#I LOVE DIMPLE SO SOOO MUCH SO MUCH!!

[starmilkman]

If you peel away the skin, Is there anybody there? - skin oingo boingo

been reading some fics by w3lterw8 on ao3 about Dimple and his host body, Takuya. Really great character studies about identity, relationships, and some gender! :)

[soullessjack]

:} compilation

[willyoubemycherryy]

“Who’s your new friend?” (Salesman x reader)

Summary: Your dad’s dark stranger is the one for you. Too bad about his cruel streak….

Contains: sit down chicas this is a LONG one, plot but gratuitous p+rn, dads!friend au, rough sex, edging, pussy spanking, he’s mean :( , choking, drugging, everything IS consensual bc I’m tired of everyone writing him as a domestic terrorlzing rapist, he’s still psychotic and unhinged tho, just not psychosexual because psychotic traits don’t always translate to sexual violence, your dad is sweet but trusting and naive, squirting, pussyspanking unprotected sex (don’t be a dummy, wrap your gummy) begging, degradation, praise, cursing, reader is a bit of a bitch, light dom/sub dynamics, his cock is stuuuupid fat bc I said so and have eyeballs, ur 22 in this period and he’ll spit in your mouth in the next installment of this series :)

A/N: Yeah, he got me y’all😔 Gong Yoo sexy, fine, tall, handsome ass got me😞I’ve been tripping out for 17 days straight over this man sooo…

┆ ° ♡ • ➵ _ _

_ ➵ ✩ ◛ ° . +

You knew your dad often had strange friends but this one takes the cake.

Raising a skeptical eyebrow at the tall man your father was currently introducing you to. Standing over 6 feet in a pitch black suit he was extremely easy on the eyes with full lips, perfectly styled hair, relaxed posture and not a wrinkle in sight paired with the darkest almond eyes you’d ever seen. You rove your eyes over him once more before looking back up to find him staring back at you…

Yes, he was perfectly lovely but was it too soon to assume something about him was..off?

You feel your face warm at how strong his gaze is but you stare back defiantly, mentally cursing your too trusting dad.

“…and since we chat almost everyday during our commute to work- would you guess that we’re both in sales and marketing?- I thought it’d be great to invite him over and talk more in a more comfortable setting!” Your dad says excitedly, smiling as he tells you all about his new friend. The man smiles alongside him, cheeks faintly dimpling and despite your distrust, you can’t take your eyes off of him as you feel your heart beat harder in its cage.

“I was going to call to tell you I was bringing company but you know I forget to use that thing.” ‘That thing’ being a modern phone to a man who was awful with tech. You scoff but nod to let him know you don’t mind (completely) and because you already know how your father is and he continues,

“Oh right! Speaking of forgetting, I don’t remember if I ever mentioned my daughter even though I know I probably did-“, you listen to your dad introduce you and the man smiles even wider as he steps forward, offering his hand to yours in a shake.

“How pleasant to meet you.” Holy shit. His voice is a lot deeper than you expected and you absentmindedly place your hand into his waiting one. The way it completely encases your hand due to its sheer size makes your heart stop before it melts down to a warm pool in your lower stomach, settling in your core like hot tea as you breathe out a shaky exhale. His hand is also rougher than you thought it’d be for a simple businessman as it squeezes yours and a quick flash image of that same hand around your throat has you snatching your hand back as you shoot him a tight smile.

“Right. Back at ya. Um, how old are you again?”

“Ah. Isn’t that improper to ask new people?”

“I’m just curious to how you maintain a career as developed as my dads because you seem so young.”

Oh. You’re quick witted; that makes things a potential hassle for him.

“Well, I’m much older than you. I’m certainly older than your father.”

“Ha! Are you also the Emperor of China-”, You’re cut off as your dad says your name in the way he does when you’re being rude but you ignore it, glaring at the man.

“Be polite! He’s older so you should speak respectfully”, you barely hide the roll of your eyes but your fathers new friend catches it and you swear you hear a huff of amusement from him, the low sound makes you shiver as you turn on your heel to go back upstairs, your dads scolding calling after you.

“Aish! Spoiled! Brat! You were so much cuter when you were younger!”

“Whatever!”

“Bellybutton lint!”

“Old man!”

“Oh yeah?! You won’t be 22 forever!”

The only response he gets back is the sound of your bedroom door slamming while you’re all too aware of the eyes on your back when you’d left. Your dad sighs as he runs a hand down his face. The salesman simply stands quietly, grinning as always as he observes your little spat. Something about it caught his attention though.

“She’s young.” And your father agrees, insisting that’s part of the reason for your behavior, you apparently were “much nicer” and he nods in understanding.

“College age is tricky. I met her mom around her age and things are so much more different than they were back in our day so I try not to be too hard on her but sometimes she’s so-!” He tilts his head as he waits for your dad to find the word.

“Difficult!”

Ah. How cute. A little attitude problem.

That honestly doesn’t surprise him because most pretty little things almost always had one- you were no exception. Though, you yourself were a pleasant surprise. He’d maintained a friendly relationship with your father on a mere whim, finding him to be…nice unlike most he considered nuisances, so when the man invited him over one day he accepted and as he trailed through the door behind him, taking in the warm tones of your house when he spotted you. Standing near the island by the kitchen in shorts so tiny the wide waistband made them look like a mini skirt, the words ‘PINK’ on the back and a snug white tee shirt, the blue of your bra peeking through, you walk towards them smelling of fabric softener and cold vanilla. Your hair was down as you stared at him like you were both scared and wanting with big eyes full of suspicion. The gloss of your lips shining back at him as your lips curl during your inspection of him, lightly arched brow raising as you gave him a thorough once over, eyes flicking back up to his when you were done. You were absolutely delicious to look at. Short, smart mouthed, pretty and prissy.

He didn’t mind the rude way you spoke to him- no- because your eyes tell. You were weary but interested; cynical in all the ways your father wasn’t but that was perfectly fine.

His smile slowly shifted into a smirk as he followed your father to the living room, humming whenever he would speak, but his thoughts were preoccupied.

Thinking of smooth legs on a cute face he’d love to see wet with tears as he spanked your smart ass raw.

•

•

•

When you went upstairs the first thing you did was grab your headphones and tune out.

What the fuck was your dad thinking??

You huff as you flop on your bed, scrolling through your favorite apps while you tried to slow your thoughts.

Everything is fine.

Your dad always has the most unconventional friends and acquaintances so this was probably just that and you were freaking out more than usual because he was unfathomably attractive. That’s it. You just needed to get a grip. But fuck would you love to ride him through the weekend if only he didn’t have such a concerning aura…and wasn’t pals with your dad of-course.

About 2 hours later when you go downstairs to get food and bring it back to your room-answering curtly when your dad asks if you want to join him and the hot stare of the suited man you’re trying to pretend isn’t there.

“Hard no. Do I look like a nurse? You two senior citizens can play amongst yourselves.”

You sigh when you get back up to your room, FaceTiming your friends as you eat, talking about whatever and whoever before you remember you need to organize some of your class notes and say goodbye before you hang up.

It takes less time than you thought it would so when you’re done, you go about your night routine. Teeth, skincare, oversized cotton shirt, lights off as you put on a movie you’ve seen a million times. It’s harder for you to fall asleep when you can still hear his deep voice through the walls talking and laughing with your dad, shaking your core as you toss and turn- physically fighting the feeling- until you fall asleep.

X

Another few hours later, you wake with a start. Something’s not right.

You can still hear the tv downstairs but no voices. The hairs on the back of your neck stand and as you turn your head towards your door- pulling the covers off your legs, the sight of a tall dark figure rips a blood curdling scream from your throat. In that same second the figure steps closer, the light from your tv illuminates him and your heart races as you stare back wide eyed at your dads suited stranger friend. You’re still gasping and reeling as he sits down on your soft bedding, watching with rapt eyes at you trying to calm down from the near heart-attack he almost gave you.

“W-what..what the fuck?!” He smiles as you get up to yell in his face, gesturing wildly.

“Why the hell are you in my-“, you cut yourself off as another realization dawns on you completely and he can’t help the compulsion he feels towards you.

“How long have you been in my room- wait where’s my dad?!” If you knew who he was and what he did for a living, you’d be much more agreeable…or maybe not and that’s what fascinated him about you. You were so unusual. Wanting to steer clear of him instead of on, even though he’d piqued your curiosity, you didn’t blindly follow like every other nuisance did; instead he was the inconvenience and the way you let him know via sharp words and distrusting looks was something he hadn’t gotten in a while. The way you brushed him and your hard working dad off with no more than a pretty glare while probably never having actually worked for anything in your life made him itch to correct you. Make you say sorry- break you back into the sweet girl he knew you could be.

“I swear to god- WHERE IS MY DAD-!“, before you can raise your voice anymore, turning to go find him yourself, he’s pulling you back by your wrist, covering your mouth with his other hand as he hooks his chin over your shoulder cooing at you to calm down - listen to him a bit.

“Shh. Your father is alright, had too much to drink so he’s passed out downstairs but safe nonetheless.” You feel your body relax against your will at his words but you still bite his palm for scaring the hell out of you. The pain that blooms up his wrist from his hand makes him hiss against your ear and you wish it didn’t sound so good before it trails off into a light chuckle.

“I’m going to move my hand. You won’t scream. Understand?” You roll your eyes but nod anyway and a few seconds later his hand is lowered but he keeps you sitting up against him.

“Look- if you’re some kind of extortionist or blackmailer, my dad only works for clean honest compan-“,

“I’m none of those things.” Huh. You’re even more confused but the silence that follows he doesn’t break instead he waits for you, enjoying your discomfort as you shift against him.

“Then what the fuck do you want? Nothing better to do in your ancient age on a Tuesday night besides creep around?” Your mouth would be the death of you and this might very well be the moment as you mouth off to a complete stranger who could be (and actually is) very dangerous but bravado was all you had. You’d seen and heard more than enough to know that an older man in a suit visiting a young girl he didn’t know in the dead of night never ended well.

“I want to chat for a bit.” You tilt your head a bit in confusion but he takes your silence as the go ahead, making your heart pound when he shuffles even closer causing you to feel his firm pecs through his expensive smelling dress shirt; the heady combination makes your pulse race as you fight yourself on whatever it is exactly that you’re feeling but shouldn’t be.

“When your father mentioned you, you sounded like such a nice girl…”, the low way he speaks resembles a purr, words vibrating his chest, thick arms holding you tight to him as his warm breaths coast across your chest and neck.

“Imagine my surprise when I meet you and you’re nothing more than an ungrateful little princess with a pretty face but very nasty attitude.” You feel your face warm in shame at the blatant way he calls you out, immediately defensive as you shoot back,

“What’s it to you? If you want to see some obedient thing then get a boarder collie-!” Enough of that. His hand claps down over your throat, squeezing not enough to hurt but enough to make you shut up as your heart rate spikes, nerves going haywire at the sudden cut of oxygen. You get dizzy quick. Blood rushing through your ears like a current of cotton, hand flying up on instinct to pull at his muscled forearm but it doesn’t budge and you whine- biting your lip as your heart beats liquid fire through your body. You were so fucked up, clamping your thighs shut as if that will stop you from getting wet but it’s hard to pay attention to that with a tight hand around your neck and mean lips against your ear.

“Didn’t your father tell you to respect your elders?” He tuts out and you nod desperately, willing to swallow your snideness if it meant getting air. He loosens his grip enough for you and you gasp so hard you nearly choke, the sound turning him on more than it should; he grabs your chin so you face him with teary eyes and he nearly groans at how weak you look. The sedatives he slipped in your dad’s drink would last for a while so for now it was just you and him.

“Answer me.”

“You first-“, you’re quick to shut your mouth as a smirk grows on his face. A fast learner.

“Smart. But”, he pauses to put you on edge before continuing, “because I quite enjoy your father and his company, I don’t like the thought of him being troubled by anything.” His words are sweet but they also fill you with dread because you know how much you intentionally butt heads with your father. Mouthing off at him just to amuse yourself sometimes. You never meant to stress him but messing with him a little was how you showed your affection.

“That includes you as well.” He rasps against your neck, nipping the sensitive skin there with more teeth than tongue and you choke on a moan, breathing hard.

“Okay. Got it. I need to be nicer-”,

“No, you need a firm hand.” Oh fuck. You bite your lip at that, watching through bleary eyes as he rubs his other hand down your chest, brushing your hard nipples through your shirt as he feels up your soft curves. The hand around your throat tightens when he feels you might move but when you don’t he doesn’t loosen it- instead he rewards you with wet, scalding kisses behind that spot under your ear, suckling down until he reaches your collarbones. Your eyes water from all the sensations as you try to rationalize what’s going on before you lose yourself to how good you feel.

The hand caressing over your body doesn’t stop, threatening to burn you alive with the heat it ignites in you. To make matters worse, you can’t even breathe deeply enough to calm down with the hold he has on your neck and you’re reminded of how pathetically wet you are whenever you move your legs as you’re completely naked underneath your shirt. So much is happening but it’s not enough. Fleetingly scarce touches is all you’re being given but you need more. You shouldn’t want this, want him- or anything having to do with him- but you do and that thought scares you more than any potential repercussions.

He watches you with an unreadable expression as you shift constantly, sliding a hand under your shirt to cup your tits, flicking and twisting the stiff nubs cruelly between his fingers. Laving his tongue over each bruise he’s left on your neck before choking you harder, making the veins on the back of his hand show and your mouth drops open, hoarse broken moans falling as your hips twitch upwards. This was how he liked you. Melting into him so obediently…

“You’re going to be a good girl now?” He asks like it’s a question but the even in hazy state you’re falling into, you know it’s an order. He loosens his grip again so you can answer, voice hoarse,

“..y-yeah.” The softened tone you use when you respond makes him hard beyond belief and he bites your shoulder with a satisfied groan and you swear your cunt has a pulse. The familiar burning ache is so blinding that you listen immediately when he tells you-

“Open your legs.”

He almost didn’t hear your sharp intake of breath. He barely noticed the way your hips snapped up to hump his hand… he was preoccupied with just how wet you were. Your arousal coats his fingers as he slides them between your sopping lips making you keen through shuddering breaths as you try to control yourself. A few hard circles to your clit shatters that control as you cry out, needy sobs falling from your gloss smeared lips while you beg prettily for him.

“Please! I-! I’ll-anything! Just-!” His hand collar tightens again as he slides two fingers knuckle deep in your spasming hole, immediately curling them towards him, grinding them against that spongy bundle of nerves inside you and the fire that’s been steadily burning inside you almost makes you black out from how quick it threatens to consume you. You’ve never felt more out of your mind, your cunt so soaking wet it’s audible. White-searing pleasure shoots electricity through every nerve and you’re screaming. Between the fuzz in your head from oxygen loss or the brutal way he’s fucking you with his fingers- the one thing you do know is that if you cum now, you’ll faint.

“Waittt- mm-! S-stopp!!” It’s the struggle of a lifetime to get the words out but you do and when you do, surprisingly- he listens. Taking his fingers out as the strings of your slick drip from them and you cry at the loss, the ache still there but you could at least breathe. You feel a nip at your ear and you only then notice the way you’ve rested your weight completely against him.

“Hmm? What’s wrong?” His voice is thick with arousal from how wonderfully you responded to him. So wet he could taste it in the air as you trembled and cried against him. The water in your eyes spilling down over as they rolled back into your skull. Your face was the perfect erotic expression of tormented bliss as he made you earn air and fight off an orgasm so strong it would’ve put you in a vegetative state.

The sound of your weak sniffles make his cock ache as he lays back on your bed, maneuvering your hips over his as he opens his pants, taking his length out he moans at the pressure relief. Swiping his fat head through your messy folds but not inside.

“Well? I need you to answer me. Or do I need to get it out of you myself?” You shake your head, lifting your arms when he moves your shirt up off you and now you’re completely naked while he’s still clothed. As much as his stare intimidated you, his attentions felt even better, moaning at the dirty kisses his cock gave your hole.

“Was gonna cum…but you didn’t say I could yet”, you reach up to use his arm as leverage while you wiggle your hips and your submission drives him mad with how much he wants to ruin you.

“Aw. That’s cute…but if you came before I let you, what then? Are you smart enough to tell me?” He asks sweetly but the condescending undertone makes you feel dumb as heat blooms in your chest and you will away the fuzz that’s making it hard to think so you can give him a proper answer. One that would please him. The fact that you even wanted to please him was something you’d have to get back to.

“I’d be in trouble?” You say it like a question and less of an answer and he finds your uncertainty so cute as he laughs indulgently at you.

“Close. It’s because you’re my good girl. And my girl only does as she’s told, yeah?” The same trickling tingle at the base of your skull is back again as you mindlessly repeat after him.

“Yeah.” He hums, lining himself up with your drooling pussy, sliding in with one thrust. Gritting his teeth with a heavy groan while you choke on a sob.

“Fuckin’ tight-!” Deep grunting in your ear overwhelming you in the best way and you lose it from how full you are. You could’ve guessed by his height and frame that he’d be packing but it felt fatter than you would have ever been able to accurately guess, pressing effortlessly against every spot that made you see stars.

You were everlastingly grateful your dad was knocked out because the sounds coming from you and your room were beyond incriminating. Even though he wasn’t moving, every-time you did, you could feel the deliciously heavy pressure against your slick walls. Shivers wracking up your body as wheezing fucked out moans left your mouth and you grind down in messy circles until the hand on your throat stops you.

“Look at you. Desperate n’ wet begging to cum. You’d do anything I tell you, huh? Just like a dog.”

A disgustingly pathetic warble is his reply but he wants more from you, choking you hard as he pinches your sensitive nipples.

“Uhhn! Yes!” The sheer desperation in your shaky voice gives him a sick head-rush.

“Open your legs for me.”

You obey before he even finishes his sentence. Thighs falling apart, cooled air over your center makes you moan wetly as you wait patiently. So patiently that the first heavy slap against your pussy winds you by the time the pain registers. As soon as the sting settles, warmth pools in its place, sensitivity heightened as you wail. The stricken sound makes his cock throb inside you.

“Wha-!”, another slap cracks down on your swollen lips, hitting your clit spot on and again and you try in vain to wriggle away.

“You still need to prove to me that you’re sorry for your behavior earlier.” He says, voice casual but no less mocking and you cry. Tears running down your cheeks as your body struggles to adjust and obey. Before you can shout out however many strings of apologies it’ll take for him to let you cum, he strikes your center again, hissing in pleasure at your screams. He feels it. That somehow you’re even wetter, dripping down his balls and smearing your slick all over the front of his slacks. He has half a mind to make you clean it up when he’s done with with you as he spanks your cunt again, biting your ear hard until it reddens.

“If you cum before I tell you, I promise I’ll make this the longest night of your life”, he groans darkly in your ear. You’re blessed that you can still hear him through the bass of your heart’s beat and the loud, wet connect every time his hand comes down. You were so close. The sharp sting and the pained pleasure of swelling warmth his heavy hand left behind was too much and your poor clit couldn’t take much more. Gasping through your tears, you scramble to find the right words.

“‘Lease- please! Ah-m’sorry!” Your raspy voice breaks halfway through when lifts you only to slam you back down on his fat length, flicking your sensitive nub when he meanly asks you,

“Sorry, I didn’t quite catch that. Try again, little girl.” You night just be in for a long night after all.

You could barely breathe from how hard he was choking you, swollen pussy enflamed from countless spanks, and your center was stuffed to the brim as he was so big that he didn’t even have to try to hit your spots. You scratch and wrestle with his hand until he loosens it, gasping and whining, you pray you don’t come from the instant relief it gives you. The rush settling over you like a fuzzy blanket. He shifts below you and you hurry to get the words out before he makes you come without his say-so.

“I’m- I’m sorry! So sorry! Please Sir, can I-!”

Sir. You called him sir.

It’s less of you apologizing but more of you submitting to him, acknowledging him by title that he held superiority over you that pleases him enough to let you cum. Cutting off your sweet begging with more mean, heavy slaps to your wet pussy, basking in your delighted wails as he fucks up into you.

His hand tightens around your throat and this time, you welcome the suffocating pleasure. Scratchy cries escape when they can but you’re so far on the road to ecstasy that you don’t even care how you look or sound, chest heaving as your eyes water. Your cunt feels like it’s on fire but you beg him in every way you can to keep going even though you can’t take it and he does, groaning against your ear as he rubs messily at your throbbing clit.

“So good, baby- you can cum. Make your little mess before I make you beg some more-”, he does not have to tell you twice as everything you’ve been holding, releases and you do make a mess.

Mouth dropped open as you sob and for the next couple minutes hot unending pleasure is all you know as the stinging slaps get faster, ending with harsh circles on your bud after each one and your hole gets even tighter before you go limp- liquid jetting out of you. He fucks you through it with a tight grip on your windpipe, using you like a snug fleshlight until he’s coming harder than he has in a while at the state he’s put you in. He waits until he catches his breath to slide out of you- who’s deadweight as he lifts you off him.

Rolling off the bed, the silence makes him look over at you only to see that you’re out cold. His eyebrows raise as he huffs out an amused laugh, fixing his pants before brushing his hand over your pretty face. He might have overdone it he thinks as he sees your face return to it’s normal, less flushed hue. Leaning down, on impulse he presses a kiss to your cheek, his gentlest touch of the night before getting up and covering your worn naked body with one of the many blankets on your bed.

“You’re a treat in more ways than you know.”

As he stands, before he opens your door to leave, he pulls a card out of his pocket and leaves it on your nightstand then heads back downstairs to get his shoes and jacket. Turning off the tv where your dad sleeps easily and quietly slipping out the door, smiling the entire way. Now he has even more fun.

You.

•

•

•

When you wake up the next morning, you turn with a pleasant ache and stinging between your legs as you stretch, sighing with a blissful smile until you remember why you ache and who caused it.

Pushing yourself up, you stop when you see a card on your stand, rolling to the edge of your bed, you swipe it off and raise it to your face. It’s a picture of lollipop, a simple circle on a stick but the words below it make your chest warm and you don’t even bother pretending to yourself that you aren’t interested in seeing him again.

“Next time I’ll make you even sweeter.”

In part 2…

Or 3…

[xdyledz]

Boyfriend haul

background information:

recently i saw this video on tiktok where people show off their boyfriends in a haul type of tiktok so i wanted to show how this would go with bakugou.

bakugou and reader are both 21

bakugou lives with kaminari, kirishima and sero. I like to imagine they’re apartment having a up and downstairs.

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:e⠀ *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆

There are two things you love. Tiktok and your Boyfriend katsuki, and what’s better then one of them? both of them,…together.

You were in bakugous room watching tiktoks when a video comes up on your fyp called ‘ Boyfriend haul ‘. While watching the video you couldn’t help but smile at the video, then a bright idea came up to ask bakugo to do this with you.

Bakugou doesn’t really post on tiktok, but in the past he has done videos with you “ against his will “ so there shouldn’t be a problem.

You get out of his bed and go downstairs to the living room. Apon entering the area the first person to notice your presences is sero while he’s making his way back to the rest of the group.

“ hey y/n! how was your nap?” “ Ah it was good, i slept in the best bed after all “ hearing this sero giggles. Hearing your name the first person to turn around is kaminari, he’s the one you’re the closest with.

“ Y/NNNNNNN you’ve FINALLY awoken from you slumber “ he says as he gets up and makes is way over to you. Bakugou sees you but doesn’t do anything knowing you’ll make your way over to him. Once all three of you make your way to the couch you immediately go and sit next to bakugou.

“ Hi suki “ you say while giving him a hug. “ hey “ kaminari sees this and says “ ew you woke up just to snuggle with your boyfriend? “ “ shut up “ kirishima says before bakugou could say anything ( or do anything).

“ i need you help with something suki “ “ huh? with what? “ “ come upstairs and i’ll show you “ bakugo gives you a confused face and mumbles something underneath his breath but ends up getting up and following you back to his room.

“ Sooo….what kind of-“ “ shut up kaminari “ sero and kirishima say together “ wow, live with yours friends they said, it will be soooo much fun “ he says while leaning back into the couch,

once making it up stairs you pull out your phone. “ what the hell are you doing, and what do you need help with? “ “ Look “. you show him the video and say “ can we do this please “ with a smile.

“ No. “ “ WHY “ “ because that’s stupid, plus you said you needed help with something. i thought you saw a spider and needed me to kill it “ he said while sighing and crossed his arms. Looking into his eyes, you put you hands on you hip and say “ fine i’ll ask kaminari “ while walking past him. Once you reach the outside of the door he immediately pulls you back into the room and slams the door “ like hell you will, hurry up and do what you going to do. “

Satisfied with his answer you walk over to his desk and set up your phone to record “ ok so go over there, out a frame and then i’ll introduce you and say a bunch of stuff then we’re done” “ what are you going to say….. “ “ don’t worry a bunch of good things”” fine whatever”. Before pressing record you stand on your tippy toes and give him a quick kiss.

“ Ok guys i got a boyfriend for christmas and im going to give you all a haul “ stepping out of frame you grab bakugo and walk you both back in “

“ this model is a hero, he’s 6’2 and blonde and has red eyes “ you pull bakugos face into the camera which he grumbles at “ turn to side, ok nice jaw line, turn to the other side. and he has dimples” backing him up you say “ put your head up “ “ what? “ “ oh my- here “ you pull his head back and say “ nice adam’s apple, ok now here’s my favorite feature “ you turn bakugou to the side and grab his arm and roll up his sleeve. “ this model has very VERY nice arms. I like to bite them thinking it will taste like strawberry cake, it never does “.

Hearing this bakugou smiles “ ok now back to the front, he’s very nice to look at and to touch, ok turn around. thank you Anyways he has a great back and a nice butt that i like to grab”. Before you can even touch bakugou he grabs your hand and looks at you with a dark look “ Don’t “ Rolling your eyes you turn him back around and say.

“ i wasn’t going to mention this but as you can see this model does have a couple of malfunctions, he likes to talk back and has a very slick mouth. He also likes to fight. “

Apon hearing this bakugou breaks the cool guy act and completely blows up “ HUHHH?? DO YOU GET OFF BY SAYING CRAP LIKE THIS?? THAT IS NOT TRUE “ you know bakugou had no intention of hurting you, you turn to the camera and say “ see “ this only further angers him, he pull you into him picks you up and walks over to drop you on his bed “ See what? you know what you’re right i do like to fight and we’re gonna fight right now”. he says while raising both his hands and moving his fingers “ WAIT KATS NO- “

Bakugou katsuki ended up tickling you until he felt like you had been punished enough.Once he was done he leaned down and gave you a small kiss. it was sweet and soft really showing how much he cared about you. once he pulled away and got up and said “ hurry up and come downstairs before anyone gets any ideas”

Bakugou left you there with a sore tummy and sore cheeks but at least you got through your video.

The next day when you woke up bakugou wasn’t there, you saw a text message saying “ sorry I had to leave earlier then expected, hero stuff “ then and hour later he sent “ Also you’re video isn’t as horrible as i thought it would be “ confused you open tiktok and see that your video had completely blew up.

Rewatching it you couldn’t help but smile. Bakugou always knew how to put a smile on your face.

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:e⠀ *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆

Hello, this was very poorly written i know sorry.

[cherry-leclerc]

method acting ☆ cl16

genre: angst, yearning, humor, fluff, journalist!reader, established relationship

word count: 13.2k

There’s a lot of things you’d like to do differently in life. And the weeks leading up to that night is one of them.

inspired by doomsday, lizzy mcalpine , true blue, boygenius , cool about it, boygenius !

cherry here!… hello there. sooo this was supposed to go up a few days ago, but silly me scheduled the wrong date, haha, so this is me formally apologizing for that. on a more lighter note: i’m so excited for you guys to read this one considering this is the re-written version of ‘method acting’ if you guys even remember the original version. love u all very much, and enjoyyy :)

From his boyish smile, to his dominant smirk—you knew it all. 

The way it would slowly start to spread, but always ended with a dimple. You loved many things in life—many, many things—but nothing comes close to him. From the very start, he’s been gentle. A gentle giant, you’d sometimes joke with a teasing voice, to which he’d roll his eyes yet never deny. 

The way he’d start every sentence with—honey—and end with—I love you. The way he’d cradle your face between his hands, kissing the corner of your mouth first before pressing down completely. The way he’d translate for you with all the patience in the world. Everything about him had been so easy to learn, so easy to love.

But here, in a room, staring at each other, you begin to wonder if you ever knew him at all. Because suddenly you don’t know what the frown on his face means. What the furrowed brows with the pinched expression interpret to. You don’t know any of it. 

Why are you so surprised, though?

You caused this, anyways.

-

“I still can’t wrap my head around the fact that you don’t know how to use a USB, Lis. Aren’t you supposed to be, I don’t know—tech savvy?” 

Lissie aims a harsh glare before tapping her nail against the computer screen as if that might make the process a whole lot quicker. “So what? I lied on my resume. Everybody does it.”

You chuckle. “Who even uses USB’s nowadays?”

“Apparently Grandpa Will. Oh, yay, it's done!” She shimmies. “I’ll see you later, m’kay?” With that, she zips down the paddock without a second glance. You sigh, gathering your stuff and making your way down the busy crowd, heading straight towards Ferrari Hospitality. 

He’s on his computer when you first walk in, keys clicking. He nibbles on his bottom lip, knits his dark brows like he’s in pain. As soon as you tap your finger against the wall, he perks up, all his interest suddenly gone. He grins. “And to what do I owe this pleasure?”

“Lis,” you respond, claiming a seat next to him. 

The Monegasque hums, leaning in to kiss your lips swiftly. “Thank you, Elisabella.” You giggle, sneaking a quick peek at his open screen. “Whatcha’ workin’ on? Wait—let me guess. You’re getting your marriage license annulled?”

“To be with you, yes,” he agrees, nodding enthusiastically. “How do you think Joris is going to take it?”

A playful shrug. “He’s just going to have to accept it, no?”

“I suppose.” Snapping the computer shut, he fixes himself, head pressed softly against your lap, closing his eyes. The sight of his even breaths and curved nose makes you smile as you start threading your fingers through his hair. He sighs, tense shoulders instantly rolling back. “Journling, and whatnot. It’s a habit that has a near expiration date, for sure, but is quite nice as of now.”

And though he can’t see you, your neat brows raise up in surprise. “Journaling on an electronic device? Why not an actual journal? You know—something authentic. I actually know of a place back in Portland where they sell some cute ones, ver—”

“I’m not looking for cute. I’m looking for security.” A beat. “I’d lose it in a week, and we don’t want that happening, now do we? My laptop works just fine. Plus, I feel more at peace knowing it’s not something I will just leave behind.”

“I wouldn’t put it past you,” you declare, enjoying the way his lips twist with a childlike snarl. “Anyways, I’m glad you’ve picked up on a new hobby. It’s good for you, Charlie.”

“Learned from the best.” You blush. “By the way, media shouldn’t last longer than an hour? Wanna go out?”

“Aren’t you tired?” you question, forcing his eyelids open as he squirms, pushing your hand away.

“A little. But I still want to do something with you.”

A tired sigh. “Cute, but I can’t. Lissie and William are out for today, so it’s just me, which means I have to conduct all the interviews by myself.”

The brunette bats an eye. “Why?”

“She forgot she had a deadline—hence why I was busy helping her—and Will still has to look it over. They have to send it in by midnight and it’s—it’s a lot.”

“Why couldn’t she just email it?”

“That’s what I’m saying!” you screech, causing him to flinch and squeeze his eyes. Sheepishly, you pat his head. “He insisted on a USB. Says he wants all work done like the olden days.”

“That sucks,” he mumbles. “And who even uses USB’s nowadays? They’re so outdated.”

“That’s what I’m—” You stop, mid-sentence, lowering your voice when he sits up and scoots away. “Saying,” you finish, whispering. You purse your lips, sending a slight grimace. “You get it.”

Charles nods, standing up and placing his laptop into his duffel bag. “I’ll come back and pick you up, yeah? Meanwhile, I can maybe cook something for us.”

“Honey,” you coo. “I love you, but please don’t.” His face drops. What the fuck? You giggle. “How about take-out?”

“How about,” he mutters, stiff as a statue when you press your lips down onto his jaw, but quickly melts. “Chinese?”

“Sounds good.” Another peck. “I’ll call you!”

-

If you remember—and you do remember—you fell in love with writing ever since you watched The Devil Wears Prada. It was a reset for you because before that you had seriously considered going to law. At first, you started with column writing in your school's newspaper. No one ever read it, you’d always find it on the floor after being trampled on, but you never cared. 

Soon after, you started publishing smaller pieces here and there on your fashion blog that has since been taken down, but that was the moment you knew. Thing was, you wanted to nurture this into a career, you really did, but nothing to do with fashion, rather sports. 

Maybe it had to do with the fact that every Sunday your Grandpa would beg for you to come over to his house and watch the races with him. They were extremely boring at first. Who willingly drives for roughly two hours in loops? Then, it clicked. Everything changed and you were enthralled. 

After that, all you knew was that you wanted it bad. It was hard, studying over time in order to get done quickly and just start working, but it was well worth it. You met Lis the same year she started working with Formula One, so you both figured a lot of things out together, and for two years, it was just you and her, interviewing and writing about the drivers on the grid.

But he noticed you both years ago.

He first noticed the burn on the back of your left leg. He initially thought it was a band-aid by the way it healed, but later found out you had burned yourself with a curling iron back in highschool when you were rushing to get your senior pictures taken. Then he noticed your eyes and the way they always had a glimmer to them, even if something wasn't going your way. He respected the hell out of you after that.

 How do you do that? 

You freeze. Do what?

Stay so…so—optimistic. Happy, I suppose.

You laughed then, and he saw the way your hair fell over your shoulder like a silk curtain. He would have smiled if he wasn’t so stuck up on that. It’s all a facade. They way you see me—it’s not real.

Believe me, I don’t think you’re real.

You blush, looking back down at your journal where you’ve been too busy scribbling prior to his question. You just have to ignore them sometimes, you know? Remind yourself that they don’t know you and you don’t know them. Trust me, it helps.

And after that, you two never stopped talking. 

Whether it was about work, or perhaps even the weather, you two always had something going on. Something everyone noticed, but never brought up. And at one point, you confessed your next dream.

Journalist of the Year, he repeated, a goofy smile slowly itching his skin. Yeah, I can see that.

It’s not that easy, though, you retort, exhaling heavily. I mean, I’ve been doing this for quite a while now and I haven’t even been considered once, which is fine, maybe I’m not good enough, but maybe it’s also time to…I don’t know—give up?

He kept quiet, kept his eyes focused on you, and frowned. If it’s something you want, then it’s most likely something you can have. 

Pft, you scoff. Nah. Not this. It’s nearly unattainable for someone like me. Even Lissie has won, and we’ve been here for the same amount of years. Now I’m not saying she doesn’t deserve it, but that just comes to show that there’s always someone better. And I’m just here. You look up. It’s okay, you can laugh.

A beat. I could be a hypocrite to tell you that it’s not good to measure how talented you are or how talented you can be based on some award, but Jesus Chrsit, I do the same thing. I understand. And it’s because I understand that I’m telling you to keep working hard and prove yourself to them. You have it in you—I’ve known ever since we met. You smile. Your time will come, yeah?

And for the first time: you believed it. 

A nod. Thanks, Charles. Yours will too.

About a month later, you two started officially dating. It almost seemed too good to be true at times, but wherever he looked for you in the crowd, you knew it just had to be. 

But the start of your relationship was also the end of something else.

Interviews and articles? 

He nods. Right. None of that.

You follow his actions, nodding numbly as you blink. So, no more working together? Because you want me to have a fair shot?

Yes, he confirmed. I just don’t want you to be nominated—because it’s only a matter of time, I have a feeling—and feel as if they picked you simply because of your dating status. 

Who’s going to do all of that, then? 

There’s plenty of other reporters. Lissie? Will? Maybe even Natalie. He took a step closer, grabbing your hands gently. What I’m trying to say is that I want you to feel accomplished. That what you did was simply because of your work, and not having to do with your connections because trust me, that doesn’t feel good.

But I love working with you. You give his hand a squeeze, tilting your head and smiling sadly. You’re my favorite person to write about and talk to…

And he genuinely seemed to be pained by your words, wincing.

But you suck it up because you know he’s right. I’ll always be your favorite?

Only the best.

A hum. Alright then. You take a step back, extending your hand for a professional handshake. He smiles, taking it and giving it a good tug.

 It was nice working with you, Mr. Leclerc.

-

“I’ll never understand,” Lissie starts, pressing the elevator button for the twenty-fifth floor and chewing on a licorice. “Why you two ever create such a stupid rule like that?” A hard chew. “All I’m saying is that it could have definitely helped you out a whole lot. You probably would have won by now.”

You roll your eyes, but not without thinking how she might be right. You’ve definitely wondered about a world in which you two hadn’t taken this approach, and while it would have been nice, you also know that it would have felt a little less special knowing that being a nepo to Charles had something to do with it. Which is most likely what would have happened, let’s be completely honest here. 

“You came to this arrangement, what? Twenty years ago, maybe fourty? And it’s not to be rude, but you haven't been nominated, so was this really worth it if it hasn’t made much of a difference?”

“Okay,” you grunt, ripping the red candy away from her and throwing it into the nearby trash as soon as you step out of the elevator. She pouts, following along. “I think we get it, I fucked up, very funny.”

“No,” she hums. “I never said you did, I was simply thinking, that's all.” You scoff. “But whatever. I have a feeling this is it. You definitely have it in the bag. They’d be crazy not to add you for a fourth time!”

Spinning, you smile bitterly at the Brit girl. She gulps. “Thank you, Lis, your mild support is very much appreciated.”

You turn back around, walking faster.

“Sheesh, sorry,” she hisses, entering the familiar office with a lost expression.

Carly, your manager runs over, practically jumping onto you and hugging you tight. “Lis, close the door!” You groan at the loud sound against your ear, but she's none the wiser, already embracing you harder. “You did it!”

“I told you!” Lissie shoots smugly.

You freeze, heart racing. “You’re lying.”

“I’m not lying—”

“Why would she be lying?”

Letting go, Carly lets out a delirious laugh. “Everything—all of it—has finally paid off. You did it, you’re on the list!”

“Holy shit,” you whisper in disbelief, playing with your necklace as you pace the spacious office. Lissie and Carly both grin at each other from ear to ear, nodding enthusiastically. You come to a halt. “Are you making this up because I said I would kill myself if I didn’t make it this year because, for your information, I was totally kidding!”

“It’s not a joke,” the redhead squeals, jumping again. “I’m so proud of you!”

“I am too!” Lissie shrieks, running and kissing you face as you try your best to swat her away even though you’re laughing. “Even after what I said in the elevator, I knew this shit was the real deal this time! Didn’t I tell you? Carly, I told her.” She twirls you, making you grin harder.  “You won!”

“Okay, let's touch some grass, ladies,” Carly cuts in. “We can’t forget that this is just a nomination and that there’s still work that needs to be done in order to secure our best chances.”

“Right,” you respond, elegantly fixing yourself and nodding up and down. You freeze. “Wait, what work? I thought this was it?”

Carly shakes her head. “Oh honey, we’re just getting started.” A pause. “You have to write an article.”

“I am—confused. What do you mean by article?”

The Brit takes a seat in a nearby chair, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “It’s their one and only requirement. Show them why they should pick you.”

Carly nods, red hair bouncing. “Shouldn’t be too hard. You’re as talented as they come. Just do what you do, but…better!”

Color drains your face as you go back to pacing. “What do you mean better? This is all I got! There’s nothing left to show, oh God—”

“What are you talking about?” your manager yelps. “There’s always more!”

“Exactly,” Lissie hums, somehow munching on another piece of candy. “There’s always—that, yeah. More.”

Your eye twitches. “Okay, you already went through this and won. How did you do it?”

She pouts, tapping the licorice against her lips before clicking her fingers. “I wrote my piece on fashion and how it’s made its way into Formula One. Wasn’t even that hard. Well. Shouldn't be. Write what you know and it’ll come to ya, they say. Or maybe they don’t, but definitely still do that.”

Your shoulders drop, plopping down next to her and placing a pillow over your face. “Fuck. That’s genius.” It is, isn’t it? she mumbles, slowly chewing in deep thought. Screaming into the pillow, you feel the frustration you didn’t have a second ago finally erupt. “What am I going to do?”

“Sweetheart,” Carly starts, forearms pressed against her glass desk, and stern eyes trained onto you. “You have got to be one of the most raw writers I have ever worked with.” A beat. “Sorry, Lis.” 

“Screw you,” she snarls, focusing on her phone now. 

Your manager sighs, rubbing her temples. “And please take that as a compliment because it is. You don’t hold back, and you tell it how it is. That’s what makes you one of the best! And if it weren’t for you wanting this, I would have definitely sent an angry email on your behalf because you deserve this more than anyone.”

“Wow,” the Brit muttered, raising her dark brows. 

“Sorry,” she mumbles, cringing. “But you’ve won already, Lis, and we supported you, and now…” She faces you again with soft eyes. “We’re doing this for you. You got it, m’kay?”

“But—” your voice cuts off as you blink rapidly, losing focus with the thought of failing, imprinting itself into the forefront of your mind. “I don’t know what to write about, which is weird because I always have an idea, at least. That’s simply a bad sign, that much I know.”

“It’s only bad if you think it is,” Lissie says, clicking her phone off and smiling gently. “But in all honesty, I think it’s actually quite good. That means you know what's at stake, and you know you have to make this the best goddamn article in your entire life.” A beat. “Write what you know, I’m telling you.”

“What she said,” Carly squeaks cheerfully, eyes crinkling as she starts pouring champagne and handing them one by one. “But just so you know, we have to get this in by October thirteenth because they make their decision by the sixteenth.”

“But that’s Charles’ birthday week,” you wail, rubbing your eyes harshly. “Fucking hell—”

“He’ll understand,” Lissie cuts you off, clicking her glass against Carly’s who shrugs, sipping neatly. “All of us know he will.”

“Okay then,” you whisper slowly. You curl your hand tighter against the glass. “Cheers?”

“Cheers, mate!”

-

Entering his Monaco flat, Charles lets out a tired sigh, taking his shoes off and flinging his keys to the nearby coffee table. The loud thud makes him flinch before running over hurriedly. A large scratch lays across the rich wood as he panics, kneeling down to inspect it carefully.

“Are you serious, Charlie?” he hears over his shoulder, jumping to find you with a frown on your lips and hands on your hips. “That was a gift!”

“I’m sorry!” he squeaks. “From your Grandpa, I know, I’m sorry!”

You let out a breath, shrugging. “It’s fine. How was your day?”

He eyes you suspiciously once before getting closer to you and kissing you hello. “Eh. Decent. Yours?”

Plump lips twist before flattening back out. “Decent.”

He squints, noticing the way you play with your necklace. “You’re lying.”

“No, I’m not,” you answer quickly. Defensively.

His brows furrow deeper. “Blow me.”

“Blow you?”

“Yes. Right here, right now—blow me.” He demonstrates, letting out a breath as if taking a breathalyzer test. 

You let out a sore laugh, rolling your heels as you stumble back. What? Your laughing stops, though tears run down your face as you try to get your words out. “You mean breathe out, not blow you.” Your giggles pick up once again, making him blush deep red. “God, you need to learn a bit more proper english.”

He looks away, cringing at the sound of his voice replaying, and then turning with a stoic face. “Don’t change the subject.” A pause. “Breathe out.”

You freeze. “Why?”

“Don’t ask questions, just do it.” “I’m not going to do it.”

“Just do it,” he presses harder.

You glare. “No. I’m not.”

Taking one last glance, he leaps forward with zero warning and starts tickling you, making your squeal. Stop! “Breathe!” I am breathing, you twat! “Blow me—God damn it! Whatever! Blow! Breathe! Blow!” 

“Fine, fine, just stop!” you screech, giggles coming to an end as he nods and stares down at you, which by now, you’re laid down on the couch with him towering over. You blush, breathing out lightly, nearly nothing. He rolls his eyes. Blow me harder. “Blow me harder,” you mimic, copying his accent. 

He groans. “You get what I’m saying—”

“I don’t, though,” you joke, laughing harder. As soon as your eyes shut, he smiles down at you affectionately, but when they open again, he reverts his lips back into a straight line. Your lips wobble playfully. Letting out a big breath, he whiffs strongly. “Gross, Cha!”

“You smell like strawberry sorbet, relax.” A beat. “Open your mouth and stick your tongue out for me.”

“Okay, this is getting really kinky.”

He aims for a deadpan expression. 

Rolling your eyes, you do as you're told and he lets out a scream. “What the fuck!”

“It’s red!”

“No duh, Charles!”

“Strawberry sorbet. The last pint. You ate it all, didn’t you?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“So that's a yes.”

You frown.

“And we always share, but when we don’t it’s because you’re going through something and you couldn’t help yourself.”

“Okay, Sherlock Holmes, we get it,” you grunt, pushing him off as you sit up. He does the same, staring at you, concerned. “By the way, does that upset you?”

“The ice cream? Nah.”

You nod, then yawn. “Why do you have to be so attentive?”

“Because I love you.”

You smile. “I made it onto the list.”

“The list?”

“The list.”

A wide grin dances across his pink lips as he jumps onto the coach, up and down, making you bounce and stare up with a soft look. “The list! Thee list. Holy crap, congratulations, honey!” Landing on the ground, he hugs you, digging his face into the crook of your neck and kissing it over and over. “You smell nice—congrats—is that citrus—wait, this smells really nice—”

“It is citrus,” you giggle as he separates from you. “And thanks. It means the most coming from you.”

Silence takes over for a second or two before his brows knit neatly. “What’s wrong?”

“No. Nothing.” They raise up higher. “I’m not gonna lie—I’m scared.”

Tugging you closer to his chest, he drags so you two are laying back down. You close your eyes at the feeling of his arms wrapping around you like some blanket. “About what? You totally got this.”

“Hmph. It’s just that, I, uh. I have to write an article on a topic of my choice, and—I. Don’t know? I have no clue what to write about.”

Listening attentively, he doesn’t interrupt as your words begin to pour out like a prayer. He doesn’t even interrupt when you say something along the lines of being “at best—mediocre”, even though he really wanted to. You scoff. “It’s a silly problem to have, I’m well aware, but…it’s the truth.”

The Monegasque picks your breathing patterns, mindlessly copying as you cuddle him. “You’ll figure it out.”

You swiftly look up, cheek pressed against his heart beat. “That’s it?”

“What else do you want me to say?”

What do you want him to say? Your lips open aimlessly, then close forcefully. 

He grabs a nearby blacket, covering you both and hugging you the same he’s seen you hug your teddy bear. “I think you need to have a little bit more faith. In yourself, that is. Because your mind…” Green eyes connect with yours as your breath comes to a strong halt. He tends to make your body react that way, quite often. He sends a simple grin. Dimples and all.

“It's the most beautiful thing on this earth.”

-

Abu Dhabi 2021.

It’s been talked about too much already.

Spain 2016.

You’re kidding, right?

Fine. Azerbaijan 2018—

You let out a muffled scream. “Pierre, no! I need something better.”

“Better than all that drama?” he dead pans, genuinely confused as to why his ideas are being shut down.

You exhale, hair flying outward. “I love it too, but I need something new. Unheard of.”

The Frenchman pauses, curling a brow. “I’ve gone blank.”

You bite down on your tongue, shrugging it off. “It’s okay. I should probably come up with my own topic, anyways.”

Getting up, you wave goodbye and make your way to the ice cream truck that’s been rented out for the weekend. Smartest investment, you think to yourself as you twirl your tongue around the lavender spoon. 

“This time I really do mean it—blow me.”

Squinting up at the sun—which so happens to be behind Charles like a halo—you chuckle, feeding him a spoonful. “Good, no?”

“Delicious,” he hums, going in for another. “Have you tried the funnel cakes?” They have funnel cakes? you squeal, eyes shining. He nods. “Want one?”

You deflate. “Later.”

Watching the crowd walk by, you two sit there, switching turns and enjoying each other's company. It’s amazing how no one comes up to Charles, either. Not that he would mind, but it’s definitely a nice surprise. Glancing over, he hands the spoon back to you. “Come up with something?”

“I have a few ideas, but nothing solid yet.”

Pistachio ice cream melts away faster. “I told Pierre to leave you alone, I hope he didn’t bother you too much.”

“He’s actually the reason why I have these ideas. Don’t let him know, though, I would never live it down.”

Watercolor eyes go wide. “Really? Pierre actually helped?”

“Weird, huh?”

“Without a doubt.”

“Don’t stress out too much, honey. You still have time.”

You purse your lips. “But the sooner I figure it, the sooner I can start and just focus, and do the proper research and try and—”

“You have time,” he reaffirms with a knowing look. You cock your head and he sends a sly grin. “Plenty.”

“Plenty,” you copy as he nods along. Extending his arm, he signals to the spoon. You shake your head. “You can have the rest.”

“You’re the gift that keeps on giving.”

-

Write what you know. Write. What. You. Know.

What the fuck does that even mean?

Biting down on your pen, you’re spaced out, staring at the picture frame. In it, Charles and Carlos smile, you can tell, behind their helmets. While the Monegasque’s eyes crinkle sweetly, the Spaniards are dilated and wide. Both nice, but nothing beats those green eyes. 

You can slowly feel your sanity slipping away, day by day. There’d be times where you thought you had it figured out, but then you’d bring it up and Lissie would smile and say—

“Yes! Stick to that one! Start it. Right now.”

It wouldn’t seem genuine because you know she just wanted you to get it done given it’s due in less than two weeks. And even though it was good, it wasn’t good enough. 

“I’m just going to brainstorm a few more ideas.”

She’d given up, mumbling beneath her breath and grabbing her keynotes and headed to her meeting. Well, technically it was your meeting too, but again. Time crunch.

Hence, why you’re admiring the picture and thinking harder than you were a minute ago. The door slides open then, the two Ferrari drivers back from their media duties. You rip your gaze away as soon as they make their way closer. “How does one fake their own disappearance?”

“Oi,” the brown eyed boy warns, toothy grin expanding. “Good question, though.”

“Oi, you,” your boyfriend warns back, glaring at his teammate. “At this point, I’m sure she’d go through with it.” He turns to you. “Honey, you’ve got to decide already, it can’t be that hard.”

“I know that!” you burst out, ears burning as you avoid their eyes. “But there’s just so much! I don’t want to jump the gun and make a mistake, is all.”

Carlos juts his lip, then rolls his jaw. “If only you took someone’s very good proposition.”

A scoff. “I wasn’t going to write about Papaya Rules, Chili.”

“It would’ve been so good, though!” A beat. “What about—”

“Nor multi-21.”

His expression drops, along with his shoulders, and strolls away, flipping you off. I hope you figure it out, then! A low chuckle makes its way as you exhale loudly. “C’mon, what’s the problem this time?”

You bite your lip, brows drawn in together as you gaze back at Charles. “I’m not entirely convinced.”

“Honey…”

“A-and I know I’m running out of time, but I just want it to be perfect!”

He smiles, throwing his arm on your shoulder. “And it will be, but you need a topic.”

“Yeah…” You raise a brow.  “What happened to having ‘plenty’ of time?”

The Monegasque wiggles his brows. “You can’t take up too much advantage.”

-

I’ve decided. 

That’s the lie you settle with because quite frankly, you’re done with the constant questions. If you were going to come up with the best matter to write about, then you need to have a clear head. Carly is over the moon, Lissie is ecstatic, and Charles is proud. 

Great! What’s it going to be about?

It’s a surprise. 

At first, they were all as curious as can be, but later when you insisted that it’d be better that way, they nodded, though the interest was still there. 

Now—with only a week and a half before your due date—you lay, plopped on your stomach, fingers teasing the keyboard as you watch Charles jump into his race suit. You sigh, sitting up. “I think I’m going to stay in here today.”

He fixes the zipper. “Yeah?”

You nod. “That way I can work and watch you.” You point to the T.V. hung up on his room wall. “Is that okay with you?”

“Whatever you need to do in order to focus, baby.” A wink. “It’s fine by me.”

They’re in lap sixty out of seventy-five, the last time you check, and your page remains as white as a ghost and as bare as a newborn baby. It’s both amusing and mind-boggling. Groaning, you hit your head with the back of your hand before running it down your face. Then, to make matters worse, your laptop dies.

Shit, you grit as you look around and spot Charles’ placed neatly on top of a nearby chair. Strolling over, you grab and open it, typing in his passcode and signing into your account. A few seconds later, the blank page resurfaces. Blinking slowly, you spot it. 

Notes. 

You take a look around, but really don’t know why since you’re the only one in his motorhome, and then click onto the App, furrowing your brows with concentration. 

Turns out, you really like to read because one after another, you skim through his journal entries without a second thought. Eagerly, might you add. Some things you know, others you don’t, but nevertheless, you’re caught off guard. How sensitive he is and how it portrays in every word. Not only are you amazed, but you’re completely engrossed. 

And it sparks something in you.

With a large grin, the brunette makes his way back to his room, trophy in hand and handshakes and pats on the back all around. Grazie mille, he beams as he makes his way closer, sending a final wave before opening his door. Finding you with his spare helmet over your head, he laughs. You giggle, opening the visor. “That’s one good looking winner!”

He laughs, placing the gold trophy down and enjoying you the way you struggle to take it off. You let out a loud gasp as soon as he assists you, tugging it off. “Shit.” Another gasp. “How do you wear that thing for two hours?” Fixing your hair, you pat it down as you send him a sheepish smile. “Give me a kiss!”

“No thanks. Too sweaty.”

Pouting, you pinch his ear tenderly before he gives in, pressing his lips against yours. “You were amazing out there, Charlie. You really were, I want you to know.”

Green eyes soften as he tries his best to savor this moment. “Only cause you say so.” You giggle, hugging his waist and he drapes his hands over your shoulders and rests his chin on top of your head. “How far along were you able to get?”

A hum. “Quite far, actually.”

He lets out a whistle, making your cheeks glow. “Looks like we’re both having a good day.”

“Looks like,” you swoon. “Looks like.”

Tilting your head back, you match with his eyes as he sends a dimpled smile. 

Write what you know, you think to yourself as he leans back down to kiss you. His lips greedily crash against your own as you let out a soft moan, playing with his hair, large hands making their way down to your ass. And you, my dear Charlie…

He groans, shuddering as soon as you grind back against his thigh. You smile, admiring his open mouth.

I know you very well.

-

You feel guilty when you start on your first page, but by the time you make it to your third, you’ve talked yourself out of it. You would explain. As soon as you’re done, before you turn it in, you would explain it all to him. Tell him that this is simply because you love him. How he’s your biggest inspiration, and how this wasn’t you using him, but rather you showing others how amazing he truly is.

He notices it right away—the determination. And he admires you for it because he hasn’t seen you like that ever since your writer’s block. So, he tries not to intrude in moments where you’re on a roll, and instead makes sure to have a bath ready for you. He joins you sometimes, too.

Cracking your fingers, you yawn, exhausted, and stretch like a cat. He chuckles, closing his book like a light thud. “Update?”

“Six pages.”

“Wow. You really got it going on.” You blush. “You deserve something sweet. What do you want?”

“But it’s so late, and you have to be up early tomorrow…”

He rolls his eyes, already grabbing your trench coat. “It’s a bit cold out right now.”

You smile.

It’s not that far of a walk, three miles. After buying you a hot chocolate—with extra whip—he takes your mitten covered hand and leads you out the small coffee shop. By now, not many people are out, so it makes for a calm stroll.

“Shhh—ah,” you hiss, tongue sticking out as your face twists with subtle pain. He laughs, eyes crinkling. Drink slowly, he says, voice laced with humor. “The cool air helps,” you murmur, blowing on the hot drink. “Are you sure you don’t want anything?”

He shakes his head. “I just wanted you to unwind.”

“You’re so thoughtful,” you coo, enjoying the way his ears turn pink. You giggle. “Why do I feel like you’re thinking about something, though?”

“I am. You.” A gust of wind dances. “Always.”

You purse your lips, taking a slow sip, lipstick painting the white lid. “I’m serious, Cha. You’ve been quiet ever since you got off that phone call two hours ago.” Neat brows knit together with concern. “Is everything okay?”

“Yes,” he answers, but it’s too quick for it to be the truth.

Giving his large hand a squeeze, you send a knowing look. His breath hitches. “You can talk to me—”

“Are you almost done with your article?” he asks, obviously changing the topic as he stares up ahead, and if not, down at his shoes. Pink nose twitches. “I miss you, and call me greedy, but I was hoping you’d be done before my birthday, at least, that way we could…I don’t know—” He shrugs. “You’ve just been really busy—which I get why, and I understand—but I miss y-you.”

Wincing, you chew your bottom lip a couple times before letting go. “Almost, but.” His shoulders drop, making your stomach twist. You panic. “I feel like I’m missing something. Like the final bang in order for it to be…” A beat. “I’ll be done before your birthday, you can count on that.”

Round eyes finally flicker up as he nods, a more relaxed look evident. “This makes me sound so needy,” he says. “Which I guess I am, bu—”

“Don’t apologize,” you cut him off with a reassuring smile. “But please, tell me what’s going on…”

The Monegasque stiffens. Despite walking, you can tell. You can feel it. Also, it doesn’t take a genius to notice. “They’re not renewing Carlos’ contract for next year.”

You stop walking, making him stop too. He’s still holding onto you, rubbing small circles against cashmere. “W-why?”

“Guess.”

Your mind races. The rumors have definitely been swirling—everyone’s heard—but really? “They’re actually doing it?”

He nods.

“Lewis,” you whisper like it the first time you pronounce his name. “This is, uh…wow. I mean, wow.” 

“Yup,” he says, popping the p. “Wow, for sure.” Letting go, he takes a small step back, but still faces you with an uneasy look. “They brought it up as a possibility, but I don’t know why I never thought they’d be capable of…” He grimaces. “I can’t even begin to imagine how Carlos must be feeling.”

“Weren’t they just praising him last time during your guys’ team meeting?” You curl the cup towards your chest. “That’s fucked up.” Charles sighs, pinching the tip of his nose swiftly. Your eyes fill up with concern. “What about you?”

“I got an extension.”

You let out a breath of relief, nodding. “O-okay, okay. That’s good, Charlie, that’s really good.” When he keeps quiet, you pause all movement and blink feverishly. “Why are you upset, then?”

“I’m not,” he answers. “Only worried.” Listening closely, you silently wait for him to continue. He sighs, rubbing his eyes, suddenly tired. “It’s just that…he. He’s Lewis,” he finishes like that’s enough explanation.

You curl a brow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

A weak chuckle. “It means he’s better, and the team is going to favor him over me.” A timid shrug. “I get it, though. If anyone can bring a Championship home for the team, it’s going to be him.”

“It’s going to be you.”

“No.” The light in his eyes gave out, slowly and painfully so. “It’s not.”

Berry lips open, then close lamely, analyzing him like the world's biggest mystery. Sternly, you narrow your eyes down like knives. “World Champion?”

He flinches.

You click your tongue. “Do you realize how crazy you sound?”

“What?” he says, puzzled.

You nod. “Why are you giving up so easily, huh?”

Sharp jaw clenches. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s because he’s a former World Champion, and I’m not.” He chuckles sourly. “It’s really not that difficult to figure out. I mean, I’ve been working for it for so long now, and look at me! I’m nowhere close to being there!”

Silence. Chest heaves. You never let go of your gaze, and he has no other choice than to do the same. He’s not mad at you—not mad at anyone, really—but he’s frustrated. And yeah. Maybe he is giving up the fight, but anyone else who was in his position would too. No one wants to be the laughing stock, no one wants to be compared. 

“Listen to me Charles Leclerc, and listen to me closely because I’m only going to say this once.”

He waits.

“If it’s something you want, then it’s most likely something you can have.”

Pink lips turn upward as he tilts his head in the slightest of tilts.

Holding his face between your delicate hands, you raise your brows, shivering at the icy air. He can feel your hand vibrate against his skin as he grabs them, brings them up to his mouth, and blows hot air onto them. “I believe in you. Everybody does. Do you believe in that?”

And it takes a moment for him to answer. It takes a moment for it to register. He nods. Sure of himself.

“Only because you do.”

-

“A USB?” He frowns. “I thought you hated those?”

“I do,” you say, combing through your hair, staring at him through the reflection of the mirror. “But I feel like this makes it real. Physically turning it in, I mean. It’s dumb, but…” You check the time, shrieking and grabbing your things. “Carly is going to kill me! Okay, I’ll be back in an hour, and then we can go with your family for dinner, or I’ll meet you there, yeah?” You huff. “Red or white wine?”

“Sparkling water,” he ponders. “Maman is trying to get to ‘quit.’ Which is probably not the right way to put it because it’s not like Lorenzo, Arthur, and I are alcoholics.”

“Oh. Alright then, I’ll just get that instead.” Tippy toeing, you peck his cheek briskly, sweet perfume hitting him. “I love you.”

Adoration fills his watercolor eyes. “I love you, too.”

Who knew?

Who knew that’d be the last time you’d hear those words coming from him?

-

Entering the familiar office, you wheeze, crouching down to catch your breath before sending over a coy smile. Carly laughs, clearly amused, before signaling to the chair that sits right in front of her. “We could have done this any other day as long as it was before the deadline, you know?”

“No,” you pant, heart beat barely switching back to its regular pace. Well. Sort of. “I need to get this out of the way, I promised Charles I’d be free before his birthday. He said it was his one and only wish, could you believe that, he’s so cute, isn’t he?” She blinks. Pink dusts your cheekbones. “Anyways, here it is.”

Looking down at your extended hand, she almost lets out a snicker. “I get I’m older than you, but really? You emailing it to me would have been just as effective.”

“I didn’t want to risk it going straight into your spam folder.” That, and I don’t want to see when you actually read it because I have a funny feeling you’re going to disapprove, which is okay, fair. “Here.”

“Very well, then,” she mumbles, retrieving it. “Why don’t we proofread it together one more time before send—”

Horrified at the innocent suggestion, you leap up from your chair, pushing back. “There’s no need, I checked it about a thousand times.” She raises a sharp brow at your outburst, the defensiveness in it. You laugh nervously. “And I should get going, anyways. Pascale is cooking Cha an early birthday dinner, can’t be late.”

Placing her forearms against the table, she nods slowly, but still unsure. “I won’t hold you back any longer, then. Tell him I said happy birthday.”

Tight lips form a forced smile, uneven breaths expanding. “Of course.”

You’re expected in an hour, so when you should be up forty-five minutes early, Pascale is pleased, but a bit surprised. Hugging you hello, she opens the door wider, letting you in. “They’re out in the back. Dinner should be ready in a bit.”

“No worries. Do you need any assistance?”

She shakes her head, thin blond hair swaying. “I’ve got it all under control, chérie.”

Nodding, you put your things down and start making your way towards the sound, beers clinking. You let out a snicker. “And here you are claiming not to be an alcoholic,” you joke. Flustered, Charles turns to face your soft voice. 

“It’s my first,” he squeaks.

“Third,” both Lorenzo and Arthur shoot, greeting you with a gentle nod. 

“It barely even has any alcohol,” your boyfriend tries defending, but the crack in his voice makes everyone burst out with laughter. Blood rushes to his cheeks. “Weren’t you supposed to be with Carly?”

“I was, but we got done pretty quickly.”

“What’d she think?” he asks, tugging you onto his lap. You giggle, meanwhile Arthur gags and Lorenzo blinks unbothered. “Bet she loved it.”

“I wouldn’t know. I left before she read it.”

He cocks his head. “Seriously?”

You nod. “You said you wanted my full attention.”

“I didn’t say it like that—”

“Well, now you have it.” You kiss his nose gingerly. “Happy early birthday, Charlie.”

The Monegasque smiles deeply. “Thank you.”

“Arthur! Lorenzo! Come help and set the table!”

Arthur groans. “Why just us? What about Charles?”

Poking her head out the window, Pascale aims a stern look, making him dash up. You laugh, ideally going to stand up, but gets tugged back down onto his thigh. You roll your eyes. “I should help, too. But you stay here and relax.”

“I will, but only if you stay with me.”

“Pascale needs my help—”

“Right, but she has both of them already.” He gives your hair a gentle tug. “Stay.”

Sighing, you nod, resting your head on his shoulder as he holds you. From here, you can see the breathtaking view of Monaco’s sunset. The ocean, the trees. Filled with satisfaction in life, you kiss the side of his neck, making him squirm slightly. “Carly says happy birthday. Early. Early birthday.”

A hum. “Make sure to tell her that I said thank you, the next time you see her.”

The sound of waves crashing sings softly. He traces shapes down your leg. “When will I be able to read it?”

You’re sure you stop breathing. “S-soon. After Carly gives me the green light, at least.”

A beat. “I’m excited.”

Your stomach churns. “You are?”

“Mhm. Very. Didn’t you know I was your biggest fan?”

Fixing yourself to look at him, you open your lips, feeling how dry they’ve become. “Charles—”

Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.

A sore laugh. “They’re calling you.”

You reach towards your back pocket, pulling it out. Carly Freeman. Clicking it off, you shake your head. “It’s nothing.”

Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.

He wiggles his brows. “Doesn’t seem like it’s nothing. Answer her, it’s fine.”

“She’s going to have to wait until tomorrow,” you announce, standing up and dusting your hands off. “I’m here with you, and she's going to have to wait. Whatever it is, it can’t be more important than this.”

Buzz. Buzz. Buzz. 

He sends a worried look. “Are you sure? What if it has something to do with your article? You should pick up—”

“I said I’m here with you,” you affirm. “Tomorrow. She’ll be fine.”

“Okay…” Standing to his full height, he sends a gesture towards the house. “Let's go?”

His hand reaches out, waiting for you. You smile, taking it. “Let’s go.”

-

Your phone keeps buzzing and it doesn’t let him sleep.

That, and Carly is a terrible liar.

Shifting in the bed as quietly as possible, Charles reaches for your phone, trying his best not to wake you. “Hello?” he croaks. The line stays quiet, static rolling. “I know it's you, Carly.”

“Charles! How’s my favorite driver?” 

You twist, unwrapping your leg that was draped over him. He freezes, soothing you a bit before you settle down. Climbing off the bed, he walks out, gently closing the door and heading towards the living room. “I know your favorite is Fernando, what’s up?”

She laughs nervously, cursing underneath her breath. “Is my little journalist with you?”

“She is.”

“Great! May I speak with her very quick—”

“But she’s asleep.” She groans. “Why? Is something wrong?”

“Well…”

Sitting down on the couch, he leans back, placing his feet onto the coffee table. Normally, he wouldn’t, but you weren’t here right now, and lucky for him, he wasn’t wearing any shoes. He clicks his tongue. “Does this have something to do with your guys’ meeting today?”

“Yes. And no.” More static. “Do you mind waking her up for me?”

“Um…well I do. Sorry, Carly, but she needs to get some rest, she’s been working non-stop, and—”

“No, no, I get it!” she squeals. “I totally understand. Can you let her know that I need to talk to her as soon as possible? Like—urgent. Please and thank you and have a good night!”

“Wait,” he says, furrowing his brows and pushing the phone closer to his ear. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing to worry about. Too much,” she adds. “It’s just that I need a bit of clarification, that’s all.”

“Clarification?”

“Yup. On a tiny mistake of hers. But we can fix it together, she still has time, and if she hurries then we can still meet the dea—”

“She doesn’t make mistakes, though. Ever.”

A hiss. “It’s a tiny one, Charles—”

“Okay, tell me and I’ll tell her.”

“What? I can’t. I need to speak directly with her first.”

“Carly…”

“What now?” she grits. 

“What’s the issue?” he presses harder. “I’ll let her know right now.”

The line goes quiet. For a moment, he begins to wonder if she’s hung up already, but when she clears her throat, he listens carefully, but can’t decipher her mumbles.

“She gave me the wrong USB.” That’s it? She groans. “Listen to me Charles—the USB she brought to be today only has her title written on it along with a few notes about what it’s supposed to be about. It’s the wrong one and I need the other one now.”

“Okay,” he mutters slowly, nodding. “I’m sure she’ll bring it to you once I let her know, but that’s going to have to be until tomorrow.”

She gasps. “You said you’d let her know right now!”

He winces. “I know I did, but it’s late! Trust me, though. I’ll tell her you called and I’ll even drive her myself tomorrow to drop it off. It must be around here somewhere right…” And it sure is. Sitting nicely on the coffee table, inches away from his feet. He sits up straight away, picking it up as if it were some sort of new discovery. Which in a way, it was. “Carly, why is this so important to you?”

“She’s my favorite client,” she answers without missing a beat. “I only want what’s best for her, and right now we need to fix this little mishap and get this article in as soon as possible.” A beat. “Also, maybe don’t mention the first part to Lissie, she’d totally kill me.”

Analyzing the black USB, he remains stoic, blinking only because he needs to. “Goodnight, Carly…”

“Yeah. I, um—goodnight, Charles.”

Once he hangs up, he’s quick on his feet, retrieving his laptop from the counter and sticking the drive in without a second to process what he’s doing. He shouldn’t. Probably. Definitely not. But the interest Carly clearly has was enough to poke his mind and for him to start wondering what on earth is so significant? 

And it’s so obvious now why.

Charles Lecelrc: The Man Behind the Helmet

His eyes skim fast, narrowing sharply.

Like any other human being, he struggles with depression, though fails to admit. Many sleepless nights, many fights, many canceled therapy appointments, I begin to question: does every praise his fans give him make him think he’s above all these things? The truth hurts, but it's only because it's real. And Charles Lecelrc, you are nowhere close to being as perfect as everyone makes you out to be.

His heart stops, re-reading the last sentence. He wishes for it to say anything but that, but it never changes, and it only mocks him like a school bully. 

Many assume that the death of his late-father, Hervé, and his late-godfather, Jules Bianchi, have made him stronger in a sense. That it has fed the drive in him to succeed. To be the best of the best, but what if that wasn’t true at all? Would any of you be surprised? Probably, but again, no one truly knows him the way I do. So, what feeds his determination? 

The thought of failing the same way they did. 

Anger bubbles up inside of him, grinding his molar until they crunch loudly against his temples. 

But who can blame him for having that fear inherited down onto him? Tabloids also have a part in this, and so do unwanted changes. One way or another, we can relate with the latter, but never in the way he does. Reading and hearing rumors takes a toll on Charles, that much is true, but what can we expect when his next new teammate is a seven-time World Champion. 

I guess the only question that stands in not only our minds, but also his… 

Is he strong enough to come head to head with someone as talented as Lewis Hamil—

“Wake up.”

Groggily, you rub your eyes. “Charlie, it’s dark out, come on. Come back to bed.”

“Stop calling me that, and get up.” In a single movement, he rips the blanket away and yanks you from your wrist, forcing you to sit. You gasp, his change of heart sobering you up from your sleepy daze. 

“What’s wrong with you?”

He laughs. “Me? What’s wrong with me? Are you serious right now or are you stupid?”

You flinch, taken aback. “Don’t talk to me like that, what did I do?”

“I won’t waste my breath explaining.” He drops his laptop on the bed, making you freeze as soon as you spot the familiar USB. “I'll let you re-read it.” 

“Where did you get this from?”

“Really? That’s what’s important to you?” He rolls his jaw, rubbing it until his skin turns a light shade of red. “If you don’t want me finding it, then next time don’t leave it out.”

Your lips go dry, crawling to the edge of the bed, but as soon as you’re about to reach out for him, he grimaces, shaking his head and taking three steps back. “Charlie—”

“No,” he hisses, glaring at you with utter hatred. The sight alone makes your eyes well up. “You don’t get to call me that. You don’t get to call me that ever again.” A cry rings through the air as you cover your hands over your face. “A-am I supposed to be impressed by what I read or what?”

“It’s no—”

“Did I do something to upset you or w-why were you talking about me like that?” he questions, genuine confusion taking over as he furrows his brows until they cause his eyes to pinch up too. 

Sniffling, you get up quickly, shaking your head adamantly until you get dizzy. “It wasn’t supposed to come off across that way! Are you kidding me?” Grabbing your heart, you soften your eyes. “I’m your biggest supporter.”

“Yeah? Well, that,” he snarls, pointing at the open screen like it's the most disturbing thing. “That doesn’t make sense with what you’re saying…” A beat. “Why would you do this to me?”

“Do what, though?” you whimper. “Everything I wrote about you is based on what you told me!”

“Exactly!” he shouts back, making the distance between you smaller, making you shrink. “I told you! Just you! I never once asked you to air out my business, and quite frankly, I thought that was common sense.” He lets out a dry chuckle. “You called me crazy and troublesome among other things. Are you my girlfriend or wolves in sheep's clothing? I’m trying to understand your logic here.”

You push your hair back, breathing hard. “You can’t just say that, there’s context behind that, come on…”

“Oh. Okay. My bad. I’m crazy because I talk to my father’s tombstone and Jules’. It's troublesome because I used to do cocaine in order to de-stress. I’m in over my head because I actually think I stand a chance against Lewis—a chance you convinced me I had!”

“That’s not what I meant!” you squeak. “You’re taking it all wrong, Charles, I would never say that about you!”

“But you did,” he states firmly. “And you know? If I’m so unready to face a friendly competition against my future teammate, then maybe I’m unready to face a lot of other things, too.” You freeze, dreading his next words as you plead him silently not to say them. “Maybe I’m not as ready to settle down with you as much as I thought I was…”

That does it. That seems to cut the little oxygen you had, off. Stumbling back, you feel the tears start to form again. “You don’t mean that…” You smile weakly. “You’re just a tiny bit upset right now, okay, fine. That’s fine. But you don’t mean any of that.”

Glaring until it hurts, he maintains eye contact. “Don’t tell me what I’m feeling, you don’t get to do that!”

You flinch. “I’m sorry.” A droplet slides down. “I’m sorry, okay?” More follows. “For all of it. For all of this. If I could take it all back, I would, you have to believe me, Charles, you know I would.”

His gaze lingers for a while longer, taking in your rosy nose. Your swollen eyes. Your wet cheeks. Everything that's supposed to make him feel better, but it doesn’t. “I really did trust you…” You breath hitches. “And I really did want you to win…” Pause. “And I still do.”

Strolling over, he disconnects the USB, making the screen go completely black, and hands it to you. Blinking down, you shake your head, too embarrassed to even look at it. “I don’t want it.”

“Yeah, well I don’t want it either…” Forcing your palm open, he places it down, instantly making your skin burn. “Journalist of the Year.”

You let out a wet sob, shoulders shaking. You don’t know exactly what you’re feeling, but what you do know is that this doesn’t feel good and that your heart breaks with every passing second.

Never in a million years did you think you would experience any of this, especially with Charles. The Monegasque cocks his head, curls following. “I’m glad you’re about to get everything you’ve ever wanted, I really am.” He chuckles softly, eyeing you intently. “I just can’t help but wonder what that must feel like.”

“I was going to tell you,” you whisper meekly. “And you were supposed to understand where I was coming from.”

And if any anger was gone, well fuck that, it all came right back.

“Understand where you were coming from?” he spits out, shocked by your choice of words. “You really thought I would understand? I planned my entire future around you, and this is how you repay me? You went behind my back to write an article I didn’t even know about! We made a choice years ago!”

“No, you did!” you retort, despair rising hard and fast. “You came up with that decision all by yourself, Charles, I never agreed!” You look down. “Not entirely.”

“Huh,” he scoffs, squinting his eyes. “I was simply looking out for the girl that I love given that the internet is a scary place and she probably wouldn’t have been able to handle it, for God sakes, I guess this is my fault now, isn’t it?”

“I would have been able to handle it, but you never gave me the chance!”

“Yeah, because reporting on a driver and driver who's your boyfriend are two completely different things that you can’t seem to comprehend!”

Trembling, you blink carefully, gulping. “I would have done just fine.”

“You think so?” he challenges, a sour smile forming. You nod. “Okay. Sure. Why not?” Closing the final distance between you two, your breath gets stuck as he sends a dirty glare, one that's meant to sting. “You’re not talented. You only have your position because of your dating status, when in reality, your work is utter shit. Everything is handed to you.”

There’s a mix of a whimper and a plea that comes out of you as you screw your eyes shut. “You’re being mean, Charles…”

He laughs, clapping his hands once with amusement. “That’s what the internet is! Maybe I was right, then—you can’t handle it.”

“I could…” you murmur, but it's no use. 

The brunette catches himself wanting to comfort you. To apologize for everything. But then he figures—why? It’s not like he truly did something wrong. 

“You’re the greatest disappointment of my life.”

Something ended the moment those words left his mouth—you both knew it. Sobbing hard, your shoulders vibrate violently as you seemingly gasp for air. He looks away. 

“You know, our life could have been so good. So fucking good. But you went and ruined it.” Green eyes flicker back. “Why would you do this to us?”

“I never meant to hurt you,” you declare with wet lashes. 

“You did a bit more than that,” he replies, wincing, blinking rapidly. He smiles. “If you wanted to write your article on me, you should’ve asked me. You should have talked to me. But no. And the thing is, I would have let you! God. I would have let you write whatever you wanted—but not like this. You stole an interview from me with no right, honey…”

Quickly, you flicker your gaze up at him, hoping to see any trace of  love in that one word, but you’re not surprised when you don’t find any, deflating furthermore. He shrugs. Like what you did to him was no big deal. 

“You took it from me. But I would have given it to you.”

-

“Are you sure you want to do this? You can always change your mind, babe, it’s totally fine!”

“No.” You fix your hair, posture straight. You smile. “I need to.”

Lissie shares a slow nod, nibbling on her bottom lip before handing you her keynotes. “Alright. Good luck.”

The idea first sparked when the Brit girl mentioned how she was the only one granted permission to interview Charles at this year's FIA prize giving ceremony. You had debated back and forth with what seemed like forever, both Carly and Lissie trying to talk you out of it, but you pleaded until they reluctantly agreed. 

You haven’t seen him ever since that day.

It’s insane to think about, sometimes. You knew each other for two years, dated for three, and haven’t crossed paths for another two. And now, you’re here. He’d been upfront that day, didn’t even flinch with his one and only birthday wish, meanwhile you felt the last stab hurt more than anything.

I wish to never see you again. 

Not long after, he grabbed his things and left. But not before turning around, sending you one last glance, dull, empty, and nothing like him anymore. You still recall.

Turn it in, he said, smiling warmly despite his better judgment. Despite not meaning it. Don’t let this all be for nothing.

Shaking your hands, you grin, fixing your silk dress. The Brit girl stares worriedly, but as soon as you wink, she hides it. Not that well, but enough. “He’s going to be so mad at me,” she jokes, but it’s probably true. He has a soft spot for her, and he only gave permission to her. No one else. 

You wince, grabbing her hands delicately. “I really appreciate this, Lissie. More than you’ll ever know.”

Waving goodbye, you make your way to the private conference hall. It’s daunting, actually, the sight of the large table where he’ll be sitting and the small chair where you will. Quite the narrative. His picture is hung in almost every corner, from the beginning of his career to now. The latest one makes you smile as he lifts the trophy high up with a beaming grin, dimples poking out and eyes crinkled just the way you remember. 

You thought about apologizing again. Better this time. Once things simmered down. You really wanted to, but as soon as Carly informed you that the article would need to be published in order for fans to engage with your content and for them to decide on a winner, you knew the gist of him accepting your apology was most likely never going to happen. 

And you contemplated not posting it. Carly did too. Lissie did too. No one thought it was a good idea, but you still did it. Like he said—you couldn’t let all that be for nothing.

The hate came immediately, you expected nothing less. In their minds, you were a loyal girlfriend, but after reading your work, the comments came rolling in. You were honestly quite grateful because you know you deserved every last bit of it. 

But somehow—somehow—you won Journalist of the Year. 

You were shocked to say the least—bewildered. And you could see it in Lissie and Carly’s eyes too. So, while accepting the award with a forced smile, it hit you like a truck.

Did you truly earn this or was it all thanks to him?

Either way, does it matter anymore?

The door gently opens as he steps in, a loopy smile stretched onto his lips before coming to a complete stop. With your heart in your throat, you cough awkwardly, standing up and waving. You cringe, putting your hand down as soon as he furrows his brows, looking around. 

“S-she’s not here,” you say, voice cracking. You blush. “You’re looking for Lissie, right?” Utter silence. He blinks, unresponsive and as stiff as a tree. You lick your lips. “I-I-I can leave if you want.” But you really hope he doesn’t want you to.

The Monegasque’s features strike with something familiar—something you knew not long ago. Then…

He smiles at you. 

“It’s alright.” Carefully, he makes his way closer, scooting his chair right next to yours as you blink, sitting back down and staring with your plump lips slightly open. He cocks his head. “Y-you look the same.”

You giggle. “Is that supposed to be a good thing?” When he fails to answer, you bite down on your lip hesitantly. “You haven’t changed much, either.” 

He clears his throat, averting his gaze. “I don’t mean to sound rude or anything, but why are you here and where is Lissie?”

You flinch. Okay. This was expected. You practiced hours for this very moment. “Don’t be mad at her, okay, I asked her to let me do this. I wanted to…see you, Charles.” The sound of his name leaving your lips makes his heart stop because it's been so long since he’s heard it. Too long. A subtle blush. “I’m here to apologize.”

“Ah,” he winces, scrunching his nose. “Don’t. We’re cool.”

“Are we, though?”

He stiffens. 

Exhaling, you place your things down, pursing your lips. He watches the way your knee bounces up and down. How you play with your ring before covering it neatly with the opposite hand. That catches him completely off guard as he blinks rapidly, thinking he must be mistaken. 

“I know I don’t deserve any of this,” you say nervously. “By all means, I should have been kicked out five minutes ago, but you…” Round eyes soften, lashes batting slowly. “You’ve always been a kind and generous human being, Charles.”

“Stop,” he whispers. You frown. “Saying my name, I mean. You can talk—we can talk, but please, just. Don’t say it.”

“O-okay,” you mumble, stomach churning. “I won’t.”

He lets out a tight smile, tilting his head. Years ago, his hair was a tad bit longer, fluffier even. Now, it’s still the same, but somehow more mature. His eyes are still young and naive, but with a hint of wisdom. He usually would wear mismatching suits, but now it matches. A lot of him has changed, and you weren’t there to witness it.

“Congrats, by the way,” you add happily. “World Champion, eh?”

Pink spreads across his cheeks, slowly but surely. “Thanks. I was close to losing my mind.”

You laugh. “Seven years later, but it’s well deserved. I’m so proud of you.”

And for a moment, he goes completely numb. He’s heard plenty of kudos ever since winning his first title—and they were nice, they made him feel nice—but this. You? It’s the first time it makes him feel accomplished. And that feels more than nice.

Playing with his bracelet, he nods sheepishly. “How have you—how, um…God. I, um, how have you been?”

“Oh.” You let out a genuine smile. Soft. Angelic. And everything he wishes to find in any other girl that isn’t you. It’s not something he should notice. “I’ve been well.” You raise your hand. “Engaged.”

“You sure are,” he mumbles, finally acknowledging the silver band before flashing an easy smile of his own. And maybe it was real, or maybe it wasn’t, but he wasn’t as upset as he thought he’d be. Just a tiny bit bothered, is all. “Who’s the lucky guy?”

You lick your lips awkwardly. “You remember Carly’s son?”

A tide hits him as he internally screams. “Grayson, right?”

You nod. “She, uh, set us up a while ago and we hit it off.” You wince. “I’m sorry, is that weird?”

“No. Of course not,” he replies, shrugging. “You’re allowed to build your life with whomever you want. What happened between us was…” He chuckles. “So long ago. I’m happy for you both, I really am.”

And he means it this time.

Admiring the oval-shaped ring, you swoon as if you’re thinking of the exact moment he proposed to you, and that’s the prettiest sight Charles thinks he might ever see. Even if it didn’t end up being him. Once you look back up, he looks away, feigning interest in anything else stupidly.

“Yourself?”

“Myself?”

A playful eye roll. “Are you seeing anyone?”

A retch. “Ha ha, no! No, that’s not—that’s not for me.” You frown. He winces. “Please don’t be offended, but after you, I sort of lost interest in meeting other people. Pierre calls it trauma, I call it precaution.” A sore laugh. “B-but maybe one day. Never say never, am I right?”

The lights reflect directly towards you, so that lets him see the rosy blotches beginning to hug your cheekbones as your lips wobble. He panics. “N-no! Fuck. I didn’t mean to—”

“I ruined your life,” you wail, throwing your hands over your face. “Oh my God, I wrecked it!”

“You didn’t!” he tries. “I’ve gone on a couple of dates, here and there!”

You’re tiny cries take a quick pause. Sniffling, you shoot him a look, shiny eyes beaming back at him. “You have?”

“Yeah,” he whispers, slowly relaxing against his seat. “Sort of. Kind of.” A horrified expression maps out against your face. He grimaces. “I-It’s just not my thing!”

“I’m sorry, Ch—” You pause, rethinking your words. “I’m sorry.”

The Monegasque shrugs, hoping that’d be enough for you to drop the topic. “It’s okay, really. It’s a decision I made long ago, and I’d like to keep it like that for a while, at least.” You bite down on your bottom lip, nodding halfheartedly. “But please, um, tell me, how far along are you? Heard from Lissie that it’s a boy.”

You let out a wet giggle, wiping your tears away to the best of your ability. “Nineteen weeks. I’m in my second trimester.” Gingerly, you rub your tiny belly before your eyes light up. “Give me your hand!”

“What?”

Leaning in, you grab his large hand and place it down on your stomach, looking up at him to watch his reaction. At first, he’s weirded out, you can tell. He makes a silly face he probably doesn’t realize he’s making, but seconds later his features soften. His green eyes go round, no tension behind them. His brows lay flat, then knit together in amazement. He laughs, rubbing his thumb gently.

“Does it hurt?” he whispers. “When he kicks?”

You hum. “Sometimes it can. But I suppose it’s more discomfort than anything.” You wiggle your eyebrows. “Cool?”

He nods rapidly. “Super cool.”

Pulling away, he can feel his adrenaline as high as a kite, and as fast as his car. He feels different, he notes, as if something has finally shifted inside of him. With this, he takes time to admire you in a way he hasn’t been able to ever since.

Your hair is cut into layers now, glossy and shorter than he remembers. Your lips, round, plump and berry tinted. Your eyes, doe, innocent, and pure in a way he can’t seem to wrap his head around. Smile, even, wobbly, and everything in between.

Your gaze flickers. “Question…”

“Answer,” he replies, studying your body language. 

It’s harder than you had initially thought it would be, asking him what you’d been wondering for these past two years. Was it all that bad? The answer might be yes. Yes, it was. To him, perhaps. But it tugs your tongue, and it burns a bit, but you push through, focusing on him and his watercolor eyes.

“Do you—”

But he still knows you. He can still read you. Before you, it’s always him who understands your train of thought. 

He shakes his head, dimples imprinting like a finger in sand. “No regrets.” 

A peach seed forms as you let out a sheepish laugh. “I’ve made a lot of mistakes in life,” you admit, cringing slightly. “Just yesterday, I bought the wrong plane ticket. Got stuck in the airport for three extra hours.” He chuckles. “Totally unnecessary.”

“It happens,” he comforts you, clicking his tongue. 

“I guess so,” you say, sighing. “But betraying someone you love? Yeah. That’s got to be the worst mistake of my life.”

He flinches, an old wound suddenly opening. “Hey, you—”

You raise your hand, pleading with him. “Let me just…” So, he forces himself to sit there quietly, to not intrude no matter how much he really wants to. It’s fine, he wants to say, I’m fine now, we’re fine now, seriously.

A wince. “Do you know how guilty I feel whenever Grayson polishes my award?” A scoff. “He means no harm with his actions, but it makes me feel like shit everytime I walk past it. I’ve begged him to put it away somewhere in the attic, but he’s as proud as can be. Say’s an accomplishment like that deserves to be shown off. That it’s proof of all my hard work.” You smile. “Much like you and your trophy.”

You exhale. “You were right, though.” A hum. “I don’t deserve it.”

“I never said that.”

“Sure,” you give in quietly. “But you did say that if I won, I’d always wonder if I was truly respected for my work or if I was respected because of you.”

He bites his tongue. 

You shrug lamely. “And that’s just something I’m going to have to live with for the rest of my life…” Steadily, you ease your eyes back towards him as you find him already staring at you, listening close and curious. “And I want you to know that I’m fine with that.” A beat. “What I’m not fine with is you being mad at me for the rest of your life.”

Charles opens his mouth, feeling his tongue as dry as the desert and his throat as dusty as the highest mountain. “I’m not mad at you…anymore.” He sits up straighter. “I said a lot of things to you that night that I shouldn’t have said, but you have to understand that you hurt me a thousand times worse.” 

Tears well up your eyes as you nod shamefully. He continues despite feeling the need to reach out for you. “I just wanted you to feel what I was feeling, even if that meant—well. You know. And, um…I tried to forget all of that, but I, too, felt guilty, so—I’m glad you’re here. That way I can say…I’m sorry.”

“No!” you wail, raising your arms up. “No, I’m sorry! I broke your trust, and I was a God awful girlfriend.”

“You did,” he chuckles before scrunching his nose in deep thought. “But you were also the best I’ll ever have.”

A wet sob escapes.

“I forgive you.”

“S-shit,” you let out. “You don’t know how g-good it feels to finally hear you say that.”

A gentle smile. “You?”

You giggle, standing up. “I have nothing to forgive you for, but yeah. Okay. I forgive you, as well.” You open your arms for a hug. He blinks. “It’ll make me feel better.”

Tsk. “You used to do this all the time wherever we fought,” he says, a hint of sadness wavering in his eyes before disappearing into thin air. Extending to his full height, he towers over you before going in to close the distance. He halts, coughing awkwardly.

You snicker, eyes crinkling with amusement. “Right. You're hugging two of us now.”

A wave of jealousy pangs his chest for a second. You’ve moved on, and he’s stuck in the year you were still in his life. Still his. He envies Grayson in every sense there exists, but he swallows down that pill because he’d always been a nice bloke the very few times he interacted with him. He needs to move on, too. 

Even if it takes him his whole life to figure out how. 

“The more the merrier.”

Your face has gone completely numb by now from how hard you're grinning from ear to ear. Wrapping your arms around his waist as he goes over your shoulders, you sigh contently as you catch the whiff of his cologne. His heartbeat quickened at the smell of your perfume. 

“Question,” he whispered. You chuckle against his chest. Answer. He gulps, nose twitching. “Would it make me a bad person to say that you’re probably the only girl I’ll ever love?” Silence. He screws his eyes shut, gritting his teeth. Why the fuck would he ever say that—

“I’d only say that I don’t deserve to be her,” you respond. “Anyone but me.”

A flinch. “O-of course. You’re getting married, you’re having a baby, what was I th—”

“Honey…”

He freezes. 

You lean back, holding his face between your hands and smiling. “It’s not your name…”

His voice catches. “It’s not…”

A deeper smile. Nostalgic. “A piece of me will always love you.” A pause. “You know me so well. Better than anyone. You’ve seen me naked. You’ve dressed me. You’ve seen me with makeup. You’ve seen me without. And…well—you’ve seen my good side. But you’re also the only one who's seen my bad.”

His palms quickly get sweaty as he tries his best to not do anything he might regret. And not because he’ll wish to take it back, but because you would. Neat brows draw in together as you graze his stubble with your thumb. As nurturing as a mother, which he supposes you already are. 

“I’d say that makes us pretty close, no?”

“Not as close as I’d like to be.” 

“You’ll find someone.” A beat. “Someone who’ll love you right.”

“You didn’t?” he questions before he can stop himself. “Sorry—”

“My love for you was honest. But I blew it.”

I’m still here, he wants to yell out. If you still want me like I want you, then I’m still here.

But he refrains from doing so.

“You’ve never done me wrong,” he attempts, kissing your palm gingerly before softening his gaze. You send a playful glare. “Except for that one time.” You snort. “But I don’t want to talk about it anymore because—because it doesn’t matter anymore…”

Maybe it's the hormones, you sort of wish it was, but you know it’s due to his gentleness. You don’t deserve his sympathy, you don’t deserve even a fraction of it. Crying, you kiss his cheek, hoping everything you feel transfers itself into the warmth of his skin. And you don’t know, but it does just that.

Closing his eyes, he prays to dream about this kiss forever. Have nightmares, who even cares. As long as he doesn’t forget. 

You step away carefully, taking him in as his eyes flutter. 

“Charles Leclerc, first time World Champion…”

He smiles. You smile. 

His dimples pop out. Your eyes crinkle.

He loves you. You love him.

And maybe it didn’t work out in this life.

But maybe in the next.

“May I have an interview with you?”

taglist: @blueflorals @starmanv @coolio2195 @lovrsm @weekendlusting@chanshintien @brune77e @myownwritings @timmychalametsstuff @milasexutoire@alesainz @c-losur3 @darleneslane @togazzo @urfavnoirette @namgification @lpab @d3kstar @anniee-mr @nebarious @notkaryna @emmaxdelicate

[godslino]

PIECE BY PIECE | minho first date series. friends to lovers.

pairing: minho x fem!reader word count: 6.2k genre: college au, mutual pining, fluff, angst warnings: drinking, referenced injury (very minor) summary: minho, on a drunken whim, asks you out on a date.

chan | minho | changbin | hyunjin | jisung | felix | seungmin | jeongin · · · ♡ series masterlist · · · ♡ taglist · · · ♡

a/n: finally!! the minho part!! i’ve been sooo excited about this one since i first got the idea. i hope you guys enjoy! once again any and all feedback is appreciated, happy reading <3

“Dude, I think it’s clean.”

Minho looks up from where he’s scrubbing the counter, eyes narrowed. So what if it’s his third time going over every surface in the kitchen?

“Are you going to help me or are you just gonna sit there and make more crumbs?”

Jeongin’s eyebrows shoot into his hairline. He holds up his hands in surrender, the bag of chips in his lap crinkling. “I’m just saying. You’re acting like she’s never seen the place before.”

That’s the problem. You’ve seen his place. Minho has to stop the shudder that threatens to overtake his body at the thought.

“So you’re not helping? Great. Get out.”

“I live here!” Jeongin whines. “Why do I have to get out? You can’t banish me like this.”

“I can and I will. Now leave. I have two hours to make sure everything is ready and I am not going to vacuum for a fourth time.”

“Yes mom,” Jeongin rolls his eyes as he unfolds his legs from underneath him.

He stops just short of the kitchen counter, points an accusatory finger at Minho’s disheveled figure still hunched over an imaginary stain.

“For the record, Chan hyung would never do this to me. He loves my crumbs.”

Minho throws the scrub daddy at him.

🏠

The night it happens, all it takes is approximately three shots and a pep talk from Hyunjin for Minho to finally find the nerve to ask you out.

“You’ve got this,” the younger boy says, words slurred, his hands steady on both Minho’s shoulders. The bass thumps loud in the other room, drowned out by the walls of the kitchen until it’s nothing but garbled nonsense going in one of his ears and out the other, vibrations low in his chest.

“I’ve got this.” Minho repeats, the thrum of alcohol already spreading to his fingertips. He feels warm, light on his feet. His limbs are starting to loosen up and his insides are turning to jelly. He might even be floating.

“You look hot.”

“I look hot.”

“She’s gonna say yes.”

“She’s gonna say yes.”

“You’re gonna venmo me twenty dollars.”

“I’m gonna venmo you twenty dollars.” Minho parrots before he can even process what he’s saying. Changbin, who’d been watching the entire thing unfold from where he stands with his back pressed against the sink, snorts.

“Wait, what the f—”

“Go get her!” Hyunjin screams, pushing him through the door of the kitchen with one last pat on the back, “And send me my money!”

Minho stumbles over himself, just barely able to stop in time before he goes crashing into a group of people. The living room is crowded: there’s furniture pushed up against the walls, bodies pressed front to back in the middle of the floor, a makeshift DJ stand in the corner where Chan is controlling the music from his laptop, drink in hand. Minho catches his eye from across the room, the glow of the LEDs reflecting off the toothy grin he shoots his way, dimples on full display.

“Hey!” Minho feels someone grab his arm, and he turns to find you staring up at him. “Where’d you go? You said you were gonna get a drink.”

Minho follows your eyes down to where you’re staring at his empty hands. “I—uh, well. I ran into Hyunjin and we took a few shots.”

The pout you give him does nothing but spur on the fluttering of his chest, his brain still hyper aware of the way your hand was resting on his elbow. “Shots? I want shots!” you whine, and Minho has to avert his gaze from staring at your lips when your pout only worsens.

“How much have you had?” he tries to ask over the music. There’s a shitty pop song playing, high pitched and wonky. If he remembers in the morning, he’ll make sure he berates Chan about his DJ-ing abilities.

“What?” you scream back, tiptoeing to bring your mouth closer to his ear.

Minho is only a man. A man who's been in love with you since the moment you accidentally spilled your coffee all over Hyunjin in the quad during freshman year. He remembers that day well, remembers the way your eyes went wide and your lips parted. He also remembers the way he wished it was him with the large wet stain on his shirt, that way it was him that was offered to have his lunch bought as an apology.

He’d never admit it, but sometimes really late at night, when the moon is high in the sky and he’s feeling oddly sentimental, he counts his lucky stars that Hyunjin had been in a relationship at the time. Minho doesn’t know what he would’ve done had he been forced to watch the two of you hit it off—some form of arson, presumably. Anything to take the edge off. But because of the fact that Hyunjin was not trying to have his head cut off by said girlfriend at the time, he invited Minho along as some sort of collateral damage. That’s when the two of you became friends. Kind of perfect if you ask him.

With the jumbled mess of butterflies in his stomach that he gets whenever you’re near him, and the threat of the alcohol slowly seeping through his skin, his brain short circuits the minute your breath grazes the shell of his ear. When your hand follows not long after, fingers gripping the nape of his neck to hold him in place, he almost passes out.

“Min? What’d you say?”

Minho is rendered completely useless by you. Absolutely ruined. Your existence has thrown his entire plan to woo you off course and now his mouth is opening and closing like a badly programmed robot. Pathetic. Nuts and bolts for brains.

By the grace of God (or some other higher being that Minho’s never bothered to believe in until this very moment) he finds his voice, but not before you’re pulling back with a confused look on your face.

“I asked how much you’ve had to drink,” he says, straining against the music.

A saccharine sweet grin that has him seeing stars spreads across your face, “Not enough!”

Minho is not an enabler. Never has been, never will be. There was one time, back in that fateful freshman year that also introduced the two of you, that he let Hyunjin get blackout drunk. A terrible decision on his end, if the earful he got from Chan the next morning was anything to go by. And as if that wasn’t enough, he was finding remnants of the resulting hacking session for the following week. So yeah, never again.

But while Minho isn’t an enabler, he is smitten, and the way your hand feels wrapped around his wrist as you drag him into the kitchen has his soul threatening to leave his body. He thinks that maybe he could do anything as long as you asked. He also hopes you can’t feel the way his pulse is rabbiting beneath his skin, right under the press of your thumb.

“There’s, like, nothing here.” you say as you rummage through the cupboard near the window, nose scrunched and a frown on your face.

Minho laughs, rounds the kitchen island to crouch down and open the cabinet under the sink. “That’s because you don’t know where to look,” he smirks, pulling out a fresh bottle of tequila. “Also, Chan hyung is greedy. He knows people like you will go scavenging his supply if he isn’t careful.”

“I resent that.” you frown, taking the bottle from him. “Besides, people like me deserve to have fun too.”

“Mhm, sure.” Minho says, grabbing a solo cup. He holds his hand out for the bottle, pours just the right amount before sliding it over and following it up with a can of coke.

“A man after my heart.” you joke, holding your cup up to him in a mock toast before downing it in one go. Minho watches with so much focus, fighting against the way his head spins. He doesn’t even know if it’s the alcohol anymore, it might just be the effect you have on him. Dizzying—you flip his entire world on its axis in the best way possible.

Minho’s gonna be seeing your exposed neck in his dreams later, he’s sure of it—it’s branded into his memory.

“That…is so fucking bad.” you giggle, holding your cup out. “Another one.”

Minho clicks his tongue. “I don’t know…”

“Pleaseeee Min,” the lilt in your voice sounds oddly familiar. Minho holds his breath just in case you—yup. There it is. There goes that pout again.

It’d be so easy for him to lean down and kiss it right off your lips. He could blame it on the alcohol, maybe, but then that takes away from how he actually means it.

He sighs instead. “It’s gonna cost you.”

“An arm and a leg?”

“What? No—I meant some water.”

“Oh. Okay.”

Three shots and a full bottle of water later, Minho knows you’ve hit your limit. Cheeks flushed pink, a dopey grin on your face, pupils blown wide. Even in this state, Minho is certain that you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

“Anotherrrr,” you slur, waving your cup in his face.

Minho shakes his head. “No can do. You’re cut off.”

“Please,” you whine, placing both hands on his shoulders, “I’ll do anything.”

Minho, completely taken back by the sudden closeness of your body to his, freezes.

“Anything?” he asks before he can stop himself.

This is stupid. You’re drunk. There’s no way you’re going to remember anything in the morning, much less within the next thirty minutes. He’s pretty sure that you’ll lose control of all your senses soon, which is why he’s already texted your roommate Jiwoo to unlock the door so he can carry you inside. Nothing he hasn’t done before.

“Anything,” you repeat, eyes going cross-eyed where they’re fixing on the mole he has at the tip of his nose.

This is stupid. But then again, so is Minho. A big, stupid fool that blames everything on the fact that he’s so in love with you it hurts. This might be the only chance he gets to shoot his shot.

Minho takes a deep breath, says something similar to a little prayer that’s more like Hey, if anyone’s listening, help a guy out, and hopes that the twenty bucks he sent Hyunjin works.

“Go on a date with me.” he says slowly, wincing when your eyes snap up to meet his gaze.

Well, there’s really no going back from that. The only thing that could possibly grant him redemption now is banking on the fact that you don’t remember anything in the morning.

Minho waits with bated breaths, watches as your eyes search his for a long while. He waits for the anger, the disgust, the visible repulsion that he starts to think might happen the longer the silence continues.

He’s about to backtrack, quickly conjuring up an excuse about how Oh, haha, gotcha! when your hands suddenly drop from his shoulders. You grab the cup, your chin tipped upwards, and hold it out for him to fill.

“Okay.”

“O…kay?”

“Yeah. Okay. Pour me another one.”

The next morning, when Minho all but drags himself into the kitchen in search of water and something to soothe the throbbing in his head, he nearly spits a mouthful at Jeongin, the poor guy too busy eating his cereal to realize he’s gotten a front row seat in the splash zone.

Y/N [10:34am]

so

when do you want to do that date?

🏠

Are candles too much?

Minho has options: clean linen, lavender breeze, ocean mist, warm vanilla. He really just needs something to get rid of the smell of cleaning spray.

He thought that having a night in for a first date would be ideal—less pressure, no unwanted attention, a bathroom that he can run into when he starts to hyperventilate if you smile at him for too long. But now that it’s happening, he’s convinced that every surface of his and Jeongin’s shared apartment will scare you away if anything so much as looks off-putting.

Minho is, to put it simply, freaking out. All the other times you’ve been over to his place were on a completely platonic level. Movie nights with all the other guys in tow, dropping off food that you felt generous enough to buy every once in a while, one time because you’d accidentally worn Minho’s jacket home from a party and needed to return it to him.

But this is different. This is a date. Minho’s not dreaming—he already pinched himself a dozen times in the bathroom mirror, tiny red marks on the inside of his forearm to prove it. He’s going to open the door, invite you in, cook for you, and then proceed to resist the urge to tell you how beautiful you are for however long the night continues on after that. He can practically hear Jeongin’s laugh in the back of his head, sneering at how pathetic his inner monologue sounds right now.

He needs to find another stain to scrub.

By the time you’re knocking on his door, Minho has changed his outfit seven times. Sweats were too casual, a button up was too fancy. Should he not have done his hair? No, that’s just lazy, the way his fringe is swept up and out of his forehead adds a nice touch that doesn’t scream Hey! I’m trying to woo you! You’ve never been the type to be impressed by grand gestures and shows of confidence anyways, he knows that well.

One time, when a guy from one of the frat houses hired the campus quartet to sing a song for you in the quad as he stood there with big beady eyes and a bouquet of roses in his hand, you’d all but ran from the scene, Minho following close behind as you called out to him over your shoulder. It’s one of his fondest memories. As soon as the two of you made it around the back of the science building, you’d doubled over in laughter, the both of you in disbelief at what had happened. Minho has had that information tucked into the deepest parts of his brain ever since, saved just in case he needed it.

(Later that night, in the safety of his own bed, he’d laughed maniacally at the situation. Something about watching you reject another guy filled him with a sense of joy he couldn’t explain. He just hoped he was never going to be on the receiving end of it.)

He does a quick once over of the kitchen: double checks that all the ingredients are out, blows a speck of dust off the glass stovetop, spins the tiny floral arrangement he bought so that it’s sitting at just the right angle. When the doorbell rings, the chime bouncing off the walls of the apartment, he visibly pales.

He has to reel it in, to remember that it’s just you. You might not even be here with any intentions other than to fulfill your end of the deal; one date in exchange for the extra three shots he poured you the other night. Minho takes a deep breath, grips the doorknob with conviction, and decides that he’s determined to show you the way you deserve to be treated. The opportunity is there, and he’s gonna take it.

As soon as the door swings open, every nerve that had somehow crept its way into his brain disappears, the sight of you standing on the other side immediately sending the anxiety scrambling and replacing it with fondness instead.

“Hi,” you smile, and Minho sees images of you coming home to his apartment flash across his mind. After class, after work, in the winter when it’s cold and your nose is tinted pink, on rainy days where the ends of your hair are damp and you have a wet umbrella in tow. He could get used to it. He’s so in love that it hurts.

“Hey,” he breathes out, stepping aside to make way for you, “Come in. Are you hungry?”

“Starving, actually. Been saving myself all day since I don’t always get to have your cooking.” You hop on to one of the stools, your attention momentarily stolen by the flower arrangement. One point for Minho.

I’d cook for you every day, he wants to say. But that’s weird, right? So instead, “Well then I guess today is your lucky day.”

“Yeah, I guess it is.” You say softly.

Minho can’t see you with the way his back is turned, hands moving to grab out the knife and cutting board, but if he could he’d see the way your eyes are staring softly at his back, the ghost of a smile on your lips.

Conversation flows easily after that, despite Minho’s original worries about it being awkward. You’re not necessarily treating it as a date, and he isn’t really either. It feels more like a glorified hangout, just the two of you spending time together with the added glances and smiles that normally wouldn’t be there.

Minho finds it easy to get lost in you. He finds himself craving to know more about your day, about the things that’ve been on your mind lately and the hobbies you’ve picked up. Most of the conversation is a continuation of stuff that’s fallen through the cracks during the times you see each other, but he doesn’t miss the way you ask about him too, your eyes shining with genuine interest. It makes his heart slam against his ribcage.

“How are your cats doing?”

Minho looks up from the cutting board, follows your gaze to where it’s fixed on the scattered pictures that litter his fridge. “They’re good,” he says, smiling down at a head of garlic, “My mom sends pictures all the time. She says they claw at the door to my room when they miss me.” He smashes the garlic under the knife’s blade by hitting it with the heel of his palm. “It’s cute.”

“You’re cute.”

Minho, in a very flashy demonstration of what it means to be cool, calm, and collected, slices his thumb mid-chop.

“Shit.” he mutters, dropping the knife.

It’s not that bad, just a little nick, the surprise was mostly what scared him. He probably doesn’t even need a bandaid. But despite how small it is, nothing stops you from hurriedly walking up to him and taking his hand in yours, his thumb held closely to your face for inspection.

“Are you okay?” You turn his hand over between your fingers, the soft pads of them against his calloused ones. Minho is dumbfounded, struggling to find the words to say.

“Yeah—um, it’s fine. My fault. I was distracted.” He stammers out, pulling his hand back and holding it up. He wiggles his fingers, making a show of bending and twisting his thumb that, at most, has just a small cut on the side. “See? Perfect.”

Your face relaxes, and then you’re laughing. Why are you laughing? Either Minho looks like a complete idiot or he’s suddenly the funniest person in the world for being clumsy and reckless and almost ruining the night by losing a finger. Whichever one it is, he doesn’t care, as long as he gets to hear that sound again.

“Let me help cook, please? I know you said you would do it all but clearly you’re a threat to the integrity of this meal.” You say, bumping your hip against his to move him away from the cutting board.

Minho scoffs. “I wouldn’t have done that if you didn’t catch me off guard.”

“So what? You admit that I make you flustered?”

Oh.

Minho wasn’t prepared for this. He wasn’t prepared for the—the flirting that’s clearly happening. You’re flirting with him, right? Why else would you have called him cute or given him that suspicious side eye after you asked that question?

You and Minho have joked around like this before, but it was always empty with no real feelings attached—as far as he could tell. You’re a naturally friendly person, getting along with others comes easy to you. He’s seen the way you talk to the other guys and has always just assumed he was no different in your eyes than they were. Sure, there were moments where maybe your hand lingered on his arm for a little while after he made you laugh, or the two of you would steal glances across the room. Sometimes when Hyunjin said something stupid you’d both catch the other’s eye and make a face, just another funny way of proving that you were both on the same wavelength most of the time. It’s kind of why Minho is so taken with you—he’s never met anyone that gets him the same way.

Reluctantly, Minho puts his pride aside and allows you to help. And as it turns out, you’re actually really good at cooking. Minho doesn’t have to instruct you much, and before he knows it you’re both working like a well-oiled machine, scooting past one another as you switch places between the stove and the sink, reading each other’s minds without even having to ask.

“Taste this.” You say, holding the spoon up to his mouth. Minho leans forward, front teeth poking out, and brings the spoon into his mouth. You cup your hand under his chin to catch any droppings, watching in anticipation as he smacks his lips together.

His eyes light up, big and brown and twinkling under the light of the kitchen. “Perfect.” He smiles.

“Oh you have—uh,” you stop him with a hand on his forearm just as he’s about to turn back to the sink, your other hand hovering next to his face hesitantly, “It’s just, um, your—here.”

Minho’s eyes go wide when your thumb swipes against the corner of his mouth, your touch feather light. It’s so intimate, the only sound being the music playing low from the speaker on the counter. He’s half convinced that you’re able to hear his heartbeat, blood pumping loud in his ears.

“You had some sauce…on your face.” You say shyly, your palm still pressed to his cheek.

“…Oh.”

Minho’s never really looked into your eyes from this close up before. He’s always known they were beautiful, the shape of them soft, full of nothing but the world. He can see himself in them from here, and, selfishly, he hopes you can see yourself in his, too.

He might be imagining it when your gaze flicks down to his lips for just a fraction of a second, but there’s no time to unpack any of that when the sauce starts bubbling over the edge of the pot, spilling on to the burner as loud sizzling and smoke fills the kitchen.

It’s chaos. The bottom of the pot is burnt and there’s only so much of it that’s salvageable. He only bought the exact amount of ingredients too, because this is a self-proclaimed no-food-waste household (as explicitly stated in the napkin contract he has with Jeongin, much to his dismay). So, hooray for conscious consumption of goods!

At the end of it all, there’s no one to blame. You’re both guilty of…whatever that was.

Minho tries to reassure you that it’s okay as he dials the number for the pizza place just down the street, simultaneously shutting down all your attempts to pay as an apology. It doesn’t matter to him, he’d do anything as long as it means he gets to spend time with you. At the end of the day, it’s another memory that he’ll hold close to his heart.

“Listen,” you say, swallowing down a mouthful of pizza, the both of you seated on his couch with a half-eaten box of pizza open on the coffee table, “I know you wanted to cook and all—which, by the way, I’m still sorry—but this is so good. However I’m sure whatever you made would’ve been better.”

Minho chuckles. “Stop lying,” he wipes his hands on a napkin, “I can guarantee you that whatever I cooked wouldn’t be as good as this anyways.”

“Stop selling yourself short, Min. You’re good at everything you do.”

The words fall from your lips so easily, like it’s something you’ve convinced yourself of long ago. Minho’s never been the type to bounce around from one thing to another, always choosing to stick with it until he has it down to a science. Cooking is one of them. Jeongin can attest to all the times Minho has berated him with tasting his latest dishes, chasing him around the apartment with a spoon. The words tighten themselves around his heart.

“I’m not,” he rolls his eyes, “But nine times out of ten, grease and mozzarella cheese are gonna win. I know that for a fact.”

You laugh, and the conversation gradually diverts into a debate about the top ten best greasy foods in existence. You’re heated, half kneeling on the couch with a finger pointed at him as you plead your case for onion rings, when your eyes go past Minho’s head and settle on the shelf of games in the hallway.

“You have games?” you ask, suddenly giddy with excitement as you hurry over to inspect the selection.

Minho watches with fond eyes, collects the plates and napkins to throw away. “Yeah, most of them are Innie’s. We don’t really use them. Sometimes when we’re drunk, other times when we’re bored and decide to wager money for fun.”

You hum, not really paying attention. Monopoly, Chutes and Ladders, some decks of cards, Uno—you scan the shelf until your eyes light up at what you find hidden at the bottom.

“Min! Can we play Jenga?”

“Jenga?” Minho asks, re-entering the living room. The coffee table is clear now, and he sits between it and the couch, his back against the cushion. “Isn’t that kind of boring? We have other stuff there.”

“It’s only boring if you play it the way it’s supposed to be played.” You roll your eyes. Minho turns to you when you situate yourself on the floor beside him and only momentarily contemplates running to the bathroom when your knee knocks against his. He’s been holding it together pretty well so far, however The Sauce Incident had him ready to book it if anything had gone further.

“Well how else are we supposed to play it?” He frowns.

“We make up our own rules.”

The pieces scatter across the wood of the coffee table, clacking as you diligently begin putting them together. “This is a date, right?” You ask, stopping for a moment to turn and assess his response.

Minho stills. He genuinely forgot the grounds on which tonight had even happened in the first place. Spending time with you makes him forget everything else. And, despite his fears in the beginning, being on a date with you has felt so natural that it almost seems like you’ve done it a thousand times before.

Your eyes meet. For a moment, Minho lets himself wonder what it’d be like if he went for it right then and there. “Yeah,” he says slowly, unblinking, hoping you can see the sincerity on his face, “A date. One of the best ones I’ve ever been on, actually.”

He almost cries out in victory when your face flushes pink. “Now who’s a liar?” You ask quietly, going back to piecing together the game.

Minho has learned something new tonight: he really likes seeing you flustered.

“Why do you ask?” he decides to cut you the slack, “Or what does this being a date have to do with Jenga rules?”

He waits as you finish the stack, your tongue sticking out in concentration. You’re so cute. Minho mentally pockets that image for safe keeping.

“Sorry, okay, it’s done. But basically, if we pull out a block, we get to ask the other person a question.”

“And if the tower falls…?”

“Hmm,” you think for a moment, chewing on your bottom lip, “Oh! I know. If you lose you have to tell me why you asked me on a date.”

Minho’s stomach flips. “Okay. If you lose you have to tell me why you accepted the date.”

Something unreadable passes over your face, but it’s gone in an instant. You hold your hand out for a shake, and Minho wraps his fingers around it gently.

“Deal.”

“Why are you taking all of the middle pieces?” Minho pouts.

The two of you have gone through a couple turns by now, throwing out random questions for the better half of fifteen minutes. Favorite colors, childhood foods you wouldn’t eat, the best memory you have from high school. Minho’s learned a lot, has fallen for you a lot more. But that was always a given. It’s impossible not to when he can feel the warmth from your body where you’re seated next to him, your presence overtaking all of his senses.

“Because I’m trying to win,” you laugh, putting your freshly pulled piece at the top. Just a little crooked, too. To piss him off. “Favorite movie?”

“Ponyo. Easy. My turn.”

“Seriously? Why Ponyo?”

“One question at a time, princess.”

He means it as a joke, really. He doesn’t even realize what he’s said until after the fact, the nickname making your heart skip a beat. Minho notices, the corners of his lips tugging downwards as he suppresses a smile. He manages to flick one of the side pieces until it gives way.

“What’s one thing you regret?”

“Ooh, getting deep I see.” You laugh, taking a sip of your soda. There’s a long pause, and then, “I regret spilling my coffee on Hyunjin that day.”

Minho’s brow furrows. You…regret it? He runs through all the possible reasons in his head. Surely it can’t be because you regret becoming friends with them, friends with him, right?

“Why?” He chances.

“One question at a time, princess.” You echo, laughing at his shocked expression.

You remove the last middle piece. “On a scale of one to ten, how would you rate our first date?”

Minho’s brain is going a thousand miles a minute. “A ten. Wouldn’t trade it for the world.” He says it fast, wastes no time in moving forward to remove his own piece. He doesn’t even notice that your cheeks have gone pink again, too busy itching to ask his next question.

“Why do you regret spilling your coffee on Hyunjin?”

Minho watches you, lets his mind wander to the worst possible thing you could say in this situation, and mentally prepares to book it to the bathroom.

You take a deep breath, “I regret it because I wasn’t supposed to spill it on him. I was supposed to spill it on you.”

Wait, what?

Minho blinks. “What are you talking about?”

This is humiliating for you. A terrible thing to have to admit. Up until this moment, you’d thought that this information would follow you to your grave. You press the heel of your palms to your eyes, “This is so embarrassing,” you groan.

Minho pulls one hand away. He’s not really sure what to say, mostly because he’s confused, but, “You can tell me.”

“I had…” you start, looking up at him slowly, “A plan. With Jiwoo.” Minho nods for you to continue. “I’d seen you and Hyunjin walking through the quad a few times, and I thought that you were cute, but I didn't know how to approach you. So I did something stupid and decided that I would literally just crash into you. But I fucked it up.”

I thought that you were cute. The words echo in Minho’s ears like a bell. All this time, all those stolen glances and lingering touches, all the ways you would make hope spike in his chest that maybe you felt the same—they were real.

“So you, wait—” Minho shakes his head, “So you’re telling me that all this time…”

You roll your eyes. “Yes, Min, really. All this time.”

Minho’s never been skydiving, but he imagines that this is what it feels like. Free falling—his soul hurtling towards earth at a horrifying speed, slamming back into his body right here in his living room with a force so strong it would knock him off his feet if he wasn’t already sitting on the floor. You were interested in him first.

Wordlessly, you lean forward, pulling out a piece with practiced ease. Minho waits with bated breaths.

“Can I kiss you?”

Minho feels like he might pass out. “Am I dreaming right now?”

“You didn’t pull out a piece.”

He scrambles forward, clumsily nudging a piece on the side that ends up sending the entire tower toppling over. You smile at him, soft and sweet. “Looks like you have to pay up with an answer. You know, since you lost.”

Minho doesn’t care. “Because I like you,” he breathes out, “I asked you on a date because I like you. I like you so much, ever since I saw you that day. And, funnily enough, I’ve always wished you’d spilled that coffee on me instead, too.”

The confession feels like a weight lifted off his shoulders. He’s spent so long pining after you, laying awake at night thinking about how this would go down if he ever got the chance. He never expected for it to happen like this, much less for you to possibly feel the same.

Panic slowly starts to rise in his chest when you don’t respond. He watches as you reach an arm over, build a small tower out of a few pieces, and then knock it over. You turn to him with a small smile, “Oops, I lost too.”

Minho is so in love with you that it hurts.

“I accepted the date because I like you, Minho. I’ve just been waiting for you to ask.”

He doesn’t think twice before he’s surging forward, cupping your face with one hand and kissing you with a tenderness that has you melting into his touch.

There’s no fireworks behind his eyes, no big bang or grand display of whatever it is that happens in the movies. But there’s a warmth, it starts out small in the center of his chest and spreads throughout his entire body, lights his skin aflame and travels all the way to his fingertips. You’re like that. A gentle presence, someone who worms their way into the very essence of his being and burrows into the deepest parts of him, like it was never his to begin with. Kissing you is slow, and deep, and right. He wouldn’t want it any other way. Minho doesn’t ever want to stop.

He lets his other hand fall to your waist, pulls you closer until you’re practically straddling him with his back against the couch, your knees on either side of his hips. Minho lets out a long, drawn out groan when you tilt his head back farther, his lips parting and allowing you to lick inside of his mouth. It’s so good. So good. He can’t believe he ever lived without knowing what this felt like; lived without ever having you this close before.

After a while, Minho reluctantly pulls back, holding you by the shoulders. When he looks up, your eyes are half-lidded. You look utterly debauched, cheeks pink and lips swollen from how hard they’d been pressed against his own. “We should probably slow down.” He tries hard to convince himself, too. “Talk about it all, you know? I don’t—this isn’t a one time thing for me. I don’t want it to be. I like you. I want you to know that.” He says softly, reaching up to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear.

You lean into his hand, smiling when he flattens his palm to let your head rest there. “You’re like, so perfect that I want to kiss you until you forget your own name.”

Minho’s ears go red, his head falling forward until it rests against your collarbone. The feeling of his breath against your skin makes you laugh and run a hand through his hair, rubbing at the back of his neck fondly.

“This is gonna be so bad now that you say stuff like that.”

“Bad? No, I think it’s cute. You’re cute.”

“Shut up,” he whines, but there’s no bite to it. Not when he can look up and press a kiss to your lips. A dream come true. The entire world in his hands, exactly where it was always meant to be.

🏠

In the morning, when Jeongin comes back home, one hand covering his eyes just in case, he calls out,

“Everyone better be dressed! Or else I’m ripping up that napkin and making a new one with No fornicating on the furniture added into the fine print.”

When he doesn’t get a response, he rounds the corner, and finds the two of you nestled into the couch. Minho’s back is pressed into the cushions, his arms wrapped tightly around you as you nuzzle your face into his neck.

Jeongin huffs out a laugh, sends a quick text to Hyunjin that reads: Negative. Clothes are still on. But they’re so cute it’s almost sickening.

He snaps a picture to send to the group chat, grabs a piece of cold pizza, and retreats to his room.

Yang Jeongin Fanclub

jeongin: [Attachment: 1 image]

chan: AWWWWWWW

jiwoo: i’m gonna cry

changbin: dude is that the good pizza from down the street?

hyunjin: FINALLY

hyunjin: wait

hyunjin: does this mean i have to send back his $20?

[tags: @palindrome969 @summergirlsmj @n1staytiny @strwbrrychannie ]

© all rights reserved. godslino 2024. please do not steal, translate, or re-upload.

[cinnamongrl2006]

I love ur stuff, I am also madly in love with Bale Bruce rn lmao. if you feel like it, I’d love to read needy/soft Bruce after a long patrol maybe. patching him up, taking him to bed, gentle kisses, gentle love. thank u for your Bale Bruce service :)

a/n: This is from sooo long ago, like maybe two weeks ago!! Anyway, I love it and I love the anon who sent it. Also, thank you guys so much for 300+ followers, it's baffling to me that people like what I write!! As always, Christian Bale's Bruce Wayne makes me feral, I would commit (minor) crimes for him. This one kinda goes out to @dntaed, I'm tryna get her into Bruce Wayne 😈. AND!!! Shoutout to @minorlyatfault because she used the first pic in one of her fics and I went STRAIGHT to pinterest.

Warnings/contents: Established relationship, implied age gap (as usual, tbh. Reader is in her 20s, Bruce in his late thirties), female reader, fluff.

Bruce's shoulders slumped forward with the weight of the previous night, his head thrust under the shower spray with urgency. His eyes closed, and for a while he stayed still, letting the water wash away the sins from the night. Neck craned forward, muscles uncomfortably tight. His back straightened and his breathing evened out when you walked into the bathroom. He didn't see you, didn't have to to know you were there. He felt it in his bones and deep in his chest, something warm, soft.

He didn't say anything when he met your gaze in the bathroom mirror, he didn't say anything when you took off your— his— shirt and joined him in the shower. He stayed quiet as you assessed him, eyes roaming all around his body; he stayed quiet as your hands traced a cut across his chest, a bruise on his side. His gaze, cold, calculated, focused on you.

He finally spoke when your arms wrapped around his waist, your head rested on his chest, listening to the steady beating of his heart, the hum in his chest when he breathed.

"You didn't have to wait up."

"I know. It's not too easy to sleep knowing you're out there getting hurt." You spoke softly, an undercurrent of anger present in your words that made Bruce wrap his arms around you and press you tighter against him before wincing in pain.

"I'm fine."

"You keep telling that to yourself. What if we take care of those cuts after the shower?" Your hands tangled in the hair at the nape of his neck.

Bruce could swear this was a reward from the universe— for what, he did not know.

He let you maneuver him, let you wash his hair with the shampoo you'd picked, the one that smelled like vanilla and almonds, like you. Let you walk him out of the shower and help him dry off.

He laughed when you mentioned his hair was going gray, said "It's the stress you put me under." With a smile on his lips, a genuine smile, showing off the dimples in his cheeks and the wrinkles around his eyes.

He was sat on the toilet seat, you crouched between his thighs as you cleaned and stitched injuries all over his body. His eyes stayed glued on your movements, gaze softer than before but still analytical, careful.

“I could have done this myself, you should be sleeping,” he sighed, ran a hand through his dark hair.

“But I’m not. You should let me take care of you more often,” Your voice was soft and warm as you ran a cotton ball through his injuries, a stark contrast to the sting of your touch.

“You’ll do that when you put me in a nursing home.” His lips stretched out in a smirk.

“At this rate, you’ll be in the nursing home by fifty.” You leaned back, admiring your work, kissed his cheek and put away the first aid kit once you assesed he was done.

Bruce sauntered off to the bedroom, you trailed behind him, a hand on his back for support.

Once you both were in bed, the duvet covers swallowing you, you nearly instantly fell asleep. You felt bruce wrap his arms around you, pull you closer until there was no saying where you ended and he began. You felt him press a kiss on the crown of your head and murmur an I love you, to which you answered with an unintelligible hum—you were to tired for that.

Bruce didn’t care, it wasn’t about you saying it back, it wasn’t even about him saying it. It was about showing you something, promising you he was there for you as much as you were there for him.

────୨ৎ────

Requests are open!! 🫶🏻

[heartsforsav]

೯⠀⁺ ⠀ 𖥻 NECTAR OF THE GODS . . . ! ۶ৎ ⠀ᰋ

𝐧𝐨𝐥𝐚𝐧 & 𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐤 grayson x cowgirl!reader

cw. . . fluff! (and brief mention of mark getting hard. sorry not sorry.)

synopsis. . . how mark and nolan act when they have a pretty!country thing by their side !

notes . . . my first post!! i couldve added more butttt oh well.

NOLAN GRAYSON

nolan has had plenty of partners in his lifetime. he likes to mix it up, having partners that are similar can be so boring… and when he sees you, clad in your little scuffed cowgirl boots with dainty ribbons hangin’ off the side, he grins.

you are sure as heck pretty, and sure as heck somethin’ he hasn’t experienced before!

he’s got to get to know you.

he doesn’t understand how accents work. especially one so … country. that honey dripped, sweet western accent of yours has him confused.

the silly little metaphors fallin’ from your mouth? has him in a whirlwind. the fuck does “save a horse, ride a cowgirl” mean? is that a thing?

a lot of the time, he doesn’t quite get what you’re trying to say to him, but the look on your cute face just has him going along with it. he’ll figure out what you meant eventually.

you’ve never met a man so intimidating before. big and burly build, salt ‘n pepper hair. what a dilf! he’s definitely like.. double your age (little did you know, he’s 2,000 years old) but you find it endearing, in a way.

once the two of you start dating, it’s sweet. he hasn’t had a relationship like this one before. it’s new, it’s fun.

you teach him new things, new phrases that he never says in the right context, and it doesn’t quite flow of the tongue like yours does. but he’s trying!

one time you even dressed him like a true cowboy. clad in straight jeans, some boots and a cute lil hat!

you pull him in by the jean loop and he’s cheesing. dimpled smile. he definitely does that to you every time you wear jeans around him now. he loves it.

but he doesn’t quite like the hats. they’re big, and weird, and uncomfortable and just a pain! whenever he tries to kiss you, he gets hit in the face with the brim of it. he’ll lift it from your head and throw it across the room like a frisbee.

if you have a farm… omg. cutest thing ever seeing him learn how to take care of your sweet little animals. horses, cattle, maybe even some lamb…cutest thing ever.

he gets used to this life. learns the way of a true country man.

he likes the outfits that come with it. besides those fuck ass hats, he’d never like those. but the small little shorts, the tees, and the pretty lil sundresses.

he’d never dress like that though. never in the thousand more years he’s got left.

honestly… i don’t know how the dynamic would work with his super heroism. i don’t think you’d necessarily like the fact, but it’s got its pros. like the things from all over the world he gets you, oh you love that little deet.

but you miss him too much. you’d spend time with your animals so you don’t seem as lonely, but having him there with you, helping feed the chicken and rowdy up all the animals. it was nice! you’d gotten used to it.

when he gets home, he definitely makes it up to you. makes you forget all about why you were upset in the first place.

MARK GRAYSON

mark probably met you through school or some BS. he doesn’t ever go to the western states… so it’s kinda hard to think of a time where you’d meet besides school.

maybe when he was stopping some big bad villain in your area, and had the pleasure of saving little ole’ you!

then when he saw how pretty the girl he was saving was, he tripped on his own feet.

but then it’d have to be long distance… and boy that would suck. finding time between his home life, school life (before he dropped out of college), being a hero, and traveling to see you. it’d be hard.

sooo maybe it’d be easier if you just went to school together. and he got to see you every day, all dressed up and sticking out like a sore thumb (in the best way possible, he thinks.)

just like nolan, the phrases … uhhh they’d boggle his mind. he thinks they’re silly. hearing it from your mouth just makes sense, as if you took the words right from his mind that he hadn’t yet thought of!

if you were to still have some farm animals he would be the BEST helper!!! seriously, he’s so kind to animals. babying them and smiling all kiddish at them. he helps name them, too. his favorites are probably the lambs since they remind him sooo much of you! can u tell i love lambs or if u had a tiny lil bunny. your twin

when he told his friends about you (more like full on ranted) it was a shock. a western sweetheart in their state? crazy. but they see how mark would like someone like you. as sweet as sugar and as pretty as a flower! william was like “wtf?” when mark started his first outburst about you, confused as to how he even met you, but he gets it when he sees you. definitely someone mark would like, he takes note of.

trying to dress mark like a cowboy would take a lotta convincing. “i dunno, i don’t think i’d look good like that..” “oh, trust me, you would! c’mon, darlin’!” he’s blushing profusely as you top him off with your signature hat. he puts his hands on his face and shakes his head. “this is not my best look.” “nonsense!”

he definitely prefers it on you.

he’s like living his best white picket fence dream with you! with the addition of a whole lotta animals that he didn’t quite expect for him, but he loves it even more

the nicknames have him in a chokehold. they fall off your tongue so easily, so quick, takes him a sec to process it. and when he does he does a little lovestruck cheesy smile.

he loooves the bows! you practically put them on everything (especially his biceps, which makes him sport a chub in his pants) they look so pretty in your styled hair!!

the sundresses are his favorite. taking you on a sweet picnic in some flower filled field, hair curled and makeup done. he packs some strawberries, your favorite, and you bring some iced tea that has way too much sweetener in it than need be. he brings you a bouquet even though you’re surrounded by a plethora of flower buds. the frilly dress you have on with your chestnut brown boots. swooning. drooling. obsessed. loves it.

he just loves to constantly bring you flowers. it’s like, one of his favorite things to do in the whole wide world! seeing your dimpled smile and blushed cheeks! as pretty as a doll.

seeing you do one of those funny mechanical bull rides with a cackling laugh has him achingly hard but that’s a discussion for another day.

he’s def the most likely to have a cowgirl girlfriend. i just envision it for him !

[harryslittlefreakk]

obsessed

summary: harry is your roommate, best friend … and crush 💃 he’s finally broken up with his girlfriend and you’re struggling to hide how you feel about him. loosely based on the song!!

warnings: none! fluffy fluff, teeny tiny bit of angst, mentions nudity

wordcount: 2.7k

a/n: i am a loud & proud olivia rodrigo stan sooo naturally i had to write something. it’s silly and cheesy and short! but i hope you enjoy!!

you can find my masterlist here and join my taglist here!! happy reading my loves 💖

“Guess who I saw today?”

“Who?” You didn’t even need to look up from your book to know Harry was about to throw himself down on the end of your bed, his coat and shoes still on. Every time you got home before him he’d bound into your room like a little labrador, too excited to see you to even drop his stuff down first.

“No, you have to guess.”

“Could’ve been anyone, H,” you told him, feigning reluctance as you closed your book and looked up at him. The second you heard his key rattling in the door you’d wait for the sound of your door bursting open, the butterflies in your stomach coming to life. But you’d never let him know that, so every day you’d pretend it was an annoyance to have him perched at your feet.

“Think of someone you really don’t like,” he persisted, a toothy grin nestled between his dimpled cheeks.

“Literally could be anyone.”

“Come on! Blonde hair, tall, pretty…”

Of fucking course. His stupid, evil, awful ex girlfriend. And naturally, the only way you could react to hearing about her was to reach over and shove him before crossing your arms over your chest. “Ow! What was that for?” Harry laughed, rubbing at his upper arm.

“I was having such a nice day. And then you have to come in and mention that.” It was massively childish, but you couldn’t help but feel violent every time you heard about her. She was fine for the most part, maybe a little too conceited for your taste, but she’d made Harry happy. But you’d watched from the outside as Harry went through relationships, and he always morphed into whatever version of himself he thought the girl would prefer. He stopped being your Harry, and your friendship would suffer for it. But you couldn’t say anything, could never treat his girlfriends with anything but a polite smile and quick conversation, unless you wanted to out yourself as a jealous little girl. And you definitely didn’t want to do that.

This time, however, the ability to hate her had been handed to you on a silver platter when she decided to go home with one of Harry’s friends on a night out. You were his shoulder to cry on, the one to make him smile again after days of moping around. So you had full permission to hate her, and you were relishing in it - as much as you could while still tiptoeing around Harry’s aching heart.

“She wants to meet for a coffee this week,” he told you, scrunching his eyes tight as he waited for another shove. When nothing came, he squinted over to see you rubbing at your temples. “Are you gonna?” you asked, brows furrowed as you imagined the two of them back together.

“Am I allowed?” Harry teased, turning round to lay on top of you, his face only inches from yours. “You’re a grown man, H. Couldn’t stop you even if I wanted to,” you told him, your voice void of any emotion.

“Dunno if it’s a good idea. She might find me too irresistible and then I’ll have to deal with that,” he grinned, not noticing the change in your face. You looked down as you felt your lip start to quiver, too proud to show how your heart sank. “I need to shower, H. Dinner after?” you asked, slipping out from under him and dragging your heavy limbs towards the door. He looked over at you with round, questioning eyes, only to be met by silence and a weak smile as you headed for the bathroom.

You barely got the door shut behind you before the tears came, hot and heavy drops rolling down your cheeks. You knew you couldn’t have Harry, but every minute spent with him had your heart breaking over and over again. Every little cuddle, every touch, lit you up with a fire that burned to the bones. But then you’d see the way he acts with a girlfriend, the way he loved someone, and all those moments you shared seemed silly and infantile. He was your best friend, nothing more and nothing less.

You sank to the floor, hugging your knees to your chest as the sobs wracked your body. You’d tried so hard to push away the feelings, to convince yourself that you were just confused and overwhelmed. He’s a friend, he’s a friend, he’s a friend, echoing around your mind. But deep down, you knew that no one could ever compare to Harry. He was yours, the only one to ever steal a piece of your heart.

“Y/n? M’coming in.” You froze as Harry’s voice came from the other side of the door, clamping a hand over your mouth to hold the sobs in. “I’m naked,” you called out, scrambling to your feet and wiping away your tears with your sleeve. But he opened the door anyway, stopping in the doorway when he saw your tear-stained face. “Didn’t even turn the shower on yet,” he muttered, glancing over at it.

“Why’re you crying?”

“M’not,” you whispered, choking out a giant sob as you turned your face away from Harry, sinking down onto the edge of the bath.

“Quite clearly are. Move,” he ordered, swatting you away before reaching to turn on the taps.

“What are you-”

“If you’re sad, I’m sad. And I like having a bath when I’m sad,” Harry shrugged, turning around to grab one of your bath bombs.

“I was gonna shower, you can’t-”, between the sobs, your confusion and the need for Harry not to know why you were crying, you could barely string a sentence together.

And when Harry pulled off his t-shirt, you were even more lost for words, left with your mouth gaping and only air coming out. “Joining me?” he asked, tipping too much bubble bath into the steamy water - something you’d have to scold him for later.

“I’m not getting in with you,” you told him, once you’d finally got a grip on your brain.

“Just get under the bubbles. And you can close your eyes when I get in.”

“No way.” You hugged your arms over your chest, drawing your swollen bottom lip into your mouth as you watched a shirtless Harry mix the bubble bath into the water. The way his muscles flexed, the tattoos littered across his tanned, slender frame. His skin always looked perfect, not Barbie doll smooth but irresistibly soft. Your fingers took on a mind of their own, slowly reaching out to touch him before he turned around with a smug grin. “Fine, go away then while I have my nice relaxing bath.”

“I want a bath,” you whispered, barely audible over the running water splashing into the tub. “What was that, angel?” Harry grinned, moving his towel onto the toilet seat. “I want a bath,” you told him, louder now, a tiny smile dancing on your lips.

Harry grabbed a hold of one of your hands, tugging you closer to the bathtub. He turned you around before pulling your t-shirt over your head, leaving you in just your little pyjama shorts. Just the brush of his fingertips against your bare torso sent chills down your spine. “M’not looking. Tell me when you’re in,” Harry told you, dropping your t-shirt to his feet.

You pushed your pyjama shorts and panties down your legs, checking behind you to see if Harry really wasn’t watching. True to his word, he had his eyes scrunched tight and his hand clenched over them. You’d seen each other in bathing suits and underwear so many times before, but being naked in the same room as Harry felt beyond weird. You’d never been overly shy about your body, especially with someone who made you feel as pretty and as comfortable as Harry did, but this would add a whole new layer to your friendship - and you didn’t know if you’d survive it. Still, you sunk into the bathtub and pulled the mass of bubbles to your end, trying to keep your breasts under the water before you told Harry he can look. “It’s really hard to make bubbles stay put, H,” you told him, screwing up your face as you tried to hold them steady.

He was laughing as he pulled his trousers and socks off, great big guffaws tumbling out every time the bubbles tried to escape your grip. “Want me to turn the lights down a bit? Then it’s harder to see,” he shrugged, nodding towards the light switch. You nodded, grateful that he cared enough to make sure you were 100% comfortable. It was one of the things that first drew you to Harry, and definitely what you valued most about him. He was always so kind, always caring, so willing to put anyone’s needs above his own - and that’s why relationships always changed him.

“Close your eyes then,” he said, mockingly holding two hands in front of his bulge. You rolled your eyes, finally starting to lighten up as the hot water washed over you. When Harry reached out to swat at your nose, you closed your eyes tight. You felt him stepping into the bathtub after a minute, his long legs slotting down your left-hand side.

“Hi,” he smiled when you opened your eyes. “Gonna tell me what upset you now?”

“It’s really not a big deal,” you told him, your voice small.

“It is if it made you that upset,” Harry countered, placing a gentle hand on your calf, his thumb rubbing against the soft skin.

You paused for a moment, trying to think of what you wanted to say and how to say it. “It just- she doesn’t deserve you, H. Anyone who hurts you like that doesn’t deserve any of your time and respect.” Your eyes dropped to the water as you spoke, your body frozen. Harry opened his mouth to reply, but as soon as he did, you needed to say more. “You were really sad, Harry. It sucked for you and it sucked for me too because I don’t like seeing you like that. I’ll always be there for you, you know that, but I can’t just sit and wait for her to hurt you like that again. Not when you know she’s capable of it.”

You watched the smaller bubbles popping one by one by one, suddenly anxious in the silence that followed your speech. You hated going against Harry, putting your two cents into something that really didn’t concern you, but sometimes he needed to hear it.

“I know,” he replied finally. “But do you think that because you don’t like her?”

“Harry, no! I don’t like her because she did that to you.”

“You were never her biggest fan,” he shrugged, his brows knitted when you finally pulled your eyes up to meet his.

“She changed you, H. You were different with her, less you. Everything is so surface level with her, it’s looks and Instagram likes and who’s got trouble with who. There’s no substance, nothing deeper.”

Harry’s thumb halted as he shook his head, his jaw clenching slightly. “It doesn’t always have to be deeper,” he sighed, rubbing at his chin with his free hand.

“I know it’s not my place but you need someone who brings out the best in you, you need-”

A bitter laugh from Harry stopped you in your tracks, your mouth snapping closed as a chuckle slipped out of his. He met your questioning gaze with a tiny smirk. “She always used to say you were jealous of her.”

You could feel the tears collect on your bottom eyelashes again as he said it, the words stinging like barbed wire sinking into your skin. How could you even respond? “Harry-” was all you could manage before your mouth ran dry.

“I don’t wanna fight with you, y/n,” he told you, his voice soft as he reached out for your hand. “Come here,” he whispered, tugging at your fingertips. “I’m- we-” you started, gesturing between your bare bodies with your free hand, eyes practically bulging out of your head. “Doesn’t matter,” Harry said, motioning for you to turn around.

Somewhat reluctantly, you did, leaning back into his body until your back hit your chest. You were exposed in every sense, your chest sitting just above the waterline and your heart on your sleeve. Harry wrapped an arm around your torso, his delicate touch careful not to go anywhere it shouldn’t.

“Truth is I probably need someone like you. Only one to make me happy on a shitty day, only one who gives me any effort,” he murmured, his voice so low that if he wasn’t speaking directly into your ear, you wouldn’t have heard him. Your heart quickened as he spoke, your pulse pounding against your inner wrists. “I’m not- I don’t have anything that she-” you choked out.

“S’a good thing, no?” Harry asked, turning his head just slightly until his lips brushed tentatively against your earlobe. “No, Harry. You need more, you need-”

“You,” he finished for you. “Just say the word and I’m yours, angel.”

It was like someone had handed you everything you ever wanted on a silver platter, all you had to do was reach out and take it. But it wasn’t that easy. If anything went south, you risked losing Harry forever. You shuffled back out of his grip, turning to sit in front of him, perched on your knees. You couldn’t even bring yourself to care about him seeing your body, your words willing themselves from your lips. “If anything went wrong Harry, I don’t want to lose you,” you whispered, blinking to keep the tears at bay.

“What would go wrong? We know we get along, we have the same traits and the same values. We’re already doing life together,” he reached out a hand to cup your cheek as he spoke, his eyes laced with nothing but earnestness.

“I don’t want to be your consolation prize.”

“Never. Never ever, I swear. I thought about it for a while but it never really clicked until now.”

You sunk your teeth into your bottom lip as Harry spoke, desperately needing to figure out if it was all a dream. The sensation of his touch, the sound of his voice, the gentle heat of the water – it all felt too real to be a dream. But a part of you couldn't shake the feeling that this moment was too perfect, too surreal to be true. You hesitated, unsure if you should dare to believe in the fairytale unfolding between the two of you.

As if he could see the cogs turning in your head, Harry dropped his hand from your cheek, entwining your fingers in yours instead. He squeezed lightly, the corners of his lips turning up into a little smile. "I'm here, y/n," he whispered. "This is real, promise." His words were a lifeline in the sea of doubt that threatened to consume you. Even if it was a dream, it was a dream you never wanted to wake up from.

“It’s all I ever wanted,” you confessed, allowing yourself to give into the fantasy for at least a little while. You fought the urge to search for the hidden cameras, check the date to make sure it wasn’t an April Fools prank. Harry was a goof, but you were a thousand percent sure he wouldn’t play with your feelings like that.

“Just say the word,” he repeated, his husky voice laced with sincerity and longing.

“I want this,” you whispered, clutching onto Harry’s hand as if you could fall off the Earth at any minute. His face erupted into a grin so cheesy that you couldn’t help but mirror it, eyes locked onto his as he closed the distance between the two of you.

Harry’s lips met yours softly, as if he were waiting for the other shoe to drop. But you melted into him, the air nearly knocked out of your lungs by the urgency and desire behind his soft movements. He pulled away after a minute, his forehead pressed to yours as he searched your eyes for any sign that you wanted to stop. Although all Harry was met with was a sparkle in your gaze, and a further few pecks landing on his lips. “Should’ve done this a long time ago,” he murmured against your mouth, his hands splaying across your back. “Should’ve done it before you got me naked,” you teased, succumbing once again to his kiss.

rrrr i really don’t know how i feel about this but i wanted to get something out

taglist: @angeldavis777 @softestqueeen @jerseygirlinca @palmettogal508 @drewsephrry @vonnexann @austiebuttbutt @indigo24hughes @peterparkerbae @im-an-overthinker @daphnesutton @loveableidioticweirdo @harryshotpocket @thegrapejuiceblues1982 @tenaciousperfectionunknown @swag13r @ashleighsss @tswiftsgf @chesthairrry @nikkisimps @hannah9921 @lilfreakjez @prettygurl-2009 @s-h-e-l-b-e-e @indierockgirrl @cicicavill7

[lovecla]

© property of lovecla, nhl masterlist, nico hischier x you.

FAKE IT ‘TILL YOU MAKE IT, final phase.

<last chapter>

➴ chapter warnings: oral sex (f. receiving), brief arguing.

➴ word count: 2.6k

💌 from me to you: and this, my loves, is the end of fake it ‘till you make it (for now!!). thank you so much for supporting me and my stories and thank you for this playlist that got me through this chapter. anyways, i’m so excited for you all to read the rest of this universe that i’m going crazy. hope you enjoy!!!! xxx

𖧷

nicohischier

liked by njdevils, nataliebrooks, _quinnhughes and 29,103 others

nicohischier #Life 😌😁

View all 2,083 comments

user1 What does this even mean

user2 Nico are you cheating on me

user3 TOLD YALL THEY ARE LITERALLY MARRIED WITH KIDS

emmaroberts when did you even take that 😓

user4 Cap got his first hat trick and a girlfriend in less than three months

elladavis em looks sooo cute 🥹

user5 I thought i could keep convincing myself they were just friends but this ?????????

user6 Captain Dimples has a girlfriend (and she’s not me)

user7 the “#life 😌😁” is killing me

user8 user7 Like he really said Idgaf and went to sleep

user9 user8 beside emma

𖧷

YOU GRUNTED, almost throwing your phone away when you entered Nico’s apartment, which was basically your second house now.

There were tiny, somewhat insignificant things around his place that reported that you two were together, things like your hairbrush in his bathroom, your toothbrush beside his, your books and phone charger on his bedside table.

Or maybe the fact that he keeps buying the sweets he knows you like, or when he changed the brand of softener he used because you once briefly mentioned that it made your nose itch.

You won’t deny that you’re happy with the fact that he seems pleased to have you around, but you’re still not sure if you want to move in with him— your story already sounds crazy and fast paced enough.

Still, you enjoy spending your days off with him, especially when he’s also at home, which is tonight’s occasion. He’s sitting on the couch watching The Godfather when you enter the house, but you don’t even have time to properly greet him before Richard starts talking again.

“Technically, it wasn’t due until 5 p.m. today. So, no need to get your... keyboard in a knot.”

You scoff. “My keyboard in a— what?! Richard, I was waiting for your notes last night so I could approve it. I guess I didn’t factor in your busy schedule of... what was it? Two hours chatting up Emily from graphics?”

“Oh, come on,” he laughs, like he didn’t delay a week’s worth of work. “It wasn’t two hours. More like 45 minutes. And anyway, building relationships in the office is important, Emma. You should try it sometime.”

“Building relationships? Is that what we’re calling shameless flirting now?” you ask, voice filled with rage. “Good to know. Next time I don’t meet a deadline, I’ll just say I was networking over cocktails.”

“Listen, Emma—”

“No, you listen,” you say, finally tired after thirty minutes of arguing with your colleague. You place your bag on the coffee table, and almost lose your arguments when you find Nico’s puppy, almost scared eyes looking at you. “Jake, who’s a father of two adorable, sweet girls, had to stay at work way past his work hours, re-writing half of your article. Not to mention Melissa, who also had to stay late because your inspiration left her waiting for the graphics requests you didn’t submit.”

“Ain’t that awesome? That’s what I call a real team.”

“A real team?” You almost shout. Usually, as the editor-in-chief of one of the most important sports magazines in the US, you’d try to keep your cool and act professional. But you’ve been handling Richard’s bullshit for the past two months and now you’ve had enough. “I can’t do this anymore. I want you in my office on Monday so we can discuss your leaving.”

This time, Richard doesn’t have an immediate bratty remark for you.

“Was I clear?”

“M-Mrs Roberts, I—”

“My. Office. On Monday. At half past seven.”

“I’m sure we can figure this out and—”

You look at the clock sitting on Nico’s desk and smile, even though you know Richard can’t see. “Oh, would you look at that? It’s seven p.m. which means I’m not on my work hours anymore. So, we should probably just talk on Monday.” You use your best, fake happy voice. “Have a nice weekend, Richard.”

You don’t wait for his answer before hanging up on him and sighing loudly.

“Hi, baby,” you finally say, leaning down to give Nico a brief kiss. “I’m sorry for this.”

“I’m somewhere between proud and scared,” he smiles, getting up and wrapping his arms around your tired body, as you lean closer to his chest and rest your head on it. “Proud because you’re actually standing up for yourself, scared because I have never seen you talk like that.”

You shrug. “I mean, he did make Jake go home later than he’s supposed to, several times, and I’ve met his kids, I just… if it was just me, I wouldn’t be this upset but—”

“You don’t need to justify your actions, schatz. Not to me, not to anyone,” he smiles softly, and you just lean closer to his chest. He smells like home and violets. “And the guy is an asshole.”

You laugh, reluctantly pulling away from him.

“I guess you’re right,” you said. “I need a shower though. This ‘standing up for myself’ thing is tiring and nasty.”

“Better hurry, then,” Nico whispers against your mouth. “I ordered food from your favorite place.”

You moan loudly as you make your way to his bathroom. “Fuck, I’m going to have your kids.”

His laugh is loud enough for you to hear and you smile, closing the door behind you.

𖧷

YOU’RE ALMOST falling asleep on the couch when you feel it.

It’s light and sweet at first, barely noticeable. Nico had been resting his head on your belly, while you played with his hair and tried to keep up with the last episode of The Summer I Turned Pretty.

But you probably snoozed for a few seconds, and Nico saw that as the perfect opportunity for him to bury himself in the middle of your thighs.

“Baby,” you call him, and he hums back, barely paying attention to you. “What are you doing?”

“I miss you.” Was all he said, before going back to kissing your naked thighs.

You just chuckled, looking down at him, and feeling somewhat shy as he inhales your skin, probably smelling the hints of lavender your body wash left behind.

He keeps kissing you, taking his time. It’s barely anything, yet it has you throbbing under your panties, which makes you blush. It’s embarrassing how fast you melt under his touch.

He gets up, sitting on his heels, looking down at you with lustful eyes. “You’re stressed.”

“I am,” you smile.

“I want to eat you out.”

“You do?”

“I do, yeah,” he plays with the hem of your shirt, slowly moving his finger down, all the way to your black panties. “What do you think?”

“I think that’s the best idea you’ve had in a while,” you bite your lips, hiding your grin.

He doesn’t hide his, smiling widely as he quietly drags your underwear down, lifting your hips just enough to remove them from your body.

“You have such a pretty pussy, babe,” he muttered, spreading your legs, until your bare, smooth flesh mercies the open air. “I can never get enough.”

Before you can even start to feel shy about your nakedness, Nico dives in, licking a long stripe up your pussy, not paying attention to your most sensitive part, not just yet— it had you moaning anyway, though.

He attaches his warm mouth to your core, tongue messily gliding over your lips and entrance. His movements are precise and smooth, like he was born to do this.

The tip of his tongue finds your hole, dipping inside you slowly, then, he finally licks your clit, moving his wet muscle from side to side while you trash under his touch, holding onto the couch with both of your hands.

“You’re so wet, baby,” he says, voice hoarse and silvery. “Dripping, actually. And all of that for me.”

You’re about to answer when he dives into your core again, this time focusing on your clit only. He grabs both of your thighs and pulls you towards him, licking everywhere. The sound of him eating you out filling up the room, louder than the boring show you had on.

The room’s barely illuminated yet you can see him staring at you as he licks, eats and satisfies himself with your taste. He doesn’t even blink, trapped between your legs, sucking your most sensitive part.

“Ngh.”

He stops messing with your clit just to smirk and say: “C’mon, love. I know you can be louder than that.”

And then, he dives into you again, giving you all he can. And his all has you pulling his hair and moaning loudly, even with your left hand covering your mouth.

Your release builds fast, as it always does whenever Nico decides to do whatever he wants with you. The tension in your lower belly comes faster each time you both have sex, and even though you can’t explain why, you’re not bored by it, not at all.

“Nico, I’m gonna come,” you manage to say, rolling your eyes, only to close them afterwards. “F-Fuck.”

You’re rutting against his mouth, not caring that your sweet spot’s feeling overstimulated. It’s like a feral feeling, taking over your body and mind, and your only goal is to come.

You feel lucky, so fucking lucky, to have a man like him to make you see stars, and when you come inside his mouth, it’s without warning or coordination.

You’re seeing white and you’re gasping for breath as he continues to lick you, digging his short nails into your flesh so he can keep you in place— even though you can barely move, your limbs are too weak to do anything.

“N-Nico,” you whisper, gently pushing him away because you’re sure you’re about to disintegrate if he keeps going. And also because you know he’ll be there for hours with no end if you don’t push him away. “Shit.”

He smirks, and you’re sure he’ll never look this hot again. His hair is glued to his face, and his chin is shiny with your come, but so are his lips and the tip of his nose. But what really does it for you it’s the way his chocolate eyes are shining and looking at you like you’re everything.

You grab his shirt and pull him down, kissing his lips right away, tasting yourself on his tongue. It’s nasty and new, but you don’t care; you just want to feel him, be close to him.

“There’s no one else,” you tell him. “It’s just you, and it will always be just you.”

He smiles, his dimples stealing the spotlight because they make you want to live inside his cheek forever. “Hope that’s a promise, baby.”

“Oh, captain,” you hum. “It is.”

𖧷

YOU’RE SITTING on Nico’s lap when you see her.

She enters the bar with her chin up, holding her Gucci purse under her arms and softly clicking her fingers against the phone she’s holding.

She doesn’t immediately look your way, and even though you’re not sure if she knows you and your people— Mia, Ella, Luke, Jack and Nico— had chosen this specific bar to celebrate the Devils winning streak, you can’t help but feel aware of her presence.

Nico brings you back to the present moment, squeezing your waist lightly, just enough to make you look back at him.

“What does Em think of this?” you hear someone, Luke, maybe, ask, and you shrug, trying to hide the fact that you don’t know what they’re talking about.

“Keep my girlfriend out of your useless conversations, please.” Nico says, saving you once again. You give him a brief cheek kiss, taking care so you won’t smudge his cheek with your red lipstick.

“Please, you’re so pussy-whipped it’s sad to watch.” Jack says and Mia rolls her eyes at him.

“As he should.” she grins, winking at you.

“I only asked her if she thinks the last Fast & Furious movie is boring or not,” Luke argues. “I mean, Natalie almost killed me last time I mentioned it.”

“She hates those goddamn movies,” you laugh, remembering how angry she’d get whenever someone tried to make her believe that that whole franchise is good. “You should’ve known better.”

“I guess,” Luke pouts, toying with his beer bottle and Ella smiles at him. “I lowkey miss her, is that weird?”

“It’s not weird to miss your friends, Duke,” Mia fake punches him. “I miss her a lot, too. And Quinn.”

“We should visit them once the season’s over,” Ella suggests and you all agree, making plans for your next trip to Vancouver.

The conversation makes you forget about the fact that Nora is in the same place as you, and your insecurities are set aside so you can enjoy your evening with your friends.

You’re caught up with laughing and dancing with Mia and Luke when Nico reaches for you and tells you he’s going to the bathroom, and you just nod and give him a peck, before following Luke and doing the dumbest dance moves ever, making Mia laugh and curse at both of you.

You end up knocking over Luke’s bottle of glass all over you, and even though it’s hot inside the bar, you know you’ll have to dry your shirt before heading out again, otherwise it’s certain you’ll catch a cold.

“I’ll be right back, guys,” you tell Mia and Luke before looking around and trying to find the bathroom sign. Once you do, it’s a sixteen step walk until you’re standing in front of the door that leads to the bathroom hallway, only to find Nico standing there with—

Nora.

They don’t see you, and Nora’s the first to speak again. “It’s just that… you kind of just vanished after that night at my house, and you did unfollow me on Instagram. Did I do something wrong?”

“Well, Nora, you see: you did do something wrong. You kissed me even though you knew I had a girlfriend. That’s not really cool.”

You can tell by his tone that he’s upset, and the Angel sitting on your right shoulder is telling you that you should trust your boyfriend and leave the two of them alone but the Devil speaks louder and you stay right where you are.

“But…” she’s pouting and you feel the urge to punch her. “I didn’t know you and Emma were serious. If I had known, I’d—”

“You’d what?” he scoffs. “You’re still here, even after knowing that Em and I are serious, and have been for a long time now. You followed me all the way to the bathroom just to ask if I was upset with you for kissing me even though you knew I was dating.”

“Nico, you’re being too serious. Emma doesn’t need to know what we did—”

“She already does,” he crosses his arms in front of chest and leans against the bathroom door. “And even if she didn’t, I know, Nora. If you can sleep at night knowing you kissed a compromised person, that sounds like a you problem. I love my girlfriend and I’d really appreciate it if you didn’t bother me anymore.”

Nora’s silent for a few seconds before she remembers Nico’s probably expecting an answer.

“I’m not saying you don’t love her, I’m just saying that I understand if you can’t talk to me because of he—”

“It’s not that I can’t, Nora, I don’t want to,” he scoffs again. “Emma is my girlfriend for a fucking reason. I love her.”

Nora’s face is red, and her hands are shaking slightly. She nods before running out of the hallway like her ass’s on fire, only stopping when she almost runs into you.

You don't do anything besides winking at her, watching as her face becomes even redder and angrier. It’s funny how she stomps her way through the bar and leaves without a single word to anyone else.

When you look back to the hallway, you find Nico staring at you, a beautiful smile decorating his lips.

“Looks like you got yourself wet, baby.” He says, pointing to your shirt.

You smile, following him to the bathroom. “Hell yes I did. But it’s about to get worse.”

[sworeidnevercompromise]

ꨄ︎ pillow talk: a drew starkey smau < part four > series masterlist

divider creds: @adornedwithlight

y/nupdates

liked by youruser and others y/nupdates y/n at the first limited theatrical release of @/pillowtalkmovie at the Egyptian Theater in Hollywood, CA. Y/N & the rest of the cast will be at different theaters all throughout the week, and of course will make an appearance at the official release of the movie on November 7th.

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samanthasnarkington beautiful stunning amazing WOW!

youruser thank you for picking actually good pictures of me because i swear to god i got sniped so bad on that red carpet ・ ♥️ by author

y/nupdates you never look bad diva

y/nsangels Y/N, i really like the way you are, both aesthetically and tempermentally... i'd like to get to know you better, have some chances with you. you are unique to me, nobody makes me feel the way you make me feel. I'm single (and faithful). (I love you so much.)

shaunaarts the face the dress the earrings the hair....she ate down mama

anna.martin16 as a society we deserve to have y/n in a vogue beauty secrets video

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youruser

liked by obx and others youruser thank you @/obx for having me @ poguelandia in santa monica! P4L 💚

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obx P4L!!!

madelyncline WE LOVE YOU

madisonbaileybabe honorary cast member

drewstarkey sick ass shots

hichasestokes WOOO

jonathandavissofficial hell yeah

carlaciagrant MISS YOU ALREADY

drewstakeyfan so ur telling me he's on 2 press tours rn basically? woah he must be exhausted

supercargo @/drewstarkeyfan oh don't worry abt it girl i'm sure y/n is keeping him happy

reputation1389 god why are you everywhere

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drewstarkey

liked by obx and others drewstarkey most pics taken by y/n, all taken on y/n's camera. @/obx

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youruser AWW that pic of me is so cute wait

carlaciagrant @/youruser your dimples are adorable

youruser @/carlaciagrant 😘 drewstarkey @/carlaciagrant @/youruser bro?

obx so glad we invited you, kook king

hichasestokes @/youruser consider a career in photography

madelyncline miss you

dstarkeynews YAHHH

drewy/nthinker slide 6. i can't do this anymore. please let that be y/n.

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pillowtalkmovie and a24

liked by a24 and others pillowtalkmovie our lovely cast tonight at the New Beverly Cinema. PILLOW TALK is currently in select theaters for it's limited theatrical release, opening wide Nov. 7.

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youruser haha @/drewstarkey i'm first

drewstarkey @/youruser 👎 drewy/nthinker @/youruser can you two quit flirting in ig comments and just get married already

madelyncline such a beautiful cast

lucaguadagninoarchive aww they all look so good!

alexanderludwig COUNTING DOWN THE DAYS!

y/nweloveyou my eye is twiching i need this movie so bad

drewstarkey 😁

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youruser

liked by pillowtalkmovie and others youruser new bev cinema i 💚 you!

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drewstarkey radiant ・ ♥️ by author

bestfrienduser okay serve ・ ♥️ by author

carlaciagrant 💚

y/nweloveyou awww third slide is so cute

m8trondhotel she was literally born to be in movies shes so photogenic

y/nscloset wait i know exactly what this dress is referencing omfg her stylist is a genius

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y/nscloset

liked by y/nsangels and others y/nscloset Y/N's dress at the new beverly cinema was a reference to this outfit from the original pillow talk and i feel so smart for figuring it out. please i'm begging you all to follow my twitter bc i'm such a genius and i love y/n

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k4nsas4nymore okay i challenge you a ver who does it better you or me a ver ・ ♥️ by author

dirtylittlesinkrat OKAYYYY

y/nsgirly wait i love ??

allurcoupons no bc i didn't like the gloves at first but now seeing the reference pic i love them & they make sense

y/nscloset @/allurcoupons that's right. NEVER doubt y/n.

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y/nupdates

liked by drewy/nthinker and others y/nupdates BYEEEE. deleted story from y/n's insta. GIRL.

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drewy/nthinker sooo yeah that's def drew i'm dead

reputation1389 @/drewy/nthinker your delusional drewy/nthinker @/reputation1389 *you're

m8trondhotel wait why am i so invested in this

shihtzuationship oh wow so they're like. in love. wow this is big

y/nweloveyou TS GOT ME FUCKED UPPP LMFAO you KNOW this was meant for her cf story.

tfimlikebruh "moved on from the fwb stage" oh so its someone shes friends with then. wonder who that could be... 🤨

reputation1389 that better not be drew she's texting

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drewstarkey 10m

youruser

liked by brooke_starkey and others youruser buncha oldies of this oldie @/drewstarkey. happy birthday sweet boy. 31 huh? you're getting up there.

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drewstarkey how did you have access to these pictures

brooke_starkey @/drewstarkey i may have let her see the family photo album. drewstarkey @/brooke_starkey this means war.

madelyncline AWWW BABY DREW

youruser @/madelyncline fetus drew was such a cutie

hichasestokes Birthday boyyyyy

drewstarkeyfan so i'm gonna need that family photo album

y/nweloveyou "sweet boy" HELLO? CAN Y'ALL JUST FUCKING CONFIRM THE RUMORS ALREADY

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austinnorth55 20m

[pendingnomdeplume]

Omg requests are open! Could I pretty please request hurt/comfort with a smedieum amount of angst and some smut after? i love ur writing so so much mwah

nothing's fair in love and war pairing: hozier/fem!reader rating: explicit (18+) tags: Enemies to Lovers, Denial of Feelings, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, Idiots in Love, Love Confessions, Teasing, Banter, Vaginal Sex words: 21.4k (no i'm not kidding) author's note: UM. SO. This ended up being a lot?? Like, holy shit, the muses took me with this one. Sooo, I hope you enjoy! lmao (Also, sorry about the weird formatting, it looks better on AO3, unfortunately.)

[read it on AO3!]

[title from Love and War by Fleurie]

divider by: sylusz

If you’re certain of exactly one thing in this life, it’s that you will not make it to the end of the Unreal Unearth tour without attempting to throttle one Andrew Hozier-Byrne at least once.

When you signed on to be the Stage Manager for this godforsaken tour, you didn’t realize exactly what would be foisted upon you. Lighting, sound, equipment, props—all of these things are a breeze to handle with your experience and tenure in the industry.

What you weren’t prepared for is somehow becoming the de facto handler for the main act.

It’s barely the second month of the tour, and you find yourself outside of the dressing room, once again banging your fist against the wood impatiently as Hozier—or, Andrew, as he prefers from the crew—lags on his call time once again.

“Andrew, for fuck’s sake—!”

The door swings open, and Andrew glares down at you. “I heard you the first ten times you shouted at me.”

Irritation buzzes along your skin as you close your eyes and take a deep breath through your nose.

“And yet, you still don’t seem to have any sense of fuckin’ urgency about it.”

Andrew rolls his eyes, and it takes every bit of your willpower not to stick a foot out and trip him as you both jog towards the stage.

Your relationship to the man in question has been rocky from the jump. First impressions were…tedious, to say the least. Exhaustion made you grumpy and sour-faced, and the smile on Andrew’s face was merely a thinly-veiled grimace of exasperation, as though meeting any of the crew was simply a waste of his time. Andrew seemed less than impressed with you, his faux smile faltering and his brows furrowing as you flatly, silently shook his hand before turning away.

Your patience for primadonnas is at an all time low after coming off of a tour with a certain lead singer of a shitty band who doubles as a host for a televised singing competition. After dealing with that behaviour, you’re not exactly the most trusting of any talent, constantly expecting to be met with petty pushback at best and violent vitriol at worst. While you’ve never actually heard a single bad thing about Hozier, you know the game, know that these hot, talented, wealthy types are nothing more than snakes in the grass.

Alex and Larissa exchange glances as you stalk after Andrew with a clipboard tucked under your arm and a fist clenched at your side. You pretend not to notice their little snickers, but rage flares within you. Of course you’d get no back-up from the others. They simply find your bickering amusing, often stoking the flames with obnoxious quips to rile either Andrew or yourself up even further.

You come to a halt and turn back to point at them. “What are you two doing?! Fucking go!”

With another exchanged glance and a grimace of fear, the two hurry towards the stage while you pinch the bridge of your nose and take a slow, deep breath.

“You certainly have your hands full, don’t you?”

The only voice that can get a smile out of you these days belongs to Autumn Freeman, the assistant stage manager on the tour.

Autumn Freeman is a tour de force, not one to be fucked with despite her dimpled smile and pleasant demeanor. You’ve never seen anyone tell off another person with such an even, easy tone. She is quite possibly the most self-assured person you’ve ever met, and you wish you could hold a candle to her professionalism in the face of adversity.

“Hey, sorry, I’ll be right back, I have to deal with—”

Autumn holds her hands up to quiet your anxious words. “Hey, hey, don’t worry. I’ve got Emilio and Whitney getting everyone hooked up.”

You let out a relieved sigh as you rub your shoulder, a tension headache already blooming just behind your eyes.

“Thanks, Autumn. God, I don’t understand why they didn’t make you lead stage manager. I’m not cut out for this shit.”

“Nah, I’ve lived that life.” You watch as she pulls up salt and pepper box braids into a bundle on top of her head and secures them with the thick, elastic hair ties on her wrist. “I much prefer having a boss to being the boss. Too much stress and pressure, especially from little boys with too much money and no personality.”

“Yeah, no fucking kidding,” you scoff.

“Is he still giving you trouble?”

“Andrew? Of course he is! Jesus Christ, I’ve never seen a grown-ass man act like such a fucking brat—and I’ve worked with Adam Levine, for God’s sake!”

Autumn laughs—a rich, comforting sound that feels like a warm hug.

“Oh, baby, you never met my ex-husband. Couldn’t clean a damn dish or do a load of laundry to save his life, but Lord knows he expected me to take care of him like I was his mother. So, believe me, I understand immature men.”

“Yeah, well…I think Andrew’s just doing it out of spite at this point,” you grumble.

Autumn hums in displeasure, grimacing as she shakes her head. “Men and their bruised egos…though, I’m surprised it’s Andrew of all people. He’s always seemed like a kind, gentle type. I’ve never had any trouble with him.”

“Yeah, well, he’s kind and gentle to everyone else but me, apparently, and I’m sure he actually respects you.”

You decide to leave out some of the more tense moments between you—the staredowns, the passive-aggressive remarks, and pointedly ignoring the other’s presence outside of any work capacity.

Andrew is nothing if not tenacious, bucking against your authority with grumbled gripes and heavy, dramatic sighs to ensure that you know how unhappy he is having to listen to you.

The problem is you lack a level of patience that’s required to do a job like this. Or, perhaps that’s the asset that got you hired in the first place. Regardless, you’re sure Autumn wouldn’t be too thrilled to know you’ve taken to shouting to get the man to do anything while ignoring his existence otherwise.

She lets out a slow sigh, then presses her lips together as she shakes her head.  “Well, give him some time. Maybe he’ll come around.”

“Yeah, sure,” you snort ruefully.

The show goes off without a hitch that night, thankfully. No sound issues, no lighting issues, and no instruments falling from their dedicated straps. You’re thrilled, if exhausted, but the grimace on Andrew’s face as he exits the stage tells you that he’ll certainly have a complaint or two to lodge with you before the night ends.

The band is surely capable of handling themselves once the show is over without needing you to shepherd them further—a task that shouldn’t even belong to you when there’s a dedicated tour manager for all of this.

You’re not exactly excited to listen to Andrew’s incessant bitching about whatever it is you’ve done wrong. Really, it’s a conversation that can be left for the morning when you’ve both had a full night’s sleep and near-lethal amounts of caffeine.

You quickly pack up your belongings and duck out of the venue before anyone can say a word. The Lyft you surreptitiously ordered idles just outside the back entrance, and you rush towards the car hoping that nobody will spot you making your escape.

You climb in and shuttle yourself off to the hotel on your own dime, not wanting to share any space as you decompress from another show on the long, long list of shows still to be had on this never ending tour.

Thankfully, one of the perks of your title is private accommodations—a blessing that allows you to shower and get ready for bed in quiet solitude instead of battling two or three other people for a place in line. You’re surprised that management is willing to shell out the cash for a single room, but you figure it’s better to just accept it for what it is rather than question things and lose the privilege altogether.

The television is on at a low volume as a dated episode of Forensic Files drones in the background. You’re seated on the bed against the headboard, bundled in a white robe as you scrunch your dripping hair with a scratchy, over-bleached towel. Exhaustion consumes you, your muscles tense and aching, and you roll your shoulders and stretch your neck to find any sort of relief from this stupid fucking headache.

A knock at the door startles you, and you quickly hop up and rush over while hastily tying the belt on your robe. You’re surprised to find Andrew at the threshold of your room. He looks exhausted, but the look of annoyance is quickly replaced by one of surprise as he gives you a once-over.

“Oh, God, I didn’t—sorry, I didn’t realize—”

You roll your eyes and rest your head against the door frame with a heavy sigh. “What do you want, Andrew?”

Just like that, irritation consumes him once more.

“Can you at least say something before you disappear from the venue?”

You blink and lift your head in surprise. “That’s why you’re here? What are you, my fucking keeper?”

Andrew sighs heavily as he rubs at his eyes with his middle finger and thumb. “Last I checked, I’m your fucking boss.”

This startles a laugh out of you. “Last I checked, Caroline is the one signing my checks, babe. Good try with the whole intimidation angle, though. You’re about as fearsome as a puppy.”

There’s a pause as he studies you, head tilting to one side as he deliberates his next reply.

“I—”

“Next time,” you interrupt, “Just text like a normal person. I don’t need you showing up at my door unannounced unless it’s a dire fucking emergency.”

Andrew scoffs and throws his hands up in frustration. “Well, I just wanted to make sure you were okay, but fuck me, I guess!”

“Oh, what a gentleman. Thank you so much for your concern, but I managed to make it back on my own without Daddy holding my fucking hand. As you can see.”

“Jesus Christ,” he grumbles, pinching the bridge of his nose. You can make out the pink flush that creeps up his neck, angry and flustered. “Well, I’m so sorry for doubting your capabilities. I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me for such an egregious—”

Wordlessly, you close the door in his face, idling for only a moment to peek out of the peephole you should have used in the first place. Andrew stands outside looking stunned. He raises one arm as he deliberates knocking again. It seems he thinks better of it as he shoves his hands into his pockets, shakes his head, and turns to walk back down the hallway towards his room.

Once he’s out of sight, you move to plop down on the bed with a huff.

You have no time or energy to entertain a grown man’s weird power trip. What does he care if you leave the venue without notifying everyone and their fucking dog? It’s just a show of control; he feels he runs this entire circus when he’s merely the centerpiece—the lion in a cage, poked, prodded, and likely to snap at the first crack of his ringleader’s whip.

Whatever. It’s just another tally mark on the ‘Shitty Interactions’ list, you suppose. Maybe you should start marking them on a calendar as you count down the days until you’re done with this tour.

❤❤❤

In the few weeks following your charged interaction at your hotel door, both you and Andrew maintain a level of distance that’s likely noticeable to everyone else on the crew. Autumn certainly notices but is kind to leave well enough alone, mostly rolling her eyes at the dramatics of it all.

“Honey,” she says with a sense of patience that she’s surely digging down deep to find.  “Is this really the hill you’re going to die on? Fighting with this man instead of maintaining your peace?”

“My peace is fine, thank you.”

Autumn rolls her eyes again as she shakes her head.

“You certainly seem to stick to your guns, I’ll give you that.”

Awkward, stilted interactions with Andrew seem objectively better than constant bickering and passive-aggression. It’s easier this way, giving instruction from afar and staying out of his way—or, making sure he stays out of your way, as it were.

And, sure, okay, maybe the man is on your mind more often than not these days, but it doesn’t mean you care. He’s more of a nuisance, a fruit fly buzzing around your head that you bat away uselessly. Unfortunately, he’s also your boss to some degree, and you feel some sense of obligation towards him even if he drives you up a fucking wall

Today is a particularly stressful day.

The bus arrived to the venue later than expected after a battle with early morning traffic, and now the band and crew are zipping around you as everyone tries to make up for the time lost. You’re pulled in a million directions, questions thrown at you with desperation as you attempt to keep things in order.

A late start meant forgoing breakfast altogether, opting for iced coffee that you sucked down in record time.

By the time lunch rolled around, you were far too busy with the sound crew to break away for a snack, food being the furthest thing from your mind as stress made your stomach twist and spit acid.

Now, nausea sets in right before soundcheck. Sweat beads along your hairline as waves of nausea roll through you, and you squeeze your eyes shut as though it might somehow stop the feeling. You come to a halt in the empty hallway and move to lean back against a wall, sighing as you run a hand over your forehead to wipe away cold sweat.

Footsteps echo just down the hall, and you open your eyes to see Andrew approaching you with a determined stride. You grimace. Of course he’d choose this opportunity to break your weeks-long, silent truce, probably coming over just to be an asshole about something that you don’t have the patience or energy to care about.

“Here,” he says briskly as he shoves something solid into your hand. “You didn’t eat—and coffee does not count as a meal.”

You blink as you stare down at the protein bar in your palm, trying to ignore the lingering feeling of his fingers brushing against your hand.

“Mel also has some of that Blowfish stuff for hangovers. It might help if you feel—I mean, you kind of look like death warmed over.”

This pulls a surprised chuckle from you. “Wow. What a compliment.”

He looks just as surprised, the corner of his mouth lifting for only a moment before dropping just as quickly.

“Didn’t mean it as an insult. You look—I mean, you’re still—you don’t look bad. Just tired.” A pause. “Anyway, I need to…sorry…”

He glances over his shoulder and points a thumb in that direction.

“Right,” you nod.

There’s another brief pause as you blink at him, and he shoves his hands into his trouser pockets before nodding once.

“Eat that, please,” he says as he begins backing away from you. “I don’t need my stage manager passing out in the middle of a show.”

Before you can respond, he turns and walks back in the direction he came, leaving you staring after him until he disappears around a corner.

You look back at the protein bar. It’s a chocolate cookie dough flavor, one of your favorites, and you unwrap it as you ponder the interaction.

How does he know you haven’t eaten? Hell, you barely realized that, and only at his prompting. Was your misery really that obvious? He did say you look like death warmed over. Even if it was meant in jest, it still meant that he’d been…paying attention?

The thought doesn’t disgust you the way you expect it to. In fact, there’s a certain fondness you feel in your chest at the prospect of Andrew actually worrying about you, of him calling you his stage manager in some claim of ownership.

You quickly shake your head as you attempt to squash the feeling. This is not the time to dig into the implications of anything—not when you’re running on caffeine and a fucking dream. Instead, you shove the bar into your mouth and take a bite before jogging down the hallway to find Melissa.

❤❤❤

Days later, it’s Larissa who narcs on Andrew in an early morning text on a day off in Chicago.

Larissa

Andrew is sick

Larissa

He doesn’t want you to know

You frown at the text.

You Is that so?

You Hm. Thanks for letting me know.

You I’ll go have a chat with him.

Larissa 🫡 Anytime

You throw on a hoodie and a pair of sandals before trudging across the parking lot towards the black and silver beast that houses the band. Larissa is already at the door when you arrive, ushering you in quietly as you climb the steps.

The rest of the band is awake, though only barely. Rory squints at you tiredly over a mug of coffee. Alex is stretched out along the couch with his eyes closed, uncaring as Larissa forces his knees up so they can sit. The others are missing, and Larissa confirms that they went out in search of food that doesn’t come from a small refrigerator on the bus.

You make your way towards the back of the bus and stop just in front of the dividing door. You knock tentatively and wait for a response.

“Yes?” The sound of his voice is cracked and feeble, making you frown in sympathy.

“It’s me. Can I come in?”

There’s a brief pause before he answers, “Sure.”

The room is dark when you enter, and you tentatively shut the door behind you to keep from blinding him with the early morning sun.

“My sources tell me that you’re sick and trying to hide it from me,” you say lightly as your eyes adjust to the dimness.

Andrew lets out a tired laugh. “I figured Larissa might say something.”

You can make out his form on the bed, curled beneath the blankets that are held tightly at his chin. His hair is thrown up and out of the way in a bundle on top of his head. You frown in concern as he snuffles into his pillow before turning to look at you with drooping eyes.

“I feel better than I look,” he croaks. “Just exhausted.”

You roll your eyes as you step forward to plop on the bed next to him. You place the back of your hand against his forehead and frown as heat radiates against your skin. Andrew doesn’t protest, doesn’t make a move when you feel his too-warm cheeks.

“Jesus, you’re burning up. Have you taken anything?”

Andrew nods. “I took nighttime cold medicine not too long ago to try and get some sleep.”

It takes a moment for you to realize that your hand is still resting against his skin. You pull it away quickly with a mumbled apology before declaring, “You are on vocal rest, effective immediately. I’ll grab you some pho and herbal tea at lunch, but you need to rest.”

He lets out a quiet hum and nods. “On it, boss.”

You bite your lower lip in an attempt to hide your traitorous budding smile.

“Wow. You’re so much more agreeable like this.”

“Don’t get used to it,” he sighs as his eyes flutter closed. “I’m too tired to pretend to fight you.”

“Pretend?”

You see his smile before he turns his face into his pillow. Andrew mumbles again, though you can’t make out what he says. When you ask him to repeat, he doesn’t respond. You watch the slow, steady rise and fall of his chest as the cold medicine pulls him under, and you smile to yourself and shake your head in amusement before opening the door and tiptoeing out of the room.

“I’m confident that he’ll make a full recovery,” you say seriously when Larissa looks towards you. “He’s passed out on NyQuil right now. I’ll be back to check on him later. He’s on vocal rest, too. If he makes a peep, let me know.”

Alex, who is now wearing a Snorlax sleep mask over his eyes, smiles and teases, “Aw, you do care about him.”

With a roll of your eyes, you reply, “Contrary to popular belief, yes, I do worry about you dipshits. That said, be sure to wash your hands and stay out of Andrew’s general vicinity. I’ll be back later to check in.”

Rory asks, “What about you? What if you get sick?”

You shake your head as you wave off his concerns. “Don’t worry, I never get sick. I’ve got an immune system made of steel.”

Three days later, you lie in your bunk with a low-grade fever and a black surgical mask covering your face as you wonder how your body could fail you like this.

You’re watching old episodes of Futurama to pass the time as you limit yourself to your small enclosure with the curtain drawn shut.

Autumn is covering tonight’s show for you—the second show in a row that you’ll miss due to whatever bullshit illness Andrew gave you. The bus is empty and eerily quiet without the shuffles and murmurs of your colleagues. A white noise app fills the gaps between episodes, its gentle tone lulling you into a fitful sleep that’s broken by the opening and closing of the bus door, followed by tentative footsteps that stop just in front of your bunk.

“Hey, are you awake?”

It’s Andrew’s hushed voice on the other side. You reach up to pull the curtain back with a confused frown.

“Andrew? What time is it? Aren’t you supposed to be—?”

“Don’t worry,” he interrupts with a wave of his hand. “Autumn is waiting outside. I just wanted to check on you. Make sure you’re still alive and such.”

It’s surprising given the animosity between you two, but…you have to admit, it’s a kind gesture to come check up on you when he’s the one who got you sick in the first place.

“Well, it’s the least you could do for giving me your germs.” You wince as you sniffle, mucus sliding down the back of your throat. “I demand reparations for this, Andrew.”

Andrew rolls his eyes, but his annoyance seems feigned, a hint of a smile betraying his enjoyment of your tired, raspy quips.

“All right, you seem just as obnoxious as you always are, so I think you’re fine. I’ve already got someone out getting soup and tea for you, so, y’know. Stay put, wash your hands, et cetera.”

You blink, taken aback by his straightforward kindness. “Oh. You didn’t have to—”

“I wanted to return the favor,” he says quickly. “Especially because I’m the one who got you sick in the first place. Something, something, quid pro quo.”

“Right,” you rasp, your mask hiding your smile. “This in no way implies that you might actually care about me.”

There’s a brief pause as he tilts his head at you, the same little gesture that he always does when he’s carefully choosing his next words.

After a beat, he replies, “Can I put you on vocal rest?”

“That’s not how this works.”

Just as he opens his mouth to reply, the bus door opens, and Autumn’s testy tone makes you giggle as she calls out, “Andrew…hurry it up, please...”

Andrew throws her a little smile before turning back to you. “See? See how nice Autumn is about—?”

“Andrew!”

You croak a laugh as he jumps and whips his head around to shout an apology to her. He gives you a small smile and a nod before shuffling off with a murmured, “Get some rest.”

15 minutes later, your phone buzzes beside your head, and you open up your messages to see a text from Autumn.

Autumn Andrew sure seems worried about you… 😉

You He feels bad for getting me sick.

You As any decent human should.

Autumn Right…

Autumn Even though he asked me to check in on you during the show… he definitely doesn’t care…

You lower your phone and stare into the beige wall at your feet. A million thoughts cross your mind at once, and you attempt to bury the feeling of tenderness that makes your chest feel tight.

Hours later, the vibration of your phone wakes you from a twilight sleep, pulls you from a dream of soft caresses and gentle kisses that taste of coffee and smoke. Of fingers threaded into frizzy curls and sweet words mumbled against flushed skin.

Dreams that slip through your fingers, lost within the void of unconsciousness the moment you open your eyes.

Andrew Checking in

Andrew You still with us?

You can’t help but smile at the message. It’s late, the bus already filled with soft murmurs and light footsteps as the crew tries their hardest not to wake you. Andrew should be asleep, but you know his penchant for bedtime procrastination all too well.

You Barely, yet I persist.

The chat bubble pops up and disappears several times in a row as Andrew seemingly types and erases every response that comes to mind. Finally, a text comes through that you read through bleary, drooping eyes.

Andrew Good. Let’s keep it that way.

❤❤❤

The last three weeks have been a complete turnaround for your relationship with Andrew. Where there was once fiery animosity, only soft irritation remains. You find yourself smiling more, feeling far more content with the circumstances than you have over the last few months. As much as you hate to admit it, it’s been…nice. Fun, even, as he opens up to you incrementally.

“You and Andrew seem to be getting along,” Autumn chirps after he stops by the bus to ask a question that you answer with a light tone and a smile.

You roll your eyes, but you can feel the blooming heat of a blush across your cheeks.

“More like we found a solid middle ground, but sure.”

Autumn smiles in that knowing way that makes your stomach squirm with giddy embarrassment. There’s no hiding anything from her—she’s nearly 60 and has had her fair share of relationships, experiences that have left an impact on her, for better or for worse. If anyone knows puppy love  when they see it, it’s probably her.

“Well, normally, I’d say you catch more bees with honey…”

You laugh quietly and ask, “Normally?”

She looks at you in her periphery as she smirks. “The boy seems to like the way you sass him. Almost like it’s a game for him.”

“Oh.” You laugh louder now, a touch hysterical as your embarrassment seeps through.

“Well, I appreciate the advice. But, I’m pretty sure Andrew tolerates me in the same way I tolerate him.”

Autumn smiles as she rolls her eyes. “Mmhm, I’m sure. All I’m saying is, whenever he confesses his love for you, I get to say I told you so.”

It’s something you ponder while waiting in the wings during soundcheck that afternoon.

The band is mostly just fucking around on stage, all still a little loopy from travel exhaustion. Andrew is mostly idling between different crew and producers discussing technical aspects of the show. It’s always interesting to watch him fidget and look around as though he has no clue where they are or what day it is. Honestly, you wouldn’t be surprised if that were true given his godawful sleep schedule.

You don’t realize you’re staring until he catches your eye. Andrew looks perplexed at first, brows furrowing as he expects you to say or do something that requires his attention. Instead, you look away quickly and busy your hands with the clipboard lying on an amp in front of you.

Your face is on fire as you sneak another glance. A squeak escapes you when you meet his pointed gaze and easy smile before he winks at you and turns his attention towards one of the crew members beside him.

You already have a headset on and can hear some of the chatter picked up by Alex’s talkback mic. It’s nothing you can make out, mostly garbled words between Rory’s random hitting of snares and cymbals.

Your attention is fixed on the setlist that Andrew switched up last minute to rearrange the order.

Did he run this decision by you? Of course not. In true Andrew fashion, he made the change on his own, his shitty handwriting serving as damning evidence.

As you frown at the list, a voice in your ear murmurs, “Sometimes, it’s better to ask for forgiveness rather than permission.”

Goosebumps raise in a wave along your skin as you jump and whip around to find Andrew hovering just behind you.

“Oh my God, don’t do that.”

His responding chuckle sends a tingle down your spine. You smack him gently with the clipboard before holding it up to him and pointing to his revisions.

“So, when do you start begging for forgiveness, exactly?”

There’s a pause as Andrew raises an eyebrow at you, his mouth twisted in wry amusement.

“Oh, did I say beg? Hm. I didn’t think I had. Slip of the tongue, I suppose. Or, maybe yours?”

Blood rushes to your face as you attempt not to splutter in reply. There’s a part of you that wants to grab him by the lapels of his stupid tweed jacket and shake him violently, as though he might reveal the truth about his own feelings like a piggy bank spitting out coins.

Instead, you merely tilt your head at him and smile politely. “Wishful thinking, perhaps.”

This seems to catch him off guard, both eyebrows flying up near his hairline as he blinks at you.

“Wishful…thinking?”

You shrug and try your best to look as casual as possible before responding, “Something about a man on his knees begging for my forgiveness really feeds my ego, y’know?”

There’s a swell of pride in your chest as you leave him speechless and spluttering for a response.

“I’m approving your changes,” you say flippantly as you begin walking backwards in the opposite direction, your stomach flip-flopping as you attempt to hide your own flustered expression. “Next time, though, run it by me first, please? So I can distribute a revised setlist that doesn’t look like it was written by an anxious chicken.”

“Oh, ehm—yes, yeah, right.” He clears his throat. “Sorry. I should’ve…I’ll ask next time.”

“Much appreciated,” you say easily as you turn on your heel. “Be ready by six at the latest, or I’m hunting you for sport.”

When you glance back at Andrew, he’s still staring, mouth slightly agape. You throw a cheeky wink his way before rushing off to find the nearest empty dressing room. Upon entering a deserted room, you gently shut the door, toss the clipboard onto the couch, and cover your face as you try to regulate your shallow breathing.

You’re not catching feelings. You’re not.

(You can’t.)

❤❤❤

“Psst, hey. Are you awake?”

You blink into the darkness of your bunk and rub roughly at your eyes. You’re not entirely sure what time it is, but the bus isn’t moving which tells you that you’ve probably arrived in Detroit.

“Oh, Jesus, fuck—!” You shriek as you pull back the curtain to find Andrew far closer than you had anticipated, hazel eyes wide and mere inches away. “Andrew, for the love of God—do you want to get punched? Because that’s how you get punched.”

Andrew laughs. You try to ignore the way your heart skips and chew at your lower lip through your budding smile.

“What do you want?” you ask in feigned annoyance.

Andrew rests his head on his arms that are perched on the edge of your bunk.

“We’re going to the Belle Isle Conservatory today. You should come with us.”

Wakefulness is barely catching up with you as you blink at him slowly. Andrew is…inviting you out. It’s not a date—not that you’d want it to be one, of course. It’s merely an invitation to hang out with the rest of the group in a friendly way, and perhaps this is Andrew’s way of continuing to bury the hatchet.

“Conservatory? Like a big greenhouse deal?”

Andrew smiles as he nods. “Mhm, a huge greenhouse on a little island-thing. It’s quite lovely, and I wanted to ask since…I mean, I assume you’ve never gone?”

You shake your head. “I haven’t, no. I’ve been to Kew Gardens, but nothing in the States.”

“Ah, Kew is lovely, as well. Belle Isle has the same kind of feel to it.”

After a beat, you joke, “I’m still confused as to why you don’t just text.”

Andrew turns his head as he laughs quietly, then turns back to you with slightly reddened cheeks and sparkling eyes.

“I’m a terrible texter. Besides, it’s more fun to scare you, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Oh, yes, of course, it’s my absolute favorite thing.” You roll your eyes, but you can’t hide your own gaiety as you smile at him. “Now, get off of my bus so I can get ready.”

Andrew perks up, and you imagine his proverbial tail wagging cautiously as he asks, “Does that mean you’re coming along?”

“Of course I am,” you say easily.

He steps back as you sit up and scooch yourself over the edge of the bunk until your feet safely hit the ground.

“What time are we heading out?”

A glance at his watch. “9:30, I think, so I’ll come get you just before that.”

“And they say chivalry is dead,” you chirp, and he shrugs in response. “All right, scoot along. I’ve got to get ready.”

Andrew opens his mouth to protest, but you shake your head and gently begin pushing him towards the front of the bus.

“You don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here.”

“You know, that’s not the first time a woman has said that to me,” he muses, stopping just at the steps before turning to look at you. “The circumstances were a touch different, though.”

“Oh, yeah?” you snort.

“Mhm,” he nods. “More of a morning after situation, if you will.”

You freeze, your eyes meeting his own as he tilts his head and smiles cheekily. You decide it’s better not to comment. He’s just being a pill—knows he’s being a pill—and is simply trying to get a rise out of you. It’s been his MO since day one.

“Gross.” You huff a laugh and shake your head. “Thank you for that image. Now, get out.”

Andrew acts shocked by your response as you gently nudge him down the steps.

“Wow, okay, hurtful,” he quips just as he turns the handle for the door.

Both of you are startled when Autumn appears, staring up at the two of you in confusion. Confusion quickly gives way to sly amusement as she tilts her head and greets, “Well, good morning. Where are you two sneaking off to, hm?”

Andrew is left just as speechless as you, both of you sharing an alarmed glance before you finally find your voice.

“Hey, Autumn!” You wince at the way your voice cracks. “I’m just trying to get Andrew to vacate the premises so I can get ready.”

“Oh?” Autumn squints as she looks between the two of you.

Andrew is quick to divert the conversation. “We’re going to the Belle Isle Conservatory in a bit! Do you want to come with us?”

Autumn shakes her head as she meets your gaze with a raised eyebrow. “Oh, no. I wouldn’t want to be a third wheel…”

Thankfully, Andrew doesn’t look back at you as you give Autumn a narrow-eyed, contemptuous frown before mouthing, ‘Stop it.’

Andrew splutters, “It’s not a—! It’s a group outing! No third wheels here. No wheels to be a third of at all. Just regular friend activities.”

His response makes you smile, and you tease, “Oh, are we friends now?”

He throws a glance back at you and smirks as he clarifies, “More frenemies than anything.”

Autumn chuckles and shakes her head. “Jesus, you two are going to give me a hernia. But, anyway, I’m still going to say no on this one, unfortunately. I’m taking these braids out and doing a wash, and then I’ve got a prior commitment with some cable television and several room service mimosas. So, my schedule is booked out for today, I’m afraid. But, thank you for the invitation. You’re always such a darling, Andrew.”

After wishing her luck for both her arms and her sanity, Autumn shuffles back inside the bus to grab a bag before heading off towards the hotel you’re parked behind.

Andrew steps off the bus and turns to look at you with his hands shoved into his pockets.

“I’ll come get you in like an hour. Do you want coffee? I can grab you some. There’s a place called The Red Hook that serves Red Eyes and Nutella Scones that look like they’re way too sweet.”

Your stomach grumbles at the mere notion of food, and you find yourself nodding as you reply, “That sounds great, actually—the Red Eye and the scone. Thank you, Andrew. I do appreciate it.”

“It’s no trouble.” A pause. “Not for you.”

The words strike you directly in the heart, your pulse jumping and your face going hot as he quickly scurries away before you can collect yourself enough to ask a single question.

What the fuck does that mean? It doesn’t strike you as a particularly frenemies-style offer. Not if he’s willing to do it specifically for you.

Which…is that what he really means? There’s a part of you that wonders if the comment was meant in jest—as though the offer would never be extended to the likes of Alex or Rory, given the trio's long history.

It’s not worth reading into, you decide. Whatever it is that he means, you don’t have the energy or wherewithal to go digging for meaning where there is none. It’s simply another kind gesture in response to your previously negatively-charged encounters.

By 9:15 AM, Andrew reappears with two coffees and two scones held precariously in his hands as he approaches.

The coffee itself is delicious—nothing more than an Americano on steroids, but the roast itself is smooth and not nearly as burnt or acidic as chain shops. The scone is, in fact, far too sweet for an early morning pastry, and you decide to tuck away half for later.

By 9:30, you’re crammed into a van with members of the band, en route to Belle Isle. Andrew sits up front due to his stature, but he stays engaged in conversation and glances back at you every once in a while to show he’s paying attention. Larissa takes the middle seat next to you while Alex, Rory, and Kellen squish themselves into the back, jokingly bickering and whining about personal space while you threaten, “I will come back there, so help me God.”

The ferry ride provides a view of the city overshadowed by a blanket of gray clouds that threaten to fall at any moment. Andrew stands by quietly, hands shoved into his jacket pockets as he and Alex have a quiet conversation that you can’t make out from where you’re huddled with Larissa for warmth.

Whatever it is they’re discussing, you catch them as they both turn their heads to look directly at you. Alex looks away quickly, throwing a hand over his mouth to hide what looks like a smile. Andrew gives a stilted wave before turning to look in the opposite direction, back towards land.

Hm. Strange. Though, no stranger than Andrew typically acts, all things considered.

The conservatory itself is massive—a daunting structure standing tall, glass panels glittering in the bits of sun that peek through the gray veil.

You stick close to Larissa, arm-in-arm on their right side while Alex flanks their left. Andrew is shuffling behind, sticking close to Rory and Kellen who speak animatedly about something, though you’re not exactly sure what. When you glance back, you catch Andrew’s eye and give him a half-smile before turning away.

Humidity chokes you as you marvel at the sheer amount of greenery shoved into nearly every square inch of the greenhouse. The smell of damp earth is grounding, comforting, like the first clear day after heavy rainfall.

As the rest of the group forges ahead, you hang back to sit on a metal bench tucked away in the foliage, take a deep breath, and let your eyes flutter closed as you try to appreciate the moment. It’s rare that you get these sorts of opportunities, to enjoy peace and quiet, to pretend that the foreseeable future isn’t fraught with tireless work.

“Are you okay?”

Andrew’s voice, though quiet and soft, still startles you.

“Andrew! For God’s sake, stop doing that.”

He grins and shrugs, offering an apology that doesn’t seem very sincere. You smile and shake your head before scooting over and offering a seat next to you.

“It really is stunning,” you chirp as you stare up at the trees that nearly eclipse the ceiling. “I feel like I could live in here.”

Andrew hums in agreement, then muses, “You should move to Ireland, then. The weather is nearly always like this, and the countryside is greener than anything you’ve ever seen.”

You glance at him, but his attention is focused on scanning the room in admiration.

“It’s on my personal bucket list.”

“Wait, you’ve never—?”

You shake your head. “I’ve never visited, no. Always wanted to, but never really had the opportunity, I guess.”

Andrew is quiet, and you can make out his pensive frown in your periphery.

“Well, the city is…it’s a city. It’s where everything is, I know, but…I mean, if I were to recommend anything, it’d be to stay outside of the city. Enjoy the quiet of a more peaceful area. There are plenty of trains to bring you into Dublin if you really wanted.”

You smile to yourself. “Can I hire you as my personal travel consultant?”

His responding chuckle sends your stomach flip-flopping in delight.

“I don’t live too far out. If you ever stayed in—I mean, you wouldn’t be too far. There are definitely things I could show you.”

“Oh, are you a personal chauffeur, as well?”

A pause. “I’d say more like a personal tour guide. Though, only for a select few.”

You turn your head to look at him now, but he stares straight ahead. You can see the tips of his ears are bright red, unhidden with his hair thrown into a low bun.

“Are you saying I’m part of that special group, then?”

A nudge of your elbow against him makes him laugh, but he doesn’t reply. Andrew seems bashful now, hands shoved into his jacket pockets as one leg shakes anxiously. If there’s anything more to this conversation, it’s unlikely that you’ll pull it out of him right now.

Still, the thought is sweet—a native of the country showing you areas that are overlooked and underappreciated, at least in his neck of the woods. You wonder what it would be like, to sit next to him as he drives along quiet roads, or to try and keep up with his stride as walks you through a park or museum.

The flash of an image crosses your mind—of holding hands while walking along the pavement, of kissing under an awning during heavy rainfall.

“Hey.” Andrew bumps his knee against yours. “We should probably catch up with the group.”

With a heavy sigh, you stand and brush off invisible dirt before following him towards the other end of the building.

❤❤❤

“He won’t shut up about you, you know.”

Melissa’s voice breaks your reverie, pulling your thoughts from the Tecate bottle sitting on the table.

You’re sitting on the patio of a local Mexican restaurant somewhere in Middle America, though you’re not entirely sure where, nor are you certain of today’s date. A bowl of pozole rests in front of you along with a plate of accouterments to add into it. A basket of tortilla chips in the center is nearly empty now as the two of you munch on them between bits of conversation.

“Hm? What?”

“Andrew.” She takes a sip of her margarita before tilting her head. “He brings you up all the time. Like, every other sentence out of his mouth is about you.”

You blink, your pulse jumping at the mere mention of his name.

“Oh. What is he—I mean, like, what kind of stuff is he saying?”

“Just random stuff.” She shrugs before obnoxiously sucking down what remains of her drink, grinning when you give her a flat stare in response. “Stuff he knows about you, I guess? Like, when we were on the bus driving in this morning, he was looking outside and saw that field full of sheep we passed. Then, he told us he had to text you and ask if you saw the sheep, because he knows you love sheep. It was like he would be sad if you didn’t see them.”

“Oh. Well, I don’t see how that’s—”

“And, the other night! We were drinking this terrible red wine that tastes like gasoline, and then he says something about how much he likes a wine you recommended to him. It wasn’t even a red wine! It’s like he just wanted to say your name out loud again.”

A flush warms your cheeks as you process her words.

Andrew…talks about you? Not only that, he talks about you enough that it’s become obvious to the people surrounding him. But…that doesn’t mean anything. Right? If you’re becoming friendly, well, friends talk about friends. It’s not an indication of anything beyond his growing fondness of you and your working relationship.

When you say as much, Melissa smiles in that affectionate, knowing way and shrugs.

“If that’s how you want to interpret it, sure. All I’m saying is, you don’t see the way he looks at you when he thinks nobody’s watching.”

“And how does he look at me, exactly?”

“Like he fucking adores you.”

❤❤❤

The French Quarter of New Orleans is one of your favorite places to visit. You’ve been here several times in the past, either on tour or with your friends for a Mardi Gras celebration. This visit, however, is unique. Special in a way that you can’t—won’t voice.

You’re sitting under the awning at Cafe Du Monde, a steaming mug of coffee and a plate of generously powdered beignets placed in front of you. Across the table, Andrew sips from his own mug of black coffee, humming in pure delight before setting it down.

When Andrew invited you to see the French Quarter, you had assumed that it would be another field trip with the band members who were willing to get up early in spite of their exhaustion (and possible hangover, depending on the day). Upon arriving at the lobby, however, you found him sitting alone on a plush chair, fidgeting with his hands until he realized your presence. He was quick to stand, a genuine smile brightening his face and crinkling his eyes. You tried to ignore the butterflies, tried to ignore the nerves from the mere idea of spending time alone together.

The cafe had been your idea, mostly because you craved fried, sugary dough, and both of you were in desperate need of caffeine at such an asinine hour.

“If I knew how to make these, I’d be in major trouble,” Andrew muses.

“Oh, absolutely,” you nod. “I could eat these for every meal, probably, but my 30 year old body wouldn’t be able to handle that.”

An offhand conversation about donuts, pastries, and sweets eats an hour of your time before either of you have realized, and you decide to vacate the premises before the waiter (who has been giving both of you a hardened stare for the better part of that hour) decides to kick you out to free up the table.

“So,” you say as you follow his lead down the pavement. “To the museum?”

Andrew is excited to show you the Jazz Museum just down the road, especially after confirming that you had never actually been inside during previous visits. It was the first thing he’d suggested as you made your way to the cafe, eyes sparkling with childlike glee. Truly, who were you to say no to such a precious face?

The museum itself is smaller than you anticipated, each hall and room dedicated to art, sculptures, records, and instruments used by some of the greatest artists in the world who paved the way for jazz and its musical offshoots.

Andrew stops in every room to explain a piece of trivia he knows about this person or that performance, or to explain the personal significance of records his parents played when he was young. It’s endearing to watch him talk so excitedly, and you’re impressed by the information he keeps stored away.

“It’s not often I get to talk about this stuff.” He shrugs. “You’d think I’d remember more important things, like deadlines or what fucking time it is.”

You wave a hand as if to dismiss the notion. “As nice as that would be, I think your trivia is far more interesting.”

“Well, thank you,” he replies meekly, as though he hadn’t expected a compliment of all things. “It’s nice to have someone who seems…interested.”

There’s a pause as he seems to retreat into himself, a small frown forming as his brows furrow. It lasts for only a moment before he shakes his head and looks at you again, his smile looking much more apprehensive this time.

“Do you want to go down to the river with me?”

The sun is shining as you meander along the river walk, iced coffee in hand and sunglasses perched on your nose. The walk itself isn’t overcrowded as the city awaits its true tourist season in the form of Mardi Gras.

A few people recognize Andrew, stop him for a chat that he seems reluctant to engage in. Photos are snapped, but he remains mostly unsmiling save for the teen girl who asks him what his favorite Mavis Staples song is before declaring that hers is “Son of a Preacher Man,” which Andrew lauds as a wonderful choice.

“Are you okay?” You ask the question tentatively as you come to a stop and lean against the railing that separates you from the river.

Andrew sighs and shrugs despondently. “Yeah, I just…I have a call with Caroline later, and she won’t tell me what it’s about. Which is…never a good sign.”

“Oh.” You frown and reach up to rest a hand on his shoulder.

He turns his head quickly, eyes flicking down to where your hand rests before looking up to meet your gaze.

“I’m sorry for being so preoccupied.”

You shake your head. “You have nothing to apologize for. Shit, I’d feel the same way if I had to talk to her. Uh, no offense.”

The corner of his mouth curves in a half-smile as he replies, “No, I get it. She’s…well, she sure is Caroline. I’ll give her that.”

There’s a pause as you deliberate whether you should pry, whether he would even want to share the intimate details of his newfound apprehension towards his manager. The dislike from others is palpable, especially from Alex. Though you’ve never witnessed it, you’re well aware that a few confrontations with her have left Alex wondering if continuing with this job is even worth it. (It’s a question that Andrew isn’t aware of, divulged to you by Larissa who is saddened by such a development.)

Before you can ask a follow-up question, an alarm goes off on your phone—the alarm you set earlier today to remind both of you when it’s time to head back to the venue.

“Thank you for today,” you say upon arriving back at the bus lot after a quiet walk back. Crew members are already zipping around to prepare for their own call times while the band gets ready for sound check.

“Of course. Thank you for coming with me. I…I really enjoyed—I mean, it was nice to just…be there. With you.”

The words strike your heart as they tumble from his mouth, your pulse quickening as he awkwardly shifts his weight and glances over his shoulder.

“I…feel the same. It was nice that it was just, y’know. The two of us.”

In a moment of levity, Andrew gives you the most sincere smile you’ve seen in the last hour, then chirps, “Look at us. Burying the hatchet.”

You can’t help but laugh and roll your eyes. “I mean, usually people don’t acknowledge it out loud, but…yeah. It’s nice. I, uh…yeah.”

Andrew pauses as though waiting for something more, but you stay quiet and turn your gaze towards the ground as a blush makes blood rush in your ears.

“Well, I’ve got to…” He shakes his phone at you and nods his head in the opposite direction.

“Right, sorry! You go on ahead, and, uh—good luck with the call. I need to gather my crew and figure out what’s going on, anyway. But, if you’re not at sound check by three, I’m hunting you down and dragging you to that stage.”

This pulls a small laugh from him as he begins walking backwards towards the dressing rooms. “Duly noted. I’ll see you later.” 

❤❤❤

You’re not sure why, but something in Andrew’s demeanor shifts drastically.

Despite the check-ins, the light banter, and the moments of levity you’ve shared over the past few months, Andrew is quiet. Despondent. Avoidant once more as his goodwill seemingly slips through your fingers. You’re left puzzled and embarrassed by the sadness that echoes within you, unsure of what you’ve done to earn the cold shoulder again when you thought things were going well.

“I don’t know what’s crawled up his ass and died, but I’m super fucking over it,” you tell Autumn over coffee one morning after she confronts you about your own dour mood.

Autumn frowns as she stirs her rapidly cooling tea idly. There’s a tension in her own demeanor that tells you she knows something, but you’re hesitant to shake her down for information she’s not freely sharing.

After a few beats of silence, she sighs and lets her spoon clink against the side of the mug as she sits back and folds her arms over her chest.

“I may know why.”

You raise your brows in anticipation. “Did something happen?”

“More like something is going to happen. I heard that a few of our guys are getting cut for the 2024 leg of the tour. More than a few, actually.”

Your blood feels like ice in your veins, your hackles raising at her words. “What?”

“It’s not confirmed, but…I don’t know. Given how much management has scaled back recently, I wouldn’t be surprised. More shows, less staff. For whatever fucking sense that makes.”

You blink at her, head tilted in confusion as upset bubbles up within you.

“They’re going to make staff cuts? What, are we just supposed to make due with a skeleton crew for one of the biggest fucking musicians in the world right now? These are arena shows, Autumn!”

“Baby, you’re preaching to the choir on this one. I don’t understand it, either, but I don’t think management will know what they’ve done until shit hits the fan at that first show.”

How could a decision like this be made without even consulting you as the stage manager? The crew is an invaluable part of this process, and cutting 25% of your team is like chopping at them at the knees while simultaneously crippling the remaining staff by forcing them to work even harder for the same amount of pay—or, at least, that’s what you assume given all of management’s other cuts were replaced by absolutely nothing.

A thought crosses your mind, one that has you pulling out your phone to double-check the date. It’s been nearly a week since your outing with Andrew in New Orleans, nearly a week of this complete regression in agreeableness until you’ve found yourself back at square one.

Nearly a week since his dreaded phone call with Caroline.

Understanding hits you all at once—this is what Caroline wanted to discuss with him. This is why he’s flipped on you again. To keep you at a distance. To keep himself safe from delivering terrible news to you directly.

“Motherfucker,” you yell, banging your fists on the table before standing up abruptly.

“Wait, don’t—where are you going?!” Autumn shouts after you as you stomp down the stairs of the bus before slamming the door shut behind you.

A fist against the metal of the bus door alerts the entire band of your presence, and Rory opens it with a puzzled, nervous look. The expression on your face must tell him everything he needs to know as he swallows and glances nervously towards whoever might be sitting in the front lounge with him.

“Where is he?”

“Who do you—?”

“Andrew,” you answer brusquely. “Where the fuck is he?”

“He’s…” Rory leans back again and says, “Andrew. It’s for you.”

He’s quick to scurry away as Andrew slowly steps down and idles in the doorway, gaze carefully averted from yours as he grumbles, “What do you want?”

Anger grips your throat as you manage to spit out, “We need to talk. Now.”

“Look, I don’t have time for—”

You cut him off with a tense wave of your hand. “I wasn’t. Fucking. Asking.”

This is enough to get him out of the bus, though he keeps a reasonable distance from you as you try to keep this conversation—this fight—out of earshot from everyone else.

You come upon an empty portion of the parking lot, illuminated in the warm light of a dying street lamp. The buses are a reasonable distance away now, and you stop abruptly to round on him with a finger pointed at him accusingly.

“You. Start talking. Now.”

Andrew blinks, hands immediately going into his pockets as his shoulders come up to his ears.

Tense, short, he asks, “What is this about?”

“You know damn well what this is about.”

It’s maddening when he goes quiet, looks up at the stars that are visible despite the lights of the city polluting the sky. His hesitation is palpable as he shifts his weight from one foot to the other while chewing his lower lip. The idea that he might even consider playing dumb with you, that he might try to lie to your face already has you choking back tears.

“Don’t you dare try to run away from this, Andrew,” you say tightly. “Don’t you fucking dare.”

Exasperation is evident in his posture, in his face as his expression twists.

“Jesus Christ, what do you want from me?” he asks, his voice going much louder than you’ve ever heard before.

It sets you on edge, your fingers twitching until you curl your hands into fists at your side. The heat of rage quickly spirals into despair as a gaping maw opens in your chest.

Fuck, you can’t do this now, can’t break down in front of the man who has only seen you as his adversary for the better part of six months—who fucking conned you into thinking he actually cared for even a moment.

You aggressively scrub at the tears that well in your eyes and turn your back to him as you decide where you can run off to before you start fully sobbing.

“Why can’t you just be fucking honest?” you ask, laughing harshly, indignantly. “Fuck me, why can’t you—”

It’s too late to seek sanctuary now as a lump rises in your throat, hot tears spilling down your cheeks as you crumple onto the pavement.

“I…” Andrew’s voice dies in his throat, concern etched into his expression when you manage a glance at him.

With another exasperated laugh, you reply, “Fuck me. You’re cut from the same cloth as every other wealthy, privileged white man I’ve ever met. The star of the show, here to waste my fucking time by approving every new show your bitch of a manager wants to add despite knowing damn well that she’s going to cut a quarter of my fucking team next year.”

An inferno rages inside of you as his face drops, as he looks to his shoes to hide his guilty expression—an answer to your unasked question: Did you know?

“Jesus fucking Christ, Andrew, how long were you going to wait to spring that shit on me? Or, were you going to let Caroline tell me over a fucking Zoom call because you’re too much of a coward to say it to my face?”

Muffled sobs break the silence between you as you squeeze your eyes shut and try to regain some level of composure. A hand at your shoulder startles you. You spring up and quickly shuffle back from him as he stares at you, hand still hovering over where you were just sitting.

“Don’t fucking touch me.”

You expect anger. You expect a fight.

You don’t expect red, watery eyes as he sucks in a deep breath and looks towards the ground.

“Oh, did I strike a nerve?” you spit, rage eclipsing any shred of compassion or pity you have.

“Oh, fuck you,” Andrew snaps. “You don’t get to sit on your fucking high horse when you’ve done nothing but antagonize me from the start!”

“Me? Oh, that’s rich. All I’ve done is try to get you to do your fucking job on time, you twat!”

He scoffs and rolls his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest as he tilts his head at you. “Right, and the best way to do that is by shouting at me and being the most passive-aggressive geebag I’ve ever fucking met.”

“Well, maybe if every word out of your mouth wasn’t announcing another fucking show, or another fucking cut that your shitty manager is making just to pad out her own pockets—and, by proxy, your fucking pockets.

“I mean, Jesus, Andrew. Do you not see the fucking optics here? Do you not see how all of this lands squarely on you in the eyes of every fucking person here? I won’t shield you from the valid criticisms over management’s choices—and management includes you, Boss Man.”

Andrew snorts ruefully and shakes his head. “The band knows they can talk to me, and the crew knows they’re more than welcome to voice their concerns. You don’t have to shield me from shit.”

“My God, you really don’t get it, do you? You look like the fucking asshole here, Andrew. You. The crew doesn’t know that layoffs are coming, so of course they’d fucking trust you! Believe me, if Caroline were here right now, I’d be ripping into her ass just as hard for being so fucking shady!”

You throw your hands in the air with a frustrated huff.

“But, fuck me, right? What the fuck do I know about this business outside of the twelve years I’ve been doing this fucking job? What do I know about predatory, money-grabbing, narcissistic managers with no regard for the people who suffer beneath them? But, go on ahead and release another vinyl pressing of everything you left on the cutting room floor, Andrew. Go ahead, so that you and her can make a few more bucks off the backs of your fucking fans and that single you wish you’d never released.”

Andrew blanches, mouth opening and closing like a fish gasping for air.

A smug sense of satisfaction fills you as he’s left scrambling for a response. Good. He knows you’re right, knows he can’t fight back against anything when the truth is plain as day—the good will of his sophomore album and tour has evaporated with every additional stadium he’s approved, with every cut to catering, with every rollback of amenities provided in tours past, with every brushed off concern from the mouths of people he calls friends.

Your victory is short-lived as his eyes go glassy once more; a stray tear slips free and rolls down his cheek before he roughly wipes it away with the sleeve of his jacket. Your smugness quickly dissolves into guilt as he gives you a curt nod before turning to walk away.

“Fuck…” you whisper to yourself before exhaling sharply and shouting after him, “Andrew, wait!”

He stops but doesn’t turn to look at you as you jog the distance he’s covered with his impossible stride.

“Did you have something else you wanted to say?” His voice is flat, his shoulders still tense and raised to his ears.

After a beat, he still doesn’t look at you, and you sigh as you run a hand through your hair.

“Look, I’m—I’m sorry. I’m just fucking blindsided by all of this, and I—”

Andrew whirls around on you so quickly that you stumble back in surprise. You’ve never seen him so angry, tears freely flowing now as he jabs a finger in your direction.

“Do you think I fucking wanted this? Do you truly, sincerely believe that I’m out to fuck everyone over for my own personal agenda? Of course I’m aware of the optics, but that doesn’t mean a fucking thing when you’re locked into a long-term contract with the ring leader of this entire fucking circus.”

“And, what?” you spit. “You can’t just buy your way out of it?”

There’s a long pause as Andrew levels your stare, his eyes searching your face as he processes your question. Finally, he sighs defeatedly and scrubs at his face with his hands.

“It’s not that simple! Because it’s not just her. It’s the label. It’s the rights to my music. It’s—it’s all of it. Believe me, it’s not for lack of trying. I’ve reached out to lawyers, and there’s…there’s nothing. No loopholes. No gaps. Iron-fucking-clad. My soul belongs to this woman through the next two years, and she’s prepared to wring me dry through the final day.”

Shit. You hadn’t really thought about it from that angle. Despite how long you’ve existed in the music world, talent contracts have never mattered much to you. As long as you’re getting paid fairly, you really can’t be fucked to care about the outrageous salaries of world-famous musicians, nor the percentage their managers receive.

“Even if I could break it…I have to think about my parents. I want to make sure they’re taken care of when—” Andrew looks up at the night sky as he takes a deep breath, voice cracking lightly as he continues, “When I’m not around to help. When my brother’s not around to help. I can’t just walk away.”

When he looks at you again, his brows furrow once more, as though he’s just remembered he’s supposed to be upset with you.

“Andrew…” You take a step closer to him. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

He holds up a hand to cut you off, shaking his head with a soft sniffle. “Yes, you did. Whatever it is you’re going to say, you absolutely did mean to. And you have. So…well done, I suppose.”

It shatters your heart, the guilt of hurting him swallowing you whole. Because you had meant it, meant to hurt him with your barbed words in an effort to get him to open his eyes.

But, the truth is so much messier, bound by legal jargon and the duty of a loving son. As much as Andrew wears his heart on his sleeve, you’re still surprised by the little things that slip through his veneer, the things meant to stay within his own mind, body, and soul regardless of the pain.

“I…” What can you even say? What can you even do except apologize and hope the man you’ve once disliked based on assumptions and childish principles will forgive you for this transgression.

“It’s an early day tomorrow,” he says hollowly. “You should get some sleep. Goodnight.”

“Please…” The word comes out hoarse and broken as you try to think of anything to say to fix this.

Tears well up as he turns his back to you again and heads off towards the fleet of buses parked across the lot. You don’t call after him, nor shout any further apologies. The lump in your throat is too painful to swallow down.

Seated on the pavement, you draw your knees up and hug them tightly before burying your face into the sleeves of your hoodie and letting out a choked sob.

❤❤❤

The next morning, you wake up feeling like you got hit and backed over by a city bus. Your jaw aches from the tension of clenching the whole night, your head pounding from a teary hangover. Leftover makeup coats your puffy, reddened eyes. Your throat screams for ice cold water, and you figure it’s probably best to chase a handful of ibuprofen with a full glass before facing the day.

“Jesus, what happened to you?” Autumn’s tone is light in comparison to her worried expression as she brings a hand up to cup your chin. She tilts your head from one side to the other, inspecting the remnants of your breakdown in search of foul play.

You know better than to lie to Autumn’s face, and you can’t muster the energy to care about obscuring the truth of the matter.

“I got into it with Andrew last night,” you sigh. “I said some really mean, hurtful shit, and now he hates me even more than he already did.” 

Autumn scoffs as she fills an electric kettle with water for her morning tea.

“You think that man hates you? I don’t think he’s capable of hating anyone outside of politicians and cops.”

“No, I know he hates me. Like, properly hates me now that I’ve insulted him directly to his face.”

“Oh, God.” Autumn turns to you with a wary look. “What did you say?”

As you recount the events of the previous night, Autumn’s face goes from surprise, to concern, to pity. You wish that she wouldn’t turn that look on you when you’re already feeling small and defeated, but you know she means well, that her expression comes from a place of empathy and concern.

She stops what she’s doing and sits beside you before wrapping her arms around you in a tight hug. It feels nice, comforting, and you bite your quivering lower lip as you blink back tears.

“Oh, sugar…listen to me, okay? You are not a terrible person for feeling frustrated. You lashed out at Andrew because of the news about the staff cuts, and while it makes sense, it doesn’t make it right.”

“I know.” You wince as your whispered voice cracks.

“I think you should talk to him and properly apologize. Don’t ambush him. Just ask if he’s willing to talk and hear you out.”

You sigh as you rest your head on Autumn’s shoulder. “What if he won’t?”

A pause. “He will,” she replies quietly. “I know he will.”

After a cup of coffee and an ice cube rubbed against your swollen eyes, you decide to forgo makeup entirely. A hoodie drawn over your head and a pair of baggy sweatpants will be your self-loathing uniform for the day. If anyone has any shitty comments to make, you’re primed and ready to jump down their throat.

A few members of the crew hop back onto the bus with bags of breakfast sandwiches, and the smell of eggs and sausage makes you nauseous. With a disgusted face, you mumble, “I’m going for a walk,” before pushing yourself from your seat and trudging down the steps.

It’s an overcast day, but the clouds don’t look too angry. You hope that rainfall won’t be an issue, making a mental note to keep an eye on the forecast for the evening. A glance at your phone tells you that it’s far too early to bother the ladies and Larissa for company, so you shove your hands into your pockets and set off to walk the perimeter of the venue lot’s fencing.

As you walk, gravel crunches softly behind you—footsteps that are out of sync with your stride. You spin around and are startled to find Andrew approaching, a baseball cap affixed to his head and kept in place by a haphazardly thrown up bun sticking out the back. He’s in his traditional garb—a t-shirt covered by a navy blue mechanics jacket, dark trousers, and the same white Converse that probably need a few cycles in the washing machine to look even remotely clean again.

The bags under his eyes seem darker, more pronounced. He doesn’t smile at you, but he doesn’t look ready to shout abuse at you, either. He mostly looks…sad. Apprehensive. Exhausted.

“Hey,” you say lamely, unsure of how to address him after yesterday’s argument.

“Hey,” he says flatly.

There’s a pause as he hesitates, shifting his weight from one foot to the other as he avoids your befuddled stare.

“Did you…need something, or…?” The question is asked in earnest, your heart pounding wildly in your chest as you wait for his next response.

Finally, he sighs and shrugs his shoulders. “There’s a coffee place nearby that I wanted to check out. You should come with me. So we can talk.”

Anxiety washes over you like a crashing wave, buzzing in your fingertips as you stretch your hands against the feeling.

“Right, um…if this is your way of firing me, I’d rather you just do it now. No sense in drawing it out.”

Andrew frowns, puzzled. “Fire you? No, no, no, that’s not—I’m not firing you. Jesus, I think the entire tour would fall apart if you weren’t here.”

It’s surprisingly kind of him to say, though, you don’t necessarily agree. There are a million other prospective stage managers who’d swoop in and probably do a far better job of handling things. Managers who aren’t jaded and won’t antagonize the talent.

“I wanted to talk about yesterday,” he says quietly. “I…wanted to apologize for being…reactive? Or, defensive, rather.”

You blink.

Andrew is apologizing to you?

As other crew members begin to spill out of their respective buses, you nod your head in the opposite direction and ask, “Do you know which way the shop is?”

The coffee shop itself isn’t far, and it’s quiet and relatively empty given that it’s a Sunday. A few guys from the lighting crew are lined up at the counter for their multiple morning espresso shots that will carry them to their afternoon, pre-show energy drinks. They greet you with tired mumbles and little waves, uncaring that the two of you are here together and alone.

Andrew is kind enough to pay for your coffee, and you take a seat at a table in the furthest corner of the room.

“So…” you start as you play with the off-white diner mug in your hands.

“So…” he echoes, folding his hands on the table as he watches you. “About yesterday—”

“Andrew, I’m so sorry,” you interrupt quickly. “I don’t understand why you feel compelled to apologize to me when you were right. I meant to hurt you, and I did. And, I’m so fucking sorry for doing that. I should have just walked away, or cut the conversation short so we could both cool down. That’s on me, and if you hate me after all of that, I understand and absolutely deserve it.”

You suck in a deep breath before bringing the mug up to your lips to sip your too-hot drink.

Andrew is quiet as he mulls over your apology. His silence makes you squirm, so you follow up your statement with, “You are in no way obligated to accept my apology or like me in any capacity, by the way. I just…I was up all night feeling absolutely awful about how I left everything, but it seemed wrong to text you about it.”

After a few more beats of silence, Andrew nods as he plays with his own mug. It looks so much smaller in his massive hands, and you briefly imagine those hands circling your wrists, pinning them above your head—

You shake the thought away as your face begins to burn. Not the time, not the place, and certainly not the man to continue lusting over.

“I appreciate your apology,” he says finally. “I wanted to apologize, too. What you said was hurtful, but…I mean, there’s merit to it all, yeah? I am considered the boss despite not feeling like one, and I certainly don’t want to be one. But, that doesn’t absolve me of responsibility, and I do have a responsibility towards everyone who works on this tour.”

You didn’t expect him to agree with you, and you certainly didn’t expect him to seem so guilty for not upholding his crew the way he should. Perhaps he’s never been called on it so forthrightly, or perhaps it comes off as a more serious issue when not coming from the mouth of a friend—namely, Alex, who has also come to you to commiserate about some of the choices that have been nothing but a detriment to the band’s mental health.

“Also…you were right. I haven’t…I don’t think I considered how comfortable I’ve been with…I don’t know. Money? Recognition? Not that I want to be recognized, but…”

“But the perks of recognition outweigh the negatives?”

Andrew glances up, then sighs. “Sometimes, yeah. I hadn’t really thought about the privilege of it all. Or, I had, sort of, but I didn’t give it much thought until you ripped into me.”

You nod in reply. “I mean, it’s been what? Ten years? It makes sense why you would grow accustomed to it. It makes sense that your brain would put on the blinders to the cognitive dissonance of it all. Doesn’t make you a bad person. It just makes you human.”

Andrew’s mouth lifts in a half-smile. “You don’t have to do that.”

You blink. “Do what?”

“Make excuses for me. Protect me.”

“I am not making excuses for you. I brought all of this shit up in a massive rage last night, and you still took it to heart.”

Andrew had actually thought about what you said instead of stewing in the anger of being called out. He could have remained upset and defensive over your words, but he chose instead to consider your point of view. Something about that makes your chest feel warm.

“Hard not to when all of the things you said have been anxieties of mine for a long time.”

“What do you mean?”

He turns his head to look out the window towards the road. “This…has become so much bigger than I ever thought it would. I never wanted to become a household name or face. I just wanted to put my music out there to see what would happen. But, I didn’t want all of this.”

This—the celebrity of it all. The parties, the events, the boozing and schmoozing required of any star with influence. You’ve seen him on those nights as he staggers back into the hotel lobby looking drunk, haggard, and absolutely miserable.

Despite your ill feelings towards the man at the beginning, you don’t wish this kind of exhausting lifestyle on him. As a fellow introvert and a stage manager, you can empathize with the anxiety of having to be forward-facing and on when you’re already on the verge of collapse.

“If I seem ungrateful for the position I’m in, I’m not trying to be. I’ve become so disillusioned with all of this that I’ve been…I don’t know, checking out when I don’t have to think, I suppose?”

It would explain the curtness, the increased consumption of weed and alcohol where he can, the withdrawn nature of his personality that he’s insisted is just a symptom of his age.

“But, again, not wanting to be in this circumstance doesn’t change anything. I’m still responsible for what happens here, and you were right. The optics don’t look great when I’m not fighting for my fucking team.”

You’re unsure how to respond as he stirs his black coffee with a spoon, careful not to hit the walls of the mug.

“What do you need from me, then?” He looks up, confused. “I mean, how can I help you with all of this?”

“I…I don’t think there’s anything that you can do. I just appreciate that you said something at all so I could get my head out of my arse long enough to realize how fucked it’s all been.”

You crack a smile at this, your heart skipping when he smiles back. Then, his smile falls again, his brows furrowing once more as he stares down at his drink and fidgets with his hands.

“I don’t know if…I mean, this is going to sound really fucking stupid, so please bear with me. You’ve shown more fortitude in the last few months than I have in the last few…” He checks his watch. “Years? You’re the only person in my life right now willing to slap me across the face—figuratively, of course—but, you’re the only person who I can trust to be completely honest with me right now. And, if the biggest problem in my life is being shouted at by a gorgeous lass with a hot temper, then I consider myself extremely lucky.”

Oh. That’s…

Huh.

You blink at him, searching his face for any semblance of insincerity.

“Oh, uh…thanks—thank you. That’s…you’re very kind.”

Andrew stares as though he expects something more, but you’re not sure how to respond. It’s a nice thing to say, certainly. Is this his way of extending another olive branch? Compliments have always made you mildly uncomfortable, but is this his way of working himself back into your good graces?

After a few more seconds of tense silence, Andrew finally knocks on the table once and nods.

“Right, well…we should probably get back then. Long day ahead, and all that.” He stands abruptly, unfinished coffee splashing over the rim of his mug as the table shakes.

“Wait, what—?”

“Thanks for agreeing to talk with me. I appreciate it.”

As he speed walks away from the table, you scramble to grab your things before popping up and rushing after him. His long legs have carried him much further than you anticipated, and you find yourself once again having to jog to catch up with him.

“Andrew, what the fuck?” You round him as you shout, forcing him to stop in his tracks before he collides with you.

“What?” His tone betrays nothing, but exasperation is clear in his expression.

You scoff and laugh incredulously. “Oh no, no, no. You’re not going to weasel your way out of this. What the fuck was that just now?”

Andrew blinks, clearly weighing the pros and cons of lying about whatever is running through his head.

“It’s…almost call time…for a media thing...”

It’s a weak excuse, but you can’t help the startled laugh that escapes you as you ask, “Oh? And when did you suddenly start caring about being on time for literally anything?”

The corner of his mouth lifts just slightly. “Well, a very pretty and very confrontational woman has torn me apart about it multiple times now, you see...”

You can feel the heat of a blush that you attempt to downplay with a cheeky shrug. 

“Hm. She sounds smart. And hot. You should listen to her more often.”

The sound of Andrew’s chuckle makes your heart flutter. You swallow down the delight of making him laugh, press your lips together to hide the smile that wants to break free.

“I probably should, yeah. I’m honestly terrified of what might happen if I don’t.”

A glance at your watch makes you frown, and you clap at Andrew like he’s an animal in need of shepherding. “Oh, shit, it’s—fuck’s sake, go, go, go, you’ve got somewhere to be!”

Instead of the usual annoyed response to your rushing, Andrew merely chuckles again and throws his hands up in acquiescence.

“All right, fine! Jesus, I’m going.”

With a short wave and a little smile, he turns on his heel and rushes back into the venue, and you’re fairly certain you’ve never seen him rush anywhere so quickly, especially at your behest.

You’re floored by his response. There’s a part of you that wonders if his compliments were meant to be taken more…

Well, no. That’s just wishful thinking on your part. The idea of him having any inkling of affection towards you is laughable. This was a one-off, a way to relieve some of the tension from last night’s argument with softened language and compliments of questionable sincerity.

Still…it was nice to hear him laugh. Butterflies in your stomach remind you that, despite his kindness, you’re not meant to feel things for the fucking main act of anything, let alone a world-famous musician.

The rumor mill on tour is always churning out something, and rumors about the stage manager making heart eyes at Andrew is the last thing that you need right now. Jesus, if Caroline caught wind of it, you’d be out on your ass in a second.

It’s best to let sleeping dogs lie, let the crush run its course. Then, you two will part ways, unlikely to ever see each other again. The thought is painful, but it’s the only way you’ll manage to survive the rest of this tour—keep your head down and your mouth shut.

❤❤❤

The next hotel night is a much-needed break from the confines of a bunk and the crew crammed into a moving tin can like a bunch of sardines.

Autumn comes up to your room to watch re-runs of NCIS on cable television while sharing a bottle of the sweetest wine you’ve ever had, occasionally making inappropriate comments about Mark Harmon before muttering, “If he wasn’t a fucking Republican…”

The rest of the crew are all scattered about, some in their hotel rooms while others go out for dinner, drinks, and a bit of the Seattle nightlife. (Whatever that entails.)

Larissa texted you an invitation to dinner, but you feel you’re better off not spending as much time around Andrew. Despite being friendly once again, you can’t shake the unease of your more romantic desires—emotional and physical.

You don’t talk about it with Autumn, and she hasn’t pried, thankfully. She’s already dealt with enough of your bullshit with Andrew, she certainly doesn’t need the intimate details of your daydreams and late-night fantasies.

You’re already two generously poured glasses deep when Autumn decides to turn in for the evening. She shuffles off to her room, laughing to herself as she mentions something about calling her sister, April.

Somewhere on the nightstand, your phone buzzes with a text. You giggle as you toss yourself onto the mattress and roll to the other side to grab it from the charger.

The screen flashes Andrew’s name, and your heart stutters as you read his message.

Andrew Can I see you?

Andrew Please?

What could he possibly want? Especially right now? Isn’t he supposed to be out to dinner? A part of you worries that maybe something happened, either to him or to another band member, but that isn’t your jurisdiction. That’s the tour manager’s problem. Still, you respond fervently in concern.

You What happened? Is something wrong??

The chat bubble pops up immediately, as though he’d been waiting for your reply.

Andrew I just need to see you

You blink, puzzled. At least nobody’s dead, you suppose. But what does Andrew want?

You Why? You’re worrying me now.

Andrew Please don’t make me beg

Oh.

That’s…that can’t be a coincidence. It’s probably the wine that has you reading into things that aren’t there. Though, you hear Melissa’s voice somewhere in the back of your mind, her words playing on a loop as you stare at the screen.

Like he fucking adores you.

It is almost certainly the wine that has you feeling bold enough to text back. You nod to yourself in reassurance before shakily typing out a response.

You What if I want you to beg?

You’re biting at your fingernails as you watch the chat bubble appear and disappear in varying intervals. Anxiety churns in your gut, your brain screaming at you to apologize, to blame the wine for a text that was far too inappropriate for the circumstances. Your thumbs hover over the keyboard as your phone buzzes again.

Andrew I’m coming over

“Oh, shit.” The words slip from your mouth as you throw the phone onto the bed like the damn thing has scalded you.

What have you done? What is he going to say? Sure, he may not have fired you for tearing into him, but this? Suggestive flirting? That’s a whole other line to cross, especially when you’ve been trying to shove away your feelings otherwise.

You’re pacing the length of your room as you try to come up with an apology that covers such an egregious overstep of boundaries when you hear a soft knock at the door. A nervous swallow feels like knives down your throat, and you timidly approach before turning the knob and opening the door.

As expected, Andrew is there, though he looks far more disheveled than usual. His hair is thrown up in the half-up, half-down style that Joy taught him, though tendrils have come loose and fall around his face. He’s wearing an outfit normally reserved for the stage—the dark denim combo with a black button-up shirt beneath.

“Hey,” you greet as casually as you can. “What’s up?”

Andrew tilts his head to one side, studying you for a moment before asking quietly, “May I come in?”

“Uh, yeah, of course,” you mumble as you step aside to let him into the room before closing the door softly behind him.

You whirl around and press your back against the door, eyeing him as he glances around the room.

Before you can form a reasonable question, he looks back at you and holds both hands up as he explains, “Before I launch into my—I mean, full disclosure: I’ve had three beers in the last hour and some.”

Ah, you think to yourself. Liquid courage.

In vino veritas.

“Okay,” you say slowly. “Um…also for the sake of disclosure, I’ve had a few glasses of wine. If that matters.”

Andrew nods, seeming almost relieved that you’re also not fully sober for this—whatever this is.

“Right, okay. Good. I mean, not good, like—” He stops himself mid-sentence and closes his eyes before taking a deep breath and clapping his hands together. “Okay, where do I even start with this?”

You blink, anxiety creeping along your spine and prickling your skin.

“Andrew, what is this about?”

When he opens his eyes again, you can make out the light pink tinge that colors the whites of his eyes along with a fierce flush that brightens his pale skin.

“I think you know exactly what this is about.”

You shake your head. “I don’t think...”

There’s a pause as he averts his gaze to the floor, brows furrowing in thought. His silence feels like it stretches for a lifetime as you await whatever it is he’s about to drop on you.

Finally, he takes a breath. “The other night, when we had that fight…you wanted me to be honest with you when I wasn’t. I know it’s unfair, but I’m going to ask the same from you now.”

“Andrew…”

“Please,” he pleads.

After a beat, you nod and whisper, “Of course.”

“Promise me.”

“Yes, okay, fine. I promise I will be honest with you.”

“Right, good. Grand. Okay.” He smooths an agitated hand over his hair. “I suppose there’s no point in mincing words. Tell me if I’m mistaken, or misunderstanding, or—shit, tell me to fuck off if necessary.”

You chew on your lower lip and nod tightly.

“There’s…I mean, there’s something here, right? Because, I don’t think I’m going mad, and I don’t think you would have responded to my text the way you did if…I mean, stranger things have happened, but this?” He holds up his phone and points at your last text. “This doesn’t feel like a coincidence.”

A million thoughts run through your head at once. You consider lying to him, consider telling him that it’s merely a throwaway joke to reference that conversation from months ago. But, he asked for honesty, and honesty he shall receive…for better or for worse.

“It’s…it’s not. A coincidence, I mean.”

Andrew’s face stays carefully neutral as he takes a step forward, a step closer to where you’re still pressed against the door.

“You hated me until you didn’t. What changed?” he asks.

There’s a part of you that wants to shoot the question right back at him in a deflection of your answer, but you bite back the words before they can escape.

Instead, you’re honest.

“You paid attention,” you say meekly. When he tilts his head in confusion, you continue, “You knew I hadn’t eaten anything that day. I don’t know how you knew, but you did. You gave me a stupid protein bar and scolded me for not eating, and I…fuck. I thought I could just ignore it until all of this was over.”

“Ignore what?”

“Ignore you. Ignore my feelings.”

Andrew goes quiet as he considers your answer, but the silence makes you nervous. This time, you can’t bite your tongue, can’t hold back as you parrot his question.

“Quid pro quo, Andrew. Same question. What changed?”

He shakes his head. “That night early on…when you left the venue early. I don’t know how you got back to the hotel, exactly, but…you were gone, and nobody knew where you went…I asked around, but nobody had heard from you.”

He trails off, as though nervous to continue the story and vocalize this shared feeling, afraid of solidifying it, of making it whole and real in the space between you.

“So, you came to my door to check on me,” you say quietly. “I was awful to you that night.”

For the first time this evening, Andrew cracks a smile that he hides by looking down at his feet.

“Well, I’d been awful to you up to that point, as well. And after, probably.”

The corner of your mouth lifts in a half-smile, and you shrug. “A little bit, yeah.”

Andrew takes another step closer, slowly closing the distance between you. Your face burns with a blush that spreads over your chest and to the tips of your ears as he hovers over you, one hand coming to rest on the doorframe, right beside your head.

“You are the most stubborn, willful man I’ve ever met,” you muse.

“And you are the most headstrong, obstinate woman I’ve ever met,” he responds with a smile.

You hum in amusement, unable to maintain his gaze. Just as you’re running through a rolodex of quips and replies that might be appropriate in the most inappropriate of situations, a gentle hand cups your face and pulls your focus back to him.

Tension has you rooted to the spot. His hand is still there, warm and surprisingly soft against your skin. You slowly let out the breath you’ve been holding in an attempt to calm your nerves.

Carefully, you reach up to place a featherlight hand on his chest.

“This is my favorite outfit of yours, the Man in Black look…” you murmur.

He raises an eyebrow in response. “Oh?”

“Mmhm,” you hum, letting your fingers brush against the fabric of his shirt as it travels downward.

Your fingers stop just short of the silver belt buckle that shines even in the low lighting of the room. Your heart is pounding in your chest, a cold sweat beginning to develop along your hairline as anxiety grips your throat. The sound of Andrew’s responding chuckle in your ear is both comforting and titillating as you lay your proverbial cards on the table.

After a few seconds of silence, he looks up towards the ceiling and sighs before looking back at you with a wry smile.

“May I kiss you? Or, are you going to make me beg?”

You’re not sure how you’re still coherent or standing when all of your blood seems to have rushed to your face or between your legs.

All sense of smug coolness evaporates as you nod frantically and whisper, “Please,” in response.

The first brush of his lips against yours is tentative, restrained. You can smell the hops on his breath, the earthy scent of his cologne, the remnants of smoke from cigarettes he’ll regret come morning.

When he pulls away, you’re left leaning back against the door, breathing shallowly as you swallow down your excited nerves.

“Are you sure you want this?” he breathes, searching for any shred of regret or apprehension in your expression despite everything you’ve just said to the contrary. Still, it’s sweet of him to ask no matter how moot the question is in this circumstance.

Your response comes in the form of another kiss, messier and more frantic this time as you throw your arms around his neck to keep him close. The hand by your head has slipped down to rest on your hips, fingers digging into your skin but not daring to move any further.

Kisses to your neck are punctuated with nibbles that make you squirm in his grip while attempting to swallow down the whimpers and whines that inevitably escape you.

You’re both in your 30s and far too old to be sporting hickies in places that can’t be covered, but the feeling of his teeth grazing your skin, the mere idea of being marked so publicly as his makes you not care quite as much about judgement.

With a huffed laugh and panting breaths, you press gently against his chest while murmuring, “Bed.”

This pulls a genuine laugh from him, and he shakes his head as he smiles down at you.

“My God, you’re demanding even now? I’m going to have my hands full with you, aren’t I?”

The question is startling—an implicit promise that this isn’t just a hook-up or a one night situation. Not that you had expected so, but the confirmation of his own excitement over such a prospect warms your heart.

“You say that like I haven’t been a pain in your ass from day one.”

Andrew shrugs, brings his hand up to cup your face again. “Well, yeah…but this is different.”

“How exactly is it different?” you snort.

“I get to kiss you now which makes up for your bratty attitude. For the most part, anyway.”

The word is a sucker punch, knocking the wind out of you as heat pools low in your belly. It seems your silence speaks volumes as his expression changes from jokingly irritated to slyly amused.

“Oh? Suddenly, you have nothing to say?”

With a lopsided grin and a blush, you reply, “I have plenty to say. You, of all people, should know that.”

You slip away from the door with your grip on his jacket sleeve, lightly tugging him along as you slowly walk backwards towards the bed. Your hold on him keeps you upright even as you move to push the denim from his shoulders in a bid to get it off. Thankfully, he takes the hint as he pulls it off and tosses it gently to the ground. 

“I’m well aware, yes,” he laughs. “Fortunately for you, I happen to like bratty women.”

There’s that word again, the one that makes your pulse jump and knees wobble. Despite your fiery, demanding exterior professionally, your proclivities in the bedroom lean more towards…well, submission isn’t a word you want to say out loud. Rather, you’re more open to following directions. Especially from a man like him.

He tucks a stray piece of hair behind your ear as he murmurs, “It doesn’t seem like that will be an issue right now, will it?”

You shake your head quickly, earning another little chuckle from him that makes your stomach flip.

“Are you going to behave?”

The question makes you shiver as electricity shoots up your spine, your skin prickling with goosebumps as your breathing goes shallow.

“Yes,” you whisper, wide eyes turned upwards to stare at him.

“God, you’re so much more agreeable like this,” he says with a smirk.

You grin in return as you shrug and reply, “Don’t get used to it.”

His responding kiss feels different—softer, sweeter, and far more romantic than the particular circumstance would imply. Your hands wander, fumbling with buttons that reveal the black undershirt he wears beneath. The sight makes you giggle as you press your forehead lightly against his chest.

“How do you have more clothes under here? Jesus Christ.”

You can feel him shake with quiet laughter, his chest vibrating as he responds, “It’s layering.”

“It’s impeding my work,” you shoot back.

Finally, he bats your hands away and quickly unbuttons the garment before removing it and tossing it into a heap with his jacket.

It’s rare to see him so undressed, thin arms exposing his singular tattoo done by a friend years ago while under the influence of multiple substances. Veins run like rivers down pale skin, arms flecked with freckles and light, fine hair. They’re more toned than you would have thought, years of lifting heavy equipment showing in the shadows that reveal hints of built muscle.

He allows you to marvel, allows you to brush your fingers along the dip of his collarbone before he gently takes your hand and pulls it away.

He’s hesitant to allow you to continue undressing him, self-consciousness written all over his face despite his best efforts to conceal it. You’re not entirely sure how to express just how much you want to see him, how many times you’ve fantasized about this exact scenario.

“Please,” you whisper, peering up at him from beneath your lashes as you begin pulling at the hem.

There’s a pause as he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath before nodding.

He keeps his eyes closed as he helps you lift the undershirt off, flinching when your fingers touch the bare skin of his chest, letting them run down along a trail of hair that makes you feel lightheaded and giddy. You’re drawn to the softness of him, compelled to lean in and press soft kisses just below his collarbone.

You push him gently until he takes two steps back, head tilted in confusion as you beckon him to switch places with you. Another nudge has him sitting on the bed, leaning back with his hands braced against the mattress as he watches you slowly drop to your knees.

“Oh,” he breathes as you begin pulling at the leather of his belt. His following chuckle pulls your attention back to him, leaving you flustered and speechless as he reaches out, cups your cheek, and murmurs, “You look so pretty on your knees for me.”

This man is going to kill you before the night is over, you’re sure of it.

“Shush,” you mumble as you attempt to avert your gaze. But, the hand still caressing your face forces you to look at him once again.

His expression shifts, eyes seeming much darker now as he levels your stare. He’s still blushing, obviously still flustered by this entire situation. The alcohol still has a hold on him, however, providing a level of confidence that you’ve rarely seen from him.

“I’ve half a mind to make you beg for this, you know.”

Your breath catches in your throat as he pulls his hand away to unbutton his jeans, and you jump at the opportunity to tug them down until they crumple to the floor. A few awkward kicks and quiet giggles, and soon he’s left in only a pair of black boxer-briefs as he quickly rids himself of his black socks with a laugh.

You’re trying not to stare. But, the tent in his boxers is intimidating, and you reach out with a trembling hand to rest it gently over his clothed cock. Andrew’s grip on the edge of the mattress noticeably tightens, his lower lip slipping through his teeth as he carefully watches your movements.

A light squeeze of your hand makes him hiss quietly. When he reaches out, you expect him to pull your hand away, expect him to say something or give you direction. Instead, he merely rests his hand atop yours, pressing down as he ruts up against your palm with a soft groan.

Your fingers itch for more, that emptiness within you aching to be filled. There are so many things you want to do, want to try, but time and stamina won’t allow for it all. But, there is a future of opportunities, and right now, you want nothing more than to please him until he’s seeing stars.

“Andrew, please,” you whine as the fingers of your free hand slip beneath the waistband of his boxers. “Please, can I…?”

“Wow,” he hums sweetly. “Begging all on your own? You are a fascinating creature, darling.”

The words stun you, your mouth dropping open for a brief moment before you snap it shut.

“Jesus, do you want me to blow you, or not?” you huff as you hide your smiling, embarrassed expression.

“Tempting as that is…I have other ideas. And, you are still wearing far too much.”

At his prompting, you stand and allow him to pull you into his arms where he sits, leaning in for another kiss as his fingers slip beneath the hem of your too-large sleep shirt. You pull away to raise your arms and allow him to slip the shirt off of you entirely, shivering as he begins to kiss along newly exposed skin. Wandering hands cup your breasts, warm fingers rolling your nipples before he leans in to run his tongue over one hardened bud.

Two fingers hook into the waistband of your shorts, tugging slowly as he kisses along your chest. You allow the garment to fall to your feet before stepping out of them and kicking them away, left only in a pair of plain black panties.

“Gorgeous,” he murmurs against your skin. “Absolutely stunning.”

It’s almost a compulsion to roll your eyes at his compliments, but you smile all the same, embarrassed yet delighted by his response.

Andrew punctuates his compliments with a few more kisses before mumbling, “Into bed with ye.”

As you crawl in and settle into bed, he fishes around the floor for something unseen. Then, with a triumphant sound, he holds up a square of gold foil like a prize.

“I’m so sorry,” you say through a fit of laughter. “Were you expecting this to happen? Or, do you carry that around with you just in case?”

“It wasn’t an expectation.” Andrew shrugs before falling into bed next to you. “More like…wishful thinking.”

It’s an earnest answer, and one you certainly didn’t expect. Before you can respond in kind, he wraps his arms around your waist and rolls until you’re beneath him.

Kisses trail along your neck, down your chest, before stopping at your hips. Your heart races as he slides his fingers beneath black fabric, and he glances up at you in surprise as he finds you already wet and soaking through your panties. You only shrug, unable to form a coherent response as his fingers press into you easily. It’s not enough, but it’s something, and you can’t help but press back against the feeling.

He tugs the fabric down slowly, as though opening a birthday gift. When you’re finally revealed to him entirely, he kisses along your hips and down your thighs, leaving little bites that will almost certainly bruise.

What a strange feeling to be laid out before him like a feast after months of animosity, months of clandestine desire shrouded in antipathy. Even stranger is the way he’s so tender with you, leaning up to kiss you gently while you try to ground yourself by cupping his face and tangling your hands into his hair.

His body is flush against yours, hips rolling as he absentmindedly seeks friction that you provide as you press back against each movement.

You’re breaking down fast, desire and need coursing through you as your body clenches around nothing but the continued dull, yearning ache.

“Fuck, please, I need…” you whimper against his neck.

“Tell me what you need,” he murmurs. “Use your words, darling.”

You’re well beyond the point of embarrassment, well beyond caring about seeming desperate because you are desperate.

“Andrew, for the love of God, please just—” you laugh to yourself and shake your head. “Please fuck me, or I’ll kick you out of my room.”

This pulls another genuine laugh from him as he hides his face against your neck before pressing a few more soft kisses along your jaw.

“You know what? I’ll accept that. Though, we may have to work on the attitude a little bit.”

There’s little time to respond as his own desperation slips through. He pushes himself up and away from you, sitting up to allow more room to slip your underwear down and over your knees before tossing them into the growing pile of clothing on the floor.

Andrew’s stare makes you self-conscious, and you quickly close your legs and turn your bashful, grinning face until it’s half-concealed by a pillow. He takes the opportunity to twist around and shuck off his boxers, but you keep your gaze fixed on the lamp sitting on the nightstand, arousal and nerves igniting like a current beneath your skin.

The crinkle and tear of the condom wrapper draws your attention, and—oh.

“Oh, my God…”

Andrew blinks at you, brows furrowing in an unspoken question that makes you laugh a little hysterically. You reach out and lay a hand on his shoulder as he hovers over you again.

“Please be gentle,” you say meekly. “I might need…time…to adjust…”

His face is already bright red, but you’re certain your request might make him spontaneously combust. As if he doesn’t know how blessed he is, but you refuse to say it aloud anyway, mostly because you don’t want to fuel whatever ego he may already have about it.

It’s no surprise that he’s a gentleman wanting to look out for your own comfort and pleasure. He grabs two of the unused pillows to shove beneath your hips, a more comfortable angle for both of you in this circumstance.

“Are you okay?”

The question is so sincere despite his previous teasing, and you nod quickly as you hum in the affirmative. With a soft smile and a nod of understanding, he leans down to kiss you again before pressing the head of his cock against your entrance.

His movements are slow and shallow, allowing you to get used to the stretch and size of him as he presses into you. Sweet words and soft questions are whispered in your ear, consistently checking in to ensure your comfort despite the strain of his voice revealing his own self-control. Every inch forward leaves you teary-eyed and whining as you’re filled beyond your limits.

As his hips sit flush against yours, you become hyper-aware of every twitch and slight adjustment as he waits for your permission to continue.

The reality of the situation hits you all at once: You’ve quite literally dreamt of this, always thought you’d part ways with this infuriating, wonderful man with a covertly broken heart. Instead, he’s here, and he’s real, and he’s wanted you just as badly as you want him.

“Can you—? I think I’m—God, please, you can—”

Despite your breathless, broken words, Andrew gets the idea. He’s still careful as he pulls back, slowly pressing into you again as you tilt your head back and let out a quiet moan. He uses the opportunity to lean his head forward until it rests in the crook of your shoulder.

“Fuck, I—” he laughs, warm air brushing against your skin. “I may need a moment.”

After a few seconds of deep breathing, he finally begins to move at a snail’s pace, allowing you to further adjust before finding a rhythm that both of you seem to enjoy.

You can’t control your sounds now, each moan, whine, and whimper increasing in volume as he fucks you, fills you to the brim in a way that teeters on painful pleasure. Silence is broken by the sound of your arousal, of skin against skin, making your face burn as you briefly wonder how audible this all might be to whoever resides next door.

The angle allows for him to rub against a spot inside of you that adds a strangely pleasurable pressure. Your eyes water with every pass as you cling to him, arms securely around his neck as you attempt to muffle your incoherent words mixed with his name.

The headboard of the bed bumps against the wall now, but neither of you really care. All you can think about is your impending climax as you slip a hand between you to press against your swollen, aching clit.

“Close,” he gasps quietly, only spurring your own pleasure as you imagine what it might be like to do this unprotected, to feel him twitch and fill you until come is dripping down your thighs.

With a sharp gasp, you clench around him, fingers working yourself solidly, evenly between whimpers that you muffle by biting gently on his shoulder. Pleasure quickly begins to mount as you dig your blunt fingernails into his back, earning a louder groan from him that clues you in on other proclivities he may have—a mental note to make for later.

“Pleasepleaseplease, it’s so good, ‘m so fucking close...”  Your voice cracks and breaks into a soft groan as a slight adjustment of his hips has you barreling towards your own climax.

“I know, baby, I know,” he huffs, and, fuck, he’s already calling you sweet names that will echo in your mind for the next calendar year, at least.

Another whisper of his name, and he murmurs, “I’ve got you, it’s okay…you’re okay…”

There’s something about the tenderness of his words that sends you reeling, choking out quiet moans and prayers as you clench around him in waves.

It’s your climax that finishes him as he grips your hips and lets out a harsh sigh before his moves still. You can feel him then, can feel the pulsing of his release as he presses his forehead to yours before stealing a kiss that leaves you breathless.

The two of you lie in a sweaty, panting heap as you nuzzle him. A blissed-out giggle against him makes him laugh in return, pulling back once more to look at you with a smile before he presses kisses to your face.

You’re reluctant to let him go when he mumbles about cleaning up, but you finally release him when he promises to come back with a glass of water for you.

You sit up in bed and try to avoid staring when he returns. You’re surprised when he crawls into bed without pulling on any form of clothing, floored when he collects you to cuddle once you’ve downed the glass he handed you.

“So…”

“So…” you parrot, tilting your head to look at him.

There’s a pause before he meets your gaze and asks, “Good?”

With a scoff and a giggle, you smack his shoulder lightly as he grins at you.

“Well, certainly Top Five.”

Andrew gasps in feigned shock. “Five? Not even Top Three? Wow…”

“I didn’t say where you land on the list.” You poke his ribs. “Gotta keep you humble.”

You squawk when he attacks you with rapidfire kisses anywhere he can reach. His arms tighten around you when you try to squirm away, giggling when you relent and turn to catch him in another kiss before resting your head against him. The silence between you is laced with exhausted comfort, merely enjoying the peace and quiet of a shared room, of warmth as you envelop each other.

It’s you who breaks the silence first, compelled by safety you feel in the moment to be vulnerable.

“I really fucking like you, you know,” you murmur. “Like, a whole lot.”

His chest moves with a silent laugh as a hand smooths over your hair.

“I know,” he replies. “I really fucking like you, too.”

After a few minutes, Andrew nudges you, and you realize you’d been nearly asleep in his arms. Slowly, crankily, you slip beneath the covers and wait for him to lie down next to you. The lights go out, and an arm rests around your waist and tugs you closer until your back is flush against his chest.

“We’re going to have a lot to answer for in the morning, huh?” you mumble into the darkness.

Andrew hums in reply. “Probably. Also, we may have to apologize to Joy for the, ehm…you know, the noise.”

Oh, right. It’s Joy who’s next door, possibly traumatized if she hasn’t been wearing headphones for the last hour. You’re too tired to look at your texts, though, and you figure you’ll buy her next few meals to make up for the whole ordeal.

“We’ll deal with it tomorrow,” you say through a yawn.

You feel him nod behind you before he presses a kiss to your head.

“Tomorrow,” he mumbles. “Tomorrow, we handle it. Sleep now…”

You smile in the darkness and wiggle against him. “Goodnight.”

He snuffles into the pillow, clearly losing the battle against sleep as he replies, “Goodnight, love…”

❤❤❤

Epilogue

You’re still waiting on the tarmac when you finally turn off airplane mode on your phone after an 11-hour flight, anxiety and excitement making you buzz with anticipation as folks around you begin to rustle around for their bags.

Andrew I may have gotten too excited

Andrew And I may be here far too early

The texts come through in rapid succession, sent about 20 minutes ago based on the timestamps. You smile at his messages, your heart nearly bursting at his early morning earnestness.

You Thank you for picking me up ❤️

You And sorry for picking the 7 AM flight!!

You I’ll buy you coffee for the trouble

You Also can we get coffee? I think I’m dying

Andrew Of course we can

Andrew It’s the least you could do honestly

Andrew 7 AM is fucking ridiculous

Andrew People choose to live like this??

Andrew I’ll see you in a bit ❤️

It’s not hard to spot him as he idles near the terminal entrance, messy hair hidden by a baseball cap, tired eyes shielded by dark sunglasses. You can tell he’s scanning the crowd for you as his head turns slowly. He breaks out into a grin once he sees you, making your heart stutter as you race over to him.

You drop your bags before throwing your arms around him, burying your face into his chest as he envelops you in a tight hug.

“Hi, hi, hi, I missed you!” you chirp. “Longest three days of my life.”

It’s ridiculous, you know, but you were so sad to see him go days before your departure. Ryan called it sappy, Larissa called it cute. Autumn called it puppy love before walking away crooning to Paul Anka.

“I missed you, too,” he murmurs before pressing a few kisses to your head. “C’mon, let’s head to the car.”

Andrew insists on taking your bags to his car on the fourth level of the parking structure. You’re both exhausted, your miscalculations putting your arrival time in Dublin at just past 7:10 AM. You hadn’t realized before double-checking the evening before your flight. Andrew, gracious thing he is, still volunteered to pick you up despite your offer of getting an Uber instead.

It’s nearly 7:45 AM when you settle into the passenger seat of his car, and you quietly watch the world whizz past the windows as he follows the surprisingly clear M50 southbound towards Wicklow.

“I’m sorry we can’t drive along the coast,” he says as you marvel at the greenery that flanks the outskirts of Carrickmines. “The train runs along that way, though, so if you wanted to go into the city and see the ocean…”

It’s an hour before you’re slowly rolling through the backroads of County Wicklow, further south in the outskirts where civilization dwindles. It makes sense for him, a little hovel he can escape to without fear of prying from nosy neighbors. (Also, cutting down on the noise complaints lodged by said nosy neighbors who don’t appreciate his late night wailing.)

You blink in surprise as he pulls onto a private path that leads into his driveway.

The property itself isn’t massive or sprawling the way you might expect from someone with his net worth. It’s far more quaint, averaging the size of a typical suburban home encountered in the United States with a plethora of vacant land surrounding it.

He walks you through the stone path amidst the foliage of his garden—less a garden and more a wild landscape of native plants for the local bees to thrive on.

The inside of his home is just as quaint, looking similar to your own apartment in terms of cleanliness and coziness. (Which is to say, lots of clutter and too many mismatched pillows piled on the couch.) It’s almost surreal to be here after weeks of planning, weeks of waiting until the coveted three-week break between legs of the tour.

Not that the break really matters to you anymore, you suppose. After a few conversations with Andrew and some uncomfortable Zoom calls with Caroline, it was decided that you could not continue on the tour as stage manager due to conflict of interest.

While you were sad to resign from your position, it was a simultaneously freeing feeling. The relationship you and Andrew had hidden from everyone else for weeks was finally out in the open. You were finally allowed to touch him, hug him, and kiss him in more public areas (within reason) without fear of recourse.

The band had been delighted by the news; you were not thrilled by the quiet grumbles and money that exchanged hands between them as you realized they’d placed bets on your relationship timeline.

Autumn was excited when you relayed the news, proudly shouting her well-earned I told you so across a parking lot at an unreasonable hour; however, she was less-than-enthused at her impromptu promotion to lead stage manager at the behest of management.

“I guess that means you’re leaving altogether?”

“Well…actually…”

Strings were pulled, arrangements were made, and Andrew presented a plan he knew you might try to refuse: Stay with him for the duration of the tour, and he’d take care of everything. Everything holds a much heftier connotation, one that still makes you nervous despite. To not work is one thing, but to have him pay your way? That just felt gross.

In the end, you agreed to the arrangement with the caveat that you would pay for some things here and there to feel like less of a parasite. Andrew begrudgingly agreed despite continuing to argue with you about how unnecessary all of it was, that he was more than happy to handle expenses so you didn’t have to worry.

His continued insistence about taking care of you still warms your heart despite the anxiety that comes with it. A conversation about the long-term has been shelved for now, but Andrew is quick to do anything and everything to ensure your comfort.

Andrew rests your bags on the floor in the entryway before reaching up to stretch and yawn.

“C’mon,” he murmurs as he takes your hand to lead you down the hallway towards the master bedroom. “I’ve only had a few hours of sleep, and I’m sure you’re exhausted.”

The coffee you’d picked up at a local shop on the way to his place does absolutely nothing for you, somehow making you even more tired than when you’d landed. Perhaps it’s the nerves and giddiness wearing off, allowing your body to finally relax enough for some semblance of rest. Perhaps it’s the jetlag finally catching up to you.

Regardless, you feel as though you’re five seconds away from collapsing from exhaustion.

You strip out of your dirty airport clothes and kick them towards where some of his clothing lays in a heap. It requires far too much energy to dig through your bags for any kind of loose-fitting loungewear or pajamas, so you opt to slide into bed in only a pair of dark underwear.

Andrew seems to take this as an invitation as he strips himself of his own clothes, slips beneath the covers, and pulls you close to cuddle against his side.

The blackout curtains plunge the bedroom into darkness once he turns out the lights. You suddenly find it nearly impossible to keep your drooping eyes open as you settle your head into the crook of his shoulder, one leg resting over his own. The smell of the pillows and sheets is comforting, so distinctly him that you can’t help but smile.

“Don’t forget,” he says through another yawn. “Dinner with my folks tonight…”

How could you forget? It will be your first time meeting his family in person, and the thought makes your stomach roll with nervous anticipation. You hope they like you, hope that you make a good enough impression that you’ll be accepted into the fold. Despite Andrew attempting to assuage many of your fears, you’re still worried about fucking it all up.

“I can hear you thinking,” he hums. “It’ll be fine, darling. They’re going to love you.”

You lift your head to catch him in a kiss that lingers until you’re smiling against his lips and pulling away.

“I know,” you say quietly as you settle. You rub light circles along his chest with your fingers. “It’s still daunting, though, meeting the parents. I guess that never really changes, does it?”

“In my experience? No, not really.” You can feel him shake his head. “I know I’ll be a nervous wreck when I meet your family.”

The breeze outside rustles twinkling chimes that hang just outside the open window. It’s soothing, a wonderful background noise as you relax in his arms.

After a few beats of silence, Andrew says quietly, “I’m so happy you’re here.”

“I’m happy I’m here, too,” you say with a huffed laugh. Then, with a content sigh, you murmur against his skin, “I love you.”

“I love you, too, darling,” he mumbles before pressing another kiss to your head. “Sleep now. You got me up far too early, and this is your recompense.”

“Oh nooo,” you say flatly as you tug the covers up to your chin. “I can’t believe you would do this to me…”

The words die in your throat as your eyes slip closed, the whistle of wind and the rustling of trees, the warmth of his body pressed against yours lulling you into a deep, dreamless sleep.

[psychesalcove]

can you do either this prompt with Percy?

“you look so comfy; and cuddle-able."

or this one?

”it's just, I can't believe you're actually wearing my clothes,"

I absolutely adore your writing bb 🤭

✧.* percy jackson x fem reader

all of my writing is body and race type friendly! feel free to interact:)

part of psyches, 'in memory of those who chose the sea,' event

-> want to participate in the event?

an: im so sooo sorry that i haven't posted for so long, school recently started and i'm going to an early college place so i get so much homework omg 😕😕 I finally found time to write, again I'm really sorry about not posting. i love you babes!! ty for the request 🩷

you shifted in your bed, trying to find a comfortable position to be in. percy was in the bathroom connected to the room; you could hear him quietly humming to himself as he washed his face. your eyes shifted over to where percys hoodie was on the bed: he never wore a hoodie to bed because he claimed it made him 'less comfy'.

you grabbed the lump of navy blue and were immediately hit with the familiar sent of percy. you could never pinpoint exactly what he smelled like, but it always reminded you of home. the hoodie was quickly put over you, the fabric still warm from being on percy minutes earlier.

after the hoodie was on, you got into a comfortable position and pulled the duvet over you as percy finished up on whatever he was doing in the bathroom. a minute later, the lights in the room dimmed, a sign that percy was finished.

'hey, pretty girl,' percy said as the bed dipped under his weight. 'you sleepy?' he asked, hand coming up to rub on your cheek.

you hummed and leaned into his touch. 'college is kicking my ass,'

'fair enough,' percy laughed, hand still caressing your cheek. 'is that a new sweatshirt?' he mused, eyes drifting from your face to where a bit of your hoodie was peaking out.

you giggled. 'can't recognize your own clothes, perce?' hand coming up to your cheek to rest on his hand.

'no, no i can,' he said, flashing his dimples at you with his smile.'it's just, i can't believe you're actually wearing my clothes,' he mumbled, removing his hand from your cheek and bringing his face into your neck.

'you're clothes are comfy, what can i say?' you laughed, resting your head atop of his.

percy sighed and you felt him smiling into your neck. 'im also a little jealous that my hoodies look so much better on you than me,' he mumbled as he pressed light kisses into your neck.

[the-anime-enthusiast]

pls shoto / hawks type of women

MHA CHARACTERS TYPE IN WOMEN

#2 Keigo Takami - Hawks

KEIGO TAKAMI - PHYSICAL

He likes his women a lil shorter 😌🫶 Like 5'2 - 5-6 buuutt will GLADLY take on a model height baddie ANY DAY OF THE WEEK "what's the point of wings if I can't use them to fly up and kiss you??" 🤧

AN ABSOLUTE ASS MAN he loves the legs, the butt, all of it and in between but besides be a total tweaker for a nice ass he has a special place in his heart for boobs 🫶 specifically b-c cups though 🌚 he doesn't know why but he likes a smaller size 😉

Siren eyes are his ULTIMATE WEAKNESS something about someone who looks so intense and like they're about to eat him alive bc hes so fucking annoying GETS BRO GOING 🤩 He can tease you all day any day but if you act like he's just another guy to you HE WILL CHASE YOU TO THE ENDS OF THE DAMN EARTH ‼️‼️

Sucker for dimples 😌 Loves to see some chubby cheeks with the cutest dimples 🫡 AND SMILE LINES OMFGGG 😍😍😍🙏🙏🙏 he doesn't even know what it is about them but it makes his heart SKIP A BEAT

He LUVS a sun kissed skin look 🌞 like a slightly tanned face with some redness left over from a sunburn, freckles starting to pop up everywhere HE LOVES IT 💥💥💥

Short and stout or tall and skinny he loves it all 🫡🫡🫡 Bro is NOT PICKY 😭 As long as ur face cute hell love you until hell freezes OVVVERRR BRO 🌚🌚🌚

KEIGO TAKAMI - MENTAL

Literally just someone he can vibe with 🙂‍↕️ If you match energy he will worship you like THE AIR HE BREATHES 😍 Just someone laid back and chill but also can have a fub time and a positive outlook on the future "pessimists are my worst enemy" was once scratched from an interview 🌚

While he loves an optimist and like minded folk realism is the most important thing he could ask for -- Someone who understands his job and the things he has to do 💯 (this stems a lot from the twice incident which i will touch on at the end of this)

Can we all admit he's fs got mommy issues ✋ he would die for a lady who will hold him in her arms at the end of the day and just let him exist in the peace and quiet of his home with her 🙂‍↔️

SMART WOMEN 😍 he loves someone smart, youre working to get ur PhD? SMASH‼️ A teacher ?? SMASH‼️ Literally any job or skill that requires emotional strength and a BIG BRAIN and he's weak in the knees 🤭

KEIGO TAKAMI - RANDOM

Blissfully unaware people who will lounge in bed all day reading a magazine then running up to him as he gets home from work peppering him will kisses is like a very specific want of his - 😭 bro just wants someone to love him fr ✊😔

Has a weird thing for teachers -💀 Anytime a girl is like "Oh yeah I never told you? I'm a Pre-K teacher!' his eye twitches and he feels like he's going insane 😶‍🌫️ (in the best way possible)

You're the only person he's ever told this or would let do this to him - but give him back scratches at the base of his wings AND HE EVAPORATES 🫠🫠

NERDS 💯💯💯 A secret fangirl???? He's never living it down. EVER. He'll bring you home limited edition, u released, ect ect merch for, not only him, but ALL THE TOP HEROES bc he gets first dibs from being so high in the charts 😌

Going of off nerds again, IF YOU CORRECT HIM ON SOMETHING (literally anything...it's concerning) HE GETS SOOO HOT AND BOTHERED he's never been able to figure out why but being out in his place by someone so intellectually advance does something to him 🧍‍♀️

THATS THE POST!! (but here's some end credits and comments rq 😉)

About the twice situation, although he recognizes what he did was wrong, he doesn't regret it, because it truly changed the tide and outcome of the war, and he needs someone who sees that and defends him whole heartedly ✋

ANYWAYS I HAD SO MUCH FUN DOING THIS REQUEST ‼️ I've never been a huge fan of hawks so it was SO much fun coming up with stuff and diving more into his character ‼️‼️ I hope y'all enjoy 😉

also...idk if y'all can tell... but I NEED HIM AND FUYUMI TO BECOME A THING PLEASE HORIKOSHI ID GIVE YOU MY LIFE (the head cannons have nothing to do with that shit it's all separate it just happens to line up VERY well) 😍

BYYEEEE THANKYOU ‼️

[lara4eclipze]

“Holiday”

sypnosis; thinking you were asleep "i love you" Megan whispers kissing your forehead — except you weren't actually asleep

cw;fluffy , losers in love , swearing, Christmas stuffz , you are older in this story

"hey I don't drive that bad" the ginger haired exclaimed

"you do! , god remember that time you tried vertical parking" you giggle , this has to be the highlight of your day , sitting down and just bonding with your girlfriend, you loved her she was funny , nice and sooo pretty

"hey atleast were still alive" she says with a stupid grin

"yeah as if that's any better" you chuckle before she raises her hand like a defeated racoon

--

later that night Megan , called you to her room , she looked happy her whisker like dimples showing, cute you thought

"whyy my love?" you ask , sitting down on her bed , she was infront of her laptop

"sooo my mom asked if I can go home for the holidays — I was wondering if you wanted to come with me" she ask smiling warmly

"wait are you serious?! , yeah if course!" you were obviously happy , I mean it's the first time you'll spend any holiday with Megan's family

"great! , i suggest you start packing now" she chuckles , you obviously do

--

the day comes and you are nervous and pretty much about to jump off a building

"hey don't worry" the younger says holding your hands

"I just want it to go perfectly" you exhale, she kisses your cheeks

"trust me it will go perfectly, just don't overthink it" Megan replies , which eases your mind

as the van brings you to the airport you feel weight off your shoulders , looking at LA for a last time before going to Hawaii

you hated the airport well so did Megan, lines , so much people and kids well not all kids but you get it

"babe , we need to board now" you hear Megan whisper to you , you nod and walk with her towards the plane

"not a bad seat Megan" you say amused , window seat and is in first class , you knew she was rich but not this rich

"Mommy bought it for us , she said because she wanted us to be comfortable" Megan scratches her head , smiling at you — you smile back

"aww that's so nice of her" you said sitting down

--

upon arriving at Megan's house , all your worries practically vanished , her house was beautiful it provided solace

"come in darling" you hear Megan's mom say , Megan calls you over and you quickly follow , greeting her family and going straight to her room

"I love it here" you sigh , you settle your bags down and hug Megan from behind

"I don't wanna leave" you whine to her

"hey neither do I , but let's make our times worth okay?" she reassured you

--

to say your first night here was incredible is an understatement, it was amazing her mother's cooking , the family games you played , not to mention the old pictures of Megan you saw

later on Megan offered walking around the beach which you quickly agree too

"it's calming here" you exhale , hands intertwined with the younger

"I know" she chimes smiling at you

--

finally the day ended , now resting in Megan's arms , it was truly perfect, this is your home too

closing your eyes and hoping for sleep you heard Megan murmur to you

"I love you" after so kissing your forehead, you blushed trying to act asleep

"I love you too silly" you mumble back , earning you a playful smack to the arm

"hey I thought you were asleep" she exclaimed

[hijackalx]

Question for Astarion, Gale, and Gortash (might be considered a headcanon ask maybe?) How would they react to seeing their sweetheart in the Wavemother's Robes?

LETS DO THIS BABEYYYY !!!!!!

GN!reader

NSFW BELOW

let’s set the scene. i’m imagining like……. a ball or a party or something 💃💃🪩

GORTASH

this man has no shame like he does not give a SHIT who is watching he will want to fuck right then and there. honestly loves showing you off so you wearing something revealing/flattering is a plus to him. ALTHOUGH he is SO obnoxious with his PDA and will be touching you all over. mostly to make everyone else jealous 🤭 you’re his arm candy for sure

he loves how the robe accentuates your shape. also the little back window omg DON’T let this man see back dimples he turns into a wild animal. he catches glimpses of your back whenever he can and always rests his hand in that spot when you’re standing together. definitely thinks about fucking you from behind while you’re wearing it

you will eventually disappear together because he couldn’t wait any longer (he has two seconds of patience). will probably fuck you over a table in a secluded room or something, throwing the back of the dress up or to the side so he can easily slip inside you. while you’re fucking he’ll tell you how everyone thinks you’re a whore or a slut for wearing something like that (endearingly)

ASTARION

SO much obvious staring. i feel like he’ll glance at your body when he knows you’ll see just to get you flustered. will also make comments like “darling, did you dress up for me?” and give soooooo much praise on how you look. LITERALLY never-ending praise. and it also progressively gets hornier LMAO you WILL feel like he wants to eat you up

OBSESSED with how it exposes your chest/stomach. and the little peeks of collarbone too UGH GOD THE COLLARBONES !!!!!!! gets turned on thinking about covering the area in hickeys/bite marks so that the next time you wear it everyone knows you’re his

he’s pretty patient with it and waits until the night is over to finally fuck you. he mostly just thinks it’s funny to get you wound up throughout the night with his dirty talk and then make you wait LMAO asshole. but anyway, when he lays you down he’s definitely going to be “scolding” YOU for teasing HIM all night 😭😭😭

GALE

MY SWEET BOY IS LITERALLY A FLUSTERED STUTTERING MESSSSS !!!!! his cheeks turn red and everything. anybody remember his reaction to you wearing haarlep’s clothes? it’s basically like that LMAO like he can’t look at you at all without thinking about all the things he wants to do to you— but that’s not very gentlemanly of him so he’s a little embarrassed by it 😹😹

he’s particularly interested in your exposed hips……… or more so how he can tell you’re not wearing underwear. he fantasizes about wrapping his arms around you from behind and slipping a hand underneath the robe to get you off with his hand/fingers

if you tease him at all or flaunt your figure because you know he’s watching his restraint will SHATTER. even if you’re in the middle of talking to someone he’s taking you by the hand to lead you somewhere private. sooo much dirty talk like he will tell you EVERY SINGLE THING he’s thought about doing to you. IN DETAIL