#and i sleep next to him every night and talk to him like hes a person. and i used to have to type out everything to you longhand without

[brokenengene]

࿐second chances - l.hs

He calls her after work just to hear her fall apart for him. The next night, she’s in his bed, legs shaking around his head, soaking the sheets with every breathless thank you.

pairing: single dad! boss! heeseung x secretary! fem reader

genres: office romance, smut, angst, second chance, contemporary

This content is only for readers 18+

content warning: strong language, power dynamics, sensitive themes, sexual content, angst, brief mentions of alcohol, discussions of infertility, discussions of pregnancy, low self-worth talk/self-esteem issues, grief mention, detailed smut, 18+ themes

smut warning: kissing, making-out, oral sex(fem receiving), unprotected sex(please don't!) praise kink, verbal breeding kink, mutual masturbation (phone), mention of vibrator usage, interrupted intimacy, soft dom!Heeseung, creampie, crying during sex, emotional vulnerability

word count: 10.6k

soundtrack: daylight-taylor swift/ let me love you like a woman-lana del rey/ earned it- the weekend

College was a long, long four years. Sleepless nights and all-nighters, good professors and bad ones.

To be honest, it didn’t live up to your expectations. 

At all.

Your grades were top of your class but in the romance department, you failed with a zero.

Freshman year went by, and no boyfriend, sophomore year? still no boyfriend. Junior and senior year? Too busy with homework to even try.

But that wasn’t your main goal anyway. Studies were always number one.

You rarely went to any parties, and rarely had any hookups because honestly?

You had essays due at 11:59.

It went by quickly and before you knew it you were tossing your tassel and walking across the graduation stage. A smile plastered across your face and an ache in your heart. 

You did it. You truly did it. 

Now on to adulthood, your carefree years are left behind in the dust.

 You felt pressure the minute you walked off that stage. So, so much pressure.

From weddings and baby showers to getting bombarded with questions at every single. holiday dinner. 

“When are you getting married?  “When are you going to have kids? You aren’t getting any younger.” “I know we told you to focus on your studies but you should think about settling down.” 

When you were offered a position at the biggest marketing agency in the city you were swift to accept. Ready to transition from campus life to corporate life. 

The first few months were rough, but you pushed through. Before you knew it you were fitting right in.

Professionally sent emails, a schedule full of meetings, and coffee perfectly sweetened and delivered to your boss right on time. 

Soon you were caught up in the routine of your 9-5. 

Wake up. 

Commute.

Work.

Commute.

Sleep. 

The American dream you were sold. Yet you still felt so empty, like something was constantly missing.

Your hard work quickly paid off. Soon the company was promoting you to the role of assistant creative director. And with the pay raise came more responsibility—and more mental strain. 

Heeseung Lee, your new boss, didn’t seem thrilled. 

He seemed like he was always giving you a task to keep you as far away from him as possible. But being the hardworking woman you are, you complied.

You had an image to keep up anyway.

You didn’t know much about him. He mostly kept to himself, always buried in work from dawn until dusk. Never really gave you a second glance unless he needed an errand run. Or his coffee refilled.

You woke up to the same blare of your alarm. Starting the day off like all the others. Picking out another navy blue pantsuit and pairing it with some pumps and your work tote. 

You tie up your hair professionally, do some minimal makeup to compliment your features, and spray your favorite perfume. 

You’re out the door just in time. Driving the same sluggish commute to the office. The same songs still playing on the radio. 

As you wind through the crowded city streets the office building becomes visible in the distance.

The unchanging, rising floors and perfectly polished glass reflect the blue of the sky. The logos were perfectly stamped onto the top of the building and the doors. 

You step into the empty elevator and ride it up to the marketing floor. The large windows overlook the bustling city below, letting the sun's rays into the concrete structure. 

Your heels click against the floor, echoing in the empty hall as you make your way toward your desk—which just happens to be room next to Heeseung’s.

You set down your keys and bag before pulling out your laptop to get to work. 

You’re lost in thought and focused on getting a head start on the day. Make a list of clients to contact, things to print, and a schedule of meetings for your boss.

You hardly even notice the sound of the elevator opening with a quiet, ding!

You glance at the clock, no one besides you ever comes to the office this early. You watch through the glass prying your gaze overtop the desktop curiously to see who it could be.

Your boss steps out of the elevator, tie loose and crooked, shirt wrinkled, hair down, You’ve never seen him show up this…messy?

Immediately your interest is piqued. Your eyes narrow with confusion as you watch him stumble into the office, coffee in one hand and laptop tucked under the other arm. You glance down and notice a small boy clinging to his leg. 

He drags himself across the office floor and the boy latches onto his pant leg. You smile softly as you watch through the glass. Wondering who’s kid your stoic boss got stuck parenting this morning. 

 “Daddy I want pancakes!” The little boy yells. 

“Shhhhh inside voice Cal-“ Heeseung says to the boy as he covers his mouth in an attempt to muffle his echoed pleas for pancakes. 

Dad? Heeseung? A Father? You had no idea. You’ve never seen him wear a ring, he never seemed like the family type either.

No pictures of a family framed on his desk like your other coworkers.  You ponder, all of a sudden invested in knowing way more about his personal life than you should. 

Your curiosity gets the best of you as you decide to confidently step out of the office, pretending not to notice him. 

Heeseung's eyes shoot wide as he hears the sound of your heels on the tile floor.

 “Morning.” He says, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment from the compromising position you caught him in. He’s visibly flustered.

Again that's a first.

You don’t know what comes over you. Before you know it you're simply leaning in to help. 

“Morning! Didn’t know you were bringing a guest today.” You say with a soft smile to the boy, waving to him as you step closer. 

You gently glance at Heeseung, his expression overwhelmed and stressed. He can’t even fight you as you take the coffee and laptop from his hands.

His shoulders physically drop with the release of the tension. 

Your fingertips brush against the warmth of his as you take the now cold coffee cup from his hand, leaning in and getting a whiff of his cologne as you take the laptop.

You feel his warmth as you do, his scent is woody and inviting. Again you’ve never been this close.

And it's making your heart race.

“Up we go-“ Heeseung says, picking up the still visibly angry boy in his arms as he follows you into his office. You set down his things on the mahogany desk and he closes the door behind you. 

Heeseung lets the boy down, and he instantly starts bouncing off the walls and running circles around his desk. He Jumps up and down on the small leather couch. Heeseung sighs as he looks over at you.

Helpless.

“The nanny I hired walked out on me at the last minute. I just didn’t know what else to do.” Heeseung mumbles under his breath. 

He rubs the back of his neck, You’ve never seen him so unguarded before.

“Callum down! No jumping!” Heeseung haggles as he pinches the bridge of his nose in an attempt to relieve some of the headache. 

Callum, that must be his son, he looks maybe around four years old. It’s clear he’s full of lots of energy.

He also appears to be protesting his no-pancake breakfast.

Heeseung lets out another sigh, visibly stressed beyond anything you've ever seen. His shoulders are tense, so tense as his son only makes more and more noise.

It makes your heart ache, without even thinking you step in.

“Callum, do you want to color?” You say kindly, you don’t even know what’s taken over you, it just hurts to see your boss looking like a stressed-out mess.

And to be fair, you are his assistant. It’s your job to lend a hand.

You gather some copy paper from his desk before opening the drawers. You shuffle through the sea of sticky notes and paper clips before finding a few colored highlighters scattered around.

“I love to color!” Callum says as he jumps off the couch and onto the floor. 

With the office supplies in hand, you lie on the rug, kicking your heels off in the process. You don’t even notice Heeseung staring at you in awe as Callum takes the green highlighter from your hand and starts to scribble on the page. 

And for the first time since Heeseung walked through the door, it’s quiet. 

“Can you add a dinosaur? Pretty please!!!” Callum says cheerfully as the two of you continue to scribble your masterpiece onto the paper. 

“I can try…” you say with a weak giggle as you use the best of your ability to draw the shape of a dinosaur from memory. Letting your fingertips lightly brush the pens across the white pages.

Heeseung just leans against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest with a stupid grin on his face. You look good, a little too good.

Shit...

He’s snapped out of his trance when his phone buzzes in his back pocket. He immediately steps out leaving just you and Callum alone for a moment. 

You watch through the glass. There he goes again, stressed and frustrated. His shoulders tight on the call, his hand roughly raking through his already messy hair. 

After a few moments, he aggressively ends the call and steps back in, shoving his phone in the back pocket of his dress pants. 

“Sorry I’ve got to jump on a quick meeting, I didn’t notice the time got changed,” Heeseung says frantically as he grabs his laptop, his eyes wide as he looks between you and Callum. Like he just doesn’t know exactly what to do.

“You go, I can handle this,” you say, chest fluttering as you see his expression melt. You’ve never seen him so soft. 

“I owe you one, you’re a lifesaver,” Heeseung says breathlessly as he turns out the door, he looks back once, heart melting at the sight.

He looks back once more before rounding the corner to the conference hall. 

You and Callum are left alone in the office, you keep him entertained. Thankful that you came in early to get a head start on the day.

It’s easy to give him your full attention knowing you have an empty to-do list.

You get comfortable, taking off your navy blue blazer and tossing it onto the back of his office chair.

You slide your heels under the desk, watching Callum fill up sheet after sheet of paper with colorful, creative pieces of art.

“I like you more than the other lady,” Callum mumbles as he lies on the ground, brows furrowed as he focuses on coloring in the rough outlined shapes. 

“You do?” You question him with a sweet voice. You lean down next to him, taking one of the highlighters in your hand as you mindlessly start to draw on another sheet of paper next to him.

“Are you going to be my new mommy? I miss having a mom.” The boy mutters, his expression hopeful. 

Your heart drops. Is Heeseung taking care of him all by himself? You can only imagine how much stress he’s under juggling work life and home life too. 

You chuckle weakly as you continue to watch him scribble on the pages.

“That’s not really how it works Callum.” You inform kindly.

After about half an hour of coloring and dinosaur talk, Heeseung comes around the corner. You catch a glimpse of him through the glass and you swear your heart skips another beat.

“Daddy!” Callum says as he jumps up and runs into his Dad's legs as he stands in the doorway.

“Were you good for her Cal?” Heeseung asks, glancing at you briefly, his expression softening as he steps into the office and sets his laptop down on the desk.

You start to clean up the mess. Highlighters, pens, and paper scattered all over the floor, your hair a mess, blazer tossed somewhere to the side. You smile softly as you listen to the interaction. 

You catch another whiff of his cologne, woody, warm, and masculine. There it goes again, your heart skipping a beat.

“He’s a good kid.” You say with a smile on your face as you unintentionally lock eyes with Heeseung. He can’t help but smile back at you. 

You’re snapped out of your gaze when Callum tugs at the edge of your shirt. 

“Are you leaving? Please don’t leave! Daddy, can she come home with us?” Callum cries out. 

Heeseung lets out another weak laugh. Face flushing with embarrassment.

“Cal, she's got her own home to go to.” Heeseung watches, leaning against the desk and crossing his arms. 

“Daddy I like her!” Callum says. Heeseung’s expression softens at his words.

His eyes linger on your expression as he pulls a granola bar out of one of the drawers of his desk. He softly breaks it into small pieces before handing it to Callum. 

“Chocolate Chip! Your favorite…” Heeseung mutters as he watches Callum let go of your shirt, running to take the Granola bar out of his hand. It's quiet while he munches away at his morning snack.

With free hands, Heeseung steps away from his desk moving even closer to you. Your heart rate picks up. Beating fast as you notice just how attractive he looks in the low light.

He’s young, he can’t be much older than you are. As you study his face you notice his expression changing, flickering with surprise, gratitude even.

“You’re really good with him. He’s never like this with anyone else.” Heeseung says to you his voice soft, just above a whisper. 

“I worked at a daycare in college, I have a few tricks up my sleeve.” You say playfully, an unfamiliar warmth starts to pool in your stomach. You push it down in an attempt to keep the feelings strictly professional.

“You’re a natural, I didn’t know you had this side to you.” He says casually leaning up against the desk.

Your eyes linger on the way his body fills up his suit. The fabric straining against his muscles as he crosses his arms over his chest.

“Likewise, didn’t know you had the cutest little boy around. He's real special..” You say as you casually slip back into your work pumps, smoothing out the wrinkles of your blouse.

You flush, noticing Heesueng’s eyes lingering on your fingertips, mentally tracing the curves of your body.

After a long moment, Heeseung shakes his head trying to snap himself out of, whatever he’s feeling.

“He deserves the world and I—I  wish I could give it to him,” Heeseung confesses his voice low, almost sounding defeated.

“You’re doing enough…trust me. I couldn’t imagine being in your shoes. Especially with that ball of energy.” You say truthfully, your gaze lingering on him for another second too long. Noticing the way his dark hair compliments his eyes. 

Heeseung nervously clears his throat, his cheeks flushing as the noise smacks you out of your trance with a nervous laugh.

Heeseung hesitates, there's a moment of comfortable silence before he speaks up. “Well I have another meeting at 12, and I’ve got a presentation I need to work on for Friday, I don’t know how I'm going to get it all done—”

“Don’t worry, I can watch him. I’ll order him some food and keep him entertained while you work.” You interrupt with a soft smile. Your fingertips mindlessly adjust your hair, making his heart flutter. 

“If that's okay with you?” You add nervously.

“Are you sure you really don’t have to…” Heeseung mutters, but you can tell from his body language he’s secretly relieved and deeply grateful for the offer.

“I want to, I’ve pretty much got a blank schedule today so I don’t mind.” You say as Callum finishes his granola and runs back towards the two of you. Leaving a messy pile of crumbs where he sat and ate his snack.

He gently clings to the side of your leg, gripping the fabric of your dress pants. 

Heeseung takes one look and he just can’t say no. 

“Daddy! Can we play some more!” Callum says as he tugs at the side of your pant leg. 

Heeseung smiles, this time it's different, authentic. 

“I’ll be back around 5.”

And with that, he leaves you two in the office to make it your very own personal playground.

⋆ ⋆ ⋆

The sun starts to set letting hues of orange and pink seep through the office windows.

5pm rolls around and  Heeseung couldn’t be more than happy to be done with his tedious work.

His breath catches as he turns the corner of the hall. Heart softening as he finds the state of the two of you. 

You’re still lying on the rug, barefoot, and with your hair loose as you type away at your laptop. Typical of you to get a head start on some work for tomorrow. 

Callum rests his head on your leg as he sleeps peacefully. His little chest rises and falls with soft breaths as he dozes off peacefully.

You don’t even notice Heeseung standing in the doorway again, as you continue to work.

Remnants of a door-dashed chicken nugget meal is left right next to you. A little bit of ketchup staining Callum’s dinosaur shirt. 

Callum is fed, asleep, and happy. 

That makes today a win. 

“I don’t know how I’m ever going to repay you for this,” Heeseung speaks up as he steps into the room. His voice was soft enough to catch your attention but not to wake Callum. 

You flinch as you hear his voice, unaware that he was watching you for the last few minutes completely enthralled with what he was seeing.

“Is it 5:00 already?” You ask tearing your gaze away from your laptop to glance at Heeseung leaning against the doorframe. His tight blazer rode up just enough to reveal his strong build underneath his slim white shirt. 

“5:16 actually,” Heeseung says matter-of-factly. He drags himself into the room, setting down his laptop and keeling down to help clean up the mess. 

He starts to pick up the food trash, gathering up all the pens and markers. A few pages are scattered across the floor. He smiles as he flips through the drawings. 

Dinosaurs, castles, sharks—his heart stops when he sees messily drawn stick figures in front of a house. 

It’s a boy with black hair, a tall man with the same, and a woman that looks a lot like you. 

Callum drew this, little stick figures in front of his home, a family. 

Heeseung doesn’t say anything to you, he just continues to clean and pack up letting Callum rest on your leg peacefully. But his heart is thumping in his ears.

Imagining you with Callum, in his home. Imagining you in his bed—

He stops himself. You’re his assistant for God’s sake, not a free babysitter. You come here to get a check just like he does. Not to live out some fantasy that he knows is out of reach. 

Heeseung glances at the picture on his desk just one more time. He keeps telling himself it’s asking too much, and that having a family like that is impossible for him.

He tries, but his heart is tugging in another direction. 

There are hardly any words spoken between you as Heeseung packs up his things. The rest of the staff was already gone leaving the office dim and cold and empty.

You gently pick up Callum. He stirs slightly as you hold him up against your hip. You slip back into your shoes, and without even asking, Heeseung grabs the rest of your things. 

The elevator ride down is quiet. The only sound is the soft hum of the cables and Callum’s soft sleepy breaths against your shoulder.

Your heels click against the concrete as you carry Callum to the parking garage. Heeseung keeps glancing at you briefly, not being able to hold contact too long. Like he’s still trying to keep you at a distance, but he's failing. 

“The black Kia is mine…” Heeseung says softly as he leads you through the empty parking garage to the back row of parking spots.

Once you reach the car he opens the back door for you. Letting you easily slide Callum into his car seat. You don’t even notice the drool left on your white shirt as you buckle him into the car. 

Heeseung just stands watching from the side. You look incredible, and he notices the drool left on your corporate attire.

You just look so right, feel so right. But he knows it’s not right in the slightest.

Once Callum is bucked in you shut the door to the black SUV turning to take your blazer, laptop, and workbag from Heeseungs arms.

“You have no idea what you’ve done for me today,” Heeseung says softly, his tone truthfully like he means every word as he passes you your things.

“Anytime. Callum is worth it.” You say softly as you slip back into your navy blue blazer. 

“Here let me repay you for the Happy Meal I—“ 

“Don’t. Please. It’s my pleasure truly.”  You say as you playfully 'shh' him with your fingertips. His cheeks flushed a soft pink at the gesture.

You don’t even realize just how close you are. 

There’s a pause. It’s not awkward just heavy. Like you can feel the thoughts racing through your head and his.

You catch a breath as he stares down into your eyes, his gaze lingering across every one of your features. 

He hesitates, not wanting to cross a line, but God he wants to. He reaches out his hand, gently cupping the sides of your face, his thumbs brushing against the warmth of your cheeks.

You swear you can hear the beat of your heart echoing through the empty car garage. 

“You are so kind, so beautiful…” Heeseung mutters under his breath. His gaze locked on you like he’s in a trance. His fingertips gently brush against your soft skin. 

He leans in, his lips almost touching yours. His breath is hot against you. The woody and masculine smell of his fading cologne fills your senses. Reminding you how quickly the distance is shrinking between you.

The moment is charged, you both know you shouldn’t. But you're dying to have a taste of his perfectly shaped lips. 

“You really saved me today, I can’t say thank you enough” Heeseung whispers. Tension sizzles while his heart feels conflicted all at once.

But right now, off the clock, he’s feeling everything he’s been pushing down since the day you were promoted.

 Right now, you’re not just his assistant. You’re the generous, intelligent, attractive woman that he's been pushing away since day one.

His eyes find yours again, and he doesn’t want to push you away anymore.

He’s scared but also excited. Maybe you could be something more.

“Then don’t say it.” You mutter softly… Your eyes widen as you realize what just slipped out of your mouth. 

Heeseung chuckles again. The sound makes your stomach flip as his dark eyes flick down to your perfectly shaped lips. 

His breath catches.

He hesitates.

But closes the distance. 

He leans in and captures your soft lips with his own. The kiss is soft, gentle, barely there like he’s trying to say goodbye and thank you all at once.

Your breath gets caught in your lungs as you feel the warmth of his lips against your own. You feel the tension slipping from your body as you kiss him back with a soft sigh.

You slowly move your hands letting them rest against his chest, gently pulling at the cool fabric of his button-up shirt. 

His lips brush against yours again, barely capturing your lips with his own, keeping his distance in case you want to pull away.

You don’t. 

You can’t help but lean into it. His lips are soft and feather-like. You gasp into his mouth, heart-thumping in your chest.

Your breath hitches, and Heeseung smirks. Noticing the effect he’s having on you. 

The kiss lingers, for two seconds, maybe three. After a short moment, he pulls away. His breath still mingling with your own.

His lips were pink and plump from the kiss. He lets his fingertips linger on your skin before reluctantly pulling them away. Leaving you with a shiver of cold without his warmth. 

“Damn,” Heeseung whispers breathlessly under his breath as he puts a few more inches of cold distance between you.

“Is that your way of saying thank you?” You tease with a soft smirk as you lean down to pick up the rest of your things, face burning as you realize—

You just kissed your boss.

“I’ve wanted to try that for longer than you think” Heeseung teases back as he nervously pulls his gaze away from you to dig in his pocket for his car keys.

The tension is heavy between you two, like you both want to say so much but the words just won't come out.

“I should get going it’s getting late—” You say nervously adjusting the wrinkled collar of your shirt in an attempt to ease some of the thick tension.

“You’re right, I’ll see you tomorrow?” Heeseung questions hopefully. His eyes lingered on you once again.

“Yeah, tomorrow.” You reply as you turn on your heel to walk towards your car, scared of what would happen if you stayed a moment longer.

“Drive safe…” Heeseung calls out behind you as he leans against the side of his car, watching as you walk across the garage before stepping into your car.

You pull the driver's side door shut with a slam. Letting out a loud heavy breath of relief as you try to process what just happened. 

Heeseung is a father. Exhausted, attractive, and kissing you like a fucking dream.

A problem in the making.

⋆ ⋆ ⋆

You can’t stop thinking about the day as you finally arrive home. You aggressively throw your things down on the kitchen counter and make your way straight for the shower. 

Hopefully, that will help clear your mind. 

You step into the shower washing your hair and skin. You can’t stop thinking about Heeseung’s gentle glances. About Callum's sweet laughter. All the things confessed and how natural everything felt in the chaos.

The weight of the day finally catches up to you as you change into a satin pair of pajamas and slide into bed.

You’re exhausted, physically and mentally. 

Just as you shut your eyes your phone vibrates and buzzes on the nightstand. You groan, lazily grabbing it, the illuminating screen hurting your eyes as you look at it in the darkness.

It’s Heeseung. 

At this hour? He can't be calling about presentations or pamphlets that need to be made. Your thumb hovers over the green circle. 

On the third ring, you pick up. 

“Hello?” You say into the phone with a professional tone.

“Hey sorry to bother you this late. You’re still up?” Heeseung asks.

You hear the rustling of sheets through the other side of the line and it only piques your interest. 

“Wouldn’t be talking to you if I wasn’t.” You say playfully in response. 

There’s a soft pause, the sound of your ceiling fan creaking overtop your bed the only thing that cuts through the breathing. 

“Hey about the kiss, I hope I want to cross a line or anything. I want to apologize���“ Heeseung breathes out.

“No trust me, you don’t have to apologize.” You say, your heart beating faster the longer the call goes on. 

Heeseung bites his lip, contemplating if he wants to say what he’s thinking. 

“I liked it, a lot actually and I would do it again,” Heeseung confesses, his voice shaky you can almost see how red he is behind the screen.

“Oh yeah?” You reply, your thighs already clenching together under the covers just at the sound of his voice. 

“I want to do more than just kiss you actually—God I shouldn’t be saying this. Maybe I should hang up,” Heeseung confesses, his voice heavy as your phone picks up the sound of more sheets rustling. 

 “Please don’t.” You plead. Your voice was shaky as it cuts through the silence. There’s another quiet pause before Heeseung softly interrupts.

“…what are you wearing?” He asks curiously with a whisper. His voice hits through the phone as you hold it to your ear.

“Satin..nothing underneath.” You say with a shaky breath. 

“Fuck. That’s hot.” Heeseung says into the phone as you hear more sounds of him from the other side. He lets a quiet breathily moan slip from his lips.

“I wish I was there. The things I would do to you, for you…” Heeseung mumbles his voice softly trailing off. 

“What things?” You ask, your voice a soft gasp catching in your throat. 

“I would kiss you again, letting my hands slide that satin off your pretty skin. Then I would kiss down your neck, letting you moan into my ear. I bet you’d sound so pretty.” Heeseung confesses. 

You imagine it, your thighs squeezing together at the thought, you’re heart beating faster as you hear his breaths getting heavier. 

“Fuck..” Heeseung gasps with a soft moan. Your eyes roll back in response as your free hand traces lower until it’s slipping into the satin fabric of your shorts.

“Then I’d kiss down your body. Down until I was kneeled between your legs, tasting you. Worshiping you, a real thank you compared to that kiss.” Heeseung gasps as you hear the bed creek underneath him on the other side of the phone. 

You moan at the thought, you don’t even realize it slipped past your lips right through the other side of the call. 

“Shit—“ you gasp your fingers slowing their movement between your legs. 

“You touching yourself?” Heeseung whispers. 

“Yeah..” you reply, your cheeks burning hot as you do. Not completely from embarrassment but maybe from how much you’re enjoying this.

“Me too…I’m so hard just thinking about you..” Heeseung says as he’s cut off with another soft groan. 

“Fuck—“ you curse as you grab some of the wetness leaking from your hole before dragging it up to your clit working small circles on yourself. 

“I’d be so good to you. Lying you back, fucking you in missionary so I can watch your pretty face.” Heeseung gasps, his breath heavy as his hand moves against himself.

“God, your voice..” you gasp as you rub yourself faster adding more pressure between your thighs. 

“Let me hear you. Fuck let me hear those pretty sounds..” Heeseung commands through the line, and the phone picks up the sound of his sharp breaths.

Your thighs shake as you push yourself further, getting lost in the image of his mouth on your pussy before sliding his cock into it. You close your eyes, letting his breaths turn you on more. 

“Daddy?” You hear softly from the other side of the phone.

 Everything stops. 

“What is it, Cal?” You hear Heeseung's muffled voice as the sheets are aggressively tossed on the other side of the phone. The room goes quiet as you hear him jump up from the bed

After a moment he comes back. 

“Shit—I’ve got to take care of him...I’m sorry..” Heeseung says frantically. 

“It’s ok I understand…have a goodnight.” You reply softly. 

“You too, goodnight,” Heeseung replies before hitting the red button on the screen leaving you completely in silence. 

You let out a sigh of pure disappointment as you turn to dig through your bedside table to find your vibrator.

⋆ ⋆ ⋆

The next day you show up to the office early. Partly because you always do and partly because you couldn’t hardly sleep at all.

Not after that call.

You remember the empty feeling of having the most unsatisfying orgasm ever. Your fingers and toys feel like nothing compared to his voice turning you on.

You shake your head trying to clear your head of the thoughts. Last night shouldn’t have happened, and you can’t let it interfere with your work. 

You pull your laptop out of your bag and immediately start to skim through your inbox, making the usual list of clients to call and meetings to attend. You’re quickly interrupted by a knock. 

You glance at the door as Heeseung steps in. His blazer unbuttoned along with the top buttons of his white shirt. His tie hangs loosely around his neck.

You immediately notice the bags around his eyes suggesting he didn’t get much sleep either.

“How’s Callum?” You ask honestly. 

“My nephew is home from college today so he’s watching him,” Heeseung says casually as he steps into the room closing the door shut behind him. 

“Can we talk about yesterday?” He asks as leans against the side of your desk. His blazer is tight as he crosses his arms.

“You think this is a good time to bring up the phone sex we had before your son walked in?” You tease casually as you continue to scribble notes onto your planner. 

“I didn’t mean to leave you hanging, trust me,” Heeseung murmurs his voice dropping an octave as he leans in close. 

“It’s okay I had my vibrator finish the job.” You tease matter-of-factly. 

“Now that’s cruel,” Heeseung says with a soft chuckle. The same laugh that was making you lose it yesterday. 

“We shouldn’t be talking about this here.” You reply, already feeling yourself getting worked up again.

The warmth between your thighs, the flush in your cheeks. 

“I don’t want to pretend it didn’t happen.” Heeseung states as he glances deeply into your eyes. Like he’s pleading with you to not shut him out. 

You sit back in your office chair as he rounds the desk, you let him step closer, breath catching as he leans in. 

“Tell me to stop, and I will...” he whispers as he gently cups the side of your face again, his eyes flicking down to stare at your lips. 

You remember exactly how it felt in the parking garage, how warm and wet and inviting his kisses were. You’d be a fool to say no. 

Heeseung closes the distance his lips strongly clashing into yours. He lets out a deep groan of satisfaction at the contact. 

Your hands slide to the back of his neck, fingertips tangling in his dark hair as your lips move in synch. 

This time the kiss isn’t gentle and soft, it’s intense and full of need. 

You gasp for air as he pulls away only for your lips to capture his again. Your lipstick smudges down your chin as Heeseung sucks and nips at your swollen lips. 

You part your lips in invitation and Heeseung swiftly accepts. Gently pushing your lips open further with his tongue as he slips into your mouth. 

You whimper as you taste the remnants of his morning coffee on his tongue.

“God you’re so—“ Heeseung gasps as he pulls away an inch to catch his breath. Your lipstick smudged across his lips and chin. 

Heeseungs brows furrow as his phone buzzes in his back pocket. He pulls away, keeping one hand resting on your waist as he answers. 

The phone screen flashes ‘Riki’ with an option to pick up or decline.

“It’s my nephew— I have to take this...” Heesung grumbles as he keeps one hand resting on you, not wanting to completely pull out of the moment just yet.

“He’s sick? Fever?” You hear Heeseung say with a concerned tone of voice. His expression drops as he stays on the call. 

You watch with concern. After a few more moments of muffled talking from the other side, he hangs up. Letting out a frustrated sigh.

“Callum’s running a fever now…and I have a meeting at 4. I won’t be able to get to him and Riki just isn’t exactly—“

“Do you want me to pick him up?” You offer, secretly excited to see the little ball of energy again even if he is under the weather. 

Heeseung doesn’t even speak, he just kisses you again.

Another thank you, another promise. 

“I don’t want to push my luck— but if you wouldn’t mind.” Heeseung gasps against your lips. The tension was visibly relieved at your request.

“Text me the address, I’ve got you.”

⋆ ⋆ ⋆

**arrived**

The GPS beeps as you pull into the driveway of Heeseung's house. It’s a small modest home in a quiet neighborhood.

The outside was neglected. The grass was overgrown and the flowerbeds were messy.  

Heeseung pulls in right behind you. He swiftly puts the car in park, running right to your side. 

“How is he?” Heeseung asks frantically as he watches you lean into the backseat of your car to unbuckle Callum from his car seat. 

“He’s got a fever for sure, poor baby says his stomach has been hurting too.” You say with a sharp groan as you pull a sleepy Callum out of the backseat of your car. 

“There’s some medicine in the CVS bag up front I bought it just in case.” You say breathlessly as you balance a very sleepy Callum on your hip. 

Heeseung grabs the bag of medicine and locks up the cars behind you. He jogs awkwardly to catch up to you and unlock the door. 

Your heart softens as you step into the warmth of his home. The home is small but it looks lived in. 

Callum’s drawings on the fridge, days of unopened mail stacked up on the kitchen countertops, and Legos spilled across the carpet. 

You can’t explain the feeling any other way besides, right? 

Not perfect, just right. 

And maybe the imperfect is whats been filling that empty feeling in both of you. 

You kick your heels off at the door, letting your bare feet hit the carpet as you lie Callum down on the living room couch. 

He’s half awake, burning up, cheeks red. 

Heeseung is right behind you, opening up the medicine and pouring the syrup into a small cup. 

“Cal you need to take some medicine if you want to feel better,” Heeseung says softly as he kneels next to him. 

“No! I don’t like the red flavor it’s yucky.” Callum protests as he tries to knock the medicine out of Heeseungs hands. 

“Cal-“ he grunts with frustration as some of the medicine spills on his black suit. 

“Callum…” you say with a soft, soothing voice as you kneel next to him, your hands stroking through his hair. The same dark shade as his dad's. 

“If you want your tummy to stop hurting you have to take the medicine. You can do it, Callum..” you say softly as you rake your fingertips through his hair trying to calm his anxiety.

“I don’t wanna-“ Callum whines.

“What if I hold your hand? And we count to three?” You suggest lovingly.

Callum stirs but that seems to do the trick. You hold his little hand in yours as you start to count. 

“One”

“Two”

“Three”

With a sharp breath, Heeseung puts the cup to his lips, holding it there until he swallows it in a few shaky gulps. 

“There you go…see it wasn’t so bad.” You praise, gently patting his back softly. 

“You ready for bed Cal?” Heeseung whispers, his fingertips brushing against his forehead again to feel his fever.

“Is she leaving?” Callum whispers. 

You pause. Heart fluttering in your chest.

Are you leaving? 

“Can you tuck me in? That's what mommy used to do.” Callum asks, his little voice shaky as he sniffles.

You’re heart sinks. You don’t say anything.

You quickly glance at Heeseung for approval and he nods. 

You pick Callum up off the couch and Heeseung leads to down the dark hall to his room. There are toys all over the floor, mismatched furnishings, and the walls decorated with his finger paintings and prints of his favorite characters. 

You lie him down on the small bed tucked in the corner, pulling the blankets up and tucking him at the sides to keep him comfortable. 

Heeseung watches leaning against the edge of the doorframe. His heart felt warm and full at the sight.

He knows he can’t let you go tonight, not after this. 

He thought he could do this alone, thought he was the type of man that could juggle it all.

But your patience, your kindness, is something Heeseung hasn’t seen in a long time. 

“Can I have my dinosaur?” Callum asks his voice weak as he curls into the pillows and blankets with a cough. 

You pass him the dinosaur plush that was halfway tucked under the bed. Probably lost in the chaos of this morning. Callum grabs it and settles into the blankets.

“Thank you…” he says weakly.

Your breath catches, you know he’s not just talking about the plushie. 

“Sleep well Callum…” you whisper before gently pushing some of his dark hair away from his temple. You gently kiss him goodnight before turning to the door. 

Heeseung can’t look away. You look so perfect right now. And the way you handled everything it’s making his heart swell. 

The two of you file out of the door with unspoken words. Heeseung hits the lights and closes the door to Callum’s room. 

“Will you stay?” Heeseung asks, his eyes pleading like he’s begging you not to go. 

“Heeseung I—“ 

“Please I have wine.  I know it’s nothing compared to everything you’ve done for me, for us..” he trails off, his hands sliding between the two of your bodies to find yours. 

He laces your fingertips in his own, the motion taking the words out of your throat.

You know you should protest, but physically you can’t.

And you have to admit to yourself you want this just as much as him.

“Wine sounds perfect. And I’d kill to get out of this suit.” You reply with a playful breathy laugh. 

Heeseung lets you change into some of his clothes, a large oversized t-shirt and baggy basketball shorts. 

You step into the kitchen finding him dressed casually in gray sweatpants and a loose fitting shirt.

You bite your lip as you turn the corner. Your gaze lingers on his messy hair and casual attire. You’ve never seen him like this before.

“Sorry it’s nothing fancy, single dad budget— you know how it goes,” Heeseung mutters as he opens the half-full bottle of red wine and pours it into two glass cups.

“I’m sure it tastes great.” You say as he motions for you to join him in the living room.

You sit next to him on the plush couch, fingers brushing against his as you take the wineglass from his hand. 

You bring the glass to your lips, taking a small sip of the liquid. Heeseung does the same. The air is thick, like there’s still so much left to say. 

“You’re incredible you know that? You got him to take his medicine without a fight. Sure you’re not casting spells on me?” Heeseung teases. 

You laugh, really laugh. It feels warm in your chest.

“God…Heeseung..” you say as you try to catch your breath. 

Heeseung chuckles too, his voice low and deep. He leans in, taking another sip of his wine as he turns to look at you. 

You can smell the fading scent of his cologne. You didn’t even realize how quickly the woody musk has become one of your favorite scents.

You lean in closer, letting your free hand rest on top of his.

“I always thought I would have this by now…a house, a family.” You say weakly. Your voice was shaky as you opened up to him in the quiet darkness of his living room. 

Heeseung doesn’t say anything. He just watches, just listens. 

“You know it was always homework in college then it was internships. Then it was hooking up with the wrong guy, then it was another who never wanted anything serious. It was just fail after fail.” You say with a bitter laugh as you hold back tears. 

“Then I just stopped looking, kept my head up, focused on work. And it paid off with the promotion it really did. But even with the raise I just felt so empty...” You say weakly as you blink back tears. 

There’s a quiet minute, neither of you says anything you just set the wine down and sit in comfortable silence. 

“Callum...wasn’t planned. At all.” Heeseung speaks up, his own voice shaky with emotion.

“I wasn’t in love with his mom. I was in college, was acting reckless, thought I was being careful that one time.” He says his voice dripping with self-depreciation. The tone makes your heart-ache. 

“Then she told me she was pregnant and that she wanted to keep him. So I stepped up. I got another job, took summer classes, and thought I could maybe redeem myself by showing up and doing the right thing.” Heeseung adds. 

“It wasn’t what I signed up for. But the minute Callum was born, the minute I became a father I just instantly had so much love for him. So I was determined to make it work with his mom.” Heeseung confesses. 

“She was bartending and taking classes, I was just starting with the company, and one night—she left for a shift late at night and didn’t come back. Found out she was killed in a car accident. That guilt, fuck it eats you alive.” Heeseung says, his voice shaking as he tries to hold it all together. 

You lean in, gently pulling him closer, just offering to let him rest or pull away. His arms reach around your waist, pulling you closer. 

“You’re doing enough, trust me.” You whisper into his ear as you pull him closer. 

His breath hitches, and he squeezes your waists tighter. “I didn’t expect to be a single dad at twenty-one god that just sounds—“

“Like a lot..yeah..” you finish. 

“But this with you..feels like the missing piece to a puzzle I didn’t even realize I was struggling to put together,” Heeseung confesses. 

Your heart stops at his confession. Your fingertips shake, this is exactly what you’ve been missing too.

Someone to lean on, a home to come home to. 

“I didn’t expect it to be you,” you whisper, still trembling from the confession. 

“Me either, but I’m tired of pushing this away,” Heeseung confesses. 

You kiss him, gasping into his mouth as you taste the sweet wine lingering on his lips. Your hands slide to the back of his neck, pulling him impossibly closer. 

You don’t even realize tears are falling from your face until his hand gently cups your face, his thumb brushing the tears away. You kiss him harder, pouring everything into the kiss. 

Heeseung pulls away gasping for air. His lips still mingling against yours, his breath shaky as he tries to hold himself back from diving in for more.

“Will you come to bed with me? I want to take my time with you. No interruptions” He suggests with a weak breathless laugh. 

You’re so breathless all you can do is nod.  

Heeseung kicks the room to his door open with his foot. He lies you down on the bed in the dark room. His breath was heavy and labored already. 

“Fuck..” he curses as she kisses you again, this time it’s hungry, needy. He lets his lips drag down your throat. And you can’t help but arch into his touch. 

Your hips arch off the bed and Heeseung lets out a sharp exhale. He reluctantly pulls away from your skin, his fingertips hooking inside the waistband of your shorts.

In one swift motion, he pulls them down tossing them to the floor. 

You gasp as the cold air hits your bare pussy, already starting to get wet from just his kissing. He doesn’t even bother to pull off the rest of your clothes.

He locks eyes with you as he spreads your legs, leaning in to drag his lips across the inside of your thighs.

“You’re so wet already? Goddamn, just from some kissing?” Heeseung asks rhetorically.

He spreads your legs and dives in. 

He lets out a deep groan of approval as his mouth finds your heat, his large hands keep your legs spread apart as he licks another slow stripe from your dripping entrance to your clit. 

“Heeseung God—“ you moan weakly as he holds you open more. He pushes up the fabric of your shirt so his hands can feel the warm skin on your hips and waist. 

“So fucking sweet…” Heeseung mumbles as he pulls away to catch his breath, only to gently kiss your inner thighs before his tongue slides across your folds again.

Your breath gets caught in your chest, the feeling of pleasure already starting to build in your core. Your hands tangle in his dark hair pulling him in closer. 

Heeseung drags his tongue through your folds like he is trying to memorize every inch. You gasp, feeling yourself dripping as his tongue flicks your sensitive clit.

Heeseung catches on, you like that. He drags his tongue back towards your clit and gives it more attention. He lightly sucks on it as your back arches off the mattress.

“You’re so good with him. Holding his hand, tucking him in—Do you have any idea what that does to a man?” Heeseung murmurs as he pulls away from you to breathe. 

You whimper as he kisses the inside of your thighs, your pussy shamelessly clenching around nothing as his mouth makes its way back to your place of need.

“That's it, soak me, let me give you a proper thank you.”  Heeseung mumbles into your heat. His tongue moves hot and fast like he’s been waiting to do this.

You feel yourself letting go. Your body relaxes under his touch, deep moans escaping from your throat as he eats you out with precision.

“Fuck keep going…” You moan as you prop yourself up on your arms to get a look at him between your legs.

He's deep in it. His eyes halfway shut as his hands grip tighter onto the back of your thighs. He’s completely lost in pleasuring you.

Your thighs tremble as he picks up speed, lapping at your aching clit between long, thick stripes up your folds.

He doubles down his efforts, squeezing your thighs tight, keeping them open as he sucks more ridged moans from you.

You curse, letting his name fall shamelessly from your lips as he pushes you to the edge. That familiar warm knot starts to pool in your stomach. Thighs trembling by his ears.

His tongue slides away from your clit, dipping into your wet hole to taste more of what you have to offer. His fingertips dig into your skin as he fucks his tongue into you with a low groan of satisfaction.

You’re wet, dripping, shamelessly letting it coat Heeseung’s lips and drip down his chin as he fucks his tongue into it with a steady pace.

“Oh, fuck I'm gonna come, Heesung—” You gasp breathlessly as your grip tightens in his hair. Your moans only grew deeper and thighs shook on either side of his head.

“Come for me, baby…Fuck I need it—” Heeseung gasps into your wet pussy, the sounds of his lips sucking at you only pushes you further.

He finds your clit again, tongue pressing harder as he traces patterns across it. Following your moans as he pushes you over the edge.

You let go. The orgasm is better and stronger than anything you could achieve with your vibrator. You shamelessly coat his lips and the sheets beneath with your hot arousal.

Heeseung gasps into you as he laps up what he can, you coat his face, wave after wave. Your clit buzzing with pleasure as he anchors his tongue to it.

He slows his movements to small, lazy licks as you come down from your high. Your grip loosens as your body falls limp onto the mattress. 

The heat flushes your cheeks as you bask in the afterglow, your body still twitching from the intensity of your orgasm. Completely overstimulated.

“Damn I can’t remember the last time I came like that..” you reply breathlessly. Your chest vigorously rises and falls as you struggle to chase your breath. 

Heeseung licks you one last time, savoring your sweet wetness before he pulls himself away. Wiping your juices off his lips and chin before he hovers over you. His large hands caging you in on either side of your head. 

“You should go ahead and throw away that vibrator. Now that I’ve got you I’m not letting you go.” Heeseung says with a playful smirk.

You cup his face as he leans in, kissing you slowly, his tongue languid against yours as he lets you taste your sweet essence on his lips. 

“Fuck need to be inside you. Holy shit—“ Heeseung says breath catching in his chest as he kisses down your neck, his hands slipping into the waistband of his sweats before pulling them down.

He tosses them to the side letting his aching cock spring free. It’s thick, hard, and already leaking.

He doesn’t waste any more time. Heeseung guides you onto your back, his eyes locked on you as he spreads apart your legs just how he likes it, notching his sensitive tip into your wet entrance. 

He glances at you one last time for consent. You nod. 

He lets out a low groan as he pushes in. Your heat is tight, enveloping him and squeezing him perfectly. He takes his time sliding into you. Once he’s buried to the hilt he pauses.

“You were made for me—“ 

Heeseung starts to move, pulling out until just his swollen tip is notched inside only to grip your hips tighter as he slams back in. The wet sound of your body echoing off the walls.

“Mmm..you have no idea how many times I’ve dreamed about this with you…” he confesses, his pace picking up slightly. Your hands fly to his shoulders, gripping him for support. 

You only get wetter, his thick cock spreading you open deliciously with each thrust. 

You’re breathless as his thick cock slides against your walls, hitting spots inside you didn’t even know existed. 

“Fuck the way you’re squeezing me? Goddamn, you're making me want to make another baby…”

Heeseung mumbles as he grips the back of your knees, pushing your legs back towards the bed as he sinks even deeper into you. 

“Just imagine it, we could give Callum a sister, fuck imagine her with your hair and your eyes—“

You feel it again, that pit of despair in your stomach, that feeling of emptiness, that feeling of being broken.

“Heeseung…” you cut him off, your frustrated tone snapping him out of the mood. 

“Everything okay? Am I hurting you? He asks frantically, brows furrowing with confusion as he slows his thrusts. His breath is heavy as his hand moves from your leg to your face.

“Heeseung I can’t.” You say, your throat feeling like it’s being wrapped in barbed wire as you hold back tears.

“You can’t? Can’t what?” Heeseung asks as he stops his thrusts, his voice full of concern as his hands cup your face. Thumbs brushing across the softness of your cheeks.

“I can’t get pregnant, the chances are low.” You choke out, the words feeling like they’re being ripped from your heart.

You can’t help but start to sob after all these years dealing with this battle alone. 

Heeseung just holds you, his warm hands pulling you close. He doesn’t say anything right away, he just lets you cry. 

“I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have said—I didn’t know…” he whispers intimately like anything louder would break you even more. 

“It's okay, I’ve never told anyone this before.” You choke out as the aching sob comes to a stop. 

He’s still holding you, still inside you, still wanting you. 

He didn’t even flinch, he just held you. 

“I always told myself I didn’t want it, want this. The kids the mess, the family. Thought I could fill that emptiness by being the career girl.—" You say chest heaving as you whimper another sob.

“I can’t give you the life you want.” You whisper painfully. 

“I already have it.” Heeseung whispers against you as he holds you closer. 

“You, Callum, all of it. We can make it work. We could be a family again…” his voice trails off weakly. 

His words take the air out of your lungs, you can’t even speak, so you kiss him. 

Slow, deep, messy. Just like how everything so far has felt with him. 

And you wouldn’t want it any other way. 

His hands slide down your body again, hands gently holding your hips. He slowly starts to rock his half-hard cock back into you. His lips dragging away from yours. 

“Tell me what you need, do you want to keep going?” Heeseung asks, his breath heavy, his cock already starting to grow hard. Your warmth makes him choke back a moan. 

“Don’t stop..” you gasp, your eyes still watering from before. Heeseung leans down, his soft lips kissing your tears away as he slowly buries himself inside you. 

Heeseung takes his time, dragging his cock through your clenching walls only to push back in. His swollen tip kissing your cervix deep.

He just holds you like you're the most precious thing in the world. 

He fucks you like your fragile, not in an attempt to break you, it’s like he’s treasuring you instead.

The sounds of skin on skin fills the room, the squelch between your bodies is erotic. 

You can’t help but reach out to him. His hands hold you close, making you finally feel complete. 

He leans down to kiss you again, his lips reluctantly pull away for him to whisper. 

“I don’t need any more kids, not some perfect plan, you’re everything. And I love you, every part of you.” Heeseung confesses against your lips. 

Your world feels like it stops in that moment. After everything you've confessed, he still wants you.

Ans after everything he's confessed to you, you feel the same way.

“I love you too.” You choke out, trying to hold back another sob. Heeseung lets a breathy laugh slip past his lips. Like he can’t exactly believe this is happening, that this is real. 

You clench around him with a gasp, grounding him in reality. 

This is real. 

His hand slips between your slick bodies, fingertips finding you clit, still coated wet. 

“Fuck…Heeseung…” you moan into his neck. Your nails dug into the porcelain skin of his biceps. Your hips rock into his, chasing your release again. 

“Need you to come again, on my cock this time.” Heeseung gasps, his own hips jerking as he feels himself slipping towards the edge. His hand still rubbing small, torturous circles on your clit.

“Heeseung I’m—fuck so close—“ you whisper weakly. Your heart beats rapidly as you feel the warmth in your stomach again. Legs shaking as he pushes you over the edge. 

You come again, hands gripping him tight as he buries himself deep inside you. You clench around him, moaning his name as your toes curl with pleasure. Dripping wetness like a wave, the sheets below getting soaked. 

“Fuck, that’s it, I’m gonna come—“ he whimpers as he thrusts one last time hard and deep. He exhales as thick ropes of cum shoot into you. Painting you as his. 

He gasps your name as his cock throbs and he pushes deeper, letting your pussy squeeze out every drop of his cum. 

You don’t move, the two of you just lie there, heavy breathing echoing off the walls as cum drips down your inner thighs. 

Heeseung kisses you, his thumbs tracing small patterns right above the skin of your hips. He kisses you slow and deep like he’s telling you everything he couldn’t find words to say out loud. 

He breaks away, his sweaty forehead resting on yours. His eyes were half-lidded with desire, his softening cock still inside your warmth. 

“I love you.” He whispers, truthfully. There’s nothing else behind it. 

“I love you too.” You gasp back, tears threatening to spill again. 

With those words, it feels like the weight of the past falls away.

The path ahead isn’t smooth, but it’s a path worth walking. 

This time it’s not about the picture-perfect plan or the picture-perfect image. 

It’s imperfect and for once that’s enough. 

A beautiful second chance. 

For you and him.

*8 months later*

The timer for the oven beeps over the sound of laughter. You’re back in his home dressed in warm pajamas, bare feet on the kitchen floor.

You watch Callum as he plays in the living room with his toys. An old Christmas movie playing on the TV as the warmth of the house envelops you. 

You open the oven, and the scent of freshly baked apple pie fills the air. The heat from the oven is nothing in comparison to how full your heart feels. You set the pie on the cooling rack, turning to place the oven mitts back in the drawer. 

“Oh my God that smells amazing,” Heeseung says as he rounds the corner with a huge smile on his face.

“Apple pie, your favorite— You can thank the freezer aisle at Walmart.” You say with a soft chuckle.

Heeseung steps closer to you, pulling you into his arms and spinning you around like a scene out of a cheesy rom-com. 

He looks you in the eyes, full of love. His breath hitches as he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small folded piece of copy paper. 

“What’s this?” You ask softly. Take the paper in your hands and slowly unfold it piece by piece.

“It’s from Cal. I was just waiting for the right moment…” Heeseung whispers, his voice slightly trembling as he watches you.

Your heart stops. 

It’s a drawing with highlighters, a house scribbled into the background, a tall man with dark hair, a little boy with the same…

And a woman who looks a lot like you. 

Before you can even process it all Heeseung is in front of you, dropping to one knee. 

You can’t even breathe, he just smiles at you as he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a tiny red box.

“So I don’t have a speech planned, or roses or a photographer. But you, here, with Callum and I, it’s a second chance I never imagined I’d have. And I love you, and I want nothing more than to wake up beside you every day as my wife…”

“Will you marry me?”

His voice cracks, his hands tremble. 

You glance at the ring, and then back at him, proposing in the middle of the kitchen in his pajamas.

And it would be your greatest honor to become this man’s wife. 

“Yes. God yes.” You say breathlessly. Heeseung smiles with relief, he wastes no time taking the ring from the box and sliding it onto your finger.

It’s delicate and simple. No huge diamonds or lavish gold. But it’s more than enough.

He kisses you. His arms wrap around you like he never wants to let you go. You break away from his lips as you hear Callum barrel into the kitchen. 

“Did she say yes?!!” He asks as he hugs the both of you. 

You wipe the tears from your cheeks with a soft breathless laugh. 

“She did Cal-“ Heeseung says with a smile as he gives you another gentle peck on the lips. 

“Ewww are you guys going to kiss more now? That’s gross.” Callum groans. 

“You’ll understand one day Cal...” Heeseung mutters. 

You pull away taking the drawing in your hand and placing it front and center on the fridge with a homemade magnet. 

And you take one look around at everything. And the puzzle finally feels complete. 

This wasn’t just a new beginning.

This isn’t just a second chance, 

Maybe it was the right one all along.

© brokenengene

note: Thank you for reading this far! I hope it lived up to expectations! If it did I would love to hear about it! I was so emotional writing this chapter, definitely held back tears during editing. (Mostly because I'm painfully single right now 🥹) I'm so incredibly grateful for every comment, reblog, and like. It really means the world to me and inspires me to write for hours on end.

Again, I'm beyond grateful for the support. I wish you all the best. 💕

Written with love,

xoxo kate <3

masterlist!

taglist: @iweirdthingblog @stormlit-pages @gyuw1fe @m1kkso @luvksnn @miauumin @la-choiblog @mheretoreadff @rpwpthv @yohanabanana @sourkiki @ki2rins @cutehoons02 @remehokusoo @snowprincehoon @7789995323567322 @manuosorioh @ilovehoonie @xoenhalover @rosepetals09 @beomguys11 @godisdidi @ashirp @coconutx-o @hanamiwa1414 @niyzu @kimuranirisi @ninistranaut @dulcetnostalgia

[formulafanfics13]

She's the Only One Who Gets Him - MV1

Masterlist

Everyone always assumed Max Verstappen didn't give a fuck. About manners. About people. About press. About anything outside of lap times and championship points.

He snapped at engineers. He rolled his eyes during meetings. He barely looked up from his phone in hospitality unless someone said something directly to him — and even then, you had to be lucky. He hated unnecessary conversations, small talk, PR events, waiting around, and especially being told what to do.

So it was deeply confusing to every single person in the paddock when he showed up to the garage on Saturday morning holding your hand.

Because you looked like shit. Pale. Wrapped in a hoodie three sizes too big. Sniffling. Hood up. Eyes puffy from barely sleeping. The kind of mess you normally wouldn't dare show in a paddock full of cameras and chaos.

But Max didn't care. In fact, Max didn't let go of you for even a second. He brought you into the Red Bull motorhome with a grip on your waist and his free hand full of tissues and a water bottle. He kissed your forehead in front of two mechanics and did not flinch when they double-taked.

"Are you okay?" one of them asked cautiously, like maybe Max had been body-snatched.

"She's sick," Max said. "No one touches her. No one bothers her. No media. I'll kill you."

"...Right. Got it."

You laughed weakly into his chest. Max looked down at you and his entire face softened. Like night and day. His thumb came up to wipe under your nose without a second thought. It was unsettling. Everyone was staring. He didn't care.

When Christian walked past and did a double take at the sight of you curled up on the couch in Max's driver's room, blanket over your legs, Max crouched in front of you helping open a packet of paracetamol, he blinked like he'd walked into the wrong fucking dimension. "Max?" he said slowly. "Everything alright?"

"She has a fever," Max said, not even turning around. "Don't let the cameras in here."

Christian blinked. "Right. Sure."

Max popped the pills into your hand and held the water for you like he didn't trust you to lift it yourself. You drank. He brushed your hair back. Kissed the top of your head. Sat next to you and pulled your legs over his lap, wrapping one arm around your shoulders and muttering something in Dutch under his breath. "You don't have to baby me," you mumbled.

"Ja, I do," he said without hesitation. "You're my baby."

You groaned into his hoodie. "Shut up," you muttered.

"You shut up," he said, pulling the blanket higher around your shoulders.

It got worse from there. At least, for the people watching.

During FP3, when you insisted you could sit in the garage chair for a little while, Max walked you there himself. Carried your tea. Moved the headset off the hook and adjusted it onto your ears with both hands like you were a goddamn glass sculpture.

When the cameras pointed at him, he shielded your face with his shoulder. When Lando walked over to ask if you were alright, Max stepped in front of you. "She's fine," he said, calm but firm. "Don't make her talk."

Lando's eyebrows practically flew off his face. "Okay, Jesus."

"She needs rest," Max added. "Not your voice."

Lando gave you a little wave and disappeared. Max sat beside you, arms crossed, murder in his eyes for anyone who came near.

Pierre passed by ten minutes later and nearly tripped over himself doing a double take. "Bro," he muttered to no one. "Who is that? And what did she do to him?"

Someone in the media pen whispered, "I thought he didn't have a girlfriend?"

Max wiped your nose again mid-whisper. He didn't even blink when a team photographer caught it on camera. By midday, it was full paddock knowledge:

"Max Verstappen is in love." "And apparently he turns into a functioning human being when she's around." "No but like... he smiled. He kissed her nose." "She was wearing his socks. They were falling off her feet and he fixed them for her." "This is not the Max I know. Who is she??"

You were still curled up in the motorhome when Lewis popped his head into the door. "Max?" he said, blinking. "You in here?"

Max looked up from where he was running a hand down your calf, legs tangled on the little leather couch.

Lewis saw you and paused. "...Oh," he said. "Sorry. I didn't know you were-"

"She's sick," Max said. "You can come in if you're quiet."

You peeked out from the blanket. "Hi, Lewis."

"Hi, love," Lewis said, stunned. "You okay?"

"She has a fever," Max repeated. "But she's getting better."

Lewis blinked again. Then slowly smiled. "You're taking good care of her."

Max shrugged like it was obvious. "She takes care of me."

Lewis's entire brain short-circuited. After that, the grid was never the same.

Because once you've seen Max Verstappen spoon-feeding his feverish girlfriend soup in the Red Bull motorhome, patting her knee and whispering, "Almost done, baby, then you can sleep," into her hair, the image does not leave you. And once you've seen him fall asleep with his arms around her, forehead pressed to hers, heat pack resting on her stomach, you can't pretend he's just an unfeeling bastard anymore.

He still yelled on the radio. He still snapped at journalists. He still hated being told to smile.

But when you were around? He opened her doors. Carried her bags. Tied her shoes. Kissed her forehead like it was instinct. And god help you if you ever made her cry.

Because Max Verstappen might not be soft to anyone else. But for you? He always was. And everyone in the paddock knew it now.

[douceurrrr]

wrong bed (request)

cw: explicit pnv sex, rough/slow strokes, jealousy, sneaking around, filthy talk, creampie, black!reader visuals (bonnet, gloss, thick thighs, curves, stretch marks), praise, soft aftercare, tension buildup

you hadn’t slept a wink.

not one second.

your back was to the boy you’d been assigned to sleep next to, but your mind was with the one across the room.

nic.

shirtless. fuming. pretending not to care, but stealing glances every time he thought you weren’t looking.

you felt his frustration in the way he shifted under the blanket. heard it in the deep sigh he let out when the lights went out. watched his chest rise and fall in the moonlight like he was biting down on every word he wanted to say.

you wanted to scream. cry. crawl into his bed and press yourself against his chest where you belonged.

but america had voted. and the game was the game.

except this wasn’t a game anymore.

not for you.

not for him.

when the room finally fell still — breaths even, everyone else asleep — you dared to turn your head.

nic was already looking at you.

dark eyes. clenched jaw. no words.

just that low, dangerous look.

you didn’t blink. didn’t smile. just slowly pulled your blanket back and sat up.

he followed.

silently. barefoot. every step heavy with tension as you two slipped out into the villa shadows.

you didn’t even make it to the hideaway.

nic grabbed your hand, tugged you around the corner of the outdoor kitchen, and pinned you to the wall like gravity had been pulling him toward you all day.

“fuck this,” he muttered.

you nodded, out of breath already.

“they think they know what’s best for us?” he hissed. “they don’t know shit.”

your voice came out low. shaky. needy.

“been dying to touch you.”

he exhaled, like he’d been holding that in for days.

then he kissed you.

hot. messy. deep. tongue first. no hesitation. hands roaming over your waist, under your tank, gripping your ass like he needed it to breathe.

his curls were damp against your forehead as he groaned into your mouth.

“you don’t know what you’ve been doing to me,” he whispered, lips dragging along your jaw. “walking around all day with that lip gloss on and them damn shorts… teasing me on purpose.”

“i wasn’t teasing…”

“yes you were. and now i’ma make you pay for it.”

his mouth dropped to your neck, sucking until your knees nearly gave out.

you clawed at his shoulders, panting. “nic…”

“say it again.”

“nic—fuck—please.”

his hand slipped into your shorts, fingers finding you wet and pulsing.

“damn. already?”

you whimpered as he circled your clit slow, then fast, then slow again. your body melted into the wall, boneless, but he held you there with his hand on your lower back and the other teasing you right on the edge.

“nobody makes you feel like this, huh?”

you shook your head, lips parted, chest heaving.

“nah. just me. say it.”

“just you.”

he kissed you again, rough and slow, dragging his tongue over yours like he had all night.

then — without a word — he dropped to his knees.

the cold of the stone floor hit him. he didn’t care.

he pulled your shorts down, spread your legs, and stared.

“look at this… so fucking pretty.”

you were shaking, trying not to moan.

his mouth connected to your center and devoured. slow licks. soft kisses. tongue flattening, then curling. he sucked your clit gently while holding your thighs apart like he owned them.

your head hit the wall with a quiet thump.

“baby—oh my god—”

he moaned against you, eyes on your face the entire time. your fingers tangled in his curls, bonnet slipping forward slightly. he didn’t stop. didn’t want to stop.

you came with a stifled cry, shaking against the wall.

he didn’t pull away right away — just kissed your thigh, your hip, your inner knee. then stood slowly, licking his lips.

“can’t believe you’re not in my bed tonight.”

“then fix it.”

his eyes darkened.

he picked you up with ease — arms under your thighs, your body wrapped around him like second nature — and pressed you back against the opposite wall in the shadows.

he slid his sweats down just enough, then lined himself up. thick, heavy, hard.

“you sure?”

“baby, if you don’t put it in right now—”

he thrust in one long, deep stroke.

both of you groaned.

you clutched his shoulders, burying your face in his neck.

“fuck, you feel good,” he panted.

he moved slow at first — deep, rolling strokes, your wetness making it messy, noisy, filthy in the quiet night. the sound of skin on skin and your soft moans filled the air.

“been dreamin about this shit,” he whispered. “bout this pussy… bout makin it mine.”

his hands gripped under your thighs, pushing them higher so he could hit deeper. your legs were trembling. your gloss was all over his mouth. the wall was cool behind you, but his body was burning.

“i don’t care who they put you with,” he said between thrusts. “i don’t care what they think. you’re mine. say it.”

“i’m yours,” you gasped.

“again.”

“i’m yours, nic—please don’t stop—”

his pace picked up. rougher now. one hand on your ass, the other on your neck, kissing you like he wanted to keep your soul.

you were falling apart.

“cum for me again, baby,” he groaned. “let me feel it. let me feel what they took from me.”

you did — body jerking, walls pulsing around him, eyes rolling back.

he came seconds later, buried deep, holding you tight as his hips twitched and his moans spilled into your mouth.

you stayed like that for a while.

his body pressed to yours. his chest heaving. your thighs still locked around his waist. his head against your shoulder, lips still brushing your neck.

then he kissed you slow.

slower than the first kiss. sweeter. full of unspoken promises.

“i’m not letting them do this again,” he said softly. “we fight next time.”

you nodded, fingers in his hair. “always.”

he slid out gently, kissing the spot where your shoulder met your neck. cleaned you up with his shirt and whispered “sorry” when you flinched from how sensitive you were.

you helped fix his curls. he tugged your bonnet back into place, thumb brushing your jaw.

“you good?”

you smiled.

“better than good.”

[bloatedandalone04]

Before Love

Summary: After finally sleeping and spending the night with Bradley, you thought the sexual tension that had always been there between the two of you would be gone, but (un)fortunately for you, it did the exact opposite of what you wanted it to.

Word Count: 6.3k

Warnings: angst, fluff, mentions of smut, mentions of sex, descriptions of smut, descriptions of sex, unwanted touching, swearing, pining, jealousy x10, all that fun stuff (minus the touching, ew).

You were annoyed with yourself as you searched around the unfamiliar room for your clothing. 

The crisp, white bed sheet was wrapped tightly around your body as you stood up and looked around the floor for your bra or your shirt or something that didn’t smell like him, because the sheets definitely did and you were growing more and more pissed off the longer you had it around you. 

Last night had been great. It had been fun. But now that it was the next morning and you had been brought back down to earth, you were annoyed and irritated. 

And since the very reason and cause of your annoyance seemed to have disappeared off the face of the earth - at least that’s what it felt like right now - the only person you had to blame at the moment was yourself. 

Stupid brain. Stupid body. Stupid fucking curiosity. Stupid urge to know what he tasted like, what he smelled like, what he felt like. 

Well, now you know all those things, and of course they didn’t make you feel any better. 

You were muttering curses under your breath when you found your jeans, and since you couldn’t seem to find where your panties had ended up during the tossing of clothes last night, you just pulled the denim up your legs and looked around again. 

As soon as you lifted up one of the pillows that had fallen off the bed during the night, you heard his voice, and fuck did it make your skin flare up. 

“Oh, are you leaving already?” he asked, and you stilled instantly. “I was just about to make breakfast for you, you know, to refuel after last night.”

His voice was cocky, confident and sexy, and you tightened the sheet around you before standing back up straight.

There he was. 

Bradley Bradshaw stood in the doorway of his room, his upper body on full display - the same skin you touched and tasted last night mocking you as he crossed his arms, and his biceps bulged a bit. 

Sweats were hung low on his hips, a tantalizing V line resting under his abs, and until last night, you were sure those only existed in erotic novels. But of course, Bradley fucking Bradshaw was living proof that, with the right amount of exercise and training and personal care, men can truly look like a type of God. 

He was smirking at you, as if he was recalling all the sounds he’d coaxed out of you last night in his head, or maybe he was envisioning how your body looked under this very sheet, because he now knew every inch of it. Either way, you locked your jaw and gave him a fake smile, one so forced it had him laughing. 

“No, thanks, I think I’m good,” you replied as nicely as you could.  Civil. You just needed to be civil with him until you found the rest of your clothing and got the hell out of his house. 

But Bradley was anything but civil. 

He liked to provoke. To read the room, then do the exact thing that would only worsen things. That was one of the reasons you fucking hated him. Well, hate is a big, strong word. You couldn’t fucking stand the guy. There, that’s a bit nicer.

Then you went back to your search for your clothing. 

Seriously, where the fuck had he thrown your shirt?

“Aw, come on,” he said, leaning against the frame as he watched you move around his room, and something in his gaze made you squirm. It felt like he didn’t want you to go, that he wanted you to stay exactly where you are, in his room, wrapped in his sheets, in his house. But those were his eyes talking, his mouth was saying something else. “I can make you the best French toast you’ve ever had. Promise.”

You paused again and turned to face him, your hands tightening in the fabric around your body. “Bradley. Respectfully. Fuck off,”

Harsh. But, it wasn’t your fault he’d pushed you to your breaking point. It also wasn’t your fault that the distance to your breaking point was so short. 

But, of course, Bradley didn’t care. 

“Well, at least you got the fuck right,” he murmured, reaching up and running his hand through his hair. It was still a mess from last night, from when you ran your own fingers through it and pulled on it and tugged on it, the deep, eye-rolling groans he let out whenever you did it only fueling you more and more. “The off, not so much.”

His words were irritating you even more, and you grabbed your bra once you found it half under the bed. “What?” you muttered, turning around and shedding the delicious smelling sheets of you as you slid your bra on. 

When you turned to face him again, he looked almost dejected that you didn’t let him see your front side once the sheet hit the floor, as if he didn’t see it enough the night prior. But then he opened his mouth again, “Oh, I was just recalling the words you said to me last night. The ones you repeated over, and over, and over again,” 

Your face heated up and you suddenly felt the urge to walk over to him and throw yourself at him. But in what way, you weren’t sure. “Oh. Oh, God, no,” you shook your head and that’s when you found your shirt. 

Right by the door. Right at his feet. Of course. 

When you walked over and reached for it, Bradley picked it up and lifted it just out of your reach. “Why the hurry?” he pouted, towering over you with his brooding height, the difference evident and oh so tempting. “I thought we could have a refresher of last night before going back to work.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “You thought wrong,” you mumbled and reached for your shirt, but he held it higher. “Bradley, give me my fucking shirt.”

Bradley pursed his lips and shook his head. “Can you ask nicely?”

You gave him a look that had him fucking cackling, then he was lowering his hand and allowing you to take the fabric from him. “Dick,” 

Bradley shook his head as he strolled past you and walked over the sheet you’d dropped on the floor, then he laid back on the bed. “Mm,” he hummed, crossing his arms behind his head as he bucked his hips slightly to get comfortable, and you hated that your eyes went straight to his groin. “You sure seemed to like mine.” 

You wanted to scream as you pulled your shirt on and looked over at him. “Oh, my God, would you shut up?”

Bradley looked like he wanted to say something else that would remind you of the fact that you and he finally fucked last night, multiple times, and he most definitely probably had something in mind and ready to go, but instead he just shrugged. “Yeah, sure,” 

You let out an audible sigh of relief as you walked over to the bed again and grabbed your phone from off his nightstand. It was nearly dead, but had just enough battery for an Uber. 

Thank you, Lord, because you were going to walk before you asked him for a ride back to your house. 

“I’ll see you at work,” you muttered as you turned and headed for the bedroom door. “Bye.”

Bradley watched you with hooded eyes. “What, no goodbye kiss?” he called after you, his lips curving upwards when you looked over your shoulder and glared at him. He lifted his hand in a lazy wave as he leaned back on the pillow you’d been on not even five minutes ago. “Bye, it was so nice to finally have sex with you.” 

You’ve never slammed a door harder in your life. 

-

Sunday afternoon was spent questioning every single choice you’d made in your life, while Sunday night was spent unwillingly fantasizing about the very man you’d swore you’d never talk to again. 

It was one night. One fun night to finally get each other out of your systems. Now you and he can stop the constant flirting that was disguised as bickering, and you can move on with your lives. That always worked, right? The sexual tension should finally be gone. 

Another thing that was unwilling on your part was the dream you had about him. You’d dreamed about him in the past, but unlike all those times before this one, you didn’t know how good the real thing was. But now you do, so when you woke up and felt an unbearable ache between your thighs, you forced yourself to get ready for work instead of indulging in the thought of how good his lips felt on you, and how big his fingers are. 

When you’d gotten to work, you had to sit in your car for a few extra seconds to calm yourself down, because you were slightly horny and the reason for it was somewhere around the base. You just had to hope you didn’t run into him anytime soon, because he’d be able to see how flustered you are. 

But nothing ever came from hoping with you, because as soon as you stepped out of your car and turned, you came face to face with the man himself. You stopped abruptly before you bumped into him, and then you felt a scowl form on your face. “Jesus Christ, now what-”

“Woah, so hostile,” Bradley teased as he stood before you in all his glory. His khakis looked better on him than they did on anyone else in the world, and his aviators were total sex appeal, and that wasn’t even mentioning the mustache. You really couldn’t be blamed for caving and going home with him on Friday night. “What’s got you so worked up? Don’t tell me you moved on from me already.”

You raised a brow and crossed your arms, already done with this interaction. At your lack of response, you saw the way his smirk faltered a bit and the way his shoulders tensed up, as if he really thought you’d found someone else to sleep with in the last forty eight hours since you left his house. “What do you want?” you finally asked after waiting a few more seconds. 

Bradley’s smirk returned, and he held up a finger as he reached into his pocket. What he pulled out had your face heating up, and you couldn’t even blame it on the San Diego heat. “I was just returning these,” he said as he held up your panties you’d left behind once you gave up on trying to find them Saturday morning. “Thought you might want them back, even though I really didn’t want to give them back to you.” 

Your face was flushed as you grabbed the flimsy fabric from his hand, and you felt like you couldn’t speak as you turned around and threw them onto the floor in front of the passenger seat in your car. “Jesus, could you be any more of a pig?”

Bradley shrugged and leaned against your car. “If you want me to be,”

That for some reason had a genuine laugh leaving your lips, but you quickly masked it with a cough. You knew Bradley clocked it though. He notices everything, especially everything about you. “You’re not gonna, like…brag about it to all the guys, are you?” you asked, hating how vulnerable your voice suddenly sounded. “Because that would be seriously uncool, even for you.”

One of his brows lifted as he looked down at you, and you wished you could see his eyes. They usually gave away what he was actually thinking. “Why would I do that?”

You shrugged, looking over to the right as the other aviators began making their way inside. “I don’t know, you just seem like the type to do it,”

You didn’t mean for that to sound so harsh, but the way Bradley’s lips pursed before straightening into a thin line made you regret your choice of words. “No, I’m not going to brag about it to the guys. I don’t give a shit about their business, and I can assure you they don’t give a shit about mine,” 

That made you nod, and you looked down at your matching boots. “Okay,” you said quietly, unsure if he even heard you. “Good.”

“Great,” 

You lifted your gaze just as he turned and began walking away from you, and you weren’t sure why you felt the urge to reach for him and pull him back to you. Maybe you felt guilty about your poor choice of words? Or maybe you simply wanted to be close to him. No, that couldn’t be it. It was definitely the first one, and definitely not both. 

-

It was nearing the end of the day, and you were still feeling a little bad about your last interaction with Bradley. You weren’t sure why you were feeling so guilty, or why the almost dejected look on his face was effecting you so much, but you needed to confront it head-on, or else you’d be thinking about it for the rest of the day, and you didn’t need to think about him anymore than you already do. 

Unbeknownst to you, you’d be thinking about him even more in just a few minutes. 

You were heading out to the parking lot again, planning on apologizing later when you inevitably saw Bradley at the Hard Deck, but when you turned your head and looked over, you saw him across the parking lot by his truck. The Bronco you’ve had an unwarranted amount of fondness for, and the same one he drove you in to his place on Friday night. 

Why not just do it now?

You paused by your car, your hand on the door frame as you opened your mouth to call out to him, but then you realized he wasn’t alone. No, he was leaning over and looking down at someone in the passenger seat, and you hated that the first thought you had was about how hot he looked. 

The sun was just beginning to set, and it made his skin look golden and his hair a lighter shade of brown, and you could only imagine how pretty his eyes look in that lighting. 

His forearm was braced on the door frame, his other hand gripping the window frame, and because the window was down, you could clearly see that it was a girl he was with. A girl he was talking to. Very closely. Very intimately. 

Not just any girl. Phoenix. 

The one girl you had a large amount of bitterness towards, and you weren’t entirely sure why. She’d never done anything to you, but she was bossy, and sometimes very unpleasant to be around, and for some reason, Bradley seemed to be around her all the time. Maybe that was the reason you didn’t like her. You didn’t want to admit that.

They were together all the time, and the one night they weren’t you ended up in bed with him. Almost as if she was getting in the way of it. But no, even you weren’t petty enough to blame that on her. 

You watched as he ducked his head and leaned in closer to her, and you watched as his lips moved as he said something to her, and then she rolled her eyes and leaned up to kiss his cheek before she gently shoved his face away from her. 

Almost instantly, a gross, ugly feeling crept up the back of your throat, and you had to quickly swallow the lump that was forming. You didn’t want to know if he was taking her back to his place, to the bed you’d woken up in not long ago. You didn’t want to know if he was taking her out on a date. Or if they’d say fuck it and have a quickie right then and there on the backseat. 

No way you were jealous. There was no way. 

Fuck, you totally were. 

And, because you are the luckiest person on the planet, your hand was still raised in an attention-grabbing gesture when Bradley turned his head and locked eyes with you. At least you assumed he did. You really couldn’t tell because he was still wearing his aviators.

Then he started turning fully towards you as if he was planning on coming over to you, but you weren’t feeling apologetic anymore, so you quickly turned away and got into your car. Your eyes betrayed you when they glanced up at the rearview mirror and watched as he paused and looked conflicted, like he knew that, up until about five seconds ago, you wanted to talk to him.

But you didn’t anymore, so you tore your eyes away and turned on your music in hopes that it would quiet the voices in your head that were telling you that you had no right to feel jealous. You weren’t his and he wasn’t yours. You’d made that clear. 

And so had he. 

-

After Bradley dropped Nat off at her house, he drove to his. He had spent the whole ride there bragging to her about the fact that he’d called the inevitable breaking of her piece of shit car nearly four months ago, but she just rolled her eyes and told him that she’d get at least another year out of it, maybe even two. 

Saying I told you so had never felt so good. 

But now he was stuck driving her to and from work, because apparently that came with the role of being her best friend. At least that’s what she told him anyway. 

He tried to keep his mind off you, and off the way you looked upset when you were leaving work. He could’ve sworn you looked like you wanted to talk to him, and were even about to, but then you turned around and left before he could meet you halfway. 

He wanted to talk to you, and he wanted to text you, but you and he weren’t really on texting terms. Sure, he had your number, but he’d never used it, and he couldn’t think of a good enough excuse to start a thread with you. 

But he wanted to do more than that. He wanted you to stop putting your guard up around him, and he wanted you to say yes to him when he asks you out on a date, then say yes when he asks for three more after. But you’d never given him the time of day, and he never understood why. 

Right from the very start, there has always been a connection between you and him. Of course, the sexual tension was obvious, but there was also an underlying connection he felt that he knew you felt too. You just never gave him a chance, and he was at a loss. It bothers him greatly, and that’s probably why you and he bicker like an old married couple, or at least that’s what Nat tells him. 

He wants more with you, he wants something with you, but he didn’t know how to go about it. He’s tried talking to you, flirting with you, and after this past weekend, he’s even slept with you, and yet this morning you were back to being cold and distant with him. 

Your attitude was actually one of the things he loves about you. He finds the way you don’t take anyone’s shit incredibly sexy, but that was just the beginning. He finds everything about you sexy, and now that he’s had a taste of you, now that he’s felt every inch of you, he was fucked. 

He was fucked, because he thought that once you and he finally got together like that, the rest of it would fall into place. You’d drop the act and you’d agree to give this thing between you and him a chance, but now he felt like he was right back at the start. 

Bradley hadn’t even looked at another girl the way he looks at you since the day you joined Top Gun. You’d knocked him off his feet and straight onto his ass, and he didn’t want you to ever let go of the hold you have on him. 

Once he got home, he plugged his phone in after winning the inner debate he was having with himself about not texting you, then he hopped in the shower for a quick wash. 

It was a Monday night, which meant the Hard Deck would be filled with people wanting to kick off their week by having a drink or three, and Bradley was no better, because once he was out of the shower, he dressed himself in jeans and a light blue hawaiian shirt, then he was off to the bar. 

It was dark by the time he got there, but the place was lit up like a tree at Christmas time, giving everything a homey feel. The pretty grin he got from Penny only added to it. “Rooster,” she greeted as she dried a beer glass. “How are you?”

Her smile was infectious, so of course he returned it. “I’m always well,”

Penny raised one brow. “Liar,” she said, “You want a beer?”

“You know me so well,” Bradley leaned against the bar, his eyes subtly flickering around the room as she poured his drink. 

He wasn’t being as subtle as he thought, though. “She’s over there,” Penny said, and when he looked back at her, she nodded in the direction of the pool table. “Red shirt.”

Bradley looked over his shoulder and that’s when he saw you, and while it was confirmed by Penny’s comment on your shirt, it wasn’t needed. Bradley knew that backside anywhere. “Am I that obvious?” he asked when he turned back to Penny. 

She nodded as she set the glass down in front of him. “Oh yeah,” she answered as she looked over at you as well. “Go talk to her if you want to so badly. How hard can it be?”

Bradley wanted to bring up the fact that she and him came from different eras, and talking to the girl you’re pretty sure you’re in love with is a lot harder now than it was twenty years ago, but he bit his tongue in fear of buying everyone a round. “Thanks for the advice, Pen,” he said instead, and she just grinned at him. 

It was hard to forget about the fact that the last time he saw you here, you ended up completely naked in his bed, and he finally knew what you sounded like when you came. Multiple times. Or that you had a thing for praise. And that you like it when he wraps his hand around your throat. 

Fuck, he was not about to get hard right now just thinking about it. 

He picked up the glass and brought it up to his lips for a sip, but when he turned around and leaned against the bar, he froze. Of course, his gaze naturally wandered over to where you are, but instead of finding you standing by the pool table, he found you leaning over it as you lined up a shot. 

That was fine, he’d seen you play pool a hundred times. That wasn’t what made him grip his beer tighter. 

No, it was the way Skills was eyeing you from across the table, and since your pretty red shirt was loose at the top, it gave him the perfect view of your cleavage. 

Harley ‘Skills’ Matthews was another aviator at Top Gun, and he and Bradley had never seen eye to eye. Skills was a jerk, plain and simple, and Bradley didn’t like the way he constantly bounced around from woman to woman, with no care in the world about them afterwards. Skills had even tried his luck with Nat, but after she told him where to stick it then informed Bradley about it, there had been a growing tension between the two men ever since. As far as Bradley knew, Skills hadn’t done anything with you, and he intended to keep it that way.

Bradley clenched his jaw as he stared at the other guy, making no move yet as his beer glass hovered near his mouth, inches away from his lips. He was well aware of the thick feeling creeping up the back of his throat. It was one he’s felt countless times when it came to you. He was jealous. Of Harley fucking Matthews. He felt the same way about every guy who chatted you up, because he simply didn’t like seeing you flirt with or get hit on by other guys. 

What was a little more powerful than that jealousy, though, was the feeling of protectiveness Bradley felt for you. 

Skills wore a smirk on his lips as he watched you take your shot and totally fail, then he set his own drink aside before rounding the table and moving closer to you. Bradley couldn’t make out what he was saying to you, but he assumed it was an offer of help since he stepped up behind you and wrapped his arms around your body, helping you get into a better stance. 

Bradley could tell by the look on your face that you hadn’t actually accepted the offer before Skills made his move, but you didn’t say anything as you allowed him to bend you over a bit more, then he moved even closer to you. 

Your expression turned into one of shock, then one of annoyance as Skills pressed his front right up against your back, and you tried moving away from him, but his hands were on your waist now. You looked uncomfortable now as you tried to move his hands away, but Skills just leaned down so his lips were near your ear. 

Before Bradley even knew what he was doing, he was already halfway across the room, his beer left forgotten on the bar after he’d set it back down, untouched, in favor of getting over to you. 

As he was making his way through the throngs of people, he could just barely make out your voice among the chatter of everyone else. “I’m sorry, Harley, I’m really not interested,” you said in a rather kind voice, but Skills just laughed and moved closer to you once you’d finally managed to get out of his grasp. 

“Oh, come on,” he drawled. “You’re not still hung up on Bradshaw, are you? I saw you go home with him last week, but you avoided him all of today. I don’t think he’ll mind if I step in for the night.”

That had Bradley speeding up a bit and his anger growing, because yours and his business was just that, yours and his business. It wasn’t anyone else’s to talk about.

“Seriously, Harley, stop,” you warned, but your tone wasn’t as threatening as you probably hoped it was. 

“Come on,” Skills repeated, reaching for you when you backed up. “I can make you forget all about that guy. Just come home with me.”

“She said she’s not interested,” Bradley’s voice cut through the air, much deeper and powerful and threatening than either yours or Skills. You were still backing away when he finally reached you, and as soon as he spoke, you backed up into him and let out a quiet gasp as he placed his hand on your elbow to steady you. Once he ensured you were okay, Bradley’s icy gaze met Harley’s again. “What don’t you understand about that?”

Harley rolled his eyes as he crossed his arms. “Fucks sake, Rooster, I was trying to-”

“I know what you were trying to do,” Bradley cut him off as he stepped around you so you were at his side. A few people had turned their heads to look at what was going on, but he didn’t care. His body felt like it was two seconds away from going up in flames, and his hands were aching to be clenched into fists. “And she told you to stop, yet you kept trying. Pretty pathetic, if you ask me.”

You stayed silent as you looked up at him, but Bradley never took his eyes off the other guy, and he wouldn’t until he was out of the bar. Whether that be by walking out or getting thrown out, that was up to him. 

“Seriously, dude?” Skill muttered, oblivious to the possessive and protective look in Bradley’s eyes as he crossed his arms. “You’ve already had her. Why can’t I get a turn?”

The nerve of this guy, talking about you like you were something to be tossed around and used and dumped. He was talking about you as if you weren’t even fucking there, and that’s what pissed Bradley off the most. As if you deserved to be treated like that for simply saying no. This guy didn’t know you, didn’t care about you, and he had no right to talk about you. 

Bradley took a few steps closer to him, shielding your body with his, and their chests a few were inches from touching now as he lowered his voice. “Get the hell out of here, Skills,” he muttered, his voice deep and dangerous as he watched the realization flash in Skills’ eyes. “And don’t ever talk about her like that again. Don’t ever talk to her again. Do you understand me?”

Skill’s eyes shifted between you and Bradley a few times before he let out a humorless laugh and raised his hands in defeat. “Fine,” he said, moving away from Bradley as he shook his head. “Whatever, man. I would’ve fucked her and moved on anyway, so thank you for saving me some time.” 

Nearly everyone in the bar had tuned into the confrontation, including Jake, who was leaning against the wall beside the doors. Once Skills had made it over there, Jake stuck his foot out and Bradley was treated to the sight of Skills literally falling face first out the door and into the sand that was outside. 

There was a round of laughter as Jake lifted his beer and took a sip, as if he didn’t just trip the guy, then he nodded in Bradley’s direction. 

Bradley couldn’t even find the joy in that obviously embarrassing moment for the man as he turned around and faced you again. You were rubbing at your eyes as you let out a sigh, and then you crossed your arms. “Thanks, I guess,” you muttered as everyone, or mostly everyone, went back to doing their own thing. “Although, I’m pretty sure Phoenix wouldn’t appreciate you defending other girls.” 

He wasn’t sure why you’d brought Nat up right now, and he felt his brows furrow together as he looked down at you. “I’m pretty sure Nat would be offended if I didn’t defend another girl,” he said back, ending it in a confused tone that had you rolling your eyes as you turned around and began walking away from him. 

What? That was all you were going to say? Thanks, I guess, then go back to ignoring him? No fucking way. 

Bradley hadn’t planned on defending you tonight, but he did it without an ounce of hesitation, and he wanted to talk to you a lot more than just that. The tension between the two of you now was almost starting to feel hostile, and he didn’t like it. Not one bit. 

“Wait, what is this?” he called after you as he followed the path you took towards the back door. You paused just in front of it when he caught up to you, and when you turned to face him, he saw the look of embarrassment on your face that was quickly replaced with one that was guarded. “What are you-”

It was then when he realized. You were jealous. Of Nat. 

You were jealous of his best friend. You were fucking jealous. 

The look you gave him after work today made so much sense now. He thought you’d looked jealous, but he didn’t let himself believe you actually were. Thank fuck for Phoenix.

He wanted to laugh, but he was afraid it would make you turn right back around and leave, so he held it in. 

“Oh,” he said, his shoulders visibly relaxing as he realized that Nat brought out the same, ugly feeling of jealousy in you that all the other guys you’ve talked to brought out in him. He knew then that he wasn’t alone in this, and perhaps he never was. “Oh, you think that Nat and I…” he couldn’t even say it because of how bizarre it seemed to him. That’s how wrong you were about it. 

You raised your brows as you crossed your arms, giving him an unimpressed look that came off cute rather than offensive. 

This time he did laugh. “She’s my best friend, nothing more,” he said, trying his best to keep the big grin off his face since this was supposed to be a serious moment. It was hard, because this was what he’d been waiting for. You wanted him just as much as he wanted you, he could see it in your eyes. You’d just put up walls for some reason, but now he finally knew why. 

“Mhm,” you mumbled as if you refused to let yourself believe that. 

But you’d gotten in his head and in his heart, and he was determined to get into yours. “I’m serious,” he promised, feeling confident enough to move closer to you. He was actually feeling pretty damn confident all of a sudden, and he wasn’t about to waste a single second of it. “Half the time she can’t stand me, baby.”

He was close enough to you that he heard your breath hitch, and you quickly looked away from him as a blush coated your cheeks. He definitely didn’t mean to embarrass you, if that was the case. He only wanted to tease you a bit, get you all flustered. “Oh,”

Well, rendering you speechless was a nice change too. Half the time you’re trying to pick a fight with him, so the fact that you were actually letting him speak for once was rather refreshing. 

Progress is what that is. 

“Yeah, oh,” he repeated, his gaze softening as he watched you sway back and forth on your feet. “That’s something you would’ve known had you asked. Or, you know, actually spent more than three minutes talking to me.” 

You nodded slowly as you pressed your lips together, giving him a sheepish look as you shrugged. “Sorry? I guess…”

Bradley laughed and shook his head, and he feared he would always let you get away with things like that. “Uh huh. Something you also probably don’t know,” he began as he moved even closer to you, dipping his head down a bit so his face was closer to yours, “is that I’m in love with you.”

That had your eyes widening as you looked up at him, your throat moving rather unevenly as you swallowed harshly. “What?” you asked, even your voice a little unsteady as you gave him a look that said, ‘If you’re fucking with me, I’ll end you’. 

“I love you,” Bradley shrugged, as if it was the easiest admission he’s ever had to say. 

Your gaze flickered down to his lips, and God, did he want to kiss you again. He kissed you maybe a hundred times during the brief hours he had you last Friday night and Saturday morning, but it still wasn’t enough. He wanted to kiss you all the time. Freely. Whenever he wanted. 

“Okay, um,” you trailed off, and you sounded more nervous than he’s ever heard you. “Well, what if I hate you? Yeah, I hate you.”

Bradley let out a breathless laugh as he shook his head. “I don’t think you do,” he replied, his voice low and smooth as he lifted his hand and brushed your hair off your cheek, then he curled his fingers under your jaw and tilted your head so you were looking up at him. 

“No, I don’t,” you agreed, then you let out a puff of air that somehow sounded whiny towards the end. 

Bradley’s thumb stroked along your cheek as he wrapped his arm around your waist, and when you practically melted against him, he knew it was over. The game had been played out, and you were finally his. “Are you finally going to let me kiss you now?” he asked, noting the way you bit down on your lip at his question. “Or are you going to make me wait even longer?”

A soft groan left your lips as you wrapped your arms around his neck and leaned up, and he met you halfway, your mouths connecting in a very much needed, and very much overdue, kiss. 

Bradley wrapped both of his arms around your waist as he pulled you closer until your body was right up against his, and then he kissed you like he’d been starved of it for years. 

His hands bunched up the fabric of your pretty red shirt as his tongue brushed along yours, and when you moaned against his mouth, he knew he had to get you out of here. The back door was mostly hidden from the rest of the bar, so he knew no one could see you - unless they were actively trying to look - and no one heard that sound you just made. 

But he wanted to hear it again. And he wanted to make more of those sounds leave your mouth. 

So after forcing himself to break the heated kiss, his hand found yours, and he started pulling you towards the door. You were a little unsteady as you followed after him, and once you’d made it outside, you let out a laugh as you tripped a bit. “Where are we going?”

“My truck,” he answered as he guided you along with him through the parking lot. “The backseat’s been dying to meet you.”

-

Happy Birthday, Bradley Bradshaw !

[theonottsbxtch]

THE LOCKER NEXT TO HIS PT2 | LN4

an: the forth installment! i had a lot of fun writing this one as you can tell it is much longer than all the other ones, this one i am holding very dear to my chest and would die for this version of lando, following this one is med school!isack, i hope you enjoy this installment! i have to post them in two parts because its too long lmao

wc: 17.2k (both parts together)

warnings: mentions of death & trauma

summary: lando was just a tired firefighter in a flat that smelled like rice and regrets. then she showed up, quiet, sharp, accidentally charming. and suddenly things weren’t so routine. they flirt like it’s an olympic sport, but grief lingers like smoke. somewhere between post-it notes and midnight gelato, they start to save each other.

PART ONE

uniformed hearts masterlist

AFTER THAT NIGHT, there was a slight shift between her and Lando.

It wasn’t all that noticeable to them, not at first. Nothing dramatic changed. No declarations. No sudden hand-holding or whispered conversations in dark corners.

But to everyone else, it was blindingly obvious.

There was an ease between them now, quiet, constant,  like an invisible thread had stitched its way between their sleeves. They didn’t cling, didn’t hover, but somehow always seemed to occupy the same airspace. When he wasn’t around, she found herself looking up, expecting him. And when he was around, he looked at her like she was a little more known than she’d been before.

His flirting hadn’t stopped. If anything, it had levelled up,  not in volume, but in weight. He still made jokes, still leaned on her desk like it owed him money, still offered her half of his snacks with a wink. But now there was something else beneath it. A softness. A certainty.

And she didn’t roll her eyes as often.

Oscar had definitely noticed. Every now and then, when Lando was leaning too close or she was smiling too much, Oscar would glance in their direction with a look that was somewhere between amused and concerned, like he was watching a film he couldn’t pause.

She pretended not to notice.

Then, one afternoon, her dad called her into his office.

She knocked once, as always.

“Close the door,” he said.

She raised a brow. “Sounds serious.”

“Just humour me.”

She shut the door, folded her arms. “What’s up?”

Her dad looked at her for a long moment. The sort of look he used to give her when she was younger and thought she’d hidden a broken window with a strategically placed poster.

“What’s going on with you and Lando?”

She blinked. “Sorry?”

“You heard me.”

“I—nothing’s going on.”

He didn’t look convinced.

She frowned. “Why would you think something is?”

“Well,” he said, slowly, “you’re not normally the type to tolerate grown men sleeping in your office.”

She flushed. “He doesn’t sleep in there. He just occasionally shuts his eyes while pretending to help with stock lists.”

“He drools.”

She looked away. “Only a little.”

Her dad leaned back in his chair, watching her. “You’re protective of him.”

“I’m protective of a lot of people.”

“Not like this.”

She didn’t answer.

Mostly because she wasn’t sure what the answer was.

The truth was, she had become a little protective. She noticed when he came in late and didn’t meet anyone’s eyes. When he was quieter than usual after a bad call. When he loitered by her door with that specific slump to his shoulders that said I need to be near someone safe, but I won’t say it out loud.

And so she let him in.

Sometimes he talked. Sometimes he didn’t. But she always let him sit. Sometimes she’d keep working like he wasn’t even there, just let him doze with his head tipped back and his arms folded, mouth open slightly like a tired child.

And she never said a word.

Her dad gave her a long look, then sighed. “Just be careful, alright?”

She nodded. “I am.”

That was the end of it. No lecture. No warning. Just a father seeing something his daughter hadn’t quite figured out herself yet.

When she got back to her office, Lando was already there. Head tipped back, cap pulled low, legs stretched out under her desk like he owned the place.

A crumpled post-it note was stuck to his chest with her pen.

this is not a nap zone.

He snored gently in response.

And she smiled.

Later that week the station was quiet. The kind of quiet that only came after most of the day crew had gone and the evening lull hadn’t quite ended. No calls, no chaos, no kettle boiling in the kitchen. Just a low, settled hush, broken only by the occasional creak of a radiator or the hum of the lights overhead.

She hadn’t meant to wander off. But something about the stillness made her restless, and she’d found herself down in the bay, sat on the edge of one of the trucks, legs swinging, fingers tracing the edge of her lanyard, eyes distant.

She liked it here. The smell of rubber and fuel and polish. The way everything had its place. Like it was waiting, but not idle.

She didn’t hear him until he was standing beside the engine.

“Alright, mystery woman,” Lando said gently, voice soft like he didn’t want to startle her. “You hiding or loitering?”

She looked down.

He was stood below her, hands in his pockets, peering up at her with the softest expression,  brows slightly drawn, head tilted, eyes warm and open in a way that made something shift in her chest.

She gave a small shrug. “Bit of both.”

He stepped closer, leaned against the side of the truck, looking up. “What are you thinking about?”

She hesitated. Then looked away.

“My placement finishes in four weeks.”

He blinked. “That soon?”

She nodded. “Feels weird. Like I’ve only just figured it out, the rota system, the stock room, everyone’s tea order.”

He smiled faintly. “And mine’s the most complicated.”

“Yours is a full drama.”

He laughed, quiet, but didn’t say anything else.

She toyed with the hem of her sleeve. “It’s stupid. But I feel like I’ve built something here. Not just work. Something else.”

His voice was barely above a whisper. “Then stay.”

She looked at him.

His eyes hadn’t left hers.

“I mean it,” he said. “Stay.”

She felt her breath catch.

“I’ll speak to the big boss,” she said, voice light, even though she could feel the weight of it behind her ribs.

“I’ll fight for you,” he added, half-smiling. “If it comes to that.”

She gave a soft laugh, leaning forward slightly where she sat. “How chivalrous.”

Then, without thinking, she reached down and ran her hand gently through his hair, tousling it lightly, fingers brushing just behind his ear.

He didn’t flinch.

Just closed his eyes for a second, like he wanted to remember the feeling.

She let her hand trail down, slowly, across the side of his face, along the line of his jaw. Warm skin, soft stubble. He didn’t move. Didn’t speak.

When he looked at her again, he looked a little like he’d forgotten how to breathe.

It had been a week and a half since that evening in the truck bay.

She hadn’t said anything. Not to her dad, not to her Andrea, not to anyone. Part of her didn’t want to jinx it, whatever this was. Part of her was waiting, quietly, as though timing might settle something in her chest.

Lando hadn’t brought it up either.

But he still came by her office most days. Still left half-eaten biscuits on her desk. Still dropped the odd look when no one else was watching, eyes softer, steadier than they used to be. Like he was still checking she was real.

It wasn’t nothing. But it wasn’t named yet, either.

The call came in mid-afternoon, smoke spotted near the edge of the industrial estate, possible warehouse fire. She wasn’t needed for it. Just sat back, watched them gear up, watched Lando throw her a grin as he jumped into the truck, and then the station was still.

Quiet.

She didn’t mind the silence. Tapped away at her report, kept an ear half-out for the radio.

Nearly three hours passed before she heard them return, the usual shuffle and low voices, heavy boots on concrete, the bay doors rolling back up.

But something was off.

She stood slowly, notebook still in hand, and peered out through the office window.

Lando was shrugging off his jacket with that lazy carelessness he always used when he didn’t want to admit he was rattled. Oscar stood across from him, jaw tight, arms folded, his whole stance wrong.

The air between them was charged. Like a fuse had been lit.

She stepped closer to the doorway, instinct prickling.

Lando said something low, sarcastic. She couldn’t hear it.

And then Oscar snapped.

“Don’t pull that shit again.”

The room froze.

Lando raised an eyebrow, all mock arrogance. “What, saving the day?”

“Don’t.” Oscar stepped forward, voice rising. “Don’t play it down, Lando. You know exactly what you did.”

“I got the job done.”

“You went in without waiting for backup. Without comms. You disappeared.”

Lando’s expression didn’t change. But his jaw twitched.

Oscar kept going, words sharp with something too close to fear.

“You’re like a brother to me, alright? It would kill me if something happened to you because of your reckless bullshit.”

Something in Lando’s face flickered.

“Get it together,” Oscar finished. Quiet. But final.

Lando took half a step back.

And then his breath caught.

She saw it, saw the way he blinked too fast, hands twitching slightly at his sides. Saw the way he didn’t answer, didn’t move. His chest rose, too quick. Too shallow.

Oscar frowned. “Lando?”

No response.

“Lando. Mate, breathe.”

But he wasn’t.

His back hit the side of the truck as he stumbled, palms braced against metal, mouth open like he couldn’t get the air in.

She dropped her notebook.

Rushed to him.

“Oscar, move!”

Oscar looked at her, startled. “What’s?”

“Panic attack,” she said, already kneeling in front of Lando, her hands moving on instinct, not touching yet, just there.

“Lando. Hey. It’s me.”

His eyes darted, unfocused.

“Look at me.”

He tried.

“You’re not there. You’re here. You’re safe.”

His breath hitched again.

She stepped in, slow but firm, resting one hand on his chest, over his jacket. “Breathe with me, yeah?”

She exaggerated it. In. Out. Calm. Slow.

He tried to match it. Failed. Tried again.

She stayed with him. Voice low. Gentle.

“I’ve got you. You’re alright. You’re alright.”

Oscar was frozen, still nearby. “I didn’t. I didn’t know—”

“Not now,” she said, quietly. “Let me help him.”

Lando’s fingers curled in the fabric of her sleeve.

He was spiralling.

She could see it in every inch of him, the tension in his jaw, the way his chest was seizing up like it was trying to lock itself, the frantic darting of his eyes. He wasn’t here. Not in the truck bay. Not with them.

She edged closer, voice still low, steady as stone.

“Lando. Lando, baby, come on.”

His whole body flinched at the sound, her voice, the softness in it, the truth in it.

“You’re here with me, alright? You’re not there. You’re here.”

His fingers twitched against the side of the truck, white-knuckled, “Just me and you,” she whispered. “You’ve got this.”

And then something shifted.

A flicker in his eyes, like a light had come back on. Not all the way. But enough.

He looked at her.

And the look he gave her nearly undid her.

It wasn’t fear anymore. It wasn’t shock or even confusion.

It was heartbreak.

The kind that had been waiting, quietly, behind everything else for years. The kind that had never been given the space to breathe, let alone fall apart.

She reached for him slowly and cupped the side of his face, thumb brushing his cheek.

And that was it.

He collapsed into her, arms wrapping around her waist as he buried his face into her shoulder, whole body shaking.

She caught him.

Held him.

One hand cradled the back of his head, her fingers slipping into his hair, stroking gently as he clung to her like she was the only thing keeping him from falling through the floor.

She didn’t speak. Didn’t shush him. Just rocked slightly where she knelt, her chin resting on his shoulder.

Oscar had gone still somewhere in the background. She barely registered him.

All she could feel was Lando, shaking, sobbing, finally letting go.

And all she could do was hold him tighter.

“I’ve got you,” she murmured, fingers threading through his curls. “I’ve got you, I’ve got you, I’ve got you.”

It didn’t matter how many times she said it.

He’d never heard it said like that before.

His breathing had steadied, just a little. The worst had passed, the sharp edge of it, but he was still folded into her like the moment might collapse if she let go. His face pressed into her shoulder, his fingers twisted in the back of her jumper like he didn’t know how to stop holding on.

She ran her hand gently through his hair, slow, grounding strokes. He hadn’t made a sound in a while, but she could still feel the faint tremble in his arms, the occasional hitch of breath he was trying too hard to suppress.

After a few minutes, she whispered, “You should go home.”

He didn’t move.

For a moment, she thought he hadn’t heard her.

Then, barely audible, just a whisper, raw and ashamed, he said, “I don’t want to be alone.”

Something in her chest cracked.

She pulled back slightly, just enough to look at him. His eyes were bloodshot, his cheeks streaked with dried tears, and he wouldn’t quite meet her gaze. There was a flicker of embarrassment in him now, like he'd remembered the world was still watching.

Before she could say anything, movement behind him caught her eye.

Her dad.

Standing just inside the bay doors, arms crossed, expression unreadable. He looked at her. Looked at Lando.

Then gave a small, subtle nod. Not a push. Not a command.

Just a quiet signal that said go with him.

She gave a single nod in return.

Lando still hadn’t moved. Still hadn’t spoken. Just sat there, fingers loosely curled now, like he was finally tired enough to let go of whatever he'd been gripping onto for years.

She helped him stand and walked him out through the back, away from the others.

The sun was beginning to set over the car park, casting long shadows across the tarmac. The air was cool. Still.

And there it was, the black Mercedes, parked quietly at the edge. Lando weakly passed her the keys and she opened the passenger door without asking. He didn’t question it. Just got in, eyes glassy, body heavy.

When she slid into the driver’s seat, she saw it on the screen.

The sat nav, pinpointing home. 24 minutes.

She didn’t say anything.

Just tapped the screen to confirm the route, eased the car out of the lot, and drove.

He didn’t speak. Didn’t fidget.

Just stared quietly out of the window.

And she let the silence sit between them.

Not cold. Not awkward.

Just understood.

She would get him home.

That was enough for now.

By the time they pulled up outside his flat, the sky had shifted to navy. A single streetlamp buzzed nearby, casting pale yellow light across the bonnet of the car.

He didn’t move at first. Just stared straight ahead, like getting out might take more energy than he had.

So she got out first, came round to his side, opened the door, and offered her hand.

He took it without a word.

The flat was quiet when they stepped inside, Franco clearly out, Isack’s shoes gone from the hallway. A blessing, really.

She helped him take off his hoodie, folded it over the arm of the sofa without thinking. He stood there, awkward, like he didn’t quite know what to do with his limbs anymore.

“You need to change,” she said gently. “You’ll feel better.”

He nodded, slow and distant, and disappeared into the bedroom.

She hovered in the kitchen for a moment, unsure.

Then he called, voice faint, “Can you—?”

She didn’t wait for him to finish. Just went to him.

He was sat on the edge of his bed now, t-shirt clinging slightly to his back where the heat of the panic hadn’t quite faded. His bottoms had been half-tugged off but abandoned halfway. He looked up at her, cheeks still slightly flushed, like he hated himself for needing the help.

She knelt in front of him, undoing the belt and gently easing the fabric down over his legs, folding them neatly beside the bed.

“Alright?” she asked.

He nodded.

She stood and reached for the drawer, found a clean pair of joggers and handed them over without making a big thing of it.

He changed in silence.

When he sat again, she brushed a hand lightly through his curls, tidying them from where they’d stuck to his forehead.

“I’ll make some tea,” she murmured, starting to turn away.

“No,” he said, quick and quiet. “Please stay.”

She stilled.

Looked back at him.

He looked smaller somehow, in that oversized t-shirt, bare feet pressed to the floor, shoulders hunched like the weight hadn’t fully left him yet.

So she nodded.

“Alright.”

They climbed into bed together, no drama, no hesitation. Just the quiet understanding that, tonight, he didn’t want space.

He lay on his side, back to the wall, and she tucked herself in beside him, facing him, close but not crowding. The duvet was warm. The room dim. His eyes fluttered shut the moment she rested a hand on his chest, just over where his heart was still beating a little too fast.

She curled her legs around his, tucked her head beneath his chin.

He sighed, low and content, like the tension had finally let go.

One of his arms found its way around her waist. The other slid under her neck, fingers curling into her sleeve.

They didn’t say much.

Didn’t need to.

But before he drifted off, voice barely audible, he whispered, “Thank you.”

She whispered back, “I’ve got you.”

And she did.

She really did.

The following morning she woke before him.

The light in the room was soft, filtered through half-drawn curtains. Lando was still curled beneath the duvet, one arm sprawled across her waist, the other tucked under his pillow, lips parted in sleep. He looked peaceful. Less like someone who’d fallen apart in a truck bay and more like someone finally allowed to rest.

She eased herself out of his hold as gently as she could, sliding from the bed without waking him.

She padded into the kitchen barefoot, slipping on one of his hoodies, and flicked the kettle on. The flat was still, the quiet kind that only came when three twenty-something men were actually asleep at a reasonable hour.

She found bread, eggs, a questionably clean frying pan, and started pulling together breakfast, something simple. Something warm.

She was just plating up the first egg when she heard the creak of a door behind her.

And then footsteps.

She turned.

And came face to face with a half-asleep, entirely shirtless man.

Tall, wiry, curly-haired, wearing joggers slung low and absolutely no shame.

He blinked at her. “Oh.”

She blinked back. “Hello?”

He stared a moment longer. Then, as though suddenly reminded of basic social rules, grabbed the first t-shirt he could find on the back of a chair and tugged it on while walking backwards out of the room.

“Sorry. Hang on, just… didn’t realise there was a woman in the house.”

She turned sharply back to the cooker, cheeks flushing. “You must be Isack.”

He reappeared, fully clothed now, running a hand through his hair. “I am. And you are…?”

“I work at the station. Sort of. Admin, logistics, general menace. Lando and I are friends.”

Isack gave her a slow look, the kind that said sure, but not unkindly.

“Well,” he said, after a beat, “that’s new.”

She raised an eyebrow. “He doesn’t bring people back?”

He shook his head, coming further into the kitchen and pouring himself a glass of water. “Not like this. Not someone who makes tea.”

She snorted. “Is that the bar?”

“Lando’s bar is low. Emotionally speaking, anyway. Otherwise he’s very fussy.”

She plated up another egg.

Isack leaned against the counter, arms folded, expression softening. “He’s hard on himself, you know. Always has been. Thinks me and Franco don’t notice, but we do.”

She glanced at him.

“He talks a good game,” Isack continued, “but he carries things. Heavy things. Quietly.”

She nodded, slowly. “I know.”

Isack gave her a small, thoughtful smile. “Good. I reckon he needs someone who does.”

Before she could reply, another door creaked.

Franco wandered into the kitchen in nothing but boxers, yawning so hard he looked like he might dislocate his jaw. He paused mid-step when he saw her.

Then said, vaguely, “Morning,” and reached for the cereal.

She stared at him.

Then at Isack.

Then back at Franco.

“What is this?” she demanded, gesturing wildly. “A bloody whore house? Put some clothes on!”

Franco looked down at himself like he was surprised to find he was still half-naked. “This is clothes.”

“It’s boxers!.”

“Boxers are a garment.”

“I am making eggs!”

Isack snorted behind his water glass.

Franco just shrugged. “Suit yourself, woman. It’s your trauma.”

She turned back to the hob, muttering under her breath.

Behind her, the sound of Franco hunting down a spoon was interrupted by the unmistakable rasp of Lando’s voice from down the hall.

“What’s going on out there? Why are you all yelling?”

She smirked. “Your housemates are indecent.”

“They live here”

“I am traumatised.”

He appeared a moment later, hair tousled, shirt slightly wrinkled, eyes still half-lidded with sleep, but the second he saw her, he smiled.

And somehow, it made everything else fade into background noise.

Even Franco’s boxers. Her attention became so caught on Lando that she hadn’t notice Isack take a seat at the table or Franco lie on the sofa with the box of cereal.

Lando walked up to her and slipped his arms around her waist, pressed his chest gently against her back, and rested his chin on her shoulder like he’d done it a thousand times before.

“Thank you,” he murmured. “For yesterday.”

Her heart stuttered in her chest.

Before she could say anything, Franco let out a low, exaggerated whistle.

“Oooooooh,” he sang. “Lando has a cruuuush.”

Isack didn’t look up. Just sipped his water like it was none of his business.

Lando didn’t even flinch. “Yeah and what?”

That shut Franco up for about two seconds.

She, meanwhile, was bright red.

She didn’t reply, couldn’t, really, just focused all her energy on flipping the eggs without flinging them halfway across the kitchen.

She could feel Lando smiling against her shoulder.

Eventually, she cleared her throat. “Breakfast’s ready.”

He let go, slowly, pressing a hand to the small of her back before stepping away.

She plated everything up, three plates, eggs, toast, beans on the side, and carried them over to the table.

One plate went in front of Isack.

One for Lando.

Nothing for Franco.

Franco blinked. “Sorry. What’s this?”

She raised an eyebrow, deadpan. “It’s called consequences.”

“For what?”

“For failing to meet the very low standard of decency expected in a shared kitchen,” she replied, sipping her tea. “Isack had the courtesy to put a shirt on. You, however, remain in socks and boxers. And socks and boxers,” she added pointedly, “do not count as being dressed.”

Franco looked genuinely affronted. “These are good boxers.”

“Not relevant.”

He glanced around the room for support.

Isack didn’t look up from his eggs.

Lando, mouth full, said, “She’s got a point, mate.”

Franco sighed dramatically. “This house is a dictatorship.”

She smirked.

And as she sat down between them, Lando on one side, Isack quietly eating on the other, Franco sulking in cereal exile, she let herself have the thought.

I could stay here. Not just in the station. In this.

In the quiet chaos. The warmth. The way Lando looked at her like she was the calm in his storm.

And, just for a second, it didn’t feel so terrifying to want something permanent.

The rest of the day went by in a breeze.

There was something about slow mornings in shared kitchens and warm laughter that made everything feel a little softer. She and Lando headed back to the station together after breakfast, her tucking her feet up in the passenger seat, his hand occasionally brushing against the gearstick like he couldn’t quite sit still.

At work, things settled into their usual rhythm. Paperwork, stock checks, chasing missing forms that had been “definitely handed in” (they hadn’t). Andrea gave her a wink when she walked past. Her dad didn’t say anything, but there was the smallest twitch of a smirk when he handed her a rota update.

Lando was Lando. Flirty, casual, helpful in that deliberately half-arsed way he thought made him look cooler than he was. But underneath it all, there was a shift, the way he hovered a little longer in doorways, how his glances lingered just a second too long.

And she didn’t mind it.

Not at all.

As they packed up at the end of shift, he offered, casually, “Want a lift home?”

She pretended to consider it for all of half a second. “Yeah. Alright.”

They drove in easy silence, window cracked slightly, music low. The sun was starting to dip, painting the sky in pale orange and dusky pink.

“Where am I going?” he asked, one hand on the wheel.

She rattled off the address.

When they pulled onto her road, she saw it happen, the way his eyes flicked to the familiar car in the drive, then up to the front door, then back to her.

“Isn’t this Chief Zak’s house?”

She inhaled slowly through her nose. “...Yeah.”

He turned to her, staring.

“Wait.”

She didn’t look at him.

“No. Wait.”

She stayed facing forward.

“You’re—you’re his daughter?!”

She winced. “Surprise?”

Lando sat there, mouth open like he’d just been personally betrayed by the universe. “Are you joking?”

“I didn’t lie,” she said quickly. “I just… didn’t tell you.”

“Oh my God,” he said, dropping his head back against the headrest with a loud exhale. “This explains so much.”

She folded her arms. “I genuinely don’t know how you didn’t figure it out.”

He turned to her, still mildly scandalised. “He called you princess. Out loud. At work.”

“And you overheard it.”

“I did! But I thought—” He paused, looking at her like he was re-evaluating everything. “I thought you were just into that.”

She stared at him.

“That whole older man thing,” he said, like it was obvious. “You know. Authority. Power dynamics. Bit of a thing, innit.”

Her face was a perfect picture of horror. “WHAT.”

“I don’t know!” he defended. “A lot of girls are into that!”

“Oh my God, Lando!”

“What was I meant to think?! You called him sir in the hall once!”

“He is my boss!”

He groaned, collapsing dramatically against the door. “I need to re-do my entire internal narrative. I need to journal about this.”

She was bright red, hands over her face, dying a slow death in the passenger seat. “Please don’t talk to me ever again.”

He was laughing now, the kind that made his whole chest shake.

She huffed. “I hate you.”

“You love me,” he shot back, grinning.

And the worst part was, she didn’t say no.

Later that evening, Lando practically bounced into the flat.

Not literally, he had some dignity left, but the door definitely shut behind him with a little more enthusiasm than usual. He tossed his keys onto the side, missed completely, and left them clattering to the floor. Didn’t even care.

He was smiling.

Like, actually smiling. That annoying, unconscious kind that tugged at the corners of your mouth even when you tried to play it cool.

He wandered into the kitchen, pulled open the fridge, stared into it blankly.

Behind him, Franco looked up from the sofa.

“What’s wrong with you?”

Lando glanced over, trying and failing to look casual. “What?”

“You’ve got that look,” Isack added, appearing in the doorway with a bowl of cereal and his usual unimpressed tone. “The ‘I’ve just been kissed or committed a crime’ look.”

“I have not been kissed,” Lando said, a little too quickly.

Franco narrowed his eyes. “But you could have been.”

Lando opened the fridge again, stared harder.

Isack raised an eyebrow. “Do we need to stage an intervention?”

“No,” Lando said firmly.

There was a pause.

“...Maybe.”

Franco sat up straighter. “Right. Spit it out.”

Lando closed the fridge, turned to face them, arms folded, defensive already. “Look, it’s nothing.”

“Mate,” Franco said. “You’re glowing. You walked in like someone dropped a serotonin bomb on your head.”

“It’s just…” Lando shrugged, running a hand through his curls. “We had a moment. In the car. After everything.”

Franco blinked. “Like… a moment moment?”

“Yeah.”

Isack frowned. “What kind of moment?”

“Well first I found out she was Zak’s daughter and then–”

Both boys exploded before he could finish his sentence. 

“You’re joking.”

“You’ve been flirting with the Chief’s daughter?!”

“You’ve slept in the same bed as the Chief’s daughter’s—”

“Cried in the Chief’s daughter’s arms—”

Lando held up his hands. “Alright, alright, alright! I know! And she never told me! Not properly!”

Franco was laughing so hard he nearly fell off the sofa. Isack just stared at Lando like he was some sort of romantic soap opera.

“Anyway,” Lando said, trying to steer the conversation. “That’s not the point.”

“Oh, no,” Franco wheezed. “That’s definitely the point.”

Lando shook his head, half-smiling. “The point is… I like her.”

Silence.

Then Isack said, “Well, yeah.”

“Obviously,” Franco added.

Lando looked down at his hands. “I don’t really know what to do about it.”

There was a long pause.

Then Isack said, “Then do something. Show her. Make it clear.”

Franco nodded. “Yeah. Big gesture. Or small gesture. Just gesture.”

Lando hesitated. “Like what?”

Franco spread his arms. “I dunno. Flowers. Food. One of those keyrings with her name on it.”

“She knows her name.”

“Then one with your name. So she remembers who gave it to her.”

Isack rolled his eyes. “Ignore him. Just do something honest.”

Lando nodded slowly.

“Write a letter,” Franco added unhelpfully. “Write her a poem. Read it from the top of a fire engine. Shirtless.”

“I’m going to my room,” Lando muttered.

“Make a mix tape!”

Isack smirked into his cereal.

When he got into his room, he lay on his back in bed, staring at the ceiling.

Isack had clearly gone back to studying. Franco was watching some awful reality show at full volume in the lounge. And Lando, for once, couldn’t quite settle.

His thoughts kept circling back to her.

The way she looked that morning in his kitchen, barefoot and bossy, telling Franco off like she’d lived there forever. The way she touched his hair, soft and grounding. The way she’d said I’ve got you like she’d meant it.

He liked her.

And for once in his life, he didn’t want to flirt his way into her good graces. He already had them.

He just didn’t want to mess it up.

He thought of what he could do but everything felt wrong. 

Flowers? Too much.

Poem? Franco would never let him live it down.

Something quiet. Something small.

Then he remembered the biscuits.

The Post-it notes. The fridge list. The playful argument that had somehow turned into something steady between them.

He sat up suddenly. 

That was it. 

Sainsbury’s was mostly empty at this hour, apart from a very loud toddler and a man having a stand-off with a self-checkout. Lando weaved through the aisles like a man on a mission.

He found them quickly, her favourites.

Chocolate digestives. 

He grabbed a packet. Then a second. Then, on a whim, a third.

Because if he was going to be the idiot who leaves biscuits in a locker like some kind of lovestruck Year 9, he might as well commit.

On the way home, he stopped at the corner shop and picked up a small envelope. Blank. Nothing fancy.

Back in his room, he sat at his desk, the one mostly covered in loose receipts, odd bits of kit, and an abandoned screw from the toaster, and pulled out a pen.

He sat for a long time before he started writing.

The following morning he got in before her.

Just.

The station was quiet, save for the hum of the kettle and the distant bark of someone swearing at the printer. Zak was already in his office, blinds half-closed. Oscar gave him a tired wave from the corridor.

His locker sat near the end of the row, the one with the dent in the side from that time Max kicked it open for “training purposes”.

Hers was right next to his.

He knelt, opened it gently, and placed the three packets of chocolate digestives inside.

On top, the envelope.

Her name on the front, written in his best attempt at normal handwriting, neat-ish, but unmistakably his.

He shut it carefully.

Stood.

And walked away before anyone could see.

She arrived later than usual.

A delayed bus, some minor faff with a coffee cup lid, the usual Monday nonsense. The station was already half-awake when she came in, the clatter of boots, the hum of voices, her dad’s office door already shut.

She made her way to the lockers, tugging off her coat, yawning behind one hand.

Then she opened her locker.

And paused.

Inside, balanced carefully between her work polo and a folder of half-filled forms, were three packs of chocolate digestives.

On top, an envelope.

Her name written across the front in handwriting that was scruffy but oddly endearing.

She stared at it for a second. Heart already thudding.

Then opened it.

She found him in the mess room,  sat alone at the table with a tea he probably hadn’t touched, thumbing absently at the corner of his phone.

He looked up when he heard the door.

And froze.

Because she was standing there, still in her coat, holding the packet of biscuits and the envelope, her eyes shining suspiciously.

“Lando,” she said, soft. Barely a whisper.

He stood slowly, nerves flooding him. “Did you—?”

“I read it,” she said. “All of it.”

And then she looked at him, like she could see straight through to the middle of him.

“I meant it,” he said, voice low, almost hoarse. “Every word.”

She didn’t speak.

So he did.

“I’ve never had anything stable,” he said. “Not really. Not since my brother. Nothing that made sense. Nothing that felt safe.”

She took a step closer.

“And then you showed up. Quiet. With your clipboard and your eye rolls and your weird tea preferences. And you saw me. Like, really saw me.”

His voice cracked slightly.

“And you never asked for anything. You just let me be. Even when I didn’t know how. And I–”

Another breath.

“I’ve never had someone who made me feel seen before.”

She was right in front of him now.

“And especially with you leaving…” he added, quieter still. “It’s like, just as I started to breathe again, it’s going away.”

Her hand came up to cup his cheek. Gently. Steadying him.

His eyes closed under her touch.

And then she leaned in.

And kissed him.

It wasn’t rushed. Wasn’t messy. Just full of everything they’d been holding back for weeks, soft, aching, a little clumsy, and utterly, utterly right.

His arms wrapped around her like he’d been waiting his whole life to do it.

She smiled against his lips.

And then she whispered, breathless, barely a breath between them:

“I’m not leaving.”

He opened his eyes, stunned.

She rested her forehead against his. “I could never leave you behind.”

Lando let out a shaky breath. “Can I kiss you again?”

She didn’t answer.

She just did it.

This time slower, deeper, her hands curling into the front of his shirt like she already knew every thread. He kissed her back like he was learning her by heart, soft and unhurried, like they had all the time in the world.

When they finally pulled apart, she rested her head lightly against his chest.

His heart was hammering.

“I spoke to my dad,” she said quietly.

He froze.

“Yesterday. Before my shift.”

He tipped his chin down to look at her, cautious. “Yeah?”

She looked up at him, eyes shining with something good. “He’s offering me a full-time role.”

Lando blinked. “Wait—like you’re staying staying?”

She nodded.

A grin cracked across his face, wide and unfiltered. “You’re staying.”

“I’m staying,” she echoed, laughing a little now, breathless with how ridiculous and right it all felt.

He dropped his forehead against hers with a soft, relieved sound, not quite a laugh, not quite a sigh.

“I was this close,” he murmured, “to staging a one man protest if you didn’t.”

“You’d have been arrested within the hour.”

“Worth it.”

She laughed again and he kissed her nose, then her forehead, then her lips, because he could. Because she was here, and she wasn’t going anywhere.

“I brought you biscuits,” he said, like it meant something.

“It meant everything,” she whispered.

And she meant that, too.

To Lando, no day would ever beat that one.

Not his promotion to watch manager. Not her promotion to fire service project officer. Not even the day he signed the mortgage on the house with his name and hers side by side on the paperwork.

Nothing could top that morning in the mess room, her in front of him, cheeks flushed, biscuits in her hand, love pouring out of her like sunlight through a window crack.

They’d tried to keep it secret after that.

Really, they had.

But it was nearly impossible. He couldn’t look at her without softening. Couldn’t sit next to her without shifting closer. Couldn’t pass her in the hall without wanting to reach out, just a brush of her hand, a press of fingers at the back of her wrist.

It lasted a month, maybe two.

Oscar was the first to catch on, obviously. Followed shortly by Andrea, who clapped him on the back in the yard one day and said, “Knew it. You’ve got that smug glow about you.”

She tried to keep a straight face. Failed. Everyone knew by then.

Her dad didn’t say much. Just raised an eyebrow one day and asked, “You treating her properly?”

And when Lando nodded, genuinely, quietly, “Always.”

That was the end of it.

It hadn’t all been easy.

Lando still struggled, even after the panic attack. The weeks that followed were a slow, sticky sort of mess, good days and bad ones. Days where he showed up like normal, and days where he didn’t answer the phone.

But she was patient.

And one day, after a night of little sleep and a long silence, she’d sat him down, proper serious, and said, “Let’s get you help.”

So he did.

Therapy wasn’t a miracle. But it gave him something to hold onto. Gave him tools, words, space. Gave him permission to feel everything he’d kept buried since he was eight years old.

She went with him sometimes. Just to wait outside. Just to be near.

And he got better.

Not perfect. But better.

They went on a group holiday the summer everything settled, to Cornwall, so many of them crammed into a big converted farmhouse by the sea.

Franco brought his girlfriend, their last trip before they went to visit Argentina, and immediately lost three towels.

Max turned up late with his wife and their son, who insisted on staying in swim trunks even when it rained.

Oscar’s wife brought colouring books and sun hats, and Aurelia  wore sunglasses too big for her face and bossed the whole group around like a seasoned general. Isack turned up last, grinning, with “a friend” he kept calling the “first aider”, refusing to label it because, in his words, “If I say girlfriend, she’ll leg it.”

On the third evening, Lando proposed.

No audience. No ring hidden in cake. Just the two of them on a quiet bit of beach, her feet buried in the sand and his hand fidgeting in his hoodie pocket.

He said, “I love you. I want to do life with you. All of it. Will you let me?”

And she said yes like she’d been waiting to all her life.

They married in spring.

Aurelia was their flower girl, glittery trainers under a white dress, confetti stuck in her curls, beaming like it was her big day.

Oscar cried. Max cheered too early. Franco forgot the rings. Isack kissed his “first aider” in front of everyone but thought he got away with it.

And Lando couldn’t stop smiling.

At first, he didn’t want kids.

Not because he didn’t like them, he did. He was good with them, even. But something about having his own terrified him. Too much responsibility. Too much fear of history repeating.

But the more time he spent with the others’ kids, with sticky fingers and “watch this!” and spaghetti on the floor, the more he thought maybe.

Maybe he wanted that too.

They talked about it one night, wrapped in a blanket on the sofa, a film humming in the background.

“I’m scared,” he admitted. “What if I freeze? What if something happens and I can’t move, like before?”

She took his hand.

“What happened to your brother was a freak accident,” she said gently. “It won’t happen again. You’re not the boy you were then. You’re not alone anymore.”

He looked at her,  really looked.

And something settled.

Their daughter was born on a rainy Tuesday. Dark curls, stormy eyes. Loud from the moment she arrived.

He cried holding her for the first time.

But it wasn’t fear, this time.

It was joy.

They still bickered over biscuit rankings.

He still left mugs half-finished all over the house. She still called him an idiot when he forgot the washing.

He still kissed her like it was new.

And every now and then, he caught her watching him with that look,  the one she used to give him before she ever kissed him, like he was hers, full stop.

And he was.

He always would be.

Because at the end of it all, she never left.

And now, neither would he.

Because every fire he’d walked through led him to her, and he’d do it all again, just to find her waiting at the end.

the end.

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[startaegi]

CHAPTER ONE. don’t say you love me.

where you and namgyu on brink of seperation find yourselves in way of death all to give your daughter a better life.

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the hotel reception was suspiciously quiet for a saturday afternoon. the odd guest or two came and went, their footsteps echoing through the empty entrance but no new arrivals since your shift began.

you sat behind the desk, legs aching and eyes drifting to the clock on your computer screen. you watched the seconds tick down, letting out a breath of exhaustion. it would be just your luck if a wave of new check-ins arrived in the thirty minutes before you finished.

you held your breath, eyes still on the clock as the double doors opened. you lifted your head, expecting to see a guest and was instead greeted by the sound of children’s laughter.

hanuel was glued to eunwoo’s side, as she always was, giggling as he attempted to playfully shake her off. you looked at the pair with a smile, the weight of exhaustion momentarily lifting from your body. the long hours were worth it when it meant being greeted by her smiling face at the end of the day.

hanuel noticed your presence, her round eyes peeking up at the reception desk through her messy bangs. “eunwoo-samchon taught me how to play piano,” she beamed excitedly.

you gasped dramatically. “he did?” you asked.

hanuel nodded proudly, her fluffy brown curls moving with her, one hand still clutched in her uncle’s. eunwoo stood at her side, a look of pride on his face. you’d never be able to repay him for everything he’d done for you since the day you met — working late nights at the club, afternoons at university, juggling too much all at once while still trying to experience a typical college life.

he helped you through your pregnancy, watched you face some of the hardest moments of your life, and through it all, he stayed.

eunwoo might not be hanuel’s uncle by blood, but he more than deserved the title.

hanuel darted to an empty table, throwing her pink backpack onto it and emptying the contents, pencils spilling everywhere.

eunwoo shook his head with a laugh. “i think i’ll need to sleep for a week after today.”

“she’s obsessed with you.” you looked from the girl to your best friend, smiling. “thank you for watching her again.”

“stop talking like that, you know i’ll always do it.” he paused, pointing toward the exit. “i should get going though, date at seven.”

you raised your eyebrows, lips pulling into a smirk. “where’s he taking you this time?” you asked.

“some comedy club in seoul,” eunwoo replied with an eye roll.

“you literally said last week that stand-up comedy makes no sense.”

“yeah, well, you’ve seen him.” he paused mid-sentence, a grin tugging at his lips. “maybe it’ll all make sense after tonight.”

you threw your head back in laughter. “get out of here,” you said, motioning for him to leave. “and text me later, okay? i need to know if you survive.”

eunwoo left, not before saying goodbye to hanuel, crouching down to her level and playfully ruffling her hair. her tiny face scrunched into the cutest scowl as he waved you both goodbye, once again leaving you in silence.

hanuel was always a good kid. she rarely ever cried, and now that she was old enough, she seemed to know when it was the right time or place to be loud. she sat happily, scribbling away in her colouring books, a pencil swapped for another every few seconds, her teeth tucked into her bottom lip in quiet concentration. no words would ever be big enough to describe the love you felt for her.

“ten minutes, then we can leave,” you called across the room, your voice soft but full of exhaustion.

hanuel raised her head with a nod, pencil still in hand. “okay, mama,” she said cheerfully, then returned to her book.

summer was slowly ending. the leaves had already begun to change, the nights growing colder and darker. both of you walked the streets of incheon, hand in hand. you felt yourself threaten to topple over, exhaustion settling deep in your bones. but the girl beside you was still full of energy, skipping along with a bear clutched in her arms. you often wondered where she got it from; neither you nor her father had given her it.

a headache pulsed at the base of your skull, the city lights and chatter doing nothing to help. you moved as fast as a four-year-old could, weaving through college students just starting their night, and families heading home after a day in the city.

an ice cream shop came into view, its flickering pink and blue lights inviting you in. soft music drifted through the open door, an idol group you would never be able to recognise.

hanuel’s eyes lit up at the sight. “can we get ice cream?” she asked, tugging on your hand.

you knew you should say no. you were behind on rent, barely had enough food to last until your next paycheck, and just as your luck went, your only heater had just broken in time for winter.

but as hanuel looked up at you with those bright brown eyes—so sweet, so kind, everything you wished for her to be—you couldn’t say no.

you shared a cone, sitting on a park bench just beside your apartment. hanuel swung her legs, ice cream smeared across her face, while you stared at the night sky, trying not to fall asleep.

by the time you arrived home, the night air had grown colder, your apartment silent except for the low hum of the fridge. you felt silly for even thinking namgyu might already be here—might’ve run a bath for hanuel, laid out her pajamas neatly on her bed. maybe even cooked dinner, so you could eat quickly and drift off to sleep without a single thought. you swore to yourself every night to never get your hopes up, and yet you always did.

as you always did alone, you bathed hanuel, cooked and fed her dinner, read a bedtime story, and stayed until she drifted off to sleep. only then did you heat up some leftovers, tiredly eating them in the silence of the kitchen before showering and settling onto the sofa.

you didn’t turn the tv on, didn’t bother to check your phone or pick up a book. instead, you stared blankly at the four walls, willing yourself to stop thinking.

no amount of tiredness could override your mind.

hanuel’s words echoed through your head, her heavy eyes slowly shutting as she once again wondered when appa would come home.

you were sick of lying to her, sick of giving her false promises and never being able to follow through.

you didn’t know where namgyu was. you didn’t know when he’d be home, and sometimes wondered if he ever would return.

you never had the answers to the questions hanuel asked in the small hours of the night, because you didn’t know the answers to them either.

the door opening cut through the silence. the sound of heavy boots being kicked to the side and a jacket flung to the ground. he groaned but didn’t bother picking it up, shuffling into the kitchen.

you didn’t speak, didn’t move a muscle as you watched him.

he was high, it was obvious. his hands trembled slightly, and even in the dark, with only the open fridge casting a light, you could see the dilation in his pupils.

and again, another piece of hope broke in you.

“hanuel was asking where you were,” you spoke up. “again.”

his body jolted in surprise, a hand clutching his chest.

“fucking hell.”

“did you hear me?” you asked.

namgyu only grunted in response, pulling anything and everything from the fridge in a hurry. you didn’t have the energy to argue, you’d done it one too many times already.

you stood up from the sofa, running a hand through your hair.

what was the point, anyway?

you could shout until you were blue in the face, until you had no voice left to shout with, and he still wouldn’t listen. he’d keep stumbling through the door at midnight, the smell of the club filling your apartment, all while ignoring the pleading look in your eyes as you begged him to care.

he took your seat on the sofa, ramen balanced on his lap. you shook your head in disappointment, leaving him to himself and deciding it was time for bed.

the bathroom was small and cracked in places, but it was good enough for what you could afford. you brushed your teeth quickly, refusing to look at your tired face in the mirror above the sink.

you didn’t need physical proof of how you felt.

soft whispers echoed through the walls. you paused, unsure where they were coming from. you cracked the door open, noticing the dim nightlight glowing in hanuel’s room.

namgyu’s voice spoke quietly, the soft tone he only used with his daughter.

“appa’s gonna go and come back, and we’re gonna live a better life, i promise you,” he said.

you watched as he gently brushed back her bangs, smiling down at her.

he pressed a light kiss to her forehead.

“and you’ll finally get the ballet shoes you dreamed of.”

tears burned in your eyes. you couldn’t bring yourself to listen anymore. whatever plan he had, you wanted nothing to do with it. nothing he ever did that involved money ever ended well. you wiped your tears, pulling the sheets over your cold body. you willed away the heartache, the pulsating headache, and everything else racing through your mind, and drifted of to sleep.

the following day at work, an unfamiliar man appeared. no room reservation, no name. just a briefcase and a question.

“would you like to play a game?”

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❪ notes ❫ . i’ve been working on this all day today and yesterday, and think it might be the longest chapter i’ve written ever???? anyways enjoy bcos it’s just about to get worse from here :)

❪ taglist ❫ . if you wanna be added to the taglist for all future chapters let me know!

[lush-escape]

The Vigilante's Guide to Grief

pairing: Jason Todd x f!reader wc: 2k a/n: this chapter had me stumped. it's been a long time since I've written angst and I'm (unfortunately for yall) so happy to hear how upset it's making some of you lmao prev: anger next: depression

Stage four: Bargaining

Jason sits at his desk for the first time in weeks. He's staring at the notebook in front of him. He can remember the last time he tried journaling. The way he felt after, the way he spent almost five hours at the gym with Dick to calm himself down.

It felt awkward for him now trying to get back into it - the same way he felt the first time he tried journaling. But he pushed through the heavy feeling in his chest and picked up his pen.

hey,

it's officially July. I haven't written in a while I'm sorry. I don't know what it is about the heat that makes people crazier. Penguin went on a fucking rampage that took days to stop. I'm exhausted. I haven't been in the best head space either. Canceled a bunch of appointments with Christy. She said she understands but I know she's disappointed. I don't really want to tell her “sorry I'm actually Red Hood and I was chasing down a crazy guy who goes by the name Penguin with Batman. I need some normalcy in my life. I'm just tired of feeling like I'm letting down everyone in my life because of Red Hood. But I don't know anything else. Not that it's a fucking surprise.

It's your (official) one year anniversary with Jason and you were so excited to spend the night with him. He promised he would be home early, said that B just needed his help with a case and that it shouldn't take more than a few hours. You believe him, of course you do, despite the small bubble of anxiety in your stomach that kept whispering: ”he's going to bail”.

You can't let yourself be negative like that - not right now, you tell yourself. So you go grocery shopping wanting to cook a special dinner for the two of you and a dessert for after.

That evening everything was perfect. Dinner cooked to perfection, dessert smelled heavenly, you put on your best outfit. The one that you knew made Jason go a little feral every time you wore it. The table was set.

You sat excitedly at the table that was set with your best dishes, fresh flowers in a small vase he got you for Valentine's day, candles lit. Picture perfect.

“Be there soon.” The text from him read. The text from two hours ago.

Three hours ago.

Four and a half hours ago.

The candles burned out. Dinner is cold, bad now. And you sit there with tears in your eyes. Stupid. You feel stupid. You told yourself that you should have known a case with Bruce would mean he wouldn't make it home in time for dinner, but you held out hope.

Everything gets angrily thrown into the garbage. Dinner, dessert, the candles, the flowers. You stack the dishes in the sink and spray them off with tears rolling down your cheeks.

“Idiot…” you mumble under your breath before taking yourself to bed.

You're sleeping is interrupted several hours later, you didn't even hear Jason come home. But you definitely feel the way he slowly crawls over you in bed. One knee beside you, arms on either side of your head.

“Hey, hey-” he coos softly, voice rough when he feels you stirring.

“God I'm so sorry.” Jason kisses your temple before moving to the apple of your cheek, warm breath ghosting over your cool skin.

You're still angry, unbelievably so. But the second he's on you apologizing you deflate against your will. Of course you want to talk about what happened, be mad about it, but you also just want to be with him, want him to make you feel better.

“You didn't even text me.” You whisper.

“I know, I know. Two Face made a move an’ we went after him.” He's pressing his body weight against you, one hand on your waist while the other holds him up. He kisses down your cheeks to your jawline.

You tell yourself you can't be mad at him for that, you knew Red Hood came first - that's how it was since he was Robin and you knew that's how it would always be.

With a soft hum, mixing in with a sigh, you put your hands on the back of his neck. “You bailed on our anniversary.” You state it as a simple fact.

“I know, baby, I know. Trust me,” he kisses down the column of your throat and you tilt your head to the side, “I pray to God every day that I was different, that I could give you a normal life.” He presses an open mouthed kiss to your pulse.

“Don't want normal,” you breathe out a moan, “just want you.”

You feel Jason's lips twitch, like he's holding back a smile. “You got me, sweet girl.”

I know you'd get all huffy and cute with me and tell me something stupid like I don't need to change. Part of me thinks I do. I still pray to God that I could have been different for you. Normal. Then maybe you'd still be here.

Jason sits back in the chair and just stares at the paper in front of him. Praying to God… Even growing up Catholic with everything that happened to him, continues to happen to him, he's not sure he believes in much of anything anymore. The only thing he knows for sure is that evil exists in the world.

But he still clearly remembers the last time he truly prayed.

Jason was a mess, a wreck. He feels about as numb and dissociated as he did when he crawled his way out of his own grave. His mind was a foggy, jumbled mess. His head felt stuffy from crying as he made his way down the sidewalk. He was wandering aimlessly through Gotham. He wasn't even sure what time it was, just that it was dark and quiet on the street.

And then he stops, seeing a familiar set of steps out of his peripheral. He wipes at his nose with the sleeve of his jacket before looking up at the massive cathedral before him. Without thinking Jason's body moves on autopilot, pulling him up the steps.

He ignores the voice on his head telling him to leave, that it wouldn't be open, not this late at night. His hand is on the handle pulling the heavy door open. The high walls feel overwhelming as his feet carry him to the pew at the front of the cathedral. He sits with a heavy slump. Ornate stained glass windows glare at him.

Jason's not sure why he's here. The last time he was here was when he came with you and your family for Christmas. While neither of you were heavily devout you had promised your mom you would bring Jason along for the family tradition.

His eyes are heavy and dry from crying. He stares half lidded at the statue of Jesus that stands in the very center of the apse. Part of him wants to scoff.

“What a load of shit.” He whispers to himself with a rough voice. He can't remember the last time he spoke out loud, something other than crying. He knows you would scold him with a smile on his face for swearing in church. He hates the thought.

With a sigh he folds his hands together and rests his elbows on his thighs, his forehead connects with his hands. He sits like that in silence for several minutes before the tears start back up.

“‘s not fair.” The words come out in a wet whisper. He shakes his head. “Why couldn't things be different? They should have been different. She should be here.” He sniffles loudly.

“Why couldn't I save her? Please,” he whispers desperately. He opens his red rimmed eyes and stares at the statue.

“Please, please.” His voice shakes with each syllable. His cries grow louder, unabashed, all consuming.

“Please bring her back. Please. She didn't deserve this- didn't deserve any of this. Not me, not my bullshit.” Jason's shoulders shake as he sobs.

“I ruined her… it's my fault. Please, you have to take me instead.” He begs like the statue of Jesus can simply snap its fingers and replace Jason with you.

“I already died once, dammit. Please! You have to take me instead. You gave me a second chance when I didn't deserve it! I came back! Why can't she? You have to bring her back! I have to make this right. I have to tell her I'm sorry, I-” he breaks.

Jason cries roughly. His arms fold over his thighs and he cradles his head in his hands. “I have to tell her how much I love her. Just one more time, please.” His voice cracks again. He's not sure how long he sits there crying but he lets himself do so freely.

He doesn't remember falling asleep on the hard bench that he barely fits on. The sound of a door opening jolts him awake. His back and hips are stiff and he's congested from crying himself to sleep. He swipes at his face with his jacket sleeve again. His head pounds from dehydration.

“Good morning,” comes a sudden voice. It's calm, gentle.

Jason's disoriented for a second before he blinks the sleep from his eyes, “Morning, Father. I'm sorry, I'm leaving right now.” He says in a mumble.

The priest shakes his head as he walks over to Jason, a warm smile on his face.

“What brings you here, Mr. Todd?” He asks. There's a sympathetic tone in his voice that makes Jason bristle.

“How do you remember my name?” Jason asks, voice nasally. “Haven't been here in months…”

“Of course I remember you. Your soul is troubled.”

Jason stiffens, “Don't think they give you one'a those the second time ‘round.” He grumbles.

He smiles softly at Jason again but says nothing, waiting for him to answer his question.

“I um… came to pray. I think.” Jason answers, looking down at his folded hands in his lap.

“You think? What were you praying for, son?” His voice is so sympathetic and gentle that Jason almost hates him for it.

“I-” he clears his throat, “I lost someone. Someone important to me.” And immediately the priest knows who he's talking about, having spoken with your family about your passing despite being no contact with them.

“Ah, I'm sorry to hear-”

“Why wasn't it me?” Jason blurts out before he can stop himself, cutting the priest off. He's momentarily taken back by Jason's outburst.

“It should have been me. It's my fault she's gone.”

The priest is silent before he speaks again, “He forgives you.” He offers softly.

Jason scoffs, “Yeah? Bullshit. He doesn't forgive me. How could he? She was so good, so perfect and I got her killed. Me. A good for nothing. He hates me for getting her killed, ruining her-” his chest tightens and suddenly it's hard to breathe. It's ragged and rough. He's spewing his own projections, his own feelings.

“Son,” the priest goes to place a comforting hand on Jason's shoulder but he's standing before he can.

“I have to go. I'm sorry, Father.” Jason murmurs before heavy footsteps lead him out of the church.

Jason shakes his head and rubs his temple.

Praying doesn't do shit.

He slams the notebook closed.

taglist: @thy-crimson-king @vellichor01 @theendofthematerialgworl @tinasdcstuff @4rachn3 @cecebookworm

[ild-rllrcstr]

Offline, Online part 2

Lando Norris X You / slow burn / 2.9K

part 1 / part 3

Summary Online, you know him as your constant racing rival and friend who talks about everything. Unawareingly, offline, he's Lando Norris, the charming, frustrating driver you’re assigned to style, who somehow makes every workday a challenge.At work, you don’t like him. He doesn’t take you seriously. But behind the screens, you both vent about each other without knowing who’s who. Slowly, late-night races and shared secrets start to blur the lines between friendship and something more.As reality and virtual worlds collide, feelings sneak up when you least expect them.

Warnings swearing A/N Hey, sorry for not updating for a while. I got stuck on the idea and also had some personal stuff to attend to, so I haven't had much time to sit down and write properly. But here you go! I'm going to keep you guys hanging for this one, but not for long!

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For the next few days, you tried not to log on.

You told yourself it’s because you’re tired. Work had been relentless, your calendar was packed, and you needed sleep more than doing sim sessions. But the truth was heavier than that, sitting at the base of your chest.

You just didn’t want to hear him talk about her again.

You didn’t want to keep being the person he came to when his heart was halfway elsewhere. But on the fourth night, you caved in. The headset slipped over your ears like muscle memory. And he was already there.

“Look who decided to come crawling back,” he said lightly. “Missed you.”

“You know, work.” You tried so hard to sound like it was nothing.

“Yeah… I figured. You okay?”

You hesitated.

“Just tired.”

It’s not a lie. But it’s not the full truth either.

“Your guy at work still a menace?” he asked, joking, same old tone.

“Weirdly, he’s been… more serious, I think?”

“Oh, so now you like him?” He teased.

You rolled your eyes, even if he couldn’t see it. “Wow, says the person who likes the girl at work who made you feel like you’re talking to your grade 3 teacher?”

He laughed. “There she is!”

You laughed, too. But it didn’t quite reach your chest the way it used to. Then the race loaded in. The track was night-lit and quiet, mirroring the silence between you for the first few laps. And suddenly he said it. Quietly.

“You ever wonder if you’re just… not the version of yourself people want?”

You nearly missed the turn. “What?”

“Like… when you try to show up, do your best, and it still somehow feels like… you got it wrong. That they saw the worst bits. And that’s what stuck.”

You don’t answer right away. Because you do wonder that. All the time. Especially now.

“Yeah. I wonder that.”

“I think I made someone feel that way. And I didn’t realise until too late.”

“Are you going to tell her?”

“I didn’t say it’s a her.”

“Come on, Late.” Your voice was gentle but wry. “We both know who we’re talking about.”

Silence. Not awkward, but heavy.

You leaned back in your chair and stared at the soft glow of the screen. You hadn’t wanted to talk about this. It was the reason you’d stayed away. But you were here now. With him. And part of you still wanted the time, even if it meant sitting through conversations like this.

After a long pause, he said, “I don’t think she’d want to hear it from me.”

You heard it in his voice then, uncertainty. Regret. Maybe even a little fear.

And part of you, the part still hurting, wanted to tell him she deserved the apology anyway.

But instead, you kept your voice calm.

“You won’t know unless you try.”

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The shoot had wrapped. Everyone was packing up, and you were organizing the final wardrobe returns when you heard it:

“You always this organized or just trying to show off?”

You turned to see Lando, casually perched on a rolling stool, holding a half-zipped garment bag he clearly had no clue what to do with.

You smirked. “You think this is showing off? Wait until you see my color-coded laundry system.”

He grinned. “Sounds terrifying. Bet your socks never get lost.”

“They don’t. Can’t say the same for people who put things in the wrong return rack though.”

He laughed, and for a second it was just easy, like the two of you weren’t work strangers trying to stay polite.

Then a beat of silence hit. You moved to label a rack. He reached for his phone, thumb swiping instinctively.

Across the city, your phone buzzed in your back pocket.

Late: You racing tonight?

You checked it after setting all pieces pack onto the rack, lips twitching involuntarily.

Behind you, Lando asked, “Something funny?”

You shook your head. “Just a friend.”

He looked like he was going to say something else, but someone called him off down the hallway. He left with a casual salute.

Later that night, the sim session was quiet for a while. Just the hum of engines and the night-lit track.

“How’s today?” Late asked.

You hesitated. “Pretty good. Just… had one of those weirdly decent days.”

“Huh. Those exist?”

“Apparently.”

Neither of you pushed it further.

But your fingers hovered over your mute button more than usual, listening closely. Because something in the way he laughed tonight…

It sounded familiar.

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Lando saw you smiling at your phone on set.

Not just a work-text smile. A real one. One of those slow, sinking grins people get when someone says something that matters.

And he had no right to feel anything about it. You weren’t his anything. In fact, at work, you were barely even warm to him. Just polite. Clipped. Professional.

Still, that smile stuck in his head longer than it should’ve.

So when your voice in his headset, the late-night calm to his chaotic brain, joined him in the lobby, he didn’t say much at first. Not until the race started and the conversation slipped into a familiar rhythm.

Then, almost out of nowhere, “Hey, can I ask something stupid?”

“Please do. I live for the dumb.” you joked.

A little laugh crackled through the mic.

“Do you ever feel like… you’re kind of into someone, but you’re not sure if you’ve already missed your shot?”

“Elaborate.” you still hate talking about this, you know it’s the girl at his work again. 

“Like, maybe they’ve got someone else. And you didn’t realize how much you liked them until they smiled at someone else’s message.”

You blinked. The words landed harder than expected. 

“I think… sometimes we assume things. Doesn’t mean they’re true.”

If it were any of your brothers, you would’ve just told them to take action already. But the selfishness in you said otherwise.

“Maybe. Or maybe we’re just a bit late to everything.” he once again sound not confidence at all.

You didn’t say anything for a while. Just focused on the track, on breathing, on how your stomach tightened like maybe this time… you missed something.

You checked your rearview in-game and saw his car drafting behind you, close but never overtaking. Like he was just staying there.

Right on the edge.

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It started with a throwaway comment.

You were talking about your manager, again ranting halfway through the cool-down lap of a practice race.

“I swear, if she rolls her eyes at me one more time, I hope she don’t get to roll them back”

He laughed, warm and familiar in your headset. “You always say that about her eye rolls. It cracks me up.”

You blinked. “What thing?”

“That exact phrase. I’m pretty sure you’ve said it before.”

You sat up a little straighter in your chair.

Because you hadn’t. Not online with him, anyway.

You’d said it at work. Out loud. To one of the crew. The second time had been earlier this week, when you were frustrated with your manager after a stressful shoot. You could’ve sworn someone was nearby when you muttered it, but…

Your chest tightened. You tried to sound light.

“Pretty sure many people joke about it that way.”

“Yeah, but still. Weird. I thought it was déjà vu.”

You paused. “Late, where are you from again?”

“Uhh. Monaco.”

The hesitation was there. Just barely. Like he’d caught himself.

The fact is, Lando almost said "Surrey."

He caught himself just in time. Which was weird, because he trusted her, but he didn’t want to risk it. He didn’t even know her real name, and yet somehow, he somehow told her more than most people in his real life.

But her voice... it felt familiar sometimes. The way she paused before roasting him. The way she said “mate” without thinking. The way she talked about her job, like she was holding the whole place together with tape and patience.

There were days he swore she reminded him of someone. Someone he worked with. Someone he used to think just tolerated him, until recently, when she started looking at him a little differently.

Like maybe she was seeing him clearer now. Like maybe she’d been carrying more weight than he realised. And then tonight, when she’d laughed mid-race at something he said, it hit him. That laugh. It was too familiar.

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Lando didn’t mean to look.

He was just trying to ask you a quick question, something about the shoot sheet being changed last minute. You were crouched over your phone during a break, perched near a rack of clothes, brow furrowed, typing something fast with your thumb.

“Hey,” he said, stepping closer. “Do you know if…”

And then he saw it.

A Discord notification.

It blinked across the top of your phone screen, just for a second, but long enough for him to catch two things:

1. The username that started with an L.

2. The preview: “You better not blame that missed turn on lag again.”

His heart stopped.

Because he had sent that message himself barely five minutes ago. From his own phone. To her. To the girl he raced with. The one who called him a menace and threatened to mail him imaginary penalty flags. The one he stayed up with until 3 a.m. last night just talking. Just… being.

You glanced up at him, oblivious. “You were asking?”

He tried to keep his voice neutral. “Uh, yeah. Just wondering if the team moved the blue jacket shoot to post-interview?”

You nodded. “Yeah, it got bumped. They’re finishing the interview with Oscar now. We’re still on schedule though.”

You smiled, quick and tired, the kind you offered when things were just slightly off pace, then turned back to your phone.

Probably back to him, he realized.

He walked away before he could stare longer, before he could say something too strange. Before he could ask the question sitting right there on the tip of his tongue. He just didn’t know how to.

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The late night race had just ended, a messy, hilarious back-and-forth where neither of you were really trying to win. He spun out on lap three, you missed your braking point on the final corner, and both of you ended up spectating the last lap in silence.

You laughed. “We should be banned from endurance mode.”

“Speak for yourself,” Late replied. “I just wanted to give you a false sense of security.”

“Sure. Your strategy was to be upside-down in a gravel trap. Bold move.”

He laughed too, but there was something… tight about it. Like his mind wasn’t fully there.

You didn’t say anything at first. You were used to moods shifting mid-session. But then he asked, quietly:

“Can I ask you something kind of weird?”

You paused, glanced at your screen. “You already have. You once asked me if soup counts as a beverage.”

“No, this one’s actually weird.”

“…Okay. Shoot.”

There was a longer pause this time. You could hear his quiet breathing through the mic, the occasional static buzz of his headset shifting.

“Do you think we’ve ever met before?”

“What do you mean?”

“I dunno,” he said quickly, covering it with a casual shrug in his voice. “Just your voice sound familiar.”

Your laughed, “Yeah, and you sound like Lando Norris. I probably just have those common voices.”

He chuckled nervously, “Right. Maybe.”

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Lando had been watching you more closely at work. Not in a creepy way, at least, he hoped not, but with the careful attention of someone trying to piece together a puzzle that felt like it was finally clicking.

It was the way you rubbed your temple when you were overwhelmed.

The way you scrolled your phone with your thumb resting near the corner of the screen, right where the Discord notification bar popped up.

And yesterday, when you were laughing softly at your phone before a meeting, it was a message he send you couple minutes ago.

Your expression was exactly the one he imagined when “Late” said something dumb just to make you laugh.

It couldn’t be a coincidence anymore.

He wanted to tell you. Desperately. But the timing didn’t feel right, not when your manager was barking at you about set delays, and you were already overworked and tense.

On your side, you weren’t sure when it started. When Lando began… acting differently.

It wasn’t the cocky grin or the casual walk into the studio. That was still there. It was the small things. The way he looked at you during briefings. How he stopped causing trouble, how he’d wait after a long day like he wanted to say something, but never quite did. It was… unsettling.

Not when you were still untangling whatever this was between you and Late.

Late was easier. He listened. He never cut you off. He didn’t joke when you were too tired to laugh.

But lately, something about your messages had shifted. The things Late said… the questions he asked... the way he talked about “the girl at work”, it was too specific. Too close to real.

You tried not to overthink it. Still, that night, after another long day where Lando held the door open for you and said “Get home safe, alright?” with something soft in his eyes, you logged in early.

And Late was already there when you got online.

“You ever feel like someone’s trying to tell you something… but not with words?” he asked out of nowhere.

Your heart skipped. “Okay, philosopher. You good?”

“Yeah. Just thinking.”

“If feels dangerous when you’re actually using that brain of yours.” both of you chuckled.

“I saw that girl again.”

You rolled your eyes. Not this again.

“Did she scowl at you this time?” 

“No. She smiled. At someone else.”

Something in your chest twisted. You weren’t sure why. Maybe because it reminded you of how often you smiled at your phone at work, wondering if it made you look ridiculous. While the guy you smiled for is probably thinking about another girl this whole time.

“Sounds like you’re jealous.” And you are tasting the jealousy yourself.

“Would it be weird if I said maybe?” he said nervously. 

Your fingers hovered. You didn’t know how to answer that.

“You? Jealous? Never thought I’d see the day.”

“I’m serious,” he said softly.

“You don’t even know this girl,” you replied, smiling, trying to cover the sudden rise of emotion in your chest.

“Maybe I do. I just didn’t realise it at first.”

You froze. The joke in your throat died there. You never thought it would hurt as much, or maybe you did, you just kept pretend it wouldn’t.

“Then I think you have the answer, I don’t know why you are asking me about it.”

Lando’s chest felt tight.

You didn’t sound angry. But you didn’t sound like you, either. Not the one who stayed up with him during 2AM testing. Not the one who once sent him a meme mid-race just to make him laugh.

He felt like he was losing you, and he wasn’t even sure which version of you he was losing first. And worse, maybe he deserved it.

He debated saying something, typing out a reply.

‘I think I already know who she is.’ Or maybe, ‘Is it bad I’m hoping she’s you?’

But his fingers didn’t press the send button. Not yet. Not until he could be sure.

You didn’t wait for a reply. Didn’t even look. You closed Discord, got off the seat and buried yourself in the kind of to-do list that didn't leave room for feelings. But distraction doesn’t work when your brain won’t shut up. 

The next day at work, Lando caught your eye in the mirror, just for a second, during a fitting. You weren’t really focusing, there were sadness in your eyes, and if he was correct, he had a very good guess of the reason. 

That night, you didn’t log in. And the night after that… But on the third night, your phone lit up.

Late : I miss talking to you. Even if it’s just stupid track gossip and you roasting my playlist.

You stared at it for a long time. You wanted to say I miss you too. But why the hell is he even asking for you when he needed to go and talk to that girl in real life?

All you managed to typed was: You and that girl figure things out yet?

There was a long pause. Long enough that you wondered if maybe he wouldn’t reply. That maybe the question had been too cold. Or too direct. But then the typing bubble appeared.

Late: I think I messed it up.

Your fingers hovered, hesitant.

You: So talk to her. That’s what you wanted, right? I don’t get it, instead of taking action and talk to her why are you telling me ?

Another pause.

You nearly locked your phone. You were too tired for half-answers, too worn out for vague affection that didn't mean anything outside a headset.

Then came his reply.

Late: That’s the thing, I am talking to her. I just don’t think she knows it’s her.

Your breath caught. You read it again. Once. Twice. It didn’t make sense, until it did. And then it didn’t again. Because that would be…

You: What does that even mean?

The typing bubble popped up. Disappeared. Came back. Disappeared again.

Late: Nothing. Sorry. Forget I said that.

You stared at the screen, heart beating faster than you’d like to admit. The room felt too quiet. Your thoughts too loud. You wanted to let your daydream just day dream, but you also don’t want your hopes to get up. Not again. You wanted to ask. You only felt more confused than ever. 

You: You make zero sense sometimes, you know that?

Late: Yeah. I think that’s why I keep messing things up.

⋆⭒˚.⋆ ₊˚⊹☆ ⋆˙⟡⋆⭒˚.⋆ ₊˚⊹☆ ⋆˙⟡⋆⭒˚.⋆ ₊˚⊹☆ ⋆˙⟡⋆⭒˚.⋆ ₊˚⊹☆ ⋆˙⟡

[violetcamryn]

Could you do a gabriel howell x fem reader headcannons of how he'd be as a boyfriend !!

Also could you make it super fluffy like nicknames he'd give, his favorite date ideas, his favorite cuddling spots, how he presents his own pda (like hand holding/ hugging from behind type stuff infront of others), if he likes to kiss on the forehead or cheek, corny sappy stuff like that 🙏 and can you make some in the setting of being the girlfriend on set with him!

Also cringed as I wrote this so I apologize 😭

this idea was so good, it got bumped to the front of the post lineup 😋 hope you like it!

HEADCANNONS - Gabriel Howell x girlfriend reader

Rating: Fluff 😚

- If Gabriel has to go to an early morning film shoot, he always kisses your forehead before slipping out of bed, making sure he doesn’t wake you up. He knows you’d wake up early just to be with him, but he always wants you to get your beauty sleep before you join him on set (because you’re both working on the same movie)

- He takes you out for little “dates” after shooting finishes. You’ll usually go out to the corner store, because shooting finishes after all the fancy restaurants close. But when both of you have the day off, he’ll plan a real date. He plans an entire day out with a fancy dinner to finish it off.

- He loves to play with your hair. He’ll learn to braid it, and then he’ll go so far as to learn multiple hair styles so that you don’t have to do your hair yourself when you’re getting ready to go out.

- He’ll sometimes just stare at you when you’re not looking, and think about how lucky he is to have such a beautiful girlfriend.

- He loves to hug you from behind, nuzzling his face in between your neck and your shoulder. He’ll plant gentle kisses along your neck and jawline when he does this.

- He’ll come home from work, eager to tell you every little detail about his day. You’ll spend the next hour cuddled up on the couch with the TV playing, busy looking up at him as he tells you about his day. He’ll usually massage your feet while he talks too.

- He loves the smell of your hair and the shampoo you use, so sometimes at night he’ll lay extra close to you just to breathe it in.

- He’ll sneak up behind you and try to spook you, which makes you jump just enough for him to catch you in his arms and hold you while he laughs.

- He’s literally one of the funniest people you know. You can remember multiple times where he’s made you laugh at inconvenient times and you’ve had to hold it in with all your strength.

- He hates leaving you behind to film abroad, so he will make sure to either bring you with him, or call you every chance he gets just to hear your voice. He doesn’t care if he has to wake up at 4am just to call you when it’s a good time for you, he’ll do it.

- He will always bring you snacks from the movie set. The donuts on set are your favourite. Scrumptious

(pardon me while i break the 4th wall, but I’m being so fr about those donuts, i had some back when i did acting and omg they’re so good)

- He gives the BEST back massages. I mean, have you seen his traps & shoulders? The man has some serious arm strength.

- He asked you to move in with him after being together for a few months, and since then he’s really learned how to decorate his apartment. But his favourite thing in the apartment is his collection of books that he likes to read by the fireplace. He’ll always ask you to join him while he reads, and he’ll make a nice cup of tea for the both of you.

- He spoils you rotten. He’ll take you out the the mall and just buy you things that you show interest in. You’ve had to be more careful with how many things you say you “love” while you’re out shopping, because he’ll just keep buying you things.

- He makes the best coffee in the mornings, and he’ll bring it to you in bed if he doesn’t have to work that day. He makes it exactly how you like it, every single time without fail.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

AN: Sorry this was so short 😅 i will definitely be doing more in the future but i hope you enjoyed!

[sylusgworl]

hi!! I just found your blog and I noticed you were asking for requests! I’m not sure if you write for Caleb but if you do, could you please do domestic hcs for Caleb x gn!MC? like them being affectionate around the house, going to the grocery store, hanging out at the animal shelter, paying taxes (lmfao) etc. ty 😄

CHAOTIC? NOPE, JUST CALEB ft. caleb

content: domestic fluff, gn!reader, adorable caleb because i refuse to believe he'd ever be harsh and manipulative with reader, it starts normal but gets progressively more chaotic, teeny bit suggestive (mentions of love bites, kisses, but nothing specific).

a/n: THANK YOU for requesting, i had lots of fun writing this one!! i rarely write for caleb (hopefully he's not too ooc, i have the lowest affinity w/ him unfortunately *pouts*) since i never seem to have ideas that 'fit' him, but this was a breath of fresh air tbh, i hope it's to your liking. wc: 1k . rbs are very appreciated <3

m.list

If someone were to ask you how it is, living together with a certain Caleb Xia, you’d have one word to describe it: chaotic.

Not because you didn’t enjoy it or something, but let’s just say you never went through a boring moment while living with him.

Starting from your daily life at home, Caleb is just the best man you could ever ask for.

He cooks for you every time he’s not away for work, doesn’t let you carry heavy objects—why would you, with him here?  And, he just never stays away from you for longer than half an hour.

Yes, call him clingy, but Caleb just wishes to shower you with his affection every second of the day. 

When the two of you wake up in the morning, as you try to get up from the bed, you have his arm draped around your waist, anchoring you down, as he groans, half asleep, not wanting to be separated from you. You try to wiggle out of his hold for long minutes, before sleep takes him away and his tight grasp loosens, although not much.

“I’ll get you to stay next time,” he mumbles, and you don’t understand if he’s dreaming or if it’s the last sliver of his consciousness talking. You giggle and slip out of the bedroom door with an idiotic smile.

In the afternoons or evenings, when the two of you sit on the sofa, sometimes he takes your feet and rests them in his lap, at times tickling you if you ever dare to ignore him, too engrossed in your movie. Other times his head is the one resting in your lap, as you gently brush his soft brown locks, hearing hums of pleasure coming from him.

And, not to forget, at night, it becomes impossible for you to sleep for obvious reasons.

Caleb, knowing your schedule well, knows how to take advantage of the situation. So, when the two aren’t working the next day, he’s all over your lips, his hands slipping under your shirt, touching, loving you—he keeps you awake for hours.

“Caleb Xia!” you yell at him, first thing in the morning, feeling your legs shaky and throat aching. You throw a pillow at him, missing his face completely as he simply chuckles, bed hair springing up from his head. He makes a run for it, getting inside of the bathroom before more pillows can reach him. 

You just sigh heavily and look at the damage on your body, love bites painting your skin, cheeks flushed and hair sticking out.

After showering, the two of you eat breakfast in silence.

He’d like to break the ice but… you just ignore him, pouting, still mad at him for what happened (although you were equally at fault).

“Pipsqueak I... I’m sorry,” he mutters, stabbing his fork into his pancakes, like a child does with vegetables he doesn’t like.

He looks so adorable, you even imagine puppy ears appearing, so you just chuckle and smear some cream on his cheek.

“There, we’re even now,” you say, and get back to eating, ignoring the boyish grin spread on his lips.

Later that day, Caleb decides you’re running out of groceries, so the two of you head out to the store.

The supermarket is swarming with people and chilly, different from the outside, with its warm and sticky weather. It's as if everyone was taking shelter from the high temperature, a funny sight.

He pushes the cart, you tagging beside him, while his eyes wander over the aisles, thinking of what is necessary to buy. 

Fruits and veggies, dairy and meat taken, he goes for the most essential thing: snacks.

As he has no self-control when it comes to them, you have to stop him multiple times from getting too many, but in the end he manages to sneak in some more—choosing the ones you like first and foremost, although you tried to tell him you wanted to eat healthier.

You are not allowed to pay, not with him right there. So, the fight being already lost in the beginning, you simply scoff and put the food in the cart while he whips out the card from his wallet with a grin.

—

Usually on your free days, the two of you like to volunteer at the animal shelter.

It’s not something everybody knows, but it’s kind of the continuation of a promise you’d made as children, when a stray kitten followed you home and the two of you took care of its needs, before grandma called the animal shelter a couple of days later.

You’d felt betrayed, back then. But as you grew up, you’d understood that you couldn’t have taken care of it back then, too young to even fend for yourselves.

But now, you have the opportunity to do so.

At the shelter, most animals loved Caleb. It came to the point of him being surrounded by kittens and puppies, with no way out as they all jumped at him in unison.

Except for one black cat, older than the rest, who for some reason stayed away from the chaos and instead, insisted on resting in your lap, purring as you streak his head gently.

“Aw come here, kitty,” says Caleb, nudging it lightly, but only gets a hiss in response, as it closes its eyes and goes back to rest.

He’s bummed, a small pout holding his lips hostage. You find him too adorable, and  even giggle a bit at his antics. 

It’s needless to say, the two of you get home exhausted. 

You wash up and head straight for bed, a long day of work awaiting you the next morning.

You are in your pajamas, comfortable, his strong arms pulling you to him, and ready to drift off to sleep—when catastrophe strikes.

“‘leb?”

“Yes, pips?”

“When did you say those tax return documents were overdue?”

He springs up, sitting upright and switching on the light. “Shit,” he lets out, as desperation paints his features while he wipes his face with one hand, sighing loudly.

So, that night none of you get an ounce of sleep, papers and documents sprawled on the floor as you try to make out anything of the situation, and fail miserably. It always ended up that way, no matter how many memos you put.

So let’s just say life with Caleb was chaotic: eventful, but never boring.

© sylusgworl - 2025, all rights reserved / i don't allow anyone to copy, repost on other platforms or sell my works.

[pagesfromthevoid]

Spirit Week | b.b. | 4

Bradley Bradshaw x librarian!reader

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: None

Author’s Note: I got to put my surf knowledge to use here. Also went surfing before I posted this. Love when art reflects real life. This is her board!

Masterlist | Talk to Me! | Coffee?

She wakes up, bright and early, the next morning to two very distinct scents:

Fresh coffee and surfboard wax.

The coffee is the first and most immediate smell, and it’s what draws her out of bed. Reminds her that last night was, in fact, real and that Bradley is in her kitchen, starting his day like he lives there. Like he intends to stay there.

Except he’s not in her kitchen when she walks out, clad still in his shirt and now a pair of sleep shorts she’s pulled on. There is coffee in the pot, and it’s still steaming, so he’s there but as she pokes her head into the living room then checks the bathroom –he’s nowhere to be found.

Until she smells the very familiar scent of Sex Wax, and notices her garage door is open. Brow raised, she pushes it open further and leans against the doorframe. It’s such a strange sight before her; one that she hasn’t seen in so many years. One that, really, used to be common when she was a kid but she never imagined she’d see again.

It makes her heart ache in the best ways.

Bradley is sitting on his knees, longboard in his lap, and he’s reapplying wax to her board. There’s a pile of scraped off wax next to him, and he’s gone through at least one bar already redoing her favorite surfboard.

It’s the same board she had in high school, having never had a desire to replace it for sentimental reasons. Her dad had picked it out for her; a NSP Surf Betty that was too tall for her at one point but is the perfect size now –the girliest board imaginable, with its bright pink and purple flowers, but still her favorite. She’s rode several different shapes, sizes, and brands but she never could get over how well her silly Surf Betty fit her needs.

Seeing Bradley fixing it up for her –removing wax that’s probably a decade old itself –makes her smile fondly.

“Is this part of our date today?” She asks, pushing off the doorframe and sitting down in front of him finally.

He looks up and turns a bit pink in the ears, but nods some with a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Mav called –invited us for a beach day for team bonding. I thought we’d bring your board so you didn’t have to sit and watch us play football.”

“So no date, huh?” She teases, but she doesn’t really mind. Not after last night.

“That’s not what I said,” he counters, and the way he’s working the wax onto her board is distracting as his arm flexes from the movement. It’s deliberate, and careful, and she has the sudden urge to kiss him again. But he’s speaking again. “And I told him I had to check with you first anyway. I figured we’d grab breakfast –a good one, at Denny’s just like you love for surfing –then head to the beach. Get you in the water again, take you out to lunch. Then we go to your school bonfire thing.”

There’s a moment where she’s just silent, staring up at him. Of all the things to remember, going to Denny’s most certainly wasn’t something she’d expect him to recall. Her dad used to take her right before every early morning session, and after every contest. It was just their thing, and she loved it. It bled into her sessions with her friends –with Bradley –soon after she started driving.

“Hey, hey, hey,” he’s saying suddenly, setting the board to the side and pulling her into his arms. It’s then that she realizes she’s misty eyed, and on the verge of crying. Now she’s letting out a watery laugh as he wraps his arms around her gently. “What’s wrong?”

“Oh, god, nothing,” she promises, wiping her eyes. “I was just…I was thinking about how nice it is that you remember something so stupid like going to Denny’s before going surfing. And how sweet it is that you’re fixing up my board for me.”

“Oh,” he sighs in relief, pressing his lips to her shoulder. Her hand finds the back of his head where she runs her fingers through his hair as she rests her head against his. “I thought I fucked up our first date already.”

“Opposite,” she promises as he looks up at her through his lashes. Then she kisses his temple lightly before pulling away. “Let me get dressed, and we’ll swing by your place to get your stuff.”

“Hey.” And he’s pulling her back, draping her arms around his neck and holding her waist gently. “I meant it last night. I’ve always loved you. Remembering you like to go to Denny’s is the least I can do to prove it.”

“I don’t think you need to prove it,” she reassures, pressing a quick kiss to his lips. Just as he’s about to return it though, she’s pulling back and standing. “C’mon lieutenant.”

Penny greets them as they walk down to the beach, eyeing both her surfboard and Bradley with a knowing grin on her face. Maverick does the same, but stops them before they reach the squad.

“Now that’s a board I haven’t seen in years,” he jokes, motioning to see it. She hands it over with a soft smile, and he looks it over fondly. “I remember when you got this thing. It was three feet too tall and you couldn’t even carry it.”

Taking it back, she shrugs with a small laugh. “Hard to get rid of something that works perfectly, even twenty years later.”

“Can’t argue with that,” he grins knowingly, looking at Bradley who just rolls his eyes. “Sorry for stealing him. It’s a tradition though.”

“No big deal,” she promises. “Gives me an excuse to get in the water for a bit.”

Maverick nods with another chuckle but returns to Penny’s side as Bradley and her join the others finally. Everyone is already shirtless, and the counselor is laying on the beach with a hat over her face. She can’t help but snicker at the idea that her friend took today off to be in bed all day —and now she’s sitting on the beach against her will at seven in the morning.

“So much for being in bed, huh?” She teases, setting down her board beside her friend.

“Fuck off,” the counselor groans, peeking up from under her hat.

“Hungover or horny?”

“Yes.”

“Double whammy,” she laughs as she takes out her sunscreen then slips off her shirt.

Her eyes drift to the group of aviators, who are all laughing and talking, picking out their teams. She can’t help watching Bradley as she works the sunscreen into her skin. Absolutely unfair how perfect he looks without a shirt on. Like very truly —all hard lines and angles, freckled and healed over scars, tanned and somehow already sweaty.

Their eyes meet, and he grins at her with a little wave. She returns the gesture and immediately sits on her board in the sand, working her legs now.

“They’re all disgustingly hot,” her friend comments suddenly, having sat up now. “It’s not even fair, honestly.”

“It really isn’t,” she agrees with a sigh. But she’s still staring at Bradley as their game starts. “How long did it take you to stop just staring at Jake?”

“Yeah, you don’t,” the counselor admits, and her eyes are on her pilot. “We’ve been dating nearly a year and I can’t stop staring at him. And he knows. Fucking attention seeker.” But the counselor turns and faces her now, giving her full attention to the librarian. “But we know that. Tell me about last night. You left. Penny said she had to stop you guys from ruining the parking lot.”

“Oh my god,” she groans, covering her face. “That’s not —okay, that’s kind of what happened. But not really! His truck doesn’t even have a cover on it!”

“Ooh,” her friend teases. “I didn’t think you were an exhibitionist.”

“Jesus, I’m not.”

“That’s good, I was worried I was losing my touch as a psychology major,” she laughs, throwing her head back. “What did happen, then?”

Recounting the story, she thinks she’s supposed to feel embarrassed. But there’s no embarrassment; just a giddy feeling in her chest and belly when she talks about how soft he was. How kind he was. How much love there is already, even after this time. She admits to ruining the moment, sitting half naked in her bed and suddenly telling him she’s always loved him. And the counselor is just staring, enraptured by the whole story.

She’s waiting for her friend to comment, to pick apart telling him she loved him still. But the counselor just smiles at her softly, sitting up.

“I’m glad you found him again,” she says, then she’s looking over at the group playing. “I hated Max anyway. He was a dick with so many red flags.”

“Oh, I know,” the librarian sighs, but then she’s standing up and picking up her board. “You made it so very clear every time you talked to him.”

“You’re distracted, Rooster,” Phoenix complains as Hangman makes another touchdown.

She’s right, of course. Bradley is distracted. His best friend —girlfriend? He’s going to go with girlfriend, fuck it —is right there, in the water. Skin slick with salt water and the sun reflecting off her like she’s a goddamn siren or something. Every time she sits up past the break, Bradley can’t help himself as he pauses to watch her. Doesn’t matter that she’s just sitting there, bobbing over the waves.

It’s just…surreal. How many times did he sit on the beach and watch her, just like this? Staring, waiting for her to look at him so he could do this exact same thing?

Only now, she’s his. He doesn’t have to look away and blush, or feel like a creep. He can stare freely, because she’s his and he doesn’t even care that he’s pissing off his teammates.

“Aw c’mon, Phoenix,” Hangman interrupts, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “Man’s in love. Can’t blame him for watchin’ his girl.”

“Yeah, so are you though and you’re not staring at your girlfriend,” Fanboy points out, laughing now.

“My girlfriend is much meaner when I don’t win,” Hangman counters, though he’s looking over at his girl, who is flicking him off from under her umbrella. “I can’t afford to be distracted.”

Bradley rolls his eyes, but he’s distracted again as he watches her paddle into a wave. Then he’s standing there, arms crossed over his chest as she pushes up on the board and drops into the wave like it’s the most natural thing in the world for her to do. He’s just so enamored by her movements —the swing of her hips to pull the board up to the lip of the wave then snapping them back down to keep going, the way she’s able to step forward quickly to keep the momentum going. It’s nothing short of graceful.

“She’s always been a natural,” Maverick suddenly says. Bradley isn’t sure how long he’s been standing there.

“Yeah.” There’s a pause then he turns to Maverick. “How soon is too soon to marry someone?”

Maverick lets out a bark of laughter, putting a hand on his shoulder. Bradley looks at him with a shit eating grin but he’s serious. And he’s waiting for an answer as Maverick finally stops laughing.

“Rooster,” he says, and for a moment, Maverick isn’t looking at him. It’s like he’s looking past him. “Your dad asked me the exact same question when he met your mom.”

Bradley suddenly knows why Maverick isn’t looking at him. It’s because he’s looking at Goose —at his father. Lost in the past; almost too painful for Bradley to ever understand. And there’s an overwhelming feeling in his chest as Maverick finally comes back to the present. There’s a softer smile on his godfather’s face; it’s sad. Like there’s still guilt that is just simmering below the surface.

“And what’d you tell him?” Bradley asks, voice soft. Almost trembling.

“When you know, you know. There’s no such thing as too soon.”

———

Taglist: @bowchickawowowww

[avianyuh]

You Get Me | Min Yoongi

Part Two

Summary: After a month of recording, Y/n and Yoongi have grown closer. Late night talks and a half completed album lead to a late night at the studio that ends in his apartment. But what happens after that fateful night?

[Part One]

A month later, I had not only adapted to the cold air in his studio, but had found myself thoroughly enjoying every moment I spent with Yoongi more and more. I looked forward to walking down the dark stairwell outside of the apartment building, going all the way down to the bottom floor where his studio was situated. Every time he opened the door to greet me, his cold face would warm up, a smile would paint his lips and it would meet his eyes as Yoongi would wave me into his safe place. At least that’s what he called it. “It’s my safe place, I can do anything in here, sometimes I prefer to sleep here instead of my apartment. I just feel productive down here…” 

The first few weeks were spent getting to know each other and solely working on songs. “I think I'd be able to do my best work if I knew you well.” Yoongi had said during our second session. “You're handing over your personal writings and trusting me to turn them into songs. I think I need to learn about who you are in order to give you the best album.” 

At the time I found it endearing, but felt nervous opening up to him. Maybe it was due to the fact I found him attractive? I didn't want to sound stupid in front of him. So when he'd ask me about certain songs and I'd explain how most of the sad songs were about pointless situationships and one actual ex, I assumed he was silently judging me. 

“I had gone on a few dates with this guy and I really thought he was into me but he just stopped responding to my texts. So, I felt like the only way to get over it was to write it out” I shrugged, avoiding eye contact with him. I wondered if he thought I was pathetic? Bad at making an album and love. He had never given me a reason to assume he was anything but kind, I just found myself judging everything I told him, afraid of ruining my delusional “chance” with him. 

“That guy’s an idiot.” He had responded after I had finished the story. “He didn’t deserve you…” Yoongi continued. I couldn’t think of a good response at the time and instead opted to smile at him, which he returned. Over time, Yoongi also started to slowly open up, which surprised me. 

After a month of talking about my personal life with Yoongi in between recording and mouthfuls of takeout food, I had assumed we would either end the night there or go back to work. 

“I remember the first song I ever wrote. It was about this girl in my class back in High School, I liked her. Always stared at her in class, but she never noticed me. Before we had graduated, I had noticed that she'd started dating some other guy. It crushed me and for the life of me, no matter how many weeks had passed…I just couldn't get over it. Over her. So, I started jotting down some of my thoughts and I somehow made a poem out of it. I had already been playing piano for a few years by that point, so I made a song out of it. That was when I realized I had a passion for music…” Yoongi explained. He was sitting next to me, his chair turned towards my own. Because of how quiet he always seemed, I assumed that behind his stoney exterior he did indeed have a softer side to him, which I was now seeing. 

“That's actually how I started writing music too.” I chimed in, tilting my head at him in amusement. “I liked some guy and he really never noticed me. I think I titled it ‘Unrequited Love’ or something stupid like that…” I laughed. He seemed intrigued as he looked at me with a sense of intensity. He always gave me these longing glances and I had never been sure if it was real or not. 

“How could anyone not notice you?” Yoongi said, not breaking eye contact. His voice was low, his computer screen long abandoned as it started to dim from a lack of inactivity. We had been talking for the last half hour after finishing up track six. I nervously laughed, shifting my weight in my seat. 

“I don't know…I’m nothing special.” I murmured, refusing to meet his gaze. I suddenly found myself hyper aware of the situation. Was he flirting with me? I thought as I quickly scanned his face, searching for any sign of humour, insincerity, something to stop me from fully falling down the rabbit hole, but he looked serious, almost pissied off. 

“That's bullshit.” He quickly responded, grabbing my hands, pulling my chair closer towards his own. “This whole past month, for the first time in years, I actually look forward to working with someone all night.” His thumb trailed over the top of my own, sending a shiver down my spine. “You're incredibly special to me.” He whispered, his gaze darting between my eyes and lips. I swallowed, also debating on whether I should look into his dark eyes or his lips. Before I could fully take in what was happening, we both leaned in, our lips joining together. Yoongi’s mouth moved against mine perfectly. I let a quiet moan slip past my lips as he sank his teeth down onto my lower lip. My hands traveled into his hair, while his own hands cupped my face.

I climbed into his lap and Yoongi swiveled his chair around so my back was against the edge of the desk. I could feel the heat forming between my legs as I gasped for air in between kisses. He moved his lips down to my neck, along with his hands which now settled onto my waist. He bit down on the skin of my neck, making me cry out his name. “Do you want to do this? We don't have to.” He said, moving his face away from my neck, but his hands stayed placed firmly on my waist, keeping me steady. 

“I want to.” I responded, moving the hair out of his eyes. “I've wanted to do this since the day I met you.” I confessed, a blush still finding a way to creep onto my cheeks, in spite of my compromised position. He nodded and smiled, placing a chaste kiss on my lips before resuming his movements. First my shirt came off, followed by my jeans and bra. He carried me over and sprawled me out on the black leather couch in the back corner of the studio, removing his own clothes before all that was left between us was our underwear. We were both out of breath, panting, foreheads pressed together. 

“I'm crazy about you.” Yoongi said, staring into my eyes. He trailed his kisses all the way down to my panties, which he slowly removed, along with his own. He held my hands as he slipped in and out, he never broke eye contact other than the few times he tested his head in the crook of my neck. 

After he finished, he lay side by side for a few moments. My breathing steadied after a while, along with his own. Yoongi turned to face me, resting his head against his arm, using it like a pillow. 

“Do you want to spend the night with me?” He questioned, his face returning back to its blank expression I had become used to. I nodded, silently agreeing, instead of words opting to grab his hand and kiss it. 

We redressed, and I watched from the door as Yoongi shut his programs, equipment  and computer down, turning off the light and locking the door behind us. 

Inside of his apartment, it carried the same appearance of his studio. Nothing too bright, everything was a neutral color, a keyboard was set up against one of the walls in the living room of his apartment. He led me to the bedroom, and pulled out one of his t-shirts from his dresser drawers, handing it to me with a soft smile. Before we went to sleep, he held me in his arms and kissed the top of my forehead. “Thank you.” He whispered. I turned to face him, still in his arms. 

“For what?” I asked, caressing his cheek with my thumb. 

“For making me feel something again.” He answered as his eyes started to flutter closed. 

That next studio session I had with him came three days after we had slept together. The morning after, he drove me home and kissed me goodbye before I got out of the car. He promised to call me but he never did, but to be fair, I never reached out either. 

So when I showed up outside of his studio door, I found myself hesitant to knock. Was he disappointed in me? Was he not satisfied? I was suddenly embarrassed. I couldn’t believe that I had been so stupid as to sleep with the guy who was producing my album. Yoongi was my last chance and I foolishly found myself falling for him, I felt hopeless, like I had just ruined everything. 

When he opened the door, he didn’t smile this time. Instead he looked concerned. “Uh, hi.” Yoongi murmured, running a hand through his hair. He seemed like he was on edge, and I assumed he was just as uncomfortable as I was. 

“Hey, sorry I’m a little late.” I responded back. The truth was that I was in fact late, but only because I walked at a snail's pace all the way over here. I had been curious to see him and possibly get an answer as to why he had never called, but I was also dreading the inevitable reunion for that very reason. I was afraid of the answer I would receive. 

“It’s no big deal, come in.” He said, gesturing inside. I walked past him, immediately setting up my laptop, not wanting to waste anytime. We had already finished half the album by now, so regardless of what happened between Yoongi and I personally, I still had every intention of finishing this album, no matter how awkward it would probably become. Yoongi closed the door and sat down in his chair, clicking his computer mouse a few times, most likely opening up all of his programs. “So, I was thinking we could get through two songs tonight? Then we’ll only have four left…” He proposed, scrolling through the list of demos we hadn’t started work on yet. 

“Sounds good.” I nodded, doing my own fair share of clicking and typing. I was trying to play off any feelings of rejection. I found it ironic how just a month ago, I had told him about my experience getting ghosted by a guy. He had said that the guy who never called me back was an idiot, so why did he end up doing the very thing he disapproved of. 

An hour into the session, halfway through the first song, he took off his headphones and turned to me. “Y/n, I know you’re mad at me and I know I don’t really have an excuse for not calling but all I can say is that I feel horrible about it.” My eyes went wide as I listened to him try to explain his side of the story. “I panicked. I don’t do relationships. Especially with someone I’m working with. I meant everything I said to you. I am crazy about you, you have to believe me. I didn’t call but I was thinking about you the whole time.” He pleaded. Here was the answer to my questions. Not because he regretted it, or that I wasn’t good enough for him. No, instead it was all him. He felt guilty, he was thinking about me. 

“Yoongi…I felt horrible about myself. You slept with me and never called. THe whole time I was thinking you hated every minute you spent with me.” I whispered, my head lowered. He shook his head in disapproval of my words. 

“That wasn’t it at all. It’s me, I should’ve been honest with you.” Yoongi said, sincerity evident in his expression. 

“So you don’t want a relationship?” I asked, feeling like I already knew the answer. 

“I don’t want to hurt you more than I already have or make promises I can’t keep.” Yoongi responded, holding my hand in his own and giving it a tight squeeze. “I still want to produce your album for you if you’ll let me. I understand if things are too weird.” He said, sighing in defeat. My heart sank, I had felt something so different with Yoongi. He was unlike anyone I had met before. He made me feel special, he shared the same passions and experiences as me, yet here was the guy I had been waiting for right in front of me, yet he couldn’t be mine. How could I continue to work with him if I still had feelings for him? I’m singing about love and heartbreak, and the guy that’s currently causing all of it is outside of the recording booth, creating all of the instrumentals. I blinked away the few stray tears I could feel forming, making sure I didn’t show any emotion. 

“Yeah, I’d still like to work with you. But after we’re done with the album, I hope you understand why I probably won’t want to keep in touch.” I could see a pang of longing flash in his eyes. Or maybe I imagined it. He gave me a subtle smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes before he turned his attention back to his computer screen, putting his headphones back on. After tonight, only four more tracks, and then I’ll never see him again…

~

{A/N: PART TWOOOOOOOOO. Don't have much to say other than I'm sorry if I missed a typo. I wrote half of this on my phone but I hope I got everything. Also, why tf are sex scene so awkward to write lmao. I hope it wasn't too cringey lol, but I promised smut so this is my attempt. Okay anyways, part three coming soon, have a good day/night, I love you and mwahhhhhhhh💋💋💋💋💋💋💋💋💋💋💋}

[sugxto]

open circuit - eddie x volt drabble

⋆syn: there's something about you that's catching Eddie and Volt's interest. They... discuss exactly what they want to do about it.

⋆wc: 2.6k

⋆cw: explicit m/m, frottage, dirty talk - they're fantasizing about you and getting off on it, basically

⋆notes: takes place after you've worked with eddie to fix up the club, before the final night of their route. the person eddie and volt are discussing is completely gender neutral. they're referred to as "human," with they/them pronouns, and no descriptions of genitalia or features. e/v masterlist.

⋆snippet:

“I’m telling you that we should fuck them. Give the little live wire one hell of a night.” Volt’s eyes narrow, and Eddie feels his hand on his side dip lower, glide along the waist of his pants, and a finger hitches around a belt loop. “Don’t tell me you haven’t thought about them too.”

Eddie doesn’t answer. He doesn’t have to, because Volt already knows he has.

open circuit

The toolbox swings shut with a metallic thud, and Eddie is relieved to not have to hold a pair of pliers, hopefully, for the rest of the night.

That should be enough, he thinks to himself, just enough to get them through tonight, maybe even tomorrow if Volt didn’t over do it. He repeats the reassurances over and over his in mind as he puts the tools away, wanting, needing to believe it.

The tools away, he makes his way down the hall to the bar office, pressing a thumb to the space between his eyebrows as he mentally goes over what smaller tasks could possibly be left on the to-do list. Wipe down the glasses, restock the whiskey, wipe down the -

He’s suddenly thrown against the wall of the office, just as he rounds the door, his breath leaving his lungs in a surprised gasp. He blinks, and nearly rolls his eyes at the glowing mess of white bolts that greet him. Of course.

“I’m working, Volt,” he grumbles, making his face stoic, but he’s curious about the playful glint in Volt’s eyes. He doesn’t show it, though. “What do you want?”

Volt cocks his head, a familiar smirk on his lips. Eddie knows that smirk too well, knows how it can get anyone at their bar to order another round, how it can convince Daisuke to lend them the crystal glasses, how it can crumble Eddie’s resolve if the situation is right.

“And what makes you think I want something, hm?” As Volt speaks, he rests a hand on the wall next to Eddie’s waist, blocking him if were to move to the door. “Can’t we just take a break together?”

Eddie sighs, rolls his eyes. “No. I don’t have time, because if you haven’t noticed, I’m trying to ensure we don’t blow a fuse every night.” 

“Yes, I have noticed. An excellent job you’re doing too, my darling.” Volt’s eyes rake over Eddie’s face, pausing on his lips, before meeting his eyes again. “You and the human are very good together.”

Fuck.

Eddie feels his face get hot, and his nostrils flare, but he remains still, not willing to give Volt the satisfaction of a reaction. 

But still, Volt smiles, leaning his face down, closer to Eddie’s, the tips of their noses almost touching. “You thought I wouldn’t hear you two making a racket the last few days? Did I overhear something about a ladder?”

Eddie opens his mouth to speak, but stops himself, a thought forming slowly in his exhausted brain, and he searches Volt’s white eyes for something amiss before saying, “You’re not mad they’re helping?”

“Helping you? Eddie, despite how you reassure me, well, more like lie to me, every morning that you did indeed sleep, I’m overjoyed they’re helping,” Volt says, his lightning brows arching on his forehead. 

Huh.

That wasn’t the reaction Eddie was expecting. 

He’d convinced himself that Volt might, well, explode if he knew someone else was touching their wires, helping to regulate the very power he released every night. But more than that, Volt was… prone to jealousy.

It wasn’t like either of them had virtuous pasts - they spent their first few years after Volt sparked into existence almost dancing around each other, trying to find distractions in whatever came through the door of the Breaker Box. But, once they’d found each other, acknowledged the spark, the current, that connected their very beings, there was no one else. 

Volt was still a flirt, that couldn’t be helped, and it was good for business, they both knew. That didn’t bother Eddie - it was him that Volt came home to every night, but more than that, it was his very essence that gave Volt life. Nothing would ever be able to come between that. Not even when Bev would get hammered every so often, and grab onto Eddie's vest for “balance,” and Volt would appear seemingly out of thin air, a blue tint on his cheeks as he’d escort her out.

He’d made Volt out of necessity, and in turn, Volt lived to protect him. And Volt did not like anyone getting in his way.

So, it surprises Eddie, the voice Volt uses to reference the human - like he’s eager, waiting, for someone to open a present he’s gifting. 

“Really?” Eddie asks, a bit incredulous.

“Really.” Volt’s hand moves to Eddie’s waist, stroking his thumb over the wires on his vest. His eyes are playful, and Eddie tries to ignore the way it makes his heart skip a bit. “They’re quite something, aren’t they?”

Eddie shrugs, makes a face that he hopes displays nonchalance. “I guess. They keep coming back, for some reason.”

“Oh, Eddie,” Volt chuckles, cupping Eddie’s face with his other hand, his thumb tilting his chin up. “You can’t be that oblivious.”

Eddie doesn’t like that tone, like he’s missing something, left out of a secret, and he furrows his brow, his gaze a challenge to his partner. “Oblivious to what, Volt?”

Volt’s grin is nearly sinister, and he turns his head, brings his lips to Eddie’s ear, and whispers, in the softest voice, “They want us.”

Eddie snaps his head, Volt’s eyes shining, that fucking grin still plastered on his face.

That - that couldn’t be right.

Sure, they were a bit of a flirt - he knew that, from how they flushed at Volt’s greetings, from an innuendo or two they’d thrown at him during a work break the other day. But it was Volt they were interested in, surely. Why they offered to help, show up before the club even opened, because it meant something to Volt. It was always Volt.

Except…

“Why is it so hard for you to believe I actually like spending time with you?”

Eddie swallows, steels his gaze against Volt’s white hot stare. “You don’t know that.”

“Oh, but I do,” Volt’s grip on Eddie’s waist tightens, and their hips meet as Volt backs him further against the wall. “They ask about you, you know, even as I flash them all my little tricks. And it’s not that they don’t reciprocate the energy - it’s actually refreshing, how well they keep up with me - but.” Volt licks his lips. “I think, one of us just wouldn’t be enough for them.”

That - no.

Eddie wouldn’t allow himself to believe that. That the shimmer he’d seen in their eyes could be for him, for them, and not just the prospect that Volt would have their way just once more.

He couldn’t.

So he lowers his voice, and grabs Volt’s collar, pulls him down to him. “So what - are you telling me you plan on fucking them?” His voice is like a dare, a tone that he knows can keep Volt in check if need be. But it’s less solid than usual.

“Mm, Eddie,” Volt purrs, and his hand travels down from Eddie’s cheek to rest on his neck, “looking a little green, darling.”

He tugs again. “Are you?”

Volt chuckles, shakes his head. “Not at all.” Sparks practically fly from his eyes. “I’m telling you that we should fuck them. Give the little live wire one hell of a night.” Volt’s eyes narrow, and Eddie feels his hand on his side dip lower, glide along the waist of his pants, and a finger hitches around a belt loop. “Don’t tell me you haven’t thought about them too.”

Eddie doesn’t answer. He doesn’t have to, because Volt already knows he has. 

(Eddie doesn’t know how it works, but sometimes, when they touch, there’s a spark, a current that flows between them, and it’s like they feel each other’s emotions as if they were their own. He tried to study it, years ago, tried to parse out some sort of rationale, some logic, but simply couldn’t. It was just how they were, he concluded, and it didn’t need to make sense to anyone but them.)

But still, he stays quiet, even as Volt’s nimble fingers find the button of his pants, tug the zipper down. He sucks in a breath through his teeth when Volt’s hand cups him, and he knows he’s caught, half-mast and growing by the second.

“Ah,” Volt breathes, and his lips brush Eddie’s, his breath hot, electric, on his skin. “I knew it.”

Eddie groans when Volt finds more pressure, and he pulls at Volt’s collar, forcing their lips together, and they move with practiced precision, their teeth tugging on each other’s lips, tongues swiping into the other’s mouth. He can never get enough of Volt’s mouth, how easy it is, how natural, when it meets his own. He wants to drink Volt down, feel his warmth like a whiskey sour, as long as he’s physically able.

He swipes a lick across Volt’s lips, then across his jaw, and nips at the skin, his cock paying rapt attention to Volt’s resulting gasps. He finds Volt’s ear, catches the lobe with his teeth, and says, “Tell me what you’ve thought about.”

Volt’s lips are on Eddie’s cheek, his breath tickling his ear. “What haven’t I thought about?” His voice is so rich, so deep. “Can’t you just picture it? You, watching me fuck them. Me, watching you fuck them.” His hand wraps around Eddie’s cock, and Eddie curses as he starts slow, languid strokes. “The two of us, inside them, together.”

Eddie can’t help when his breath hitches, when his knees wobble. He’s thought about it too, in the hidden, deep recesses of his mind, in the early hours of the morning between sleep and wake. Imagining the look on their face when either of their cocks would slide inside, taking it exactly how Volt and Eddie gave it to them. 

But he’d never allowed himself to want.

And now, it surged under his skin, made his skin buzz, and fuck, yes, he wants.

Eddie shoves Volt back, but Volt doesn’t seem surprised, allowing Eddie to lead him, blindly, to the desk that sits in the center of the room. When his legs crash against it, Volt sits atop it, scattered papers flying off the surface with the force of impact. He opens his legs, and Eddie slots between them, grinding his cock against the bulge in Volt’s trousers as he grabs Volt’s face and kisses him again.

When his lips trail to Volt’s neck, and his teeth bite down, Volt’s fingers card through the coils of his hair, tugging him closer still. “You can picture it, can’t you, my darling? On their knees for us? Your beautiful wires on their skin?” he moans as Eddie’s teeth find his shoulder. “There’s so much we can do with them. I could fuck you while you had your fill of their cum. Fuck, Eddie, you could fuck me while they ride me. I’d feel so fucking full, Eddie, you know I would.”

Eddie growls, deep from his throat, and he practically rips the zip of Volt’s pants open, wastes no time in freeing Volt’s cock, long and beautiful and leaking onto Eddie’s fingers as he strokes it. His brain is close to frying, it’s racing, and he’s still not sure this is real. This isn’t a concept that he and Volt have discussed, even thought about, regarding any other occupant of the house. It was them, and they were enough.

And yet.

He raises his gaze, finding Volt’s white eyes drunk from Eddie’s touch, from the lust, love, that charges the very air in the room. When he speaks, his voice is gruff, laced with want. “Yes,” he admits, his eyes never leaving Volt’s. “Yes, I can fucking picture it.”

He lets go of Volt’s cock, just for the split second it takes for him to spit into his palm. He rocks his hips, his own cock knocking against Volt’s, whose jaw goes slack from the touch. Eddie’s hand encircles them both, a groan falling from his lips, as his strokes their lengths, once, twice, the heat of their pairing nearly scalding his palm.

Volt gasps, moans Eddie’s name, as their shafts grind together, their hips bucking up unconsciously. His hold on Eddie’s hair is so tight, pain bristles along his scalp, and Eddie relishes it.

Eddie huffs, his hand picking up speed, and keeping his eyes only on Volt’s. “I can fucking hear it, how you’d sound when their mouth is on you. The way they’d beg us. How they sound, fuuck, when they come.”

Volt presses his forehead to Eddie’s, and their breath combines, sharing the very air they inhale. “Yes, Eddie, yes,” he moans, his hips thrusting into Eddie’s hand, slick and hot and right. “You want it, tell me you want it.” As he says it, a hand leaves the coils of Eddie’s hair, finding, like a magnet, Eddie’s hand on their cocks, and joins him, holding, stroking them, together.

Eddie is hanging on by a frayed wire, and Volt’s voice is breaking it down, fast. “Fucks sake, yes, I want it, Volt.” And they are kissing, again, needing each other, wanting each other, as close as their bodies can stand. 

He feels Volt shudder, and a familiar feeling tightens in his belly. He hears, far off in the distances of the logical part of his brain, the sound of lightbulbs popping in the hallway, and the light above them flickers, almost synchronized to their breath.

Their strokes are hurried now, both of them climbing, together, higher and higher and -

They groan their names into each other’s mouth as they cum, their spend mixing and sizzling the skin of their hands as it coats them while their hands slow. Only when Volt makes a small whimper do they stop, and they catch their breath, slowly, sporadic kisses on each other’s noses.

Eddie is the first to speak, barely above a whisper. “Are you sure about this?”

Volt huffs out a small laugh, lets his hand fall from Eddie’s hair to the back of his neck. “Eddie,” he purrs, his voice heavy with satisfaction, “I’ve never been more sure about anything.”

They clean up with a rag from Eddie’s pocket, tuck themselves back together, readjust each others’ vests and shirt collars. They’re due to open soon, and they have to have some degree of professionalism, after all.

Eddie wonders if they’ll be here right at opening, and old, unfamiliar feeling arises in his chest - Anticipation. Excitement. Want.

When Volt kisses him, sweetly, once they’re back in one piece, he hums at how lucky he is to have Volt. His better half, his whole soul. Where would he be without him?

“Leave it to me to test the waters, alright?” Volt asks, and his lightning eyes are alight with mischief. “I’ll find you, and you’ll know how it goes.”

He nods, trusting Volt’s words more than his own in this new situation they’ve found themselves in. He runs a hand down Volt’s arm, locking one of his fingers around Volt’s, and he smirks. “Unless you’re wrong,” he teases, and Volt rolls his eyes.

“I’m never wrong, darling.”

“Uh huh. You better not be on this,” Eddie says, and turns to leave the office, off to find even more lightbulbs behind the bar. He tosses over his shoulder, “Or you’ll have to find some way to make it up to me.”

Volt’s laugh follows him, echoes down the hallway, and Eddie’s heart feels fuller than it has in weeks. He wonders, only to himself, if there’s even any more space inside it.

The door to the Breaker Box creaks open, and he recognizes the outline, his heart skipping a beat.

Maybe, Eddie thinks, it could grow to hold more.

[coupsoficecream]

M'Manager

About:

Ever since you became the manager of K-pop group aespa, peace hasn’t existed—because your girlfriend always finds a way to seduce you. You try to stay professional, but she never plays fair when it comes to you. Then one day, she changes her hairstyle… and you can’t stop stealing glances when she’s not looking. Little did you know, your girlfriend saw everything.

Pairing:

!idol¡ karina x !manager¡ y/n

Warning:

CUTENESS OVERLOAD, a very needy karina, strong tension, make out a lil reminder that this is wlw :>>

Genre:

Romance, Secret Relationship

Song:

tease, caught, jealous

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▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

It started harmless. One comment. One backup dancer.

“Manager-nim, you look good today.”

You smiled politely and nodded, brushing it off. You were used to light comments like that. Idol managers tended to get compliments, especially when they worked closely with big names like aespa.

Karina noticed it, of course. But she didn’t react. She just smiled at you the way she always did — soft and knowing — and went back to her water bottle like she hadn’t heard a thing. You thought that was the end of it.

But it wasn’t.

Because the same guy kept going.

“You’ve been working out, right? Your legs look toned.”

“Woah, is it hot in here or is it just you?”

“Manager-nim, I swear, if you weren’t off-limits…”

You laughed them off. Brushed past the tension. You were professional. This was your job. And Karina trusted you.

Until she didn’t.

She didn’t say anything at first. Just small changes. Quiet shifts in her expression when you walked past. How she didn’t wait for you after rehearsals anymore. How she started sitting with Ningning or Winter instead of saving a seat for you like she always did.

You noticed. Of course you did.

But you didn’t know what you’d done — until one night after practice, when the dancer said something that went too far.

“You know,” he said, leaning closer while Karina watched from a distance, “you’re too pretty to be just a manager.”

You smiled awkwardly. “That’s— I’m fine where I am.”

Karina was across the room, wiping sweat from her neck. And you saw it — the way she froze. The way her jaw clenched. The way her eyes locked on yours and didn’t blink.

You didn’t sleep well that night.

The next day, she didn’t speak to you. No teasing. No sly smirks. No stolen touches or secret messages during break.

Just cold professionalism.

“Can you pass me my mic?”

“Unnie, water.”

“I need a minute. Alone.”

You felt it. You felt it in your chest like an invisible thread pulling tight. You hated this. You hated making her feel like this. But she never said anything.

And you didn’t know how to fix something that wasn’t being spoken out loud.

Until that night.

You were both in the hallway, coming back from separate rooms. She had showered — hair damp, hoodie zipped up to her neck, skin glowing. You were walking back with your tablet when she caught your wrist.

“Can we talk?”

Your stomach dropped. “Now?”

She nodded.

You followed her into her hotel room, nerves buzzing.

She didn’t waste time.

“You like the attention?” she asked quietly.

“What?”

“From him.”

Your eyes widened. “No— Jimin, no, I don’t—”

“Then why do you let him talk to you like that?”

“I don’t!” you rushed. “I just— I smile because I don’t want to make a scene. I didn’t flirt. I swear.”

Karina stared at you.

“Do you know how hard it is for me to stay quiet every time he talks to you like he knows you?”

“I don’t let him—”

“He thinks he has a chance,” she said, voice lower. “Because you don’t shut it down.”

You stepped back slightly. Not from fear — but from the overwhelming way she was looking at you.

You wanted to speak, to explain, but Karina stepped forward.

“You know I trust you, right?” she whispered.

You nodded. “Yes.”

“Then tell me something.”

You blinked.

“Tell me you’re mine.”

You froze. “Wh-What?”

“Say it,” she said again, eyes burning. “Tell me you’re mine.”

You bit your lip.

Karina knew what she was doing. She knew exactly what buttons to push — and how quickly you melted when she used that voice. Because to everyone else, you were confident. Playful. Sometimes even in control. But when Karina stepped into this version of herself — soft but commanding, with hands on your hips and jealousy tightening her jaw — you folded instantly.

And she knew it.

You swallowed hard. “Jimin…”

“Say it.”

“I…” you mumbled, cheeks turning red. “I’m yours.”

She leaned in. “Didn’t hear you.”

You whispered, barely audible, “I’m yours.”

Her mouth curled into a smirk. “Thought so.”

Then she kissed you. Not soft. Not slow. It was possessive — claiming — her fingers sinking into your waist like she was grounding herself.

You gasped against her, and she didn’t stop. Didn’t pause.

When she finally pulled away, you were breathless. Face hot. Knees weak.

“You don’t smile for anyone like that again,” she whispered, resting her forehead against yours. “That smile is mine.”

You nodded, lips still parted, barely able to respond.

“And if he ever touches you—” she added, voice dark, “I’ll make sure he never works in this industry again.”

You let out a tiny laugh, still dazed. “You’re scary.”

She grinned. “Only for you.”

You looked up, flushed and wrecked. “You… you really hate seeing him around me, huh?”

“I hate anyone thinking they have a shot with you.”

“But I’m yours,” you whispered again.

That made her smile.

“I know,” she murmured, pressing another soft kiss to your lips. “I just needed to hear it.”

And that’s when Karina softened again.

After wiping your flustered face with her thumbs, she sat you down on her bed and crawled behind you, hugging you from the back like a blanket.

"Yah, don’t look like that,” she whispered into your neck. “You’re mine. No one else gets to see this face.”

You mumbled something shy and buried your face in your hands.

“Don’t hide,” she said, pouting. “My baby’s cute. Why are you so soft tonight?”

“Because you’re being like this,” you muttered.

She kissed your cheek. “Being what?”

“You know,” you whispered, face red. “Touchy… possessive…”

“Hmm. That’s just the girlfriend package, baby.”

You choked on air. “Stop.”

She giggled. “Stop what? Calling you baby? Touching your thighs like this?”

You yelped. “Karina!”

“I like it when you say my name like that,” she teased.

You groaned into her shoulder, and she only hugged you tighter.

“You’re mine,” she said, voice lower. “And I’ll keep saying it until the whole world knows. But for now…”

She pressed her lips to your jaw.

“…just let me have you like this.”

And you did.

[angel06babysworld]

Almost a Family

babydaddy!rafe x blackcat!reader

Chapter Seven

✦𓂃𓈒˚₊‧✩͙͙͙͙‧₊˚⊹𓂃𓈒✦

The couch was too small.

She knew it.

He never said it.

But she could hear it—every shift, every exhale, the quiet drag of fabric against cushion when he turned over for the fifth time in twenty minutes. The apartment was dead silent, and still, he managed to sound loud. Like he didn’t know how to take up less space.

She stared up at her ceiling from her bed, jaw clenched, blanket kicked halfway down her legs. She should’ve left him out there. It wasn’t her job to make him comfortable. Not anymore.

And still, she got up.

The floor was cold. The hallway darker than she remembered. Her shadow hit the wall first.

He sat up the second he saw her.

“Something wrong?”

She hesitated in the doorway. “You’re not sleeping.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not.”

He blinked at her. Then stood, slow, guarded. “Do you want me to leave?”

“No.”

She crossed her arms. Tucked her weight onto one foot.

“You can sleep in my bed,” she said, tone clipped. “Just to sleep.”

His brows lifted just slightly. “You sure?”

“Don’t make me say it again.”

The sheets were cold when he slipped in beside her. Not touching. Not speaking. Just laying there like he’d been dropped into some strange dream he didn’t want to wake from.

She faced the wall. He faced the ceiling. The space between them was wide even if the mattress wasn’t.

“I can take the edge,” he offered quietly.

“I didn’t invite you to talk.”

That shut him up. But not completely.

“Thanks,” he whispered, after a long minute passed. “For letting me stay.”

She didn’t answer.

Because she didn’t do it for him.

She did it for the little girl asleep in the next room. For the version of her own heart that still ached when he looked tired. And maybe—just a little—because it was easier than listening to him toss and turn all night on a busted couch that creaked with every sigh.

They laid like that for hours.

Separate.

Still.

Both awake.

Neither brave enough to be the first one to shift.

tags: @amelialovesrafe @alyisdead @illumoria @blissfulbutterfliess @sydneysslove @sc04 @matthewswifeyy @meetmeintheemeraldpool @icversvoid @honeyinthesummer @dolli333 @lolabunnyworldss @sabrina-carpenter-stan-account @rafessbaby @rafesbabygirlx

[oneinnocentprincess]

It was interesting to hear him talk about the book. Something she felt he clearly did not need but still there were things that struck out to him, things he liked to do and things that even surprised him. It was a good thing she gave the book to him, because hearing how things still surprised him she may have thrown the book across the room at a certain point.

“So there are things in there you do find ridiculous?” That felt assuring to her in some way. That a man with his experience did not need to know and like every single page of the book. “I have a feeling we will not be finishing the book this evening.” Even if that was already obvious. “We’ll probably have to spend five minutes per page.” And he’s clearly shown so far that he would be patient with her.

“I think that would be good.” Eleanor agreed with a small nod, outside of the fact of her slamming the book closed. She is sure there were dozens of words and phrases she has never heard of and will need him to explain to her. For a small moment, when the space between them had closed her eyes did glance down at his chest briefly, since she was now far closer and had a better view of it.

When he initially explained foreplay, her mind went through the actions of the night before trying to determine what things would be considered just that. Eleanor planned to ask a follow up question, but before she could she was caught by surprise by his sudden closeness. The redness in her face returned as the lower half of her body had to shift, her legs instinctively closing together as he was stirring something within her. She waited for something to happen, the next move.

Eleanor almost forgot how to speak once he pulled away and explained further to her. What had they even been doing to lead up to this? Should she have just leaned into it and allowed it to happen? She was hot, and the longing feeling she felt did not help. Now she regretting going for a long sleeved gown. After a moment it all came back to her, the book. “Well…if you are going to be giving visual aids like that for this book, I do not think we’ll get any sleep tonight.” She joked. “Though I cannot imagine chapter one of a book being so…graphic.” She was attempting to make light of it, to try and ground herself again and try to think of this all as more factual for the time being. She was not on anticipating in folding some pages herself tonight, but an action like he just did was making her start to question.

"Should I start at the folded pages then? Or read through the book simply from start to end?" Part of her wondered when was the last time he picked up the book himself, had he looked at it right before their wedding? If she had a book like that, she certainly would. Clearly it sounded like a book he has looked back at more than once if he was folding pages with knowledge of how certain things listed were. She did not acknowledge it, but just listening him mentioning he's marked out pages that in particular were 'useful' did stir something within her. "I'll do my best to laugh then." Though she's not entirely sure yet how she is going to react to this unknown.

"Really?" She said surprised to hear him mention how men reacted to the book. "So you would call yourself an expert then?" Eleanor was not even attempting to be teasing, it was something she genuinely assumed based on his confidence in the subject.

"I'm sure a paragraph in, I will have a dozen questions, rest assured." Eleanor simply commented before spotting the curious book on her night stand. Title aside, it seemed innocent. She would not have caught it within a library, so maybe there had been a book or two like this in her home.

She did give him a confused look at his attempt to explain something about chapter three, it clearly did not click for her what he was trying to say. "Oscar, I feel we have well established I have not done anything before last night. That we also have established that I close to no terms, you cannot say something like foreplay and expect me to understand what you mean. That sounds like a theatrical term to me." Many questions were destined to be asked this evening.

Without much thought, she had the idea to simply open the book on a random page just so she could have a preview of what was to come. She may have managed to look at it for a full second before slamming the book closed. "Oh my goodness!" Eleanor had jumped in her seat and her face instantly turned red. It took her a good moment to even form the thoughts she had of what she saw. "It was that thing you mentioned earlier, about the ropes?" Definitely not the best of pages for a newly experienced woman to land on. "Here." She handed him the book before moving herself closer to him, there was still a gap of space between them, but much smaller. "I think I need an expert to flip these pages or else I am going to be slamming that book this entire evening."