normal spot was taken. So I had to walk a block away from home.

Adding two minutes to my late tracker.

I rushed over to the driver side, stepping off the curb simultaneously pressing down on the unlock button on the Keys. I heard the locks click open and I pulled the door open. Tossing my bag into the passenger seat. Closing the door and shoving the key in the ignition and turning it. When the dials settled, I had a near empty tank of gas. To think I debated stopping yesterday. Ive got twenty miles, closest one is five miles away.

Adding ten minuets to the late tracker. It was seven, I was supposed to be in the office. I was surprised I had no calls yet. So I reached into my bag to check my phone. Flipping it open to find out it was dead. So i dropped it back in and resumed on driving.

Apparently everyone needed the fucking gas station this morning. I had to wait in a line of three. Luckily the guy at the pump was finished when I pulled in, so he drove off and the first car pulled in. Four minutes. The second car, three minutes. I also checked the other line. Definitely not going there. A boat, and some dude with four wheelers. God must really hate me because that's unusual for this town. The third car took five minutes. So Twelve minutes waiting in line. It look me seven minutes as i ran in to get coffee, I needed it. The adrenaline has worn off.

Adding nineteen minutes to the late tracker.

Of course since rush hour was starting, I got stuck in some traffic but not much. I also hit every red light possible. It only takes me twenty six minutes to get to work. I was already four minutes late.

Traffic was going steady, at least for twelve minutes it was, before some dude ran a red light and t-boned a car that had the right away.

I slammed my head down onto my hand gripping the steering wheel and silently flipped out. I'm officially late. I don't have a phone charger on me, I'll have to use the one in the office, but I can't call to say I'm going to be late. Traffic on our side was stopped and all turns to the right lane.

The current time is now eight thirty. I'm five minutes away from the hospital. I like being at work. I'll admit it, I like my job. It's not bad working for House and there's always something to do. House can be an ass, but I get paid to be entertained. The others aren't bad, they're nice to work with. I don't see them outside of work which is completely fine.

I finally pulled into the main entrance of the parking garage. Took me a minute to get up to my spot on the third floor...which was taken? I just looked at the BMW from my car, blinking rapidly, my shoulders bouncing from the silent laugh in my chest which soon erupted into another fit of manic laughter as I started driving back out of the parking garage.

I picked a spot in the lot, luckily it was close to the entrance of the hospital. It’s now 8:37. I parked, and grabbed my bag as I opened the door, throwing the strap over my shoulder. I reached in and grabbed my coffee before I closed the door. I locked it as I briskly walked away, my heels clacking hard against the asphalt.

I stepped onto the curb to the front of the hospital, my right heel caught the curb. I heard a crack and I fell onto my knees and hands. My coffee spilling onto the pavement. I just stayed on the ground for a few seconds, savoring the feeling of what would soon be a bruise on my knee. I sat down, taking my heel off. The heel was hanging on for dear life, the tip of the nail which went through the base of the heel cracked out of the wood. It was broken.

“Motherfucker.” I groaned standing up back on the pavement, I kicked my other one off and held them in my left hand, picking up the paper coffee cup and throwing it in the trash by the door.

I have shoes in my locker, so until I can get to my locker that’s means I’m walking barefoot. At least it’s a hospital.

I walked past the front desk, giving them a nod as I quickly walked towards the elevator. I knew people were looking, but I hope they see the fact my heel is broken at an 110° angle. I pressed the up button to the third floor, im gonna stop by the office before the locker room, I have priorities.

Houses Pov-

“Nothing.” Foreman said dropping a folder onto the glass conference table. Cameron pulling a chair out to sit in, and chase standing by the door with his arms crossed over his chest. I was at the counter.

“I suspected as such.” I looked at them over my shoulder, I just started a new pot of coffee.

“So what is it?” Chase asked as I turned around, leaning against the counter.

“It’s not serious that’s for sure.” I looked past him and into the hallway,”anyone seen (y/n) yet?”

“No and she’s still not answering her phone.” Cameron answering and I groaned in annoyance, my head falling back.

“She’ll be here when she gets here, what’s the damn diagnosis?” I looked over at foreman, his hands sturdily placed on his hips.

“God this coffee can’t brew fast enough.” I deflected his question, once again looking out into the hallway, this time to see the person I wanted to see.

(y/n) rushed to the door and pushed it open. Her heels in her left hand, one broken.

“I’m so-“I cut her off quickly.

“Why does a seven year old girl have a spiking heart rate, random outbursts-“ she cut me off,

“It’s fucking anxiety, take it to psych.” She lashed out, Cameron and chase sharing a glance at each other as she walked towards me, her desk was by chases against the glass windows.

“Rough morning?” Foreman asked and she nodded sharply.

“Everything that could go wrong, fucking did. Phones dead, wake up late, coffee pot never brewed, lost my keys for like seven minutes but they were on the door,” she ranted on as she unpacked her bag, her heels thrown on the floor,”a stupid fucking car crash four cars away-oh!” She turned to us, her arms throw out by her sides,” and some prissy ass BMW took my spot in the the garage so I had to park in the normal lot, broke my heel and spilled my coffee.”

Listening to her rant was very entertaining. Very animated, Very profane….very hot.

“Someone go find something interesting and get that girl to psych.” I didn’t look away from the stressed out doctor who was fumbling through her drawers for something.

“Well be quick with it.” Chase remarked, i heard Cameron’s chair lift and the door open and soon close.

“Where the fuck..” I heard (y/n) whisper as she closed the top left drawer and opened the bottom right, grabbing her phones charger out.

“You’re late, but at least your tits look great.” I said to her as I turned around, leaning on my left leg, grabbing a mug from the shelf.

“Thanks for noticing.” I could hear the dramatic eye roll she gave me. I heard her phone clack down on the desk as I grabbed hold of the coffee pot, pulling it out as the following drips sizzled on the heater,”I’m-“

“Coffee?” I asked, glancing over my right shoulder to her. Sliding the coffee pot back onto the burner. I grabbed the cream which was next to the coffee maker, twisted the cap off and splashed some in.

She stood on my right and I handed it to her, my eyes going from hers right to her chest. Dark grey button up, the top three buttons still undone.

“Thanks.” She took the mug from me before scoffing,”don’t make tjis day worse.”

“Push up?” I raised my brow, finally meeting her eyes again.

“I don’t know, probably.” She walked past em towards the door,”I’m clocking in, getting shoes, and going to the clinic. Page me when there’s something.”

“You have small scratches on the shoulder of your coat.” I pointed out, seeing the dark grey peaking through the white.

“Shut the fuck up House.” She held the glass door open, looking at me with a smile before looking away and walking out.

I might’ve had something to do with her lateness. The hour long phone call we had at eleven….started with some medical questions, ended with me knowing what that toy she keeps in her nightstand sounds like in between her legs over the phone. Maybe next time I’ll just show up at her door.

#gegewrites #fanfiction #smut writer #dr house smut #greg house #greg house smut #greg house x reader #house md #house md smut #dr. house

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ellesthots · 6 months ago

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Fateful Beginnings

XVIII. “indebted”

parts: previous / next

plot: employed as the resident Gazette journalist, your first night at City Hall leaves you panicked and reeling from a last-minute confession from Bruce.

pairing: battinson!bruce wayne x fem!reader

cw: 18+, bribery, panic attack, mental institution

words: 3.3k

Mar had taken you to Nordstrom to peruse the sale rack for appropriate journalist attire. You'd settled on a black long-sleeve mini dress; you'd wanted to go midi, but she had insisted you be more risqué. "You don't have to hide your femininity to be professional." Now you were wearing it with matching pointed toe heels—with less heel than your old ones. The press lanyard dangled around your neck nearly obscured by hair that had taken you all evening to curl; the rain was hellish, weighing down your roots and frizzing out the lengths. Paparazzi waited and for a moment you stalled to wonder why they were here; that was until they started shouting "BRUCE WAYNE?!" and racing past you. You stopped in your tracks, and all you could hear was the pounding of your heartbeat against your eardrums. Fuck. He's here already. The hectic, giddy flashes blurred your vision and created floating black specks as you made your way up the stairway. It felt... weird being at the beginning of it all. Like a bad omen. You walked to the appetizers to see if Rai was working it, but it was some random catering company with bland, pompous snacks. Caviar, Oyster and a billion other things you couldn't name.

As much as you wanted to wipe him from your mind, it was impossible to not know when Bruce Wayne entered the building. Everyone inside gasped under their breath and turned like he was a shark in the water, like cat to mouse, predator to prey. It would have taken you too much brainpower—you wanted to spend precisely none on him—to figure out who was hunting who. You grabbed some champagne and tried not to bump into any of the frail, callous rich people. As you surveyed the room (making sure to glide your eyes right past him) you noticed a few upgrades; the foyer housed fresh paint, a new rug, and an ice sculpture. You squinted your eyes to no avail trying to figure out what it was supposed to resemble.

On your gaze's loop you locked eyes with the man of the hour. Your cheeks stung with angry, embarrassed heat and you spun to grab an oyster. Anything to look busy. Anything at all. Excited voices became a passing buzz in your ear as you hyperfocused on the food in your hand. Slimy.

"You may enter now." A man in black pants and a crisp linen shirt opened the door to something vaguely resembling a conference room that vaguely resembled a dystopian art gallery. It didn't quite fit right in your mind, which sent the visceral reminder of loneliness down your gut. You made your way quickly toward the room, foregoing thoughts of where he might or might not be. A mantra pinged between your ears: I will not talk to him. I will ignore him.

Oh how bitterly inferior you were to the actions of Bruce Wayne. You smelled him before you heard him, a musky, clean detergent scent; he smelled just like he did back at Wayne Tower. Only now it was dancing with some... grapefruit? Mandarin? You held back a laugh at the thought of him shuddering whilst spraying cologne.

You were already laughing. He didn't want to see you here. When he walked in he thought it couldn't be you—you hated it here—but when you turned it was immediate. Panic lurched in his chest; you weren't supposed to be here. The word 'destruction' banged around his skull. The badge around your neck alluded to him not being able to avoid you for very long, so much to his chagrin he thought he'd brave the storm and break the ice. "Didn't expect to see you here." Dancing around it. Would you do the same?

You wanted to test his limits, see how he would react if you refused to be on your best behavior, so you resorted to fronting a rude persona. "I'd say the same but..." You gave him a once-over. The Dior stitched into his breast pocket nearly rolled your eyes to the back of their sockets, but you were in public, and he was Bruce Wayne—every room orbited around him. This wasn't the place to make a bad first impression, so you slapped a grin on your face that showed your teeth. "When it strikes midnight is your Dior gonna fall off? Fairy godmother on speed dial?" You lowered your voice a bit so no one would think twice about your conversation. You hid a wince; fuck. That first part had sounded weird. He looked down and put his hands in his pockets, huffing out exasperation. You know. You know. You know. He thought about telling you he didn't like this, to reassure you he did not enjoy the facade, but: he didn't owe you anything and you owed nothing to him. Mutually assured destruction, he thought, even though it didn't help him in the slightest. He didn't need to reveal truths to you, you were more or less even.

"Nice to see you again." He sensed your nerves and tried to soothe them, (were they because you planned to make a surprise announcement this evening?) but it wasn't coming off well. He stared at you with a tight-lipped grin to meet your squinted stare. So the schtick applies to me, too. He turned around to head toward the strange conference room and you stopped yourself from trying to 'trip' again, only holding back so Dr. Vry didn't steal the badge and send you home with no income. He scooted a few people over and took a seat at the front of the huge table. A few of the paparazzi tried to sneak inside but the man in the linen reached for something on his belt and they took off outside. Does this dude have a gun? Is this because of Prince Bruce?

"Welcome everyone." A man with spectacles and a gray suit stood to the direct left of Bruce, and he clapped his hands at the end of everything he said. It might have been frustrating if Bruce wasn't dominating that bandwidth. "Tonight marks the first City Hall meeting of 2024 after our summer interlude." He leaned in while saying it which got some chuckles from the other rich people. You took a quick note. First meeting since summer break.

"And this year we have a new member of the City Hall Board! Mr. Wayne, would you?" The man bowed to Bruce and he rose from his seat with a quick, polite wave. You shook your head and got your pen ready, knowing Dr. Vry would be salivating over whatever he was about to say now and later. You were able to get a good look at him from this perspective; his hair was maybe a bit lighter, much like at graduation, though his suit had become more tailored since then. "Good evening everyone, it's a pleasure to be here in this new capacity. I look a bit less green." He mimed looking down at his suit, and everyone started howling with laughter. Holy shit. You thought about passing out in a puddle of your own vomit. Is he the same human being? He continued, nodding off the rest of the laughs. "I look forward to meeting all of you and getting to know you better as time goes on. I'm excited to collaborate and invest in Gotham City. Thank you."

Everyone clapped like he'd just won an Oscar. He studiosly notated while the other members took turns introducing themselves. You scribbled down as many names and positions as possible with a plan to commit them to memory before next week's meeting. Someone named Fox, a woman named Laurie, a man named Larry...

At the end of the brutally long introduction the man nearest to Bruce, the head honcho, introduced himself. Miguel Convoy - interim mayor. Interim mayor? Mr. Convoy heaved a deep sigh (too deep) and performed condolences for Bella Reál's recent admission to Arkham Asylum. "Miss Reál, as you are well aware, began showing some symptoms of serious mental decline mid-July. The new mayor's elections are coming up this November, and on such short notice we only have a few candidates announced to be running. These include Sebastian Hady, Marian Grange, and Lincoln March. In the following weeks they will make appearances at these meetings, so make sure to give them a warm welcome."

Sebastian Hady, Marian Grange. Lincoln March. - mayoral election, November.

The rest of the meeting was wholly uneventful, with a bunch of meaningless small talk among the bourgeoisie. You made sure to write down everything, however, as Bruce was writing a novel of notes in a small journal. I can't know less than him. He'd never let me hear the end of it. When the meeting adjourned and people began filing out, you set a reminder on your phone to research the candidates for interview prep.

You waited for Bruce to walk past to catch a glimpse of what he'd written, but when he passed... christ. Your teeth ground against your heavy steps as you rushed to reach him. Heat flushed your cheeks and you grabbed his forearm to get his attention. He snapped around and restrained a startle response when he noticed it was you. "So you didn't write anything?" You couldn't stop the gall soaking your tone. "Just scribbles?" Maybe being rude to him wasn't a front, maybe it came naturally with how insufferable the man was.

He hid a laugh—well, he thought he did, but it must have appeared somewhere because you reacted to it immediately. You wrestled with what to say next bogged down by already saying too much. In the meantime he blinked at you, his stare unwavering from your shifting eyes. You had a conviction he'd done that—only written scribbles and wavy lines—to fuck with you, but with little evidence besides a hunch you decided to let it go. If he wanted to get some little jabs in, fine. You did know life-ruining information about him, after all.

He was disappointed you didn't follow the glint in your eye. During the meeting he'd anticipated a showdown, maybe even you snatching his notebook and ripping out a few pages. In his defense he had taken some notes, but quickly devolved to scribbling when he'd caught you glancing in his periphery. He thought it might get under your skin a little, just like you did with your eyes plastered to him. He always felt like your eyes were glued to him, even when you were thousands of miles away; it was a permanent side-effect of being found out. Was it so wrong to want you to share his dread?

"Have you heard of any of these candidates?" You were thumbing through your notes, which looked...impeccable to Bruce. He shook his head. "Too short notice."

"I'm sure you're soo busy." You flipped the spiral shut and held it at your side. He flashed back to when his notebook fell in front of Alfred, his face slipping, and your brows knit together. "It's not just a jab, c'mon." You paused as he looked just behind your shoulder, eyes beginning to glaze. Huh. Weird. You cleared your throat. "With all your, Dior stuff?" God, it took so much effort to act like his activities were of any importance to greater society. It didn't help that you'd had to avoid dozens of behind the scenes clips and photos from his latest shoot on every corner of the internet the past week. Still, your heart felt a bit bruised at the prospect of hurting his feelings for some damn reason. "Hello? Bruce?"

That startled him back. He'd forgotten you used his first name after the nearly three-month reprieve. "They were only announced this afternoon."

You stood there, your skin withering from the dryness of his conversation. Men. The very second your shoulders shifted to move toward the exit he vocalized. "What made you come back here?"

You stared blankly at him. You were a bit offended at how blunt he was being, and decided to be blunt back. "Money."

He was confused. "I thought—" he stopped himself, but you weren't letting him off. "What?"

"Nothing."

You stepped toward him. "It's something."

He wanted to step back, but refused the urge. "It doesn't matter."

"Then why aren't you telling me?"

How obvious was it that he had paid for your mom's medical bills? You saw him thinking and jumped on it. "What? Why do you think I don't need money?"

God, it was maddening not knowing how much you knew; where was the line between speculation and trying to catch him in a lie? You flustered him. "I don't think about money." Ooh, that was not the way to go. You wore your feelings on your sleeve, and his chest cinched when he noticed you scowl.

You refused to let up, feeling your limbs light up with tingles. "What were you going to say?"

He felt scolded, but you weren't scolding; Alfred scolded, sometimes, in an attempt to fulfill a parental role. The problem was he did have things he was going to say and you were picking up on it. The problem was that no one ever called him out in broad daylight. You didn't appease. He winced. "I thought paying your parent's debt would—”

"I knew it!" Bitterness and appreciation dueled in your chest. Your heart raced as the reality of it set in and Mar entered your mind with bright, pulsing letters: S T A L K E R. "How did you, what," He didn't know your family, he didn't know your last name, even. You felt naked.

"Mr. Wayne!" Mr. Convoy (what a rich name) stole Bruce's attention. The edges of your vision swirled and you stepped back to abate the wooziness. STALKER. STALKER. STALKER. STALKER. It was only a handful of seconds before Bruce apologized and asked to excuse himself, which you barely heard over the ringing in your ears. He shot a quick look at you before walking down the hallway towards the restroom. Begrudgingly you followed him this time, feeling forcibly tied to his ankles, and the second he was out of earshot he turned toward you, eyes darting across your face. "You left your phone in Alfred's study. It was open. I only looked at what I needed to." His hands were gripped tightly together, the folds of his fingers beginning to turn white.

You paused so long he nearly spoke again, but you shoved shaky, frustrated words from behind your teeth. "But you didn't need to." You felt shockingly affected; you'd suspected it was Bruce, but had apparently successfully deluded yourself into believing it was God himself, or an accident, or Alfred had accidentally seen some texts and it captured his old, kind heart. Bruce wasn't kind, meaning this wasn't kind. Your fingers went cold and the tips began to tingle—fuck, you felt like you owed him something again, him saying it reopening the guilt you'd tried desperately to disappear.

Bruce felt trapped. Your eyes had glazed over a minute ago; he felt like you were miles away. You were right. He didn't need to. "I thought it would help." He scrambled for anything else to say but came up short. You leaving to Pluto was exceptionally distressing and rendered him nearly incapacitated.

"I didn't ask for any favors,"

"I'm sorry." He stood there feeling foolish. Naked. Uniquely stuck.

A thought sunk down to your gut and nestled into the feeling of guilt. "Was it a bribe?"

His eyes flashed and he shook his head vigorously. "No." He saw you glance over your shoulder towards the paparazzi trying to lean inside for a photo and moved his back to them. You shifted uncomfortably. This vulnerability felt exploitive; you felt small. Standing by the Burj Khalifa made you feel deeply insignificant. That fear came back again, tenfold. He noticed the shift, and he hated it. You were lost in your own head, spiraling again about how alone you were in the world, how much more alone you were going to be so soon, especially if she got the placebo, what Walter would do once she left, what you would do once Walter left, if you'd ever see them again, if this was the only shot you got, and if so, what the hell were you doing here in a city that hated you, in a city you hated; your life was being wasted with so little of hers left, there wasn't enough time, they could get in a car crash this minute, last minute, your phone could ring any moment, Bruce could be planning your demise—

You only noticed you were having a panic attack when Bruce gently grabbed your wrist. You only realized you'd been shaking when you felt his steadiness. You stared at his hand for a brief, still moment before ripping it away. You sniffed back a tear threatening to burst containment and turned wide, only making it a step before your shoulder slammed into a man's walking to the restroom. The collision caused the tear to slide down your cheek and you collapsed to your knees. A high-pitched sob slipped out and you bolted to the bathroom, into a stall, and pushed your back against the metal door right as the weeping started.

The man glared at the WOMEN'S bathroom sign as if he was thinking about following you. He intercepted. "How are you? I'm Bruce Wayne." Another plastered smile and Ken handshake. The man's eyes lit up and he rushed to take Bruce's hand, shaking it about ten times before Bruce slipped his hand back into his pant pocket. He pretended to laugh at the man's jokes, made small talk about the upcoming election, the usual suspects. Bruce knew what waiting might be twisted as, but the man's initial step toward you left him on edge. A few people stared at him as they exited, then leaned in to whisper something to their partners. He rubbed his head and mentioned a small headache coming on, saying he needed to be on his way. He leaned his head back against the rough white wall and shut his eyes after the man finished lingering, crossing his hands around his chest with a leg up for balance. Your reaction had been an oversight. Maybe you were right, again. What's the value of a dollar?

You popped out of the bathroom quicker than he'd anticipated and he startled when you flung the door wide. A small wash of humor at having unsettled him rapidly devolved to sourness. He'd been leafing through various solutions to your bribery claim, but everything felt hollow like the slick tear troughs under your eyes. He grasped for anything to ease the tension, for once even if it wasn't fully thought through. "Let me at least give you a ride."

You stared at him with your nose huffed up. Unshed tears pleaded to be freed. This dress was a silk blend, and you could hear just how heavy the rain was. You nodded curtly, afraid to say no, but thanking yourself for remembering to move your taser to your clutch. You'd get him to drop you off at a fake location, throwing him off your scent for where you actually lived. He nodded back. "I'll meet you around back."

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knithacker · 8 days ago

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Headed To A Conference Next Year? Know A Roadie? Here's A Fun Beaded Lanyard Pattern ... Yay, Crochet! 👉 https://buff.ly/3jxdfKS

#crochet #handmade #DIY

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coochiequeens · 1 year ago

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They all have he/him on their lanyards and it’s extremely clear they identify as men and are here to take opportunities away from the actual women and [non-binary] attendees.”

By Reduxx Team September 28, 2023

A major networking conference focused on centering women in computing is facing backlash from some participants after a flood of males were allowed to attend, reportedly due to the event’s inclusivity policies.

Created in 1994 and inspired by the legacy of Admiral Grace Murray Hopper, the AnitaB.org Grace Hopper Celebration purports to “bring the research and career interests of women in computing to the forefront.” While the conference was historically focused on women, recent developments in its gender inclusivity policy saw its branding open up to “non-binary” participants as well.

In its most recent Press Release on the conference, AnitaB.org deemed it “the world’s largest gathering of women and non-binary technologists.”

But the week-long conference, which costs $650 to attend for students and academics but over $1,200 for the general public, is facing heat this year after some female attendees noticed a “significant number of men” attending the event.

In a now-scrubbed Change.org petition, one female attendee calls on the Grace Hopper Committee (GHC) to provide women who purchased the pricy tickets a full refund, and commit to banning men in the future.

“GHC (2023) is named after our pioneering female programmers, who have paved the way for gender equality within the tech industry. This event was established with the intention of empowering women by creating a safe space where they can connect, learn, and thrive. However, by allowing men to participate, GHC fails to uphold its own mission,” petitioner Agnes Lu wrote in the description.

The petition was uploaded on September 26, but deleted on September 27. A cached version of the page shows that it had collected over 2,700 signatures in the 24 hours it had been active. The reasons for removal are currently unknown.

Similar sentiment was shared on Reddit as a conference attendee posted “why are there so many men at Grace Hopper?”

Posted two days ago, the user wrote: “I’m seeing entire groups of just men, at a conference that’s sole purpose is to give opportunities to WOMEN and non-binary individuals in a male dominated field. I attended last year and did not [see] any male identifying student attendees. This is genuinely infuriating.”

The user goes on to articulate in the replies that there are a limited number of networking slots available and internships are fiercely competitive.

Like in the petition, the user claimed there was an obvious discernible difference between males and “non-binary” individuals, an issue that quickly became a point of contention in the comments.

“They could just be non-binary, gender queer, etc, or that could just be men trying to get a leg up. No way to know,” one user wrote in response, to which the original poster replied: “They all have he/him on their lanyards and it’s extremely clear they identify as men and are here to take opportunities away from the actual women and [non-binary] attendees.”

But the attempted defense was quickly undermined, with some users calling the original poster a “TERF” for failing to include gender-diverse non-binary people.

“Nonbinaries, including he/him nonbinaries, belong at grace hopper and are welcome there. TERFs like you are the ones who shouldn’t be there,” one comment reads.

“Lots of NB go as he/him. The only way you could possibly know is if you asked them,” another claimed.

On X (formerly Twitter), users debated how males could be “gate-kept” from the conference without being exclusionary, to which few solutions were provided.

The conference was held in Orlando this year, in tradition with previous years, but has announced it will relocate for the next iteration due to changes to recent state legislation regarding LGBT people.

In a statement on their site, AnitaB.org claims that Florida has introduced an “onslaught of legislation that not only devalues women and non-binary people and, at the intersections, those who live as members of the LGBTQIA+ community but is also aimed at erasing Black history.” It states that the 2024 conference is being arranged to be held in another location.

One of the featured speakers this year was trans-identified male Sasha Costanza-Chock, who describes himself as a “researcher and designer who works to support community-led processes that build shared power, dismantle the matrix of domination, and advance ecological survival.”

Costanza-Chock spoke on a panel with Alejandra Caraballo, a trans-identified male attorney, on the “Intersection of Tech and Social Justice.” The panel was described as “diving into the critical intersection of technology and social equity and explore how technology can inadvertently become a barrier for underserved groups.”

#Admiral Grace Murray Hopper #AnitaB.org Grace Hooper Celebration #Women censored by Change.org #Grace Hopper Committee (GHC)

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lesbianmaxevans · 2 years ago

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Gregory & Janine || Teacher Conference

[Image Description: Nine stacked gifs from Abbott Elementary.

A voice can be heard outside the room. Janine: Oh! Oh, I hear someone. Gregory: Uh... Janine: Wait, get down! Get down! They both laugh as they crouch to the ground. Janine holds up the flower she wanted Gregory to smell. Janine: But no, you really should smell this one. It smells so good. Gregory leans in and kisses Janine. Once Gregory pulls away, Janine pulls him back into another kiss by the lanyard on his neck.]

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maltawristbands · 2 years ago

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How is a lanyard beneficial to your business?

A lanyard can be an excellent way to promote your brand. The most common type of business lanyard is typically nylon or polyester with a plastic or metal clip that is used to attach your ID, badge, or keys. The product is worn by staff or guests and it means that the company branding can gain exposure whenever and wherever the lanyard is displayed.

The nice thing about it is that it's not only beneficial for you and your staff but also for people who come into contact with you and wear the lanyard, which gives them the opportunity to take home some physical information about your company, logo, and contact information. An example of this would be at theme parks or festivals where attendees are given a lanyard as a gift.

Business lanyards can promote your brand in a very effective manner. They help you achieve your marketing or branding goals and get noticed in different surroundings. Conference lanyards are a great way to gain exposure by displaying your company details to various people who are in the same industry group as yourself. This is where many business introductions are done and some deals made.

Here are a few benefits of using personalized lanyards as an advertising solution:

Branding and Advertising: A good business lanyard is a perfect promotional item to help you build and strengthen your brand image, create awareness and increase exposure to your company. It also helps you build relationships with your customers, suppliers, and associates. You can use it as part of a corporate gift program or give it away at trade shows, conventions, expos, and other special events as well as include them in your business packages to attract new clients. The best for businesses in Ireland are simple ones with just a logo and text – that does not include too much information.

Incentive and Rewards: A custom lanyard is a nice item to give out as a gift to your best employees and loyal customers. You may also include it in your customer appreciation and rewards programs. This way, you can show them how much they mean to the company, boost their morale and increase customer loyalty and referrals. Cheap lanyards in Ireland are available for bulk purchases of over 500 units and this brings the price down significantly.

Branding at Events: Another way to use lanyards is as a giveaway or souvenir at conferences, trade shows, fairs, and other special events. Doing this is simple - just hand them out as people pass by your booth or display table. To boost your brand awareness and exposure, even more, you can use a custom lanyard as a part of your loyalty or promotional program. The lanyard can include a QR code that takes people to a website or landing page to find out more information about your business or to leave their details.

Public Relations: Lanyards are great for increasing awareness and promoting your business. It's an ideal item to give away at events, trade shows, and conventions. Your employees can wear them to these gatherings to show their connection with the company and allow people to take home some information about you. Stand out from the crowd and have a memorable design that will help attract customers which may convert into long lasting relationships. As the saying goes; you never have a second chance at a first impression. So make sure your customized lanyards show your organization in its best light.

Promotional Merchandise: Lanyards are popular among businesses because they have so many uses that make them perfect for promotional purposes. They're ideal for giveaways, business gifts, premiums, and incentives. They're also great for employee recognition and reward programs. Many companies are competing to stand out in a crowded field and items such as branded merchandise are a great way to differentiate yourself from others.

Whatever your branded lanyard application is, we have them in various styles, sizes, and colors that are sure to appeal to your customers.

Ireland Lanyards offer both plain and also print lanyards for business, promotion, and more. With a range of styles and colours to choose from, you're sure to find the perfect lanyard for your needs. Visit the website today at www.irelandlanyards.com for more information or call +353 83047 5444 to speak with one of the friendly staff! Ireland Lanyards design, produce and supply promotional lanyards in Ireland.

#Conference lanyards #Cheap lanyards in Ireland #promotional lanyards in Ireland

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camisoledadparis · 2 months ago

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STORY: Finance Bros on Business

When Rafael and Wyatt get sent on a business trip, a raunchy movie leads these two young, straight finance bros to do things they never imagined they would.

_________________________________________________

Chapter 1

Sorry this one is kind of long, but I promise it's worth it!

____________________________________________________

Rafael and Wyatt worked at a small, relatively new investment firm in Hartford. They didn't know each other very well, as Rafael had started fairly recently, but they seemed to get along just fine in the few interactions they had together. The firm had sent them on an overnight business trip to New York City for a multi-day conference that could yield a lot of valuable connections for the firm. Rafael and Wyatt carried their bags up, and Rafael slid the key card into the door. They’d been on the road for a few hours, and they were ready to finally unwind—if only for a few minutes. As the door clicked open, they were met with an unexpectedly spacious, well-appointed suite.

The firm, despite its modest size, had clearly decided to splurge a bit for their accommodations. The entryway was warm and inviting, leading into a living space with a small but functional kitchenette complete with a coffee maker, a mini-fridge, and a couple of polished countertops. There was a large couch facing a flat-screen TV, with a glass door to a balcony that overlooked the cityscape, the late afternoon sun casting a golden glow across the room. There was a sizable bathroom off the entryway, also connected to the bedroom.

“Not bad,” Rafael remarked, a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Wyatt, meanwhile, dropped his bag and threw himself onto the couch with exaggerated enthusiasm. “Not bad? This place is amazing!” he exclaimed, giving the cushions an approving pat. This was his first business trip, too, and he seemed eager to make the most of every detail. They carried their bags to the bedroom, a comfortable, cozy setup with two queen-sized beds and another television on the wall.

With hardly enough time to catch their breath, Rafael glanced at his watch and raised his eyebrows at Wyatt. “Guess we’d better head down. The first session starts soon.”

Wyatt gave a dramatic sigh but sat up, straightening his tie. They grabbed their notebooks and laptops, did a quick mirror check, and left the suite, heading down to the lobby to catch a cab. The conference center wasn’t far from the hotel, but their schedule was packed with back-to-back sessions—workshops, seminars, and panels on everything from emerging market trends to new tech and strategy innovations. The day was a blur of presentations, business cards, and hurried conversations. Both Rafael and Wyatt knew that by the time they returned to their suite, they’d be thoroughly exhausted.

The conference center was buzzing with energy, the air filled with a mix of formal greetings, excited chatter, and the rustle of name badges against suits. As Rafael and Wyatt navigated the lobby, they took a moment to take in the crowd. Finance professionals of all ages and backgrounds filled the space, each with a lanyard and a purposeful look.

They entered their first workshop, a session on emerging market trends. A panel of speakers took turns analyzing global economic shifts and their potential impacts on small and mid-sized firms. Rafael jotted notes rapidly, catching insightful comments and key stats he thought their firm might find valuable. Wyatt, meanwhile, listened intently, occasionally whispering to Rafael to ask if he'd caught a particular detail. It felt good to have someone there to bounce ideas off of—a sense of partnership started forming, subtle but reassuring.

Throughout the day, they moved from one session to the next. There was a mix of technical seminars, networking events, and open Q&A forums. At one panel, they met a few young professionals from other investment firms and exchanged business cards, discussing their respective strategies and challenges. It struck Rafael that, even though his own firm was small, many of the issues they faced were shared by firms twice their size.

As the hours wore on, fatigue started to set in. By the time they reached the final panel of the day, they were exhausted. When the session finally ended, they leapt up and got out of there as soon as they could.

Outside the conference center, they hailed a cab, settling into the worn leather seats with a collective sigh of relief. The city lights streaked past as they made their way back to the hotel, a quiet, comfortable silence settling between them. Wyatt stared out the window, watching the blur of people and lights, while Rafael leaned back, feeling the day’s exhaustion settle over him like a heavy blanket.

Once back at their suite, they dropped their bags by the door, kicking off their shoes before making their way to the couch. Rafael practically fell onto one end, while Wyatt plopped down on the other, letting out a long, exaggerated sigh as he sank into the cushions. They sat there in silence for a moment, the hum of the city muffled through the suite’s thick windows, feeling the day’s tension gradually ease away.

Wyatt broke the silence first. “Man, that was intense,” he said, rubbing his eyes. “I don’t think I’ve ever been to anything that packed before.”

Rafael chuckled, nodding in agreement. “Same here. I mean, I knew it’d be busy, but I didn’t expect… well, that.” He gestured vaguely, as though trying to capture the whirlwind of information, networking, and near-constant note-taking.

Wyatt grinned. “Hey, at least we’ll have plenty to tell the team back home. If we can remember half of it.”

"Don't look at me, I actually took notes!" Rafael replied.

They laughed, the shared exhaustion turning their amusement into something bordering on delirium. After a beat, Rafael stretched, glancing at the clock. “Should we grab some food? There’s gotta be a decent room service menu.”

Wyatt’s eyes lit up. “Now you’re talking. I was actually craving pizza earlier.”

Rafael grabbed the menu from the coffee table and started scanning it. “Perfect. Let’s go all out—pizza, maybe some wings, and… ooh, look, they have cheesecake.”

“Done,” Wyatt said, nodding eagerly. “After today, I think we’ve earned it.”

A quick call to room service, and soon they were awaiting their feast. While they waited, they each kicked back, and Wyatt put a movie on the TV that they'd never seen before. Having worn restraining business attire all day, they undid their belts and unbuttoned their shirts, exposing their ripped bodies.

The food arrived in record time, filling the room with the rich, comforting aroma of cheese, garlic, and marinara. They each grabbed a slice and dug in, savoring the first real break they’d had since arriving in the city. As they ate, they found themselves discussing not only the day’s events but also bits and pieces about their lives outside of work. Rafael mentioned his move to Hartford, his adjustment to city life after growing up in a smaller town. Wyatt talked about his fascination with financial technology and how he’d fallen into investment almost by accident after college.

When they finished eating, they turned their attention back to the movie. The movie was a light-hearted but NC-17-Rated comedy, one neither of them had heard of, but it provided just the kind of mindless entertainment they needed. Between bites of cheesecake and a few more laughs, the conversation drifted naturally, punctuated by funny scenes.

However, neither of them expected the particularly raunchy sex scene that the movie included. Wyatt let out a whistle. "Woah! Damn, she's a fucking smokeshow," Wyatt quipped as the female actress stripped off her shirt, exposing her massive breasts. Rafael, embarrassed, nodded along. "Hell yeah!" he agreed. She was most definitely turning Rafael on, but having grown up in a strict, religious household, he wasn't always comfortable with sexual discussions among male colleagues, and it embarrassed him that the stunning actress on screen had given him a massive, growing erection in front of another guy. If they'd been in a movie theater, he could at least hide it in the darkness, but his massive dick would soon be plainly visible as a bulge in his black pants. Rafael quickly crossed his legs.

Meanwhile, the male actor on screen stripped down too, and he started pleasuring the woman orally—the action occurring just off screen, but her face and the sounds she let out said it all. Even if it was fake, it was still hot as fuck. "Oh fuuuuck," Wyatt moaned, as he adjusted himself, his impressive bulge standing out. He began rubbing himself just outside his bulge, but not quite touching it yet. Rafael meanwhile, could feel his massive erection straining against his pants. Precum soaked through, creating a wet, dark spot on his nice suit pants.

"Holy fuck, I'm so hard," Wyatt moaned out, his breathing becoming heavy, before he reached down and started to rub himself through his pants, the outline of his massive cock now very visible. The statement made Rafael uncomfortable, but at the same time, he was barely restraining himself as it is. As Wyatt rubbed himself, he unzipped his pants and pulled out his raging hard-on, the big 8-inch pole sticking straight up as he started stroking it.

"Woah, what the fuck, dude?!" Rafael said in shock, as Wyatt just moaned.

"Sorry, bro, can't help it," he said, his massive hand wrapped around his big cock, pumping it up and down. Wyatt turned around, caught Rafael's eye, and looked down at his bulging pants. "Looks like I'm not the only one who's hard," he said with a smirk. "Go ahead, I don't care."

"You want me to take it out?" Rafael asked, his face red with embarrassment. "You can't be serious!" Rafael felt it would be wrong, but at the same time, there was something about seeing Wyatt's big dick that made him feel bold and brave. His massive cock was clearly visible, the tip poking just slightly through his waistband and growing harder and harder by the minute.

"No worries man," Wyatt said with a laugh. "But you can't watch that hot chick getting eaten out on screen and not want to rub your dick!"

"Ugh, fuck..." Rafael moaned as his cock throbbed against the fabric restraining it. "Okay, fine!" Rafael finally said, and he stood up, pulling off his pants to reveal his massive 10-inch schlong, covered in precum.

"Jesus, you're fucking huge, dude," Wyatt remarked as his eyes widened in shock and envy.

Rafael stood, pumping his big dick, and turned to Wyatt. "You're not exactly small yourself," he said. He sat back down and started stroking himself in his hand, trying to ignore the hot guy next to him who was also rubbing himself. He wasn't used to masturbating in front of anyone—let alone another man, but the sight of Wyatt's massive pole had made him feel a sense of peer pressure, and the raunchiness of the movie was not helping at all.

"This chick is so hot," Wyatt moaned as he pumped his big dick in his fist, while Rafael did the same. "I wish she would give me a blowjob like that crazy girl I banged a few weeks ago. Fucking hell," he groaned as he moved his fist faster. Rafael looked over, feeling his cock get harder as he looked at Wyatt's big cock, which was now glistening with precum. "She had those fat tits and that big ass... Fuck, she loved sucking me off. You know, she almost made me cum down her throat," Wyatt moaned, his face contorted in pleasure. That girl could suck dick like you wouldn't believe."

Rafael, feeling the horniness of the situation, felt brave enough to reply. "Yeah, I know what you mean," he said, as he moaned. "A few weeks ago I went home with this chick who was a crazy good cocksucker."

The scene on screen was heating up, with the actress getting pounded, which had both guys moaning and stroking furiously. "God, she knows how to fuck," Rafael muttered, his cock getting ready to explode. He started bucking his hips as he stroked, his fist pumping in his hand. His big balls hung heavy as they watched the movie together, their mutual masturbation became more intense and more vocal. Wyatt pumped his cock until it was covered in his precum, which was leaking out and dripping onto his abs. Wyatt was close, but he wasn't quite ready to cum yet. Trying to distract himself from cumming, he took a break from jerking off his cock to lean over and take a peek at Rafael. He was tall, muscular, and had a massive cock.

"Damn, you've really got a big one," Wyatt said. He felt Rafael's cock, wrapping his hand around the thick shaft. The scene on the screen continued, and Rafael felt Wyatt's hand wrap around his massive pole. It was incredibly bold, but it felt amazing having Wyatt's large, muscled hand gripping him. Rafael's head shot back and he instinctively thrust into Wyatt's hand as his colleague squeezed him like a vice.

"Fuck!" Rafael shouted. Wyatt stroked Rafael's cock up and down, making it harder and thicker. "Wait, what the fuck are we doing?" Rafael said, but he was still pumping his dick into Wyatt's fist. He had never been with a man, but it was feeling good to have Wyatt's strong, muscular hand around his cock.

"Don't worry about it, just fucking enjoy it," Wyatt said as he sat up and repositioned himself next to Rafael, his own cock now pointing straight out towards Rafael. He'd never been with a guy either, but his extreme horniness and fascination with Rafael's massive cock had gotten the better of him.

Rafael took hold of Wyatt and started stroking him as well, his large hand working up and down the other man's dick, making Wyatt gasp. "Fucking hell, that feels amazing!" Rafael pumped the big pole with his fist, precum dripping out onto Wyatt's muscled abs. As Rafael stroked him, Wyatt moaned with pleasure. "oh fuck, you're really good at that," Wyatt said, his eyes half-closed in pleasure.

"Years of self-practice," Rafael moaned, matching Wyatt's strokes to his own. Their hands worked in unison, with Rafael stroking Wyatt and Wyatt jacking him at the same time. Their handjobs had a rhythm of their own, and it felt incredible to have each other's big cocks in their hands. "This is insane," Rafael groaned, but he couldn't stop, and Wyatt was still pumping Rafael's cock harder than ever. Wyatt's hands were massive, and he had a good stroke going on Rafael's cock. He used his precum for lube, sliding his hand up and down Rafael's shaft like a pro. Wyatt started rubbing Rafael's balls with his other hand, feeling their size as they hung heavy and full. Rafael moaned louder and pumped his cock into Wyatt's fist harder. "God fucking damn, you're making me so hard, dude," Rafael said. "Fuck, I'm gonna cum!" he said.

Rafael shot a massive load of cum into the air, which landed on Wyatt's ripped, muscular chest. Some of it even hit his face. "Holy shit, you cum like a fucking porn star," Wyatt said in amazement.

at the bar

by the hour

"Shit, you made me cum like one," Rafael replied, still pumping the last drops from his cock. The feeling of his massive load shooting into the air had been incredible. Wyatt still held Rafael's cock and started to lick him clean. "What the fuck?!" Rafael gasped in surprise as he felt Wyatt's tongue run up his cock. Wyatt sucked the remaining cum out of Rafael's softening dick, which felt amazing. Rafael couldn't help but moan at the sensation of Wyatt's mouth on his sensitive dickhead. "Shit dude, that feels incredible," he said as Wyatt licked the cock. Wyatt had never tasted cum before, but he'd started licking Rafael before he even realized what he was doing, and at this point he just couldn't stop himself. It tasted surprisingly salty.

Rafael's cock started to get harder again. Wyatt He wrapped his lips around the pole and began taking the shaft deeper in his mouth. Rafael's eyes widened in surprise. "Damn, what are you doing?" Rafael asked again in a moan, still in shock that this was actually happening. Rafael's cum tasted amazing, and Wyatt couldn't help himself. He licked the tip and then engulfed it with his mouth, sucking it as hard as he could. While Wyatt was generally as straight as they come and hadn't ever done anything with a guy before, his current horniness and natural lack of inhibitions had been just the right combination to put him in this position. Once he started however, he realized he didn't particularly hate blowing Rafael; his cum-soaked cock tasted surprisingly good, and he liked feeling the thick veins along his tongue.

"Fuuuuuck, you're so fucking big," Wyatt moaned. The cock was so big that it barely fit into his mouth. He moved his head up and down along the thick pole, taking in as much of Rafael's dick as he could. Girls always made it seem so difficult to blow him, and Wyatt rarely enjoyed when they did, but he realized how simple it really was here: as long as thought about what he enjoyed from blowjobs, he was able to transfer that knowledge into sucking Rafael. What really surprised him though, was how much he got off from seeing Rafael enjoy it.

Rafael grabbed Wyatt's head and started face-fucking him. Wyatt took more and more of Rafael's cock until finally he had Rafael's entire shaft in his mouth, the head of his dick against the back of his throat. Rafael held the back of Wyatt's head, and urged him on. He kept fucking Wyatt's mouth, forcing the massive pole deeper into his colleague's throat.

It was then that Wyatt's finger reached underneath and unexpectedly started rubbing Rafael's asscrack. "Wait, fuck... what are you doing," Rafael asked. Wyatt moved his finger to Rafael's asshole. He started toying with his opening, massaging the tight little hole with his fingers. Rafael felt a sensation he'd never experienced before, as Wyatt massaged the outside of his ass.

Without warning, Rafael felt his entire body tense up with pleasure as Wyatt shoved his finger inside, massaging Rafael's hole as he kept sucking his big cock. "Woah, what are you fucking doing?" Rafael shouted as he tried to pull back, but Wyatt held firm.

"Don't be a baby, relax dude," Wyatt said, before continuing his work on Rafael's ass. Rafael had never experienced this before, but the sensation of Wyatt finger-fucking him felt incredible. He moaned loudly in pleasure as Wyatt fingered his asshole and sucked his cock. When the pain started to subside, Rafael relaxed and let Wyatt finger him, the sensation feeling amazing. Wyatt was sucking harder now, and his finger was working its way inside of Rafael's ass, causing a new, intense sensation he had never experienced. But having just shot his load, Rafael was nowhere close to cumming again, forcing him to just deal with it. Rafael moaned in pleasure as Wyatt continued fingering his ass and sucking his cock. Neither of them were paying any attention to the movie on TV anymore, and certainly didn't notice that the sex scene had long since ended.

"Shit, this is so fucking tight," Wyatt muttered through gritted teeth, trying to force another finger into Rafael. Rafael bucked into Wyatt's face and then back onto Wyatt's fingers, involuntarily starting to move his hips in a circular motion, which finally forced Wyatt's second finger to penetrate him. Rafael groaned as he felt Wyatt force his way deeper, his ass clenching down on the thick digits. Wyatt pried his way further inside Rafael's ass until his fingers were up to his knuckles in Rafael's tight hole. Rafael's whole body tensed up with pleasure again, and he tried to move away, but Wyatt held fast, shorter but stronger of the two.

Rafael was breathing heavily through his nose, his cock in Wyatt's mouth and Wyatt's fingers deep in his ass. "Oh my god, this feels...so good..." he said, clearly surprised and not knowing what to do. His muscles relaxed completely as Wyatt kept finger fucking him, and Rafael finally felt himself start to really enjoy the sensation of being penetrated. It was not long after that when Wyatt began trying to get a third finger in there, and after much effort, Rafael felt himself stretching even more as Wyatt managed to get it in. "Ugh... shit!" Rafael groaned through his teeth. His ass was now accommodating three of Wyatt's thick fingers, and he could feel himself starting to stretch.

The feeling of Wyatt fucking his asshole with his three fingers was incredible, as much as he was hesitant to admit. "Fuck!" he said, completely enjoying the new sensations. "Shit... what are we doing..." Rafael said again, his brain trying to make him come to his senses, but by now he was bucking his hips against Wyatt's fingers in time with his thrusting in and out of Wyatt's mouth. Wyatt continued to thrust his fingers deep into Rafael's ass as he sucked his dick, and he could feel Rafael's hole squeezing him hard. "Whew, this is incredible," Rafael breathed as Wyatt finger-fucked him as deeply as he could, causing Rafael to moan in pleasure. "Fuck yes!" he pushed Wyatt down again.

Wyatt kept sucking Rafael's cock, and then pulled back. As Wyatt continued finger fucking Rafael's ass with three fingers, he decided to take things to the next level, and started spitting on Rafael's asshole. Wyatt pulled his fingers out, giving Rafael's sore ass a break before he pushed his legs back started to spit on it again. With Rafael's hole throbbing, Wyatt positioned his hard dick against it. "Fuck dude, stop, you can't put it in there," Rafael protested, but Wyatt was having none of it.

"Relax, dude," Wyatt said with a smile. "I'll go slow, don't worry." Wyatt scooped some of Rafael's jizz off his chest, lubing his cock up with Rafael's cum. Wyatt held Rafael's hips as his massive pole finally found its way into Rafael's tight ass. Wyatt put the tip of his cock against Rafael's now-soaked asshole. The head was pressed firmly into Rafael's hole, and with a grunt, Wyatt forced the tip inside.

"Wait, Wyatt," Rafael said, but before he could do anything, Wyatt shoved forward, impaling him on his hard cock. "Oh fuck... holy shit..." Rafael moaned, as Wyatt's cock stretched him. "Oh my god!" Rafael shouted as Wyatt forced his way deeper into him. His ass burned like a fire as it tried to accommodate Wyatt's huge dick. It was only after a few seconds that Rafael's hole began to relax enough to allow Wyatt inside. As Wyatt kept pushing, Rafael's ass eventually began to let him in, allowing Wyatt's hard cock to fill him. Rafael felt the pressure and pain in his stomach as Wyatt slowly pushed into him, until his entire cock was buried in Rafael's ass. "Motherfucking shit..." Rafael growled through gritted teeth, heaving from the pain. As he bottomed out, Rafael felt Wyatt's balls slap his asscheeks. Wyatt gave Rafael's ass a little time to adjust to his dick size. His fingers may have been big, but they most definitely couldn't compare.

"Fuck yes! Shit dude, you're so tight," Wyatt panted, his balls resting against Rafael's ass. He gave Rafael's butt a slap, causing him to moan loudly. Wyatt withdrew to the tip, then pushed all the way back into Rafael's ass, his big cock forcing Rafael's hole to its limits.

"Oh fuck!" Rafael growled, feeling the thrust of Wyatt's dick. Wyatt started slowly pumping his big dick inside of Rafael. "Fuck!" Rafael exclaimed again as Wyatt started to fuck him, his cock thrusting deeper into Rafael's ass. He held onto Rafael's hips tightly as he pumped his entire cock into his ass, burying himself in Rafael's tight asshole. As much as it hurt, for some reason he wasn't trying to stop Wyatt. The pain shot through Rafael, making him curse and clench down on Wyatt's dick, but he couldn't do anything to stop him. He gritted his teeth as Wyatt fucked him slowly and rhythmically, his cock finding Rafael's prostate. As Wyatt fucked into him, Rafael felt waves of intense pleasure shoot through his body, mixing with the pain. He moaned and groaned, feeling the intense sensations of his prostate being hit over and over, making him writhe with pleasure. As Wyatt fucked him, Rafael felt his ass start to get accustomed to Wyatt's massive pole. "Wow... this is fucking crazy... but starting to feel good..." he moaned in shock.

Rafael moaned loudly with pleasure and pain as he felt Wyatt thrust deeper and deeper into his ass, every inch of Wyatt's big dick filling Rafael's asshole. The sensation of Wyatt fucking him hurt so good, making his own cock start to harden again. He took a few deep breaths and began to breathe easier, and eventually felt the pain subside. Rafael started to rock his hips into Wyatt, enjoying the sensation of having his coworker deep inside him. "Shit, keep going!" Rafael growled in pleasure as Wyatt started fucking himself on Wyatt's big dick. "Yes, fuck!" Rafael said as he bucked into Wyatt.

Wyatt started thrusting slowly, fucking Rafael in a slow motion that made Rafael moan with pleasure. Rafael could feel Wyatt's dick hitting his prostate with every thrust. The feeling was incredibly good, and Wyatt knew it too. He took hold of Rafael's legs, pushing him into a piledriver position. Wyatt held his hips and started pumping his cock faster into Rafael. Wyatt started pounding Rafael's ass hard, and Rafael was taking his entire length.

"Ooh, yes!" Rafael moaned loudly. "Fuck my ass, Wyatt!" he screamed, and he bucked back into Wyatt's crotch. Wyatt smiled in satisfaction as he heard Rafael ask for more. Wyatt kept thrusting in and out, his big pole filling Rafael up, his dick repeatedly pounding him into the mattress. Rafael felt every inch of Wyatt's pole slamming into him. The cock felt incredibly thick, and was hitting him deep inside. Wyatt fucked Rafael with all his strength, slamming his cock into him over and over. With each thrust, Wyatt felt Rafael clench down on his cock, and each time Rafael screamed in pleasure. Wyatt smiled at how well he was taking it. "Fuck yes, take my dick!" Wyatt said to Rafael as he fucked him. Rafael screamed louder with each thrust. His whole body shuddered with pleasure and pain from the fucking Wyatt was giving him.

"Yeah, fuck, keep going dude," Rafael moaned as Wyatt pounded his ass. Wyatt continued fucking Rafael, pounding his cock deep into his asshole over and over. His thick cock had Rafael's hole stretched to the limit, and Wyatt's hips kept pounding against him with each thrust.

"Fuck, you're tight!" Wyatt said again. "Your ass is so goddamn tight!" he growled, thrusting harder into Rafael. Wyatt couldn't believe what he was doing, but it was the best sex he had ever had. Wyatt moaned loudly as he felt Rafael's hole squeezing down on his cock, forcing him close to orgasm.

"Yes, god... oh god," Rafael muttered in pleasure. Wyatt couldn't help but smile at the sight of Rafael's muscular body on the couch, moaning from the pleasure of his cock filling him up. As Wyatt fucked Rafael, he could feel his dick throbbing and his balls getting tighter. He was getting ready to cum. He fucked Rafael harder, his dick thrusting into him faster and faster. Wyatt felt himself nearing orgasm.

"Oh fuck, I'm going to cum!" he shouted, as Rafael moaned through the pain and pleasure. His dick was now fully hard again, and precum dripped out of it as it hung down between his legs. As Wyatt pounded him, Rafael moaned with pleasure, his ass getting reamed by the big cock inside him. He bucked his hips against Wyatt, taking his dick even harder.

As Wyatt continued pounding Rafael's ass, he felt his balls tightening. "Fuck! I'm gonna cum, I'm gonna cum!" Wyatt said as his climax neared. He thrust deeper into Rafael, ready to cum inside him. "HOOOOLY Shiiiit! Fuck yeaaaah!" He roared, as he came inside Rafael. Wyatt emptied his balls, shooting his load into Rafael's ass. "Aaaaaggghh!!! Take my fuckin' load dude!"

"Oh my god..." Rafael grunted through his teeth. "It's so much fucking cum!" he shouted, feeling Wyatt's cum filling him up. He felt the load filling his ass, and it made him feel even better with Wyatt's dick inside him. It was the first time anyone had cum inside him, and it was amazing. He could feel the cum leaking out of his stretched hole, which only made him feel better.

"Holy shit, that was insane," Wyatt gasped, as his cock started softening. Wyatt pulled out of Rafael's ass and slapped it, making Rafael moan. He lay back, breathing heavily from the intense orgasm he'd just had. Rafael panted and moaned, catching his breath as he felt his load mix with Wyatt's inside him, having just been fucked with his own jizz.

Wyatt moved to get up, but Rafael took him by surprise and pushed him back on the couch. He had other ideas. "Not so fast, fucker. I still need to cum again," Rafael's newfound dominance taking him by surprise. Wyatt, not having the energy or willingness to resist, complied. "On your hands," Rafael ordered, and Wyatt turned around so his hands were pressed against the couch while his ass stuck out. Rafael spat on his fingers and started rubbing Wyatt's asshole, just as he'd done to him. As Rafael's fingers started to penetrate his ass, Wyatt could feel the sensation he'd given Rafael, and he suddenly realized that it felt amazing.

"Ooooh... I see why you liked it," Wyatt moaned as Rafael fingered his ass. Rafael penetrated Wyatt, quickly progressing up to three fingers and started fingering him the same way he'd been done. Wyatt moaned as he felt Rafael fuck his ass with his hand. He could feel Rafael's thick fingers working into his hole, making him moan. "Fuck!" Wyatt exclaimed, realizing what was about to happen.

As Rafael finger-fucked Wyatt, he felt Wyatt's asshole relaxing and letting him in. The feeling of Rafael's fingers stretching and penetrating his asshole was amazing, making him moan loudly in pleasure. Wyatt's cock started to leak precum onto his balls, and he was hard again. Rafael didn't let up. He kept finger-fucking Wyatt's tight hole, using his cum as lube. The feeling of his thick fingers stretching Wyatt's tight hole was incredible, making Wyatt moan as he was finger-fucked into the couch. "I think you're ready for it," Rafael grinned. He pulled his fingers out and stood up, aligning his dick with Wyatt's prepped hole. He spit on his massive cock and pushed the tip against Wyatt's hole.

"Whoooaaa, fuck, dude," Wyatt breathed. "That's a huge fucking dick!" he gasped, feeling Rafael's massive head press against his asshole. He suddenly felt Rafael push forward, and he felt the tip of Rafael's thick pole push into him.

"Oh fucking shit!!" Wyatt growled through his teeth, the pain and stretch from Rafael's cock unlike anything he'd ever felt. He felt Rafael's cock stretch his hole wide, making him gasp in shock. If he thought he's been big, Rafael seemed to be on a whole other level. Rafael kept pushing forward, forcing more and more of his huge cock into Wyatt's ass. The feeling was so intense that it made Wyatt moan and curse in pain, his hole clenching around Rafael's dick.

Rafael moaned in pleasure at the sensation of his huge pole finally penetrating Wyatt's ass, stretching the tight hole open. The pressure in his stomach and ass was intense as he felt Rafael start to bottom out, stretching him more than he'd ever been before. "HOLY SHIT!" Wyatt shouted. His eyes rolled back in his head as Rafael stretched him with his dick.

He felt Rafael finally bottom out in him, his huge dick forcing its way into him until it was all the way in. Wyatt moaned in pleasure and pain, his hole throbbing around Rafael's huge cock. He was amazed by how deep Rafael had penetrated him, and his breath came in short gasps. Rafael kept his cock buried deep inside of him, feeling how tight and warm Wyatt's ass was. "Fuck, you're so fucking tight..." he said through his teeth. As he bottomed out, Wyatt felt Rafael's balls slap him against his ass. He groaned in pain and pleasure as Rafael started moving in and out of him. With every thrust, Rafael moaned. "Yes... take my cock dude..." he grunted as Wyatt groaned at the sensation.

Rafael slowly started fucking Wyatt in a deep motion that made his balls slap Wyatt's asscheeks with every thrust. Rafael moaned and Wyatt grunted with pleasure, the feeling of his huge pole stretching Wyatt's hole making him feel incredible. Rafael held onto Wyatt's shoulders as he started thrusting faster, his entire cock slamming into him over and over again. "Ooooh fuck, yessss..." Rafael breathed, his body shuddering as he fucked Wyatt, making Wyatt curse in pleasure. With every thrust, Wyatt moaned louder as his prostate was hit by Rafael's huge dick.

"Hooolly shit... fucking insane," Wyatt panted. Rafael thrust harder and withdrew to the tip, then started thrusting slowly back into him. Rafael's entire cock slid out of Wyatt and then back into him, filling his ass entirely. "Ooooohhhhhh!" Wyatt shouted. The feeling was incredible and his hole squeezed down on Rafael. His ass had never felt this good before, and Rafael started fucking him slowly. His massive pole filled Wyatt's hole with every thrust, making Wyatt shout with pleasure. Rafael fucked Wyatt like he had been fucked earlier, and the feeling was incredible for Wyatt too. The way his huge dick felt in Wyatt's ass, hitting his prostate and filling him up, was beyond anything Wyatt had ever experienced. "OH GOD!" he yelled again, feeling Rafael thrust even harder. Rafael moaned with Wyatt, and Wyatt was panting like crazy from the pleasure he was feeling. "YESSS! Harder!" Wyatt grunted. He started fucking Wyatt like a machine, his entire dick pumping into him in a fast, smooth motion. Wyatt grunted and moaned with pleasure as he was fucked harder and harder, his ass being reamed and filled up. He'd seen how much Rafael had enjoyed getting fucked after the initial pain subsided, but he'd never imagined it would feel this good.

As Rafael fucked him in and out, Wyatt felt his hole squeezing down on him. Rafael couldn't believe how good it felt...though he would never admit it, it was nothing compared to when Wyatt had fucked him. As he fucked into Wyatt's tight ass, he could feel Wyatt clenching down on him with every thrust. With each hit to his prostate, Wyatt moaned again, more loudly than the last time. "Fuck me!" Wyatt moaned loudly. "Holy shit... you're so fucking big!" he said between moans. Wyatt's ass clenched down on Rafael's huge cock again as his prostate was hit, and he cried out in pleasure and pain. "Wooooww! Rafael... you're fucking me so good! Your cock is huge!" he grunted as Rafael kept fucking him. Wyatt took deep breaths, his asshole clenching down tighter around Rafael's massive dick. "Fuck, that's so good!" Wyatt exclaimed, as Rafael's massive cock filled him repeatedly.

"Yeeeaaahh fuck!" Rafael moaned, his dick hitting Wyatt's prostate over and over again. "Agghhh! Fucking take it, bitch!" The feeling of Wyatt's ass around his huge cock was incredible, and it made Rafael feel like he was in heaven. Rafael fucked Wyatt harder, pounding him in and out. Rafael's entire body was covered with sweat, his muscles tense from fucking Wyatt as hard as he could. His dick felt incredible in Wyatt's tight hole. As Rafael fucked him, Wyatt moaned and screamed with pleasure, his prostate getting repeatedly hit by Rafael's massive pole. "Whaaa... holy shit... yes! You're so deep!" Wyatt shouted as Rafael continued to pound his ass.

Wyatt could feel his second load coming on, his cock starting to shoot precum everywhere. As Rafael fucked him deeper and faster, Wyatt's orgasm neared. He could feel Rafael pounding his prostate and stretching his hole wide open, and suddenly it was too much for him. "Fuck yeah! I'm cumming!!" he screamed through his teeth. Wyatt's ass clenched tighter and tighter on Rafael's huge pole, squeezing his dick almost to the point of pain. "FUUUUUUUUUUCK! YESSSS! FUCK ME!" he shouted as he came again. His entire body started to shudder as his load shot out of his dick again, covering his abs and chest in his cum, along with the couch. His cock bounced off his abs repeatedly, shooting cum in every direction.

"Ohhh, god..." Rafael panted as he fucked Wyatt's tight ass harder and harder. As Rafael felt Wyatt's prostate clenching his cock again, he knew Wyatt was cumming. "Fuck yeah, bitch..." he grunted, his cock throbbing from Wyatt's tightening hole. "Cum for me, Wyatt... cum for me... take my cock!" Rafael growled through his teeth as he thrust into Wyatt's ass again and again. As Wyatt's load came out, Rafael felt his own orgasm nearing. He had already cum a lot that night, and he knew it would be another huge load.

"Arrgghhh...I'm gonna fucking cum," Rafael growled, fucking Wyatt as fast as he could. As Rafael fucked Wyatt even harder, Wyatt felt Rafael's cock start to swell up. "Fu-ucking T-take it!" Rafael grunted between moans, his massive pole emptying into Wyatt's asshole. "Aggghhhh!!!" He grunted. Rafael came deep inside Wyatt, pouring a huge load into his ass.

Wyatt could feel the huge load pouring into him. His ass was stretched to the maximum, and it was feeling like his stomach would burst. He could hear Rafael moan in pleasure as he cummed inside him, filling him up. Wyatt groaned loudly as Rafael unloaded deep inside him.

"Oh my god... fuck!" Wyatt groaned as Rafael pumped into him with huge amounts of cum, feeling himself get filled up to the point where his asshole started to overflow. The cum poured into him, and as Rafael continued pumping, some of the load started to run down Wyatt's legs. Wyatt moaned loudly from the feeling of being filled up with cum. He could feel Rafael emptying everything he had into him, his cock pulsating and throbbing as he emptied deep into Wyatt's tight asshole.

When he finished, he collapsed on top of Wyatt, his cock still inside of him. They both breathed heavily, panting from the amazing fucking they had just given each other. "Wow..." Rafael panted, "that was fucking insane..."

"Yeah, fuck..." Wyatt said. "It was fucking amazing. Holy shit, I never knew it could be like that." Wyatt said as he felt Rafael's cum start to leak out of his stretched asshole. Rafael pulled his softening cock out, and it flopped out of him with a small squirt of cum, making Wyatt whimper and moan from the withdrawal. Wyatt could feel Rafael's cum dripping out of him, and the sensation felt amazing.

Rafael collapsed next to him, both of them breathing heavily and exhausted from the incredible fucking they'd just done.

hay

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allforhee · 11 months ago

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*ੈ✩ — 𝐈𝐓'𝐒 𝐀 𝐂𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐈𝐒! (TEASER) | LEE HEESEUNG

୨୧ pairing — secgen!lee heeseung x journalist!fem!reader

୨୧ genre — high school au, secgen!heeseung x press delegate!reader, academic rivals to lovers, dumbasses in denial, rivals in public but lovers in secret

୨୧ warnings — a lot of model un terms, cursing, hurt no comfort, heeseung makes fun of the reader a LOT, reader is feisty and could care less but she lowkey has parental issues, featuring all the other enhypen members, huh yunjin, and jang wonyoung

୨୧ word count — tbd

୨୧ release date — tba

୨୧ author's note — my baby! i love muns and as a press girlie myself, i had to make an mun-themed fic for my boy. mind you that i don't really understand the ACTUAL muns (unsc, who, etc.) cause i highkey don't want to get involved i just like writing!! this teaser is kind of short and sweet cause i know that the actual fic will be LONGER! so excited for you guys to read my works and what my imagination has to offer!!!!!!! enjoy this lil teaser. press 4 fanfic writers arise!

𝐋𝐄𝐄 𝐇𝐄𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐔𝐍𝐆 had it all.

no one at decelis high dared to go against him. whenever it was, whether it was moderated caucus or unmoderated, he'd always have his country or character's placard raised high, ready to speak, or leading whatever bloc was being formed.

it was no doubt that no one has ever beat him. it was no doubt that he was decelis high's mun club's secretary-general. and those who chose to go against him either get crushed in fear or knew when to step back.

even with his "best delegate" status, he wouldn't have gone far without his best mates, park jongseong, sim jaeyun, and park sunghoon.

and park sunghoon. even though he was the quiet one of the bunch, his position papers never ceased to appeal any chair. even if he wasn't as strong in speaking out during committee sessions, his fingers were his weapon. the guys would always ask him why'd he chair press and not join in the heat with them, he'd always answer with a simple, "my words are stronger than my actions." where jay would always respond with "isn't that the other way around bud?"

the four were unstoppable when it came to model un. lee heeseung was unstoppable. he was. until you came along.

back to my masterlist?

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earthstellar · 1 year ago

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healthcare event day: new lanyards, new enemies -- Pharma would love this shit

had to go to a healthcare conference

they were giving out lavender gin and brie crackers, like astonishingly good snacks and booze (probably because a lot of consultants were present lmao)

everyone got drunk and the hepatologists got mad about it

anyway two docs got in a verbal fight in the hallway which got pretty loud (all I know is that it was an argument about a research project)

you can't tell me Ratchet and Pharma wouldn't be the two docs fighting at the professional event lmao

also they really gave everyone a lot of gin, the tonic seemed to be optional. like straight up shots. you'd think they wouldn't do this at a healthcare thing but I think the organisers were just excited about hosting something in London so they went overboard LOL

I can imagine some event in Iacon going roughly the same way, they want to schmooze with the big city medics so they accidentally-on-purpose get everyone wasted on unreasonably good engex in order to make sure everyone has a good time (this does not work, it only results in pettiness and/or arguing, lmao)

like usually they'll have Prosecco or something served moderately, but this was fucking shots of gin. which is hilarious.

maybe it's because it's Saturday so they felt bad about having everyone show up on a weekend, I have no idea. almost all of us work every weekend anyway lol.

nothing is funnier than watching med professionals get increasingly drunk and somewhat agitated with one another over the course of several hours while still having to pretend to be more or less professional

like you can't cause too much of a scene in the lecture hall, but as soon as everyone's mingling in the reception area, everyone groups into their various specialities and starts WILDLY SHIT TALKING

Pharma would be a shit-talker. Ratchet would be consistently agitated the entire time, and would get into arguments over health service logistics and solutions to staff retention problems, among other things.

First Aid would be the one trying to make sure that nobody from their institution embarrasses themselves too badly in front of anyone from any of the other institutions, in between trying to network with said other institutions.

Ambulon would be three shots of engex deep by the second speaker, but still taking some pretty good notes the whole time while actively avoiding having to speak with anyone else.

Velocity would be extremely nervous but ultimately would raise some good questions during the Q&A session. She would also immediately utilise any stickers in the swag bag to decorate her datapad, but then panic because now she has to shove all the blank sticker papers into her bag since there's no trash receptacle around, which makes it rustle really loudly.

anyway I'm going to take a nap now, I ate a whole fucking block of brie at this thing

#medbay posting #idw ratchet #idw pharma #idw first aid #idw ambulon #idw velocity #maccadam #maccadams #idw 1 #idw transformers

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damedechance · 1 year ago

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seek&destroy

read pt1 on ao3 || listen to the playlist

You're telling me I got to talk with @foundress0fnothing for the past few weeks (my favorite person) and write about Gwynriel (my two favorite idiots)? I have seriously enjoyed getting to know my precious giftee a little bit more during this event and I am so so so excited to finally share part of what I've been working on!!! Em, I hope you know how cherished you are in this little fandom community, and I hope this fic can bring you even just the littlest spark of joy! Love you endlessly, Santa 🌟

Pairing: Gwynriel

Parts: 1 of 5

Rating: Explicit (for eventual smut)

Summary: Those with a link to a realm long gone now live in secret, and Gwyneth Berdara is one of them. After a horrific tragedy rends her life apart, Gwyn finds herself in good company with her fellow Valkyries, a group of vigilantes who work to restore the forgotten relics of a land called 'Prythian.' When Gwyn's work brings her to an illustrious museum, her own world collides with that of the mysterious Shadowsinger--an encounter that leads to her vowing to bring him to his untimely end. [[FOR @acotargiftexchange]]

Read below for all of Chapter One:

CHAPTER ONE

Too. Many. Legs.

There were just too many legs, Gwyn thought, as she stared in open-mouthed horror at the projector screen. Just as she swallowed down a gag at the sight of the ghastly images before her, the presenter gestured passionately towards the slides, his tall frame and abhorrent posture giving the illusion of the rounded shell of a beetle. So uncanny was his resemblance to the subject of his own presentation, the species he’d apparently devoted his entire career to–the cerambycid beetle. Gwyn fought back a shiver. Or a scream of terror.

Not that she wasn’t sympathetic to his cause. A glance at the pamphlet in front of her revealed that he held a PhD in entomology–a degree she knew from personal experience was all but impossible if you didn’t feel truly dedicated to your work. He was probably a sweet old man, she struggled to convince herself. Someone like her, a person so entirely enamored with their subject of study that the less attractive facets of the field were of no consequence. In fact, she admired that sort of devotion.

Still, the clearly impassioned man wasn’t exactly persuading her to actually take up an interest in the study of insects. Gwyn suspected that the sight of those beetles was the primary driving force in that decision. Especially since she still couldn’t keep her eyes open for more than five minutes at a time, and was currently squeezing them shut as she counted out her deep, steadying breaths. Just a few moments of relief from the images on the screen was all she needed.

When she opened her eyes again, the presenter had switched to the next slide, which revealed a close-up view of the beetle’s segmented underbelly. Heaving, Gwyn bit down on her tongue as she felt the blood drain from her face. To distract herself from the urge to evacuate the contents of her stomach, Gwyn allowed her eyes to drift aimlessly about the room.

For not the first time, she was grateful that she’d been able to secure a seat for herself in the back of the auditorium. The badge hanging from the bright red lanyard across her neck proclaimed her a professor of entomology at the Dunmere College of Arts and Sciences, but she imagined that if any of the other conference attendees saw how green her face was, that title would prove itself somewhat implausible.

If nothing else, Gwyn needed to be sure that her act was flawless tonight. By the end of the Annual Entomology Society Conference, she wanted to have every single person in this room reasonably convinced that she was an ardent scholar of…bugs. Or, at the very least, she needed to not raise anyone’s suspicions to the contrary.

Perhaps if she simply kept sitting in the back, then.

Sighing quietly, Gwyn shifted down in her seat and allowed her legs to spread out in front of her. If she were to be stuck here, listening to the keynote speaker for the next–she checked the clock hanging above the door–five minutes, she should at least get comfortable. She crossed her arms over her chest, fingers tapping impatiently across her biceps, and stared unseeingly at the screen.

The minutes passed excruciatingly slowly. More legs, more antennae, more larvae, and by the end of the time Gwyn was biting on the insides of her cheeks to prevent herself from screaming in abject horror at each new, impossibly grotesque image. Until finally, the presenter reached the end of his slides, and only a blank screen appeared above his head.

“Right,” the bug doctor said. He pushed his wire-rimmed glasses up his nose, and began shuffling his papers over the podium. “Thank you all for such a thrilling discussion of cerambycid communities and their impact as an invasive species.”

Thrilling. Gwyn snorted to herself, and when more than a few heads turned in her direction, she quickly masked it as a sneeze.

“I will be available for a Q&A session later this afternoon,” the presenter continued, his finger prodding one of the papers on the top of his stack, as if pointing to a time. “Until then, I suggest perusing the rest of the museum for the insect nursery, where I am told some cerambycid beetle larvae are on display. Do take note of the well-progressed sclerotisation of the mouth parts, and if you find yourself peckish, I hear the cafe has an excellent gelato stand.”

That the presenter could possibly utter the words sclerotisation and gelato in the same sentence only served to confirm for Gwyn that she needed to get out of that room as soon as possible. Eagerly standing up, she shoved her notebook full of fake notes into her bag, and began to walk down the auditorium steps with the rest of the meager audience. Entomology was not a popular field apparently, and Gwyn could hazard a guess as to why.

As she approached the stage where the bug doctor still stood at the podium, politely accepting words of praise from some of the other attendees, Gwyn thought she hear the words antennal sockets and low tubercles, and immediately quickened her pace, slipping past others to ensure that she was towards the middle of the pack, instead of at the very end.

Sighing in relief as soon as she stepped out of the auditorium and into one of the connecting halls outside of the exhibits, Gwyn followed the flow of the crowd. She slipped her phone out of her pocket, pretending to be texting so that none of the bug enthusiasts would attempt to engage her in some conversation about pupation. Only looking up occasionally from her notes app where she just repeatedly typed the words ew ew ew, Gwyn nearly yelped when she heard a voice in her ear.

“You missed your turn,” Emerie said, her voice slightly crackling through the earpiece hidden behind Gwyn’s hair.

She cleared her notes app, quickly typing the words, I know. And Sorry.

A tinny sigh in her ear. “That’s okay, just don’t attract attention. Pretend to look interested in the exhibit.”

Gwyn locked her phone, slipping it back into her bag as she lifted her head. Immediately regretting the action, once she came face to face with hundred of wiggling, nasty looking larvae.

This time, Gwyn couldn’t hold back her yelp, though she did manage to close her mouth in time to capture the sound, so that it didn’t disrupt the group of people that had gathered to marvel at the nasty little things. Pointing out some fascinating detail of another, as they crowded around the glass window into the bug nursery. In hindsight, Gwyn really should have expected that following the crowd of conference attendees would have led her here.

Carefully controlling her breathing rate so that she wouldn’t alert the others, Gwyn took several steps backwards from the case before turning and walking in the direction of the entrance to the next exhibit. One glance around the room revealed to her that the rest of the entomologists were already deeply engrossed with the contents of the many cases around them, and so Gwyn was able to easily slip out of the room without attracting notice.

The adjoining exhibit, a hall of various bones and skeletons, was relatively less crowded, and Gwyn was just as easily able to weave her way in and out of the gathered bodies. She allowed her head to swivel around, if only to appear as any other mildly interested patron, but stayed resolute in her path towards the exhibit that she’d originally missed.

“Slow down,” Emerie hissed in her ear. “Or at least pretend to be looking for the bathroom.”

Gwyn huffed, shoulders sagging as she forced herself to slow down somewhere in the middle of the ocean exhibit. Above her, the lights illuminated the room in slowly shifting shades of blue, casting the impression of walking along the ocean floor. She ran a hand over her face, and continued walking at a much more deliberate pace.

Admittedly, the museum was rather impressive and on any other day, Gwyn would have been among all of the other patrons, staring wide-eyed at the displays and devotedly reading each and every plaque.

But she wasn’t here to admire the museum. The entomology conference had only been an excuse for Gwyn to come to the Helion Museum of Natural History. If she had simply attended as a regular patron, without a purpose for ambling through the halls other than pure entertainment, she wouldn’t have been granted a keycard that allowed her access to some of the more restricted sections of the museum.

She’d already taken advantage of that privilege the previous day, when she and the other conference attendees took a tour of the research wings, where the archivists and conservationists worked. Their guide had taken them through room upon room of lovingly organized samples stacked in neat rows upon the shelves or spread across tables as researchers gently worked to clean and preserve them. The ultimate purpose of the tour had been to view the yet unveiling showing of moths as the archivists carefully pinned and labeled them, but Gwyn had conveniently slipped out under the guise of a bathroom break before that ever happened. That night, she returned home to Nesta and Emerie with a neatly drawn map of nearly the entire research wing.

Now, as Gwyn ambled through the ocean exhibit, the brilliant displays of coral and skeletons of various sea creatures rose up around her. She walked slowly, arms crossed over her badge so that anyone passing her wouldn’t note that she’d wandered off from the rest of the entomologists. Emerie gently murmured her approval in Gwyn’s ear, just as she crossed the threshold into the next exhibit, a sign above it advertising the Space and Astronomy hall.

The entrance was a long, dark tunnel with white swirling lights on the rounded ceilings and walls. Not resembling stars, but instead pulsing from one end to another like a portal. Gwyn was the only one walking through it, and belatedly she realized that this was a relatively slow day and hour for the museum. She hadn’t seen many other patrons, except for the rest of the bug crew, and as she walked out of the tunnel and into the dimly lit chamber that was the space exhibit, she realized that she was the only one there, save for the security guard currently leaning against a wall and staring at the toe of his boot.

Gwyn adjusted her glasses, slowly winding around case after case of space memorabilia. Some artifacts collected from the surface of the moon, and hundreds of chunks of rock from meteorites that had crashed to earth. She paused at a few signs for good measure, but her gaze was drawn to the ceiling above, which was a careful recreation of the constellations in the night sky.

As she made her way to the end of the hall, Gwyn nearly tripped over a small pedestal that appeared to rise up out of nowhere. She stumbled back, staring dumbfounded at the small, square case that shone more brightly than any of the others in the entire museum thus far.

Just a small, glass box atop a narrow pedestal at the center of the corridor, right before the entrance to the next exhibit. And she was so close, Emerie was murmuring in her ear a list of reminders of what to take note of as soon as she entered the next room–but Gwyn couldn’t resist. That one lone box, that felt like it had been waiting for her.

Slowly, she approached, carefully leaning over the glass case to observe the contents, only to see that it was a single glass tube, stoppered at the end with a metal cap.

Gwyn sucked in a sharp breath, holding it as if letting it out would disturb the little granules safely behind several layers of glass. She admired it, this fine powdery substance within the tube that almost looked like glitter, it was so reflective. She didn’t know what it was, only that it was beautiful, catching the light in this oddly mesmerizing way, and there was so little of it. A pinch, really.

Her eyes flashed to the small sign below the display, and read the label: Presolar Grains.

Lips parted in awe, Gwyn looked back to the small tube, and recognized the particles inside as actual stardust. The dust from stars formed billions of years ago, before the sun even existed. She reached out, her five fingers spread across the glass as she crouched to get on eye level with it.

How something so outstanding could be kept in a place as unassuming as this–just perched on a small pedestal in a vacant section of the museum–was a wonder to her. There should have been hundreds of people crowding around this very case, craning their necks for a chance to see it, this evidence that something had existed before the sun.

“What is it?”

Gwyn jumped as soon as the voice sounded behind her, whirling around with her arm out in front of her with the impulse to shove the person away. With Emerie berating her in her ear, Gwyn managed to suppress her instincts just in time, her eyes widening as they trailed up a man’s chest to his face.

She was met with easily the most gorgeous eyes she’d ever seen. Like molten bronze, these fluent pools of amber and hints of green, and she staggered back, catching herself with a hand atop the case behind her.

“Careful,” the man said, a hint of amusement in his voice as he took half a step forward. Either to catch her, or peel her hand off the case, she couldn’t tell. “The guards might think you’re trying to steal something.”

Gwyn tore her hand off the case as if she’d been burned, hastily stepping aside to put as much distance between herself and the display as she could. She had the strangest feeling, that his eyes had tunneled straight through her, and could somehow see her true intentions as if they’d been written out just as plainly as any other sign in the museum–there was no other reason. He knew why she was there.

But as her heart hammered in her chest at the prospect of her cover being blown, the man only gave her a small smile, really just a fleeting jump at the corner of his mouth, before stepping forward and leaning over the case.

“What are you doing?” Emerie was screeching in her ear. “Leave, geology is in the next room.”

But so perplexed was Gwyn by the man in front of her, that she felt rooted to the spot. Her head cocked slightly to the side as she studied him. How he silently mouthed the words as he read them on the sign, how the slight hook of his nose caught the light emanating from the case, sending an elongated shadow across his face, carving out his cheekbone. Those eyes that were framed by long arching eyelashes and hair that was so dark it seemed to absorb and devour all of the light.

Something about him bothered her.

Suddenly, his head turned, an amused smile already melting over his face as he looked at her. Gwyn jumped, eyes going wide as she pretended like she’d been doing anything other than assessing him. But the man straightened, stepping away from the case to stand slightly in front of her.

“What’s your name?” he asked, his eyes slowly traveling down to the badge around her neck before she could answer.

Gwyn hurried to cover it with a hand, some deeply ingrained instinct of self preservation telling her that she couldn’t trust him despite his friendly smile or Emerie’s pleas for her to just act normal.

He lifted a brow at her, his gaze snapping back to her face.

“Is it a secret?” he said.

“Diana,” she blurted, forcing her hand to lift away from the badge. “Diana Bishop.”

He simply stared at her for a moment, before letting out a short, caustic laugh.

“Okay.”

Gwyn narrowed her eyes, her hands turning into fists as she studied him. Gorgeous face aside, he looked absolutely normal. Black shirt tucked into immaculately pressed and tailored trousers. Stylish, attractive even–but decidedly normal.

Why, then, couldn’t she smother the feeling that he knew all of her deepest and darkest secrets?

“What was that?” she asked, flinching slightly when her voice came out slightly more accusatory than she supposed it should have. She could at least keep up the appearance that she didn’t suspect him of anything.

“Just let it go,” Emerie hissed in her ear. “Apologize and walk away.”

Apologize. For being her best friend, Emerie apparently didn’t know her at all, because instead of walking out, Gwyn took a step forward, invading the man’s space, crossing her arms over her chest so that they bumped against him. And when she looked up to his face, where she expected to see reproach, instead she saw eagerness.

“Nothing,” he practically purred. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Diana.”

Gwyn frowned, her eyes roving over his face for any sort of tell. Reason told her that he couldn’t have been like her. He was tall, and built like a damn soldier with those broad shoulders and muscles pulling the fabric of his shirt taut over his chest, but there was no way he was dangerous. He had to be normal.

And then there was that gut feeling. Like electricity arcing over her skin, sirens blaring in her ears. He had come out of nowhere.

“And what’s your name?” Gwyn said derisively.

“Fine,” Emerie sighed, resigned, into her ear. “If you won’t listen to me, fine, but when Nesta comes back–”

Irritated, Gwyn jerkily tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, hooking her finger into the clear cord of her earpiece and tucking the entire thing into her palm in one movement so that he couldn’t see.

“Azriel,” he said, reaching his hand out. She noticed scars running up the lengths of his fingers towards his wrist, and she stared at the nearly mesmerizing patterns for far too long before she realized that she was meant to shake it, and she still had the earpiece in her palm.

“I have to go,” Gwyn said slowly, backing away and angling her body towards the entrance to the next exhibit.

She put Azriel at her back as she paced towards the short corridor leading to the gems and minerals exhibit, her steps quickening as she passed by the security guard she’d spotted earlier.

Azriel wouldn’t follow her, she assured herself as she crossed into the gems and minerals exhibit, where there were countless glittering gems winking at her beneath the lights. He wouldn’t follow her, because she had been so off putting and strange, he wouldn’t deem her worthy of the effort.

Placated for now, Gwyn adjusted her glasses over her nose, and swiveled her head about the room so that the camera hidden in the frames could capture the overall layout of the exhibit. It was a rushed job, not nearly as meticulous as it would have been if she wasn’t so paranoid that Azriel would jump out of nowhere with twenty armed guards ready to escort her to some secret dungeon in an underground government bunker.

Been there, done that.

She considered popping her earpiece back in, but just as she rounded the first display case at the center of the hall, a mother and child came bounding down the aisle, stopping right next to her to admire a row of amethyst.

She backed up, allowing the little boy some space, and was about to continue her walk around the rest of the room, when she ran into something hard, all of the air whooshing out of her lungs.

“Ugh,” Gwyn grunted, as hands wrapped around her upper arms and steadied her.

“Sorry,” the same voice from before said, helping her to turn around. Of course he’d followed her. She’d been off putting and strange, and he was definitely not normal.

Gwyn glared up at him, all pretenses of being some bookish bug enthusiast easily forgotten. He had found her out, she was sure of it, and she now dedicated all of her efforts towards thinking of a way to get rid of him. Collecting footage of the display cases so Emerie could catalog the contents for later was secondary, because clearly he was a threat to the mission.

Belatedly, she wished she hadn’t taken out the earpiece.

“What do you want?” Gwyn said, a hushed whisper so that the family behind her wouldn’t pick up on the thinly veiled hostility.

Azriel furrowed his brows. So he was going to pretend to be confused, then.

“You left in a hurry,” he explained. “I thought you might be in some sort of trouble, so I came to ask if you needed help. I didn’t mean to run into you.”

Gwyn scoffed. “Yeah, sure. Look, I really should be getting back.”

He hummed thoughtfully, his eyes drifting down to her badge again.

“To the… bugs?”

“Screw you,” Gwyn blurted.

She whirled away, stalking down the aisle as the mother gasped and clapped her hands over her son’s ears. Gwyn didn’t even bother with trying to capture more footage. Her cover was blown, and all she needed to do now was lose her tail without attracting anymore attention.

Unfortunately, that also meant it was rather easy for her pursuer to catch up to her.

She supposed she could kill him, if it came down to it.

“Did I insult your profession somehow?” He asked, jogging up beside her. “Was I not supposed to call them bugs?”

He came in front of her, trying to capture her gaze, which forced her to halt right beside a large tower of some type of quartz. She knew, not because she bothered to look at it, but because the reflection of it glimmered in his eyes.

“Get out of the way,” Gwyn said through her teeth as she rolled the earpiece within her palm. She glanced around him, eyes noting the camera wedged up against the ceiling. Murder was out, then.

He only smirked down at her, and just the sight of that gentle arch of his mouth was enough to convince her that he was privy to her homicidal intent, somehow. Any normal person would have walked away by now. He was staring her down like an adversary.

“Sure,” he said easily, stepping out of her way, and then waiting. Like he expected her to walk with him. “Maybe you could show me around? I had a bug phase as a kid, you know.”

Gwyn pushed ahead for the exit, struggling to ignore him as he easily matched her pace. If she could just lead him into an empty stairwell, she would be able to lose him. Knock him unconscious, and then leave him there for some poor museum employee to find. She could do it.

She tried to ignore him, and failed because then he started rambling about egg sacs, and Gwyn couldn’t take it anymore.

“Shut up,” she said. On an impulse, she grabbed his arm and pulled him with her towards a door marked Staff Only in a secluded vestibule off of the gem and mineral exhibit.

As the door clicked shut behind them, Gwyn immediately regretted her decision. Chest heaving, she looked around to see that she’d brought them into a storage room. Small, but not as tight as a closet, even with the towering stacks of clearly labeled bins around them. There were no windows, and the only lights were the strips of LEDs along the floor marking the narrow aisles.

“Diana,” Azriel said slowly, letting out a low breath as he glanced around the room. “This is all very flattering, but are you sure you want to do this here?”

“What?” Gwyn shrieked, her hands balling into fists. She backed up towards the door, where she thought she saw a broom, and considered using it to knock him out.

He was crowding her, slowly walking into her until her shoulders pressed against the door. She had been so sure, before bringing him in here, that he wanted to capture her, and with each vanishing inch between them, her mind was thrown into further disarray.

She had to get rid of him.

“I’ll admit,” he said, “There’s clearly something between us.”

Gwyn shook her head, trying to order her thoughts before she looked back up at him. “What are you talking about?”

“But don’t you think it’s a bit too soon for clandestine meetings in dark rooms?” he said.

His hands came up on either side of her head to cage her in. He leaned down, leveling her stare with one of his own, and she watched as his gaze drifted to her mouth.

“What were you thinking we would do?” he murmured. “When you led me in here?”

“Don’t play with me,” Gwyn said, her pulse thrumming in her ears. She reached out a hand, groping for the door handle.

“No?” he said, face angling to the side. Like he might try to kiss her, and the thought of it was no more terrifying than her realization that she wouldn’t have minded it.

And again, like he could hear every one of his thoughts, his mouth curved into a smile.

“Then what should I do with you?” he asked.

“Look,” Gwyn said, her fingers finally landing on the handle. She pressed herself flush against the door as he stepped closer, so that his chest wouldn’t brush against hers. “Just let me go, and I promise–”

“Let you go?” Azriel murmured, smirking at her.

“Yes,” Gwyn said flatly. She stared resolutely back at him, unwilling to allow him to see even a shred of nervousness. She could do this. She could knock him down right now, if she wanted.

So why wasn’t she?

“Let you go,” he repeated, humming as if he was turning the idea over in his mind. Considering it. His face dipped to the side, his lips somewhere near her ear when he whispered, “Why? Have you done something you shouldn’t have?”

Gwyn’s mouth fell open, her eyes roving restlessly up and down the side of his face as she tried to reconcile the part of her that desperately wanted to see him lying across the floor as she smacked him repeatedly with the broom handle–with the part of her that wanted to see him lying across the floor as she crawled over him and pressed her tongue to his neck.

Her fingers slipped off of the door handle, and were reaching for his shirt collar to do something, when the door suddenly opened behind her, knocking her into his arms. She scrambled for a moment, her hands peeling his off of her waist as he tried to steady her.

Above them, the overhead light flashed on, and she squinted against the harsh light as she turned to face the person who had walked in.

“What are you doing in here?” one of the security guards frowned at them.

Gwyn’s mouth opened and closed, struggling to come up with a reasonable excuse as Azriel scrubbed his hand over his mouth beside her, trying to hide a grin. She had just landed on I got lost, when the security guard groaned, stepping to the side to let them pass.

“They don’t pay me enough to deal with this,” he muttered to himself. He looked up at the ceiling, and pinched the bridge of his nose. “You’d think adults would behave with some decency.”

Gwyn glared at the security guard, brushing past him and out the door. She expected Azriel to be right behind her, but once she’d gotten over her indignation at having someone assume she’d been doing indecent things with him in public, she turned to look behind her.

Only to see the back of his head.

He was going in the opposite direction.

Stunned, Gwyn tore the lanyard off over her head and chucked it into the nearest trash can. She headed straight for the main staircase at the end of the vestibule, where she knew she could reach the museum atrium and eventually the exit. She needed to get out of there, needed to get lost in a crowd so she could rid herself of the feeling of being watched.

He had let her go.

It didn’t make sense, Gwyn thought as she hurried down the steps. He’d clearly been onto her, had clearly recognized that she was up to something. Any reasonable person wouldn’t have let her go, especially not if she had been his target in the first place. Gwyn wouldn’t have let him go, if the roles were reversed, and if she wasn’t so concerned with getting out of the damn building, she would have been right on his heels.

There was something wrong, Gwyn knew. And she would have to head back to Emerie and Nesta and tell them.

Tell them they needed to call this mission off.

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