#because so far she's been so flirty and confident

[spilledssojuu]

Double Booking (Part 1)

Aespa Ningning ft. Karina & Giselle

Words: 6.5k

Ningning had it all—money, fame, beauty, and nearly four million followers hanging on her every move. She could buy anything, go anywhere, and get nearly anyone she wanted.

Except the one thing she needed.

She was horny. Not the cute, flirty kind that faded with a good night's sleep, but the kind that burned slow and deep, like a fever under the skin. It had been too long. Far too long. Months without a real touch, without someone strong enough to put her in her place. The men she dated were all the same—soft, eager, selfish, or just plain clueless. They wanted to have her, but they never knew how.

She needed a man. Not a boy, not a pretty face with a trust fund and no backbone. A man who knew how to handle a woman like her. Someone with presence, skill, and discipline.

Someone who could fuck her like he meant it.

But she couldn’t exactly go tweeting that. So she confided in her closest friends—Karina and Giselle, the only two people who knew what was really going on behind her curated, sparkly social media life.

They were lounging at Karina’s place, the three of them in silk robes with wine in hand, when Ningning brought it up.

“Do you two ever get, like… painfully horny?” she asked, blunt and bored, tracing circles on her wine glass.

Karina raised a brow. “Uh, yeah. Like every other night. Why?”

“Because I’m losing my mind,” Ningning confessed. “I haven’t been touched in six months. Six. Months. I can’t even sleep anymore without thinking about someone bending me over a balcony.”

Giselle snorted into her drink. “Damn. Not even a sneaky situationship?”

“They all suck. Literally. No skill, no stamina. Just bad head and worse dick.”

Karina laughed. “You’re ruthless.”

“I’m desperate.” Ningning sighed. “I want someone who knows what they’re doing. Someone who doesn’t ask, ‘Is this okay?’ every two seconds. Someone who can take me.”

The room went quiet for a moment—until Giselle smirked.

“You know… you should meet Woohyun.”

Ningning blinked. “Woohyun?”

Karina leaned back. “Yeah. He’s the guy we’re filming with next week. Adult actor. But he’s not like the sleazy ones. He’s clean, professional, almost too respectful. But he’s got presence. And control. When he turns it on… damn.”

Giselle added, “He doesn’t flirt on set. Doesn’t mess around. But there’s something about him. He knows what women want. You can see it in his eyes.”

Ningning leaned in, intrigued. “Is he hot?”

“Hot isn’t even the word.” Karina said. “He’s sex on legs. Tall, quiet, intense. Like the kind of man who’ll ruin you in the best way possible, then make you breakfast.”

Ningning's thighs pressed together.

“I want him.”

Giselle laughed. “You haven’t even met him yet.”

“I don’t care. If he’s as good as you say, I need him. I want to feel again. I want someone who’ll throw me against a wall and make me forget my name.”

Karina tilted her head, suddenly thoughtful. “Well… the penthouse we’re staying at next week for filming—there’s a weird double-booking. You could stay with us.”

Ningning's eyes lit up. “Is he staying there?”

“Supposedly.” Giselle said, sipping her wine with a grin. “It’s just us and him. And a really big bathtub.”

“You did this on purpose.” Ningning smirked.

Karina winked. “Maybe. Or maybe we just thought you needed a little push.”

That night, Ningning packed her suitcase like she was preparing for war. Lace, silk, and heels. Lipsticks that left marks and perfume that lingered. She imagined running into him in the hallway, catching him shirtless in the kitchen, brushing past him in nothing but a towel.

She wouldn’t jump him. She didn’t want easy. She wanted a slow burn. She wanted the tension, the eye contact, the teasing. She wanted to watch his control snap.

And when it did?

She wanted him to fuck her like he’d been holding back for years.

This wasn’t just a vacation anymore.

This was her hunt.

And Woohyun was the prize.

Woohyun didn’t smile when he walked into the studio. He never did.

Dressed in all black, sleeves rolled to the elbows, his forearms were corded with lean muscle. His jaw was sharp, clean-shaven. Eyes dark and unreadable. He looked like he belonged on a runway, not a film set—but his reputation spoke louder than looks.

Woohyun was known for one thing: control.

Karina was already waiting, legs crossed, sipping iced coffee in a thin silk robe that clung to her skin. It slipped open just enough to show the swell of her breasts, barely hidden by sheer black lace. She watched him with a lazy, hungry grin.

“Well, look who finally decided to show up.” she purred.

Across the room, Giselle smirked from behind a water bottle. Her robe was untied, draped loosely over a tight red thong and matching bra. “Mr. Cold and Composed.”

Woohyun dropped his bag at the couch without looking at them. “I’m here to work.”

“You’re no fun.” Karina teased, standing slowly and stretching her arms overhead. The motion pulled her robe higher, revealing smooth thighs and the top of her lace stockings. “Don’t you ever just… give in?”

“Not unless the scene calls for it.” he said flatly.

“Oh.” Giselle said, standing and walking up behind him, her voice a soft whisper in his ear. “And today… it does.”

The first scene was with her.

Set in a dim apartment with shadows flickering across the walls, the energy was already heavy before the cameras rolled.

Giselle wore nothing but a see-through white shirt, her skin glowing under the low lights. No bra. No shame. She stormed into the room, eyes blazing.

“You think you can just ghost me?” she demanded. “After everything we did?”

Woohyun stepped into frame, slow and deliberate. “I didn’t ghost you.”

“Then why’d you disappear?”

He said nothing, only walked forward, closing the door behind her. His eyes drank her in slowly—legs, curves, the hardened peaks of her nipples under the thin fabric.

He reached out and took her by the wrist. She gasped at the sudden contact.

“I was trying not to want you.” he said, his voice low.

“Then stop pretending.” she whispered.

She leaned in. Their mouths met in a collision of heat and need. Woohyun’s hand slid up her thigh, gripping her ass, pulling her flush against his body. Her moan escaped instantly—soft, breathy, needy.

“Mmm—fuuuck…”

He backed her into the wall, hands everywhere—her waist, her chest, sliding up under her shirt until his fingers brushed against bare skin. Her head tipped back, hips rolling against him.

“Yes…yes…”

He lifted her easily, her legs wrapping around his waist. She ground against his hardness, lips clinging to his as her moans got louder.

“Ahh—don’t stop… fuck, don’t stop…”

He didn’t. He moved with quiet dominance, his strength holding her exactly where he wanted her, his mouth devouring every sound she made.

“Cut!”

Giselle collapsed against him, breathless. Her skin was flushed, lips parted.

“Holy shit.” she murmured. “You were into that.”

He didn’t answer. Just walked away, shoulders rising and falling with slow, steady breaths.

Karina’s scene followed.

She stepped onto set in thigh-high black heels and a corset tight enough to make her breath shallow. Her eyes were cold and commanding, lips painted blood red.

She circled him slowly like a predator, fingers dragging over his chest. “Still playing the gentleman?”

He didn’t blink. “I can be anything the scene needs.”

“Then kneel.”

He dropped without hesitation. The click of her heel between his knees echoed through the set.

Karina climbed onto his lap, her hips grinding down onto him with slow pressure. He gripped her by the waist and controlled her movements—up, down, back, deeper. Her breath caught. Her moan was real.

“Ohh… fuck, Woohyun…”

His fingers tightened, guiding her rhythm with brutal precision. Her head fell forward, forehead resting against his.

“You’re… so fucking intense,” she panted.

“You’re shaking.” he whispered.

She bit her lip, nails digging into his shoulder blades.

“God, I can’t take it when you look at me like that—like you’re holding back…”

“I am.” he said simply.

“Cut!”

Karina slumped onto his chest, panting. Her thighs trembled.

She laughed breathlessly. “You’re a damn machine.”

Giselle walked over, arms crossed. “Still think you can keep this ‘professional’ forever?”

He stood, wiped sweat from his jaw. “I’m not here to fall for anyone.”

Karina raised a brow. “Even if she’s got the body of a goddess… and wants to be ruined?”

Woohyun said nothing.

As the shoot wrapped, he slung his bag over his shoulder and headed for the penthouse the studio booked him for the week.

Only when he opened the door did he realize something was wrong.

The lights were already on. A pair of high heels sat neatly near the entry. A silk robe—pink, expensive, lacy—lay draped across the couch.

Then he smelled it. Warm vanilla and jasmine. Feminine. Seductive.

The sound of splashing water echoed faintly from down the hall… followed by a low, drawn-out moan.

“Mmh…”

His jaw tightened. He stepped slowly forward, bag forgotten on the floor.

He reached the hallway just as another soft sound floated from the bathroom.

“Ahh… yes…”

The voice was light. Teasing. Familiar.

Someone was in his penthouse. Someone who wanted him to find her like this.

And by the sound of it, she was already touching herself… thinking about him.

The scent hit him first.

Warm vanilla with a hint of jasmine, soft and sensual—completely out of place in a penthouse he thought he had to himself. Woohyun stepped inside and dropped his duffel by the door, already on alert.

Then he saw it.

A trail of clothes. High heels. A silk robe. Lacy black panties lying shamelessly on the floor like breadcrumbs leading him to the wolf’s mouth.

And then he heard her.

“Ahh… mmmh…”

A moan.

Soft. Drawn out. Way too deliberate.

He followed the sound, each step slow and controlled, though his pulse betrayed him. At the end of the hall, the bathroom door glowed with steam and golden light. Partially open.

He pushed it.

Inside, the bathroom looked like a sensual dream—candles lit on the marble counter, the massive tub full of frothy water, rose petals floating lazily.

And her.

Ningning was stretched out in the water, one leg over the edge, toes pointed, the other knee just above the surface. She didn’t flinch at his presence.

She posed for it.

Her lips parted in a pleased little smile. “Took you long enough.” she purred.

Woohyun stayed silent. Observing. Sharp. Still.

Ningning rose from the water slowly, deliberately, letting it cascade down her bare skin. Her breasts rose above the surface, nipples tight from heat and tension, glistening under the candlelight. She pushed her wet hair back from her face and made no move to cover herself.

She was glowing.

“Surprised?” she asked, stepping out of the tub like it was a private stage. “Your co-stars mentioned a booking mix-up.”

He blinked once. “They set this up.”

“Mmm… they did.” she said, walking right past him, completely nude, completely in control. Her arm brushed his chest. “I might’ve asked for a favor.”

She stopped just in front of him. Water dripped from her thighs onto the floor.

“You’re… taller than I thought.” she said, looking up at him, eyes dark with mischief. “And more tense. You always this stiff around naked women?”

“I’m not here to—”

“—fuck me?” she interrupted, smirking. “Not yet.”

She turned around and walked slowly toward the bedroom, hips swaying like a promise. At the doorway, she glanced back over her shoulder.

“You coming?” she asked, voice feather-soft but soaked in temptation.

He didn’t move.

So she licked her lips and added, “I moaned for you earlier, you know. Thinking about your mouth. Your hands. That voice”

She let out another soft moan, deliberately louder this time.

“Mmm, Woohyun…”

He stiffened.

Ningning smiled.

“I’ve been so good for too long.” she whispered. “And I’m tired of pretending I don’t want to be ruined.”

He clenched his jaw.

She turned fully toward him now, backlit by bedroom lights, her curves perfect and glistening.

“Don’t worry.” she said sweetly. “I won’t bite…”

Then she leaned one hand against the doorway and whispered with a wicked grin—

“Unless you beg me to.”

And with that, she vanished into the bedroom, the sound of her footsteps soft against the carpet, her scent lingering behind.

Woohyun stood there alone for a long moment.

Every part of him screamed to stay still, to keep control.

But every part of him below the waist had already decided:

He was going to break.

The bedroom was warm.

Not just from the candles she’d lit, or the soft ambient lighting overhead—but from her. Ningning was lying across the center of the massive bed, legs crossed at the ankles, still completely bare, her skin glowing in golden tones, every inch of her shamelessly on display.

One arm propped her up. The other toyed lazily with a wine glass she hadn’t touched.

She smiled when she saw him standing at the doorway.

“I was wondering if you’d grow the balls to walk in.”

Woohyun said nothing, but his presence filled the room. The door shut behind him with a soft click, and now there was no escape.

“Still trying to be the professional?” she asked, tilting her head. “You’ve been eye-fucking me since the tub.”

His jaw tightened. “You don’t know what you’re playing with.”

“Oh, I know exactly.” she said, biting her lip. “You’re like this... perfectly wrapped gift. All cold restraint on the outside—” she traced her finger along the curve of her own thigh, “—but I bet you’re all fire underneath.”

She spread her legs slightly, slow and unhurried. “Why don’t you come unwrap it?”

He took one step forward. Then another. Silent. Deadly.

She leaned back onto her elbows, heart hammering in her chest. “You look like you’re about to either walk away or pin me down.”

“I’m deciding.” he said flatly.

That made her laugh—low and soft.

“Here.” she whispered, crooking a finger, “let me help you choose.”

He reached the edge of the bed.

She rose up onto her knees in front of him, her body sliding against his clothed form. Her hands went straight to his belt, nimble fingers working while her eyes stayed locked on his.

“Still want to act like you’re not dying to touch me?” she breathed. “Because you’re hard.”

He grabbed her wrists.

Not rough—but firm. Commanding.

Their faces were inches apart. Her breath hitched. Then—

“Say please.”

Her lips parted in surprise. Heat flared in her cheeks.

“…What?”

“You want my hands on you?” he said, voice low and dangerous. “Say please.”

She stared into his eyes. A challenge and an invitation.

So she smiled slowly.

“Please.” she whispered, letting it drip from her lips like honey. “Touch me. Make me scream. Make me forget every man who’s ever bored me to death.”

His eyes darkened.

He shoved her gently back onto the bed.

Ningning gasped, breath catching as he climbed over her. Fully clothed, body hard, frame powerful over her exposed skin.

He didn’t kiss her. Not yet.

His hands traced the lines of her waist, the dip of her stomach, the swell of her hips. Slow. Torturous.

She arched into him.

“Mmh… Woohyun…”

“Louder.” he murmured against her throat, not kissing, just grazing.

She moaned, long and soft.

“W—Woohyun…”

He dragged his mouth lower, tongue teasing the underside of her breast, then sucked—hard—right below it.

She gasped.

“Oh fuck—”

His hands slid under her thighs, spreading her wider, making her feel how caged she was beneath him. Still clothed, still composed—and she was already unraveling.

“You said you wanted to be ruined.” he whispered.

She nodded, trembling.

“Then let me.”

He kissed her, finally—crushing, hungry, devouring. She moaned into his mouth, fingers digging into his shirt, pulling, clawing. Her hips rolled against him, desperate.

He broke the kiss with a deep breath, forehead pressed to hers.

“You’re not ready,” he said.

“I am—fuck, I am—”

He smirked, brushing his lips across hers again, feather-light. “No.”

Then he stood up and walked away.

She stared at him, stunned. Panting. Aching.

“W-What the fuck—”

He glanced over his shoulder, jaw tight, eyes on fire.

“When I take you.” he said, voice like thunder, “it won’t be in a rush. It won’t be because you begged.”

He paused at the doorway.

“It’ll be when I know you can’t take it anymore.”

And then he was gone.

Leaving Ningning on the bed, body hot, lips swollen, thighs trembling—and more desperate than she had ever been in her life.

The sun crept through the penthouse windows, spilling soft gold across white sheets, tangled legs, and a heat that hadn't cooled from the night before.

Ningning lay alone in bed, the empty space beside her mocking her frustration. Her thighs still tingled. Her lips were still swollen. Her body still ached from being denied.

She groaned softly, fingers pressing between her thighs, trying to ease the need, but it only made it worse.

“Fucking hell…” she whispered, tossing off the covers.

She didn’t want relief.

She wanted him.

Sliding out of bed, she stalked into the walk-in closet and pulled out a black lace set—thin as smoke, sinful as sin. A barely-there thong, matching bra, and a silk robe she didn’t bother to tie. Her nipples peaked under the fabric, the lace doing nothing to hide how needy she was.

Her eyes found her reflection.

“Let’s see you try to walk away this time.” she muttered, smirking.

She heard him in the kitchen—his deep voice humming low, the sound of a spoon stirring coffee, of control reasserting itself.

Not for long.

She padded across the marble floor in bare feet, her robe trailing open just enough to tease.

“Morning.” she purred.

Woohyun turned.

His eyes dropped immediately. His grip on the coffee mug visibly tightened.

Black lace. Exposed skin. That goddamn smirk.

“Is this how you normally dress for breakfast?” he asked flatly, eyes flicking up to hers.

She tilted her head. “Depends who’s watching.”

She leaned back against the counter beside him, hip cocked, robe slipping more open. She made no move to fix it.

“I had dreams about your mouth.” she whispered. “Woke up soaking.”

He sipped his coffee, slow. Silent.

So she closed the space between them and pressed against him, her chest brushing his arm.

“I need you to ruin me.” she whispered in his ear. “I don’t want sweet. I want your fingers on my throat, your teeth on my skin, your cock so deep I forget my own name.”

He didn’t speak—but his hand shot out and grabbed her waist, slamming her back against the counter. Her gasp came sharp, breath stolen from her lungs.

His face was inches from hers now. His voice low.

“You think I don’t want you?”

She nodded quickly, chest heaving.

“You think I haven’t imagined bending you over every surface in this place?”

“Then fucking do it.” she moaned. “Please, please—”

He crashed his mouth onto hers.

It wasn’t a kiss. It was a claiming.

Her moan spilled into him, hands clawing at his shirt, his belt—desperate, messy. He shoved the robe from her shoulders and it hit the floor with a soft whisper. The cold marble against her bare ass made her squirm.

He pulled back just enough to look down at her body. Lace soaked, clinging to her folds, nipples brushing the air.

“You’re filthy.” he growled.

She smiled breathlessly. “Then fuck me like I am.”

His hand wrapped around her throat, not tight—just enough to remind her who was in charge.

“You don’t get to tell me when.” he said. “You get to beg.”

“I’m begging.” she gasped. “Please, Woohyun… please…”

She reached down and guided his hand between her thighs. Her breath hitched when his fingers brushed her through the soaked lace.

“Dripping.” he muttered. “So fucking ready.”

He tore the panties aside.

She cried out—loud, filthy, high-pitched.

“Aah—fuck! Woohyun!”

He slid two fingers into her without warning.

Her head fell back, back arching, thighs trembling.

“Mmh—yes! Yes—oh my!”

“Keep moaning.” he growled, curling his fingers. “I want everyone in this building to know who’s making you scream.”

His fingers thrust deep.

Ningning’s moans filled the kitchen, echoing off marble and glass, so filthy, so real, she barely recognized her own voice.

“Ahh—fuck—yes, yes—!”

Woohyun watched her unravel beneath him, eyes locked on her soaked lace pulled aside, his fingers moving inside her with expert rhythm. He curled them just right—and her knees buckled.

“Oh my—fuck!”

Her hands scrambled for something to hold onto. He grabbed her by the waist and lifted her effortlessly onto the kitchen counter, pushing her thighs wide apart.

She gasped at the sudden cold of the marble on her bare ass, back arching.

“Look at you.” he muttered. “Dripping all over my hand.”

He pulled his fingers out slowly, deliberately, then slid them into his mouth. Sucked.

Ningning whined, watching it, her thighs trembling.

“Please,” she begged, voice shaking. “Don’t stop now—fuck, I need you.”

He unbuckled his belt. Her eyes followed every movement like prey.

She reached for his cock, pulled it free, and moaned loudly when it slapped against his stomach, thick, heavy, hard.

“God, you’re perfect.” she gasped, wrapping her fingers around the base. “Let me taste—”

“No.”

He shoved her back gently onto the counter, guiding her legs over his shoulders. Her back hit the cold surface, and then—

His mouth.

“Ah—ahh, fuck!”

His tongue was hot, wet, relentless. He buried his face in her, licking long and deep, fingers digging into her thighs to hold her in place.

She cried out, hands flying to his hair.

“Woohyun—your tongue—ahh, right there! Don’t stop!”

He growled into her, the vibration sending shockwaves through her core. His tongue flicked hard over her clit—fast, dirty, possessive.

She was losing control.

“I’m—fuck—I’m gonna—ahhh!”

Her entire body snapped. She came with a scream, thighs clamping around his head, back arched off the counter.

“FUCK! Woohyun!”

He didn’t stop.

He kept going, licking her through every pulse, every tremor, until she was a sobbing mess under his mouth.

When he finally pulled back, his lips and chin were soaked.

He stood, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and stared down at her ruined body.

“Now.” he said, voice rough, thick with hunger, “you’re ready.”

She nodded, dizzy, dazed, eyes wild.

He lined up his cock and pressed in slow—too slow.

“Ahh—fuck—you’re so—big,” she whimpered.

He filled her, inch by thick inch, until she was stuffed full, moaning beneath him, arms wrapped around his neck, legs locked around his waist.

“Move, please—!”

He slammed into her.

Once. Deep. Brutal.

She screamed.

“Ahhh—yes! Just like that—harder!”

He set a rhythm—deep, punishing thrusts that hit every spot, the counter beneath her shaking, her breasts bouncing with every snap of his hips.

Their skin slapped loud and wet, moans mixing with curses and gasps.

“Look at you.” he panted, grabbing her chin. “Begging to be ruined.”

“I love it.” she cried. “I love your cock—don’t stop, don’t stop!”

He drove into her harder. Faster. Her moans turned into broken, breathless cries.

“W-Woohyun—I’m—again—fuck, I’m cumming again!”

“Then cum.” he growled, fucking her through it. “Make a mess. I want to feel you soak me.”

She did.

She shattered under him, screaming his name, body convulsing, nails dragging down his back.

And only then—only then—did he finally let go.

He groaned loud, deep, thrusting once, twice, then holding deep inside her as he came hard.

They collapsed together, panting, sweaty, clinging.

The kitchen reeked of sex. Her thighs were trembling. His breath was ragged in her ear.

And Ningning—fucked out and still grinning—whispered, “You’re not done with me.”

The bedroom was dim now, lights low, the sheets a twisted mess around two bodies that hadn’t stopped touching since the kitchen.

Ningning lay straddling him, her chest pressed to Woohyun’s, still flushed and soaked. Her skin glowed with sweat, her hair wild, her thighs sore and slick from being filled over and over.

He lay beneath her, half-hard again, his hands lazily gripping her hips.

“Still not done with me?” he murmured.

She smirked and sat up, brushing her hair back, bare and unbothered.

“I told you.” she whispered, “I’ve been waiting months to get wrecked like this.”

She reached for her phone on the nightstand.

Woohyun raised a brow. “What’re you doing?”

Ningning just smirked as she opened FaceTime and tapped the name Karina. “Finishing what they started.”

It rang once.

Twice.

Then—

Connected.

Karina’s face filled the screen, brows raised, lounging in what looked like Giselle’s living room.

“Ningning? What the hell—”

But then she saw her.

And him.

Ningning, naked, flushed, riding a very recognizable man beneath her. Woohyun’s hand gripped her hip just as her other hand wrapped around his hardening cock again.

“Oh my—what the fuck?!”

Ningning grinned wide. “Surprise.”

Giselle’s voice piped in from behind the screen. “Wait—no way—that’s Woohyun?! Our Woohyun?!”

Karina covered her mouth. “You’re actually—oh my God. Ningning.”

Ningning leaned forward, giving them a full view of her breasts bouncing as she moved her hips.

“Mmh… don’t look away.” she moaned, locking eyes with the screen. “You wanted me to meet him, didn’t you?”

Woohyun groaned beneath her, eyes fluttering shut as she guided his cock inside her again, slowly, teasing.

“Fuck—you’re insane.” he muttered, breath hitching.

“Am I?” she whispered, riding him shallow, hips rolling. “Or do you like being watched?”

He didn’t answer.

He didn’t need to.

On screen, Karina looked stunned. And silent. Watching.

Giselle was biting her lip, whispering, “Holy shit…”

Ningning moaned loudly, tossing her head back as she sank down hard onto him.

“Ahhh—fuck! Just like that, Woohyun!”

The sound of skin slapping echoed through the call. Wet. Sinful.

Karina’s voice cracked. “You’re really—right now—while we’re watching—”

“Say hi.” Ningning gasped, looking into the camera, hips bouncing faster now. “Tell them how good I feel.”

Woohyun grabbed her ass with both hands, fucking up into her.

“Fucking perfect.” he growled. “Tightest pussy I’ve ever been inside.”

“God, yes—yes—harder!”

Giselle’s voice came out in a breathy whisper. “She’s so loud…”

Ningning turned the phone slightly, making sure both girls had a full view of where Woohyun disappeared inside her—slick, raw, dripping.

“You like this?” she panted. “This is what he does to me. This is what you’ve been keeping to yourselves.”

Karina was breathing fast now. She didn’t answer.

Ningning grabbed her own breast, squeezing it, moaning again.

“Mmh—he made me cum five times already…”

Woohyun flipped her suddenly, slamming her back into the bed, taking control again.

Karina yelped on the call.

Ningning screamed as he rammed into her, hard, rough, making the phone shake in her hand.

“YES! YES—oh fuck, keep going!”

Woohyun leaned down, whispering in her ear, loud enough for the call to hear.

“You want them to see me break you? Want your friends to hear you beg?”

“Yes!” she sobbed. “Let them hear how good your cock is—ahhh—fuck!”

He thrust faster.

Ningning held the phone up blindly, eyes rolling back, moaning into the screen like she was putting on a performance.

Karina’s voice cracked. “Ning… I’m—”

Giselle’s breath hitched. “I can’t believe I’m wet from this.”

Ningning smirked through her moans. “Next time.” she gasped, “you can join.”

And then she came hard, body convulsing, screaming his name, the phone slipping from her hand onto the sheets, still connected.

Woohyun didn’t stop.

He chased his own finish, hips pounding, one hand tangled in her hair, the other gripping her throat just tight enough—

And then he spilled deep inside her with a loud, broken moan.

Silence. Just panting. Sweat. The smell of sex in the air.

The call was still on.

Karina whispered, stunned: “You’re evil.”

Ningning grinned, voice hoarse, wrecked, proud.

“I warned you I’d seduce him.”

The room was humid with heat and sex. Sheets half off the bed, the smell of sweat and climax hanging in the air. Woohyun lay back against the pillows, chest rising slowly, but his cock was already hard again—throbbing, slick from being inside Ningning over and over.

And Ningning?

She wasn’t done.

Still naked, flushed, sore and soaked, she straddled his hips again, grinding slowly along his length, teasing herself with the tip. Her body trembled from the overstimulation, but her hunger burned hotter than ever.

Just then—ding. The elevator.

Knock knock.

“Room service.” came a soft female voice, polite, professional.

Woohyun sat up slightly. “Did you—”

Ningning just smiled. “I may have… forgotten to cancel breakfast.”

Before he could say anything else, the door to the suite opened—and in walked a young hotel staff member in uniform, carrying a silver tray.

She looked up.

Then froze.

Her eyes went wide as she took in the scene—Ningning’s bare back, riding a naked man on the bed, her body glistening, her hips rolling, the air thick with wet, lewd sounds.

“Oh my—I’m so sorry—!”

Ningning turned her head, not startled—smiling.

“Don’t run.” she purred.

The girl stammered, trying to back away, but in a moment of impulsive boldness, Ningning slid off Woohyun, walked across the room completely nude—and grabbed the girl’s hand.

“I said don’t run.” she repeated, firmer.

The girl trembled under her touch. “I—I shouldn’t be here—this is—”

But Ningning stepped closer, bare chest brushing her uniform, her voice dropping into a whisper.

“You already saw. Now you’re in it.”

The girl blinked, lips parted, breathing shallow.

“I-I…”

Ningning glanced back at Woohyun—he was watching, his cock throbbing.

She turned again and climbed back onto the bed, reaching for the girl’s hand.

“Come here.” she said softly. “Help me.”

She didn’t resist.

The girl stepped closer, and Ningning pulled her in, guiding her to stand by the edge of the bed. Then, with a wicked smirk, she turned her body—back to Woohyun—and placed her hands on the staff girl’s waist.

“I need support.” she whispered, voice trembling with arousal.

And just like that, she bent forward—resting her upper body against the girl’s front, her bare breasts pressing against the uniform, her hands clutching her hips for balance.

“Hold still.” she whispered, then moaned, loud and shameless, “FUCK—Woohyun, give it to me.”

He didn’t hesitate.

He grabbed her hips and slammed into her from behind, hard and deep.

“Ahh—fuck yes!”

Ningning cried out, her moans muffled into the girl’s chest. The girl gasped, hands hovering awkwardly in the air, not sure what to do, but frozen in place as Ningning clung to her—grinding, panting, taking every thrust with raw desperation.

“Ah—harder! Right there! I’m gonna—”

Woohyun grabbed her ass, thrusting brutally, the sound of wet skin on skin bouncing off the walls.

The girl whimpered, her hands finally coming down to gently rest on Ningning’s back—barely touching, but undeniably there.

“You feel her?” Ningning moaned, voice thick and ruined. “You feel my body shaking against you? It’s because he’s fucking me so good.”

Woohyun groaned, fucking her faster now, watching the way her body slammed into the girl’s—soft breasts pressed against Ningning’s moaning lips, her thighs visibly trembling.

“Tell her.” Ningning gasped, turning her head to look up at the girl, “Tell her how deep you are.”

“Balls-deep.” he growled, pounding harder. “She’s gripping me like a fucking vice.”

“Ahhh—yes—yes—don’t stop!”

The girl didn’t move, didn’t speak—but her thighs squeezed together, her breathing shaky, and her eyes locked on where Woohyun disappeared inside Ningning, again and again.

Ningning was unraveling—moaning into her, holding onto her, sweat sticking their bodies together.

“I’m gonna cum—I’m gonna cum—fuck—”

She screamed, body trembling violently, riding out her climax with her face buried in the staff girl’s chest, her arms clinging tight.

Woohyun groaned loud behind her, then thrust hard and deep—once, twice—and came inside her with a broken, guttural moan.

Silence.

Heavy breathing.

Ningning slowly pulled back, glancing up at the girl, who was flushed to the ears, her uniform damp where Ningning had pressed against her.

“Thank you.” she whispered, brushing her lips against the girl’s cheek. “You were a perfect support.”

The girl blinked. “I… should go.”

But she didn’t move.

The room was quiet again—except for the heavy, labored breaths of three people who had just crossed a line they could never uncross.

Ningning rolled onto her side, still glowing, still dripping with Woohyun’s cum. She licked her lips and looked up at the girl still standing beside the bed.

The hotel staff member was shaking. Her fingers trembled at her sides. Her legs pressed together, thighs tight. Her eyes darted between Ningning’s wrecked body… and Woohyun, still hard, glistening, sitting up against the headboard, looking at her like he already knew what she needed.

“Don’t go.” Ningning whispered, reaching up and brushing the back of her hand along the girl’s thigh. “You’re soaking through your skirt.”

“I… I can’t…” the girl whispered, voice nearly broken.

Ningning sat up and gently unbuttoned the girl’s vest, fingers slow, teasing. “You want to.”

The girl swallowed hard.

Woohyun just watched, silent, letting Ningning guide her like a flame pulling in a moth.

“I’ve never…” the girl whispered, her voice trembling as Ningning slipped the uniform vest off her shoulders.

“That’s okay.” Ningning said, kissing her belly through the blouse. “He’s good. He’ll ruin you soft.”

The girl’s breath hitched.

Then, without a word, she stepped out of her shoes. Then her skirt. Then her blouse.

Standing in front of them in nothing but lace panties and a bra, she looked like she wanted to run—but her body betrayed her.

She was soaked.

Woohyun’s cock twitched again.

“Come here.” he said gently.

Ningning guided her onto the bed, onto all fours, facing him.

She was crawling toward him like prey, panting, pupils blown wide. When she reached him, she paused, kneeling between his legs, inches from his glistening length.

Ningning whispered behind her, now curled up and watching, her legs spread lazily. “Taste him.”

The girl leaned down slowly, lips brushing the tip—and then she opened her mouth, took him in, and moaned. Her tongue swirled, hesitant at first, then bolder, her hands gripping his thighs.

Woohyun groaned. “Shit… slow down…”

But she didn’t.

She sucked him deeper, eager, drooling, her hips shifting like she needed friction. She was moaning against him, soft at first, then louder. Her lips glossy. Her movements sloppy.

“You’re a natural.” Ningning purred, touching herself now, fingers sliding through the mess between her legs. “You want to feel him inside you, don’t you?”

The girl whimpered around his cock.

Woohyun couldn’t take it anymore. He gently pulled her up by the chin, thumb brushing her wet lips.

“You sure?” he asked, voice low.

She nodded.

“Say it.”

“I want you.” she whispered. “Please. I need to feel it.”

He laid her down on the bed—gently, carefully—kissing down her neck, her chest, her stomach. When he pulled her panties aside, he groaned.

“Fuck. You’re soaked.”

She gasped as he teased her folds with the head of his cock.

“Relax.” he whispered.

Then he pushed inside.

She cried out—half moan, half gasp—as he slid in slow, deep, steady.

Her eyes fluttered. “Oh my God… oh my God…”

Woohyun kissed her neck, holding her close, whispering in her ear.

“You feel that? That stretch? That fullness?”

“Yes.” she gasped. “It’s so—ahhh—so big…”

He started to move, gentle at first, letting her adjust, letting her moan through it.

Ningning watched from the side, one leg draped over the other, touching herself slowly, a proud smirk on her face.

“Good girl.” she whispered.

“Faster.” the staff girl whimpered, nails digging into Woohyun’s back. “Please… fuck me harder…”

Woohyun groaned and gave her what she asked for—thrusting deeper, harder, faster, the sound of their bodies slapping together filling the room.

“AH—yes—yes—oh fuck yes—!”

She was crying out, moaning with every thrust, her hips rising to meet his, her body clinging to him like she’d explode if he stopped.

Ningning moaned with her, fingers moving faster now, her other hand on her breast.

“Make her scream, Woohyun…”

He did.

He flipped the girl, pulled her hips up, and slammed into her from behind. Her scream echoed off the walls.

“FUCK—I’m—gonna—cum—!”

And then she did—her body locking up, legs shaking, head thrown back, voice raw and broken as she convulsed around him.

He followed seconds later, slamming deep, cursing under his breath as he came inside her, filling her just as he had Ningning.

When it was over, she collapsed on the bed between them—naked, sweating, panting.

Ningning reached over, brushing hair from her flushed face.

“Told you he’d ruin you soft.” she whispered with a kiss.

The room was still thick with the smell of sex, the sheets soaked, tangled between legs and limbs that had barely moved since the last climax. Ningning lay draped across Woohyun’s chest, trailing lazy fingers over his skin. The hotel staff girl was gone—long gone, leaving behind nothing but her scent on the air and a faint lipstick stain on a glass by the bed.

Woohyun closed his eyes, sinking into the blissful aftermath.

Then—ding.

The elevator.

Another knock.

Ningning barely turned her head. “This day just keeps giving.”

Woohyun sat up, a low groan rumbling in his throat. “Please tell me you didn’t order more room service.”

Ningning grinned. “Better.”

The door swung open before either of them could react—and in walked Karina and Giselle.

Both dressed in tight, black dresses. Both looking furious.

Karina’s eyes immediately locked onto Ningning’s bare ass draped across Woohyun’s lap. Her nostrils flared.

Giselle looked worse—like she was already imagining her hands around someone’s throat.

Ningning smirked. “You made good time.”

“Did you forget we saw everything?” Karina’s voice was low, controlled, trembling with restrained heat. “You let that girl touch him.”

“I let her do more than that.” Ningning replied, stretching lazily like a cat. “And you two just watched from a screen. Kind of sad.”

Giselle stepped forward, eyes burning. “You said he was off-limits until we wrapped the film. You promised, Ning.”

Ningning sat up, slow, graceful, her naked body a taunt all on its own.

“I lied.”

Karina’s jaw tightened. “You stole him.”

“No.” Ningning slid off the bed, bare feet hitting the floor, hips swaying as she walked past them. “I took him.”

Woohyun watched silently, tension rising like steam.

Giselle’s voice dropped low, dangerously low. “So that’s it? You seduce him, you fuck in front of us, and now you get to keep him?”

“I never said I’d keep him.” Ningning purred, turning back to face them. “But if you want a taste…”

She tilted her head, daring them.

“Prove you deserve it.”

Karina stepped forward, closing the distance. Her hand reached up, fingers brushing Woohyun’s chest.

“Do you still have room for two more?” she asked, voice sultry but edged with challenge.

Giselle stood beside her, hands on her hips, licking her lips. “Because we’re done waiting our turn.”

Woohyun looked between them—all three now staring at him with hunger in their eyes.

And he knew this was no longer about just sex.

This was war.

Ningning smirked. “Let the best bitch win.”

The door shut behind them with a soft click.

[nereidprinc3ss]

early seasons spencer and bau reader undercover at a club and it’s just like. he is so flustered but also weirdly confident and do with this what you will

in which spencer reid and BAU fem!reader have to pose as a couple at a club. she's more than a little flirty. the conversation actually gets quite suggestive. he's cute when he gets flustered.

warnings/tags: discussions of sex, reader wears a tight dress and makeup and heels, discussions of blushing but r's skin color is not implied to be light, i just needed a reason to talk about sex flush LOL, if u don't visibly blush this will still read fine

a/n: I LOVE EARLY SEASONS SPENCER X FLIRTY READER OH MY GODDD thank you for this request angel from heaven I hope you all like this as much as I do teehee

The bass buzzes through the floor and vibrates your teeth. House music has never really been your thing. Neither have tight dresses and high heels while on the job—but you’re willing to objectify yourself just a little if it will lure yet another loser who likes to chop up young couples into the awaiting arms of the American correctional system. 

Or to the wrong end of Emily's Glock. Whatever comes first.  

You scan the club—it’s not your usual scene, and you can only imagine how Dr. Reid is faring. As far as you can tell this is essentially his nightmare. It’s sensory overload central even for you. 

Your eyes catch on him at the bar, tucked away from the writhing crowd. He’s standing near the end, one arm resting on the surface while the other hand is jammed in his pocket. He seems completely unaware of the several women circling closer and closer. The whole earnest and dorky but still handsome thing seems to work well for him. Or, it would, if he had any interest in utilizing it. He’s dressed a little sharper than usual—no doubt styled by Morgan and Prentiss. Hell, the earnest dorkiness and the well fitted dark suit is working for you if nobody else. 

Sometimes he just looks… edible. 

And self-discipline doesn't always come naturally to you. 

“Doctor,” you purr in greeting, grazing the forearm propped up on the bar with white-tipped nails as you insert yourself in front of him. His fingers twitch under your light touch. 

Spencer doesn’t even try to hide the way his eyes sink down your frame, sticking to every highlighted curve like you’re dripping honey. Or maybe he just doesn’t realize that you can see that’s what he’s doing. 

“Hi. You look nice.”

“Aw,” you smile, dulling the salacious edge to your voice, “you didn’t have to say that. Someone’s improvising.”

“I meant it. That dress looks nice on you,” he says, simply, and you hate his specific brand of charm because it’s not intentional. It’s not something he puts on. It comes out of nowhere and always knocks you on your ass when it hits—even in the smallest doses. His eyes narrow and he leans closer. You can feel the energy rippling around him like a force field as he examines you. “You’re wearing more makeup than you normally do.”

“Do you like it? Penelope ordered the wrong shade of blush and gave it to me. Supposedly it’s meant to make me look like I just had an orgasm. I don’t know if I believe it.”

Much to your disappointment, Spencer leans back, scanning the crowd for your target and speaking as if he’s only half-interested. 

“That’s not what you would look like. Sex flush deepens the color of your entire face and chest, not just your cheeks.”

Your brows knit as you contend with unwelcome butterflies. 

“Buy me a drink before you start telling me what I’ll look like after I orgasm.”

That catches his attention, and his suddenly wide eyes snap to you. If he had a drink, he’d be choking on it. 

“I wasn’t—it was a general you, I’d never—that would be inappropriate. It was. It was inappropriate. Sorry. I’m sorry.”

You lean with your back to the bar, elbows propped on black granite, and swing your hair over your shoulder. Spencer’s eyes dart back down to your décolletage and then up to the ceiling like he regrets being born. You smile wickedly. Much better. This is the way God intended for you to interact with Spencer Reid. 

“I’ll consider forgiving you. And I don’t blush. Not when I orgasm, not ever.”

Admittedly, you just want to milk the whole talking about you orgasming thing to see how pink you can make him. It’s not often you’re gifted with an opportunity to be so candid about your sexuality or flirt this unabashedly. But you are supposed to be posing as a couple. Maybe you’re just feeling extra in character. 

Instead of stumbling over his words some more, Spencer smiles with a degree of bemusement like he’s caught you in a white lie. 

His smile is so nice. His teeth are perfect, and his lips—

“Yes you do.”

Always so convinced he’s right, this one. 

It’s annoying. And kind of hot. 

“Uh, I promise you I do not.”

“Everyone blushes. It's a sympathetic nervous system activation response wherein blood rushes to your face. Your blood vessels dilate when you get flustered or anxious. Your face gets hot and your undertone changes.”

You raise your brows. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he was challenging you. 

“Yeah? Wanna bet?”

“Actually, no,” he mutters, losing any bravado and casting his eyes downward subserviently. “You have a habit of proving me wrong.”

“That’s right,” you gloat, smiling wide. Someone bumps into you, and you turn around, highly unprofessional insult locked and loaded—but it’s just a drunk girl who apologizes and stumbles off. The encounter does, however, remind you that you’re supposed to be finding a killer. “Do you think this is the best positioning? He might not be able to find us way over here.”

“You think we should move?”

You look back at him and nod, holding your hand out. He looks at it uncertainly. You waggle your fingers and infuse your words with sugar. 

“Oh, come on. I don’t want to lose you. And we’re supposed to look like a couple, remember?”

Gingerly he accepts your hand. His is bigger than you’d have thought. Not nearly as freezing as your own perpetually are. It occurs to you as you grab his hand that his bone structure really is bigger than yours. He’s… tall. He is, at the end of the day, a real life adult man. His presence is palpable behind you and you enjoy the weight of his hand in yours as you tug him through the crowd, perhaps not taking the most direct route through the throng just so you can savor being able to touch him like this for a little longer. 

Miraculously you spot an empty booth and slide into it. It’s a deep alcove, shadowy and secluded at the back. That’s where you settle, against black vinyl, and where you wave at Spencer to join you. 

He lingers at the edge of the table, glancing around at the groups of dancing and drinking young adults. 

“I don’t know. Can you even see the dance floor from back there?”

“Part of it. But I’m sure he’ll be looking in the booths for couples. He’ll come to us.”

Spencer faces you again and sighs ruefully, a begrudging smirk playing at his lips as he slides into the booth and joins you against the back wall. His side is warm against yours. He smells nice. Clean. Almost herbal, like patchouli or vetiver. 

“What? You really hate sitting next to me that much?”

Spencer’s lips part wryly before he speaks, like he almost thought better of it but decided to anyway. 

“I think you just wanted a reason to get me alone and secluded so you can finally accost me.”

Your knees bump. You lean into it. 

“Accost you? That seems harsh,” you pout, leaning toward him clandestinely to undo his top button.

“I don’t see how. You are literally trying to take my clothing off as we speak.”

“I’m just increasing your sex appeal. It’ll be good, trust me. Maybe you’ll even end up taking one of those girls from the bar home. Or—back to the hotel, I should say.”

Spencer covers your fussy hands with his own sweetly, like he can sense the true jealousy simmering underneath the sarcasm, and places them in your lap. The touch lingers.

“Are you always like this?” He murmurs, voice lower than you can recall ever hearing it and twisted into the shape of a smile. 

“Only with you, Dr. Reid. Speaking of, how about you? Do you flirt with many other FBI agents on official business?”

“Just the one. She’s kind of a full-time job.”

“Shut up. I’m basically your babysitter. If anything, I should be paid extra for dealing with you.”

“Attempting to seduce your charge seems like a bad business model. There are definitely some ethical issues there.”

His hands still rest on yours. You lace your fingers with his and speak sweetly, meeting his eyes best you can in the dark. 

“I wasn’t aware I was seducing you. Do you feel seduced?”

He’s the first to look away after a few seconds pass—pulls your hands apart gently, politely arranging them back on your lap. 

“I think you’re incorrigible and a terrible influence. In all honesty, you terrify me and more often than not I walk away from our interactions a little confused.”

You clap a hand to your heart, the bare skin revealed by your low cut dress warm under your fingers. 

“Spencer… that kind of turned me on.”

He just looks at you for a moment, a hint of a smile on his pretty face, long enough to make you feel a bit nervous. 

Then he’s leaning forward, and unconsciously so are you, almost forgetting to breath when you’re practically pressed against him in this booth and he’s whispering so low and sweet into your ear. 

“He’s watching us. Right across the floor, next to the girl in the blue dress. White button up and a leather jacket.” His hand slides over yours, fingers skimming your collarbone in the process as he interlocks your grasp once more. “Keep your hand right here and lean closer. We need to maintain his interest.”

“I don’t think I can lean any closer,” you breathe, hoping it doesn’t register as nervous as it really is. You’re supposed to be the confident one who teases him. “But if you want me to sit on your lap, just ask. I won’t say no.”

He chuckles, too loud to be amorous. It’s clearly genuine. It sounds like the way his reddened cheeks always look. It almost does more for you than the bedroom voice.

“You… you are beyond help. I don’t think you could be appropriate if your life depended on it.”

Slowly you pull back so you can look into his eyes—much closer than you normally have an excuse to. They dart wildly over your face, partially obscured by the dark which cuts shadows deep into the dramatic hollows of his bone structure. He really is so pretty. 

You glance toward the man, who’s pretending not to watch you. When you focus your attention back on Spencer, sliding your hand up the curve of his jaw, you find yourself making a dangerous wish. You find yourself wishing that you didn’t have an audience. That this wasn’t all for show. That neither of you had earpieces in.

His pulse hammers under your little finger, and his lips part slightly as he doesn’t have the wherewithal to not glance at yours. He’s so unaware of how obvious he’s being. It’s cute. 

You run the tips of your fingers through the hair in front of his ear, the one sans bluetooth, pushing it back, before leaning in close once more to whisper. 

“Good thing we’re not going for appropriate. Actually—your hands could stand to wander a little more, Dr. Reid. Let me know if you need me to tell you where to put them.”

[formulafics]

BEST FRIEND’S BROTHER (is the one for me)

SCENARIO: in which reader experiences nighttime anxiety, and finds solace in their best friends brother.

STARRING: GN!Reader, LN4, OP81, CL16, LH44, GR63, MV1, FC43, LS2, & MS47

WARNING(S): anxiety mentions, anxiety traits (such as fiddling or skin picking, self doubt, etc.)

AUTHORS NOTE: self indulgent fic who cheered? also maybe the start of a series; just a variety of scenarios regarding drivers as your best friends brother? 👀 And, as per always, shoutout to @renarots for always supplying the ideas when my brain refuses to 😼

Conversations with Lando have always been frequent, and you’ve always had chemistry, the two of you.

Lando knew he was too far gone when he realized he was thinking too much about the way you clearly had a crush on him, that went beyond the line of simply being amused by your infatuation with him. He knew he was no longer just basking in the confidence boost of that when he began unintentionally thinking of you in his room, on his bed, in his arms—

He’d recalled your anxiety. You mentioned it once during a late night talk with him, fueled by sleep deprivation. He could relate to it. Maybe he didn’t have the same anxiety, but his mind always raced at night, too loud for him to sleep at a decent time.

He’d often hoped you’d come to him, that maybe he could be a safe place for you. So, when you finally come knocking on his door…

He was fast asleep. His feet carry him groggily to the door, because for once, he’d been able to sleep. However, when he sees you, he’s wide awake.

Lando smiles, just slightly, then his brows furrow with concern and said smile falls when he sees your distressed expression. “What’s wrong?” Asks his raspy, sleepy voice, and your heart flutters, mind momentarily distracted from worry. However, his question then processes, and you sigh.

“Anxiety.” You respond simply, and he nods understandingly. You watch as he yawns, lifts his hands to his eyes to rub them, before he steps back to let you into his room. It’s cleaner than you’d expected, his cologne wafting faintly through the air. LED lights line his bed frame, a dim red glow surrounding his large, incredibly inviting bed. It’s nice in here, and you almost feel guilty for finding so much solace and intrigue in Flo’s brother, but you also know she’s contently asleep in her room. She needs her sleep, you decide, pushing away your guilt.

Lando lets you explore, watching from his doorway. He quietly shuts the door, then walks to his bed, plopping down on the edge.

“What’s got you worked up, then?” He asks, after a few moments of quiet, and when you turn to see his hazel eyes staring at you, sleepy and soft, but also concerned, your heart sinks in a way that’s somehow overwhelming and delightful at once.

So, you explain your anxieties. The rational and irrational fears, the thoughts that keep you up — and when he realizes you’re actively spiraling, he gets up and steps towards you, reaching out to gently brush his knuckles against your arm.

“Hey,” he hushes you, smiling warmly when you look at him. “You’re okay,” he assures you. “It’s okay to be anxious,” he adds, rubbing your arm now. “What makes it better?” he asks gently, and you huff a small laugh.

“You.” You say, a small, amused grin on your lips, as your cheeks warm. He laughs lightly, shaking his head, as he lets his fingers gently grasp your hand. “Be serious,” he retorts, though there’s a glimmer in his eyes that assures you that he liked the flirty comment.

“I don’t know what makes it better,” you say honestly, gently grabbing his hand, looking down at your hands. His fingers rub your palm, yours caressing his in return, as he slowly laces your fingers. He hums quietly, acknowledging your words.

He looks down at your hands, too, as they intertwine, and he squeezes yours, his other hand finding your free one. He guides your arms around himself, and then lets go of your hands, wrapping his own arms around your shoulders.

The sigh you let out, and the way you relax into him says it all. He smiles, resting his cheek against your hair.

“Let’s start with this, hm? If it doesn’t work, I have other ways I can help you,” he says. You both realize the unintentional suggestive tone in his words, and it makes the pair of you laugh.

Shaking your head against him, you squeeze him gently. “Yeah. Let’s start with this.”

“Worst case, there’s always Oscar.”

That’s what Hattie told you, regarding your anxiety. If all else failed, you could go to Oscar…yeah, no. You’d thought about it more than you’d like to admit.

You liked to imagine that he’d hug you and console you. You could hear his soft voice assuring you that it’s okay, that you can always come to him, but you’d also conjured up a more harsh alternative, being that he would think of you as dramatic or a burden.

Which is why you currently stand outside of his door, in the hallway, reluctant to knock on his door. He’s asleep. You’re certain. The lights are off, none seeping through the cracks of his door. It silent in his room, safe from the very faint sounds of his breathing.

The longer you stand there, the more you spiral. Tears brim your eyes, and just as you turn on your heel to walk away, you hear rustling. His feet hit the ground, and you hear the click of what you’re assuming is a lamp. You glance back, seeing a soft golden glow peek through the cracks of his door, and your heart leaps, the tears still in your eyes.

Then, his steps are quiet, but near, and before you can properly scurry off, his door opens. His eyes are squinted, brows furrowed. His hair is tousled in a way that makes you yearn to run your fingers through it. Then, you meet his gaze.

By the time you lift your hands to wipe your eyes, Oscar’s already noticed your distressed, near-tears state.

His brows furrowed even closer, and his lips part to speak. “Are you alright?” he asks lowly, accent deliciously coating his sleepy voice.

You blink a few times, before responding, your tongue spilling the words before you can stop them.

“I’m just really anxious and Hattie wouldn’t wake up, so I was gonna see if you were up, but obviously you were asleep, so I was just gonna leave, and I mean, you scare me a little bit anyways—“

“I scare you?” He asks, interrupting your ramble. He chuckles breathily, shaking his head slightly. “I’m laid back, not mean.” He says, making you laugh nervously.

Oscar just smiles, a small one, as his eyes scan your features. He sighs softly, not an irritated sigh, and looks over his shoulder, perhaps checking the time. “I can’t promise to be a good helper, but you’re welcome to my room and company anytime.”

Oscar, in that moment, knows you’re not just his sister’s friend. Not when he’s quite content with losing sleep, if it means helping you in any way.

Days are fine. Days are fun. Especially with Arthur Leclerc dragging you around Monaco, but then comes nighttime. The anxiety had been rolling in since dinner, waves of dread regarding the battle that is yourself against sleeping. You’d been sure that you’d be comfy in the Leclerc home. You’re very close with Arthur, his family is always welcoming, but as you lay on the couch in his living room, your heart thumps against your ribcage.

You stare through the sheer curtains of the window, seeing moonlight seep through them, illuminating the room just slightly. You glance at the TV — perhaps the distraction would help, but you choose against it, too worried about disturbing others.

By the time your breathing is fast, and you feel your eyes burn as they do before tears come, footsteps sound. They’re faint, soft. Then, you hear the sound of a chair on the floor, a quiet scraping sound. Then, a padding sound. *Leo.*

The small, golden-haired puppy scurries across the floor, and if that wasn’t confirmation enough as to who the other footsteps belong to, the sound of the piano in the music room is all you need.

You sit up, letting your feet hit the floor, as you lean down to pet Leo’s small head, running your fingers through his silky coat. Despite the anxiety you felt moments ago, the soothing sound of the piano, and the overwhelming cuteness of the dog under your hand is enough to distract you.

When Leo wanders to his water bowl, you watch, then look to the door of the room that you know Charles is in. You hadn’t taken him for an insomniac, but you can definitely imagine him now, with tousled hair and sleepy eyes, likely in a plain t-shirt and sweatpants, slender fingers dancing over white and black keys…

Charles is a sweetheart. He’s always been incredibly kind to you, in a way that makes you wonder if it’s special treatment. It is.

As you think about *that*, rather than your anxiety, you find yourself slowly standing, and walking to the music room. Pushing the door open, you’re met with Charles’ backside. watching as he plays the piano. It feels too domestic for a moment, too peaceful, and when he looks over his shoulder, the jolt of his body implies you’d startled him.

Laughing quietly, you smile apologetically. “I’m sorry,” You say quietly, and he shakes his head, spinning around on the bench.

“Couldn’t sleep?” He asks, and you tilt your head, eyes narrowing with curiosity. Maybe he just made an educated guess, but there’s a certain look on his face, like maybe he knew you were anxious— did he?

“Arthur told me,” Charles says, as if he could read your thoughts. He smiles sheepishly, avoiding your gaze. “He mentioned it, when he told us you’d be coming with him,” he clarifies, and you nod understandingly.

“What about you?” You ask, meeting his gaze. He holds yours, long lashes casting a faint shadow onto his cheeks. “I couldn’t sleep either,” he muses simply.

If only you knew he was planning this, that he was seizing an opportunity to gain your attention.

Lewis rarely stays up late. He prioritizes his performance on track, and no one works well under a lack of sleep. That being said, the man is still a night owl, so when his schedule allows, he happily stays up a bit later than usual.

It’s past midnight as he sits on the leather couch in the spacey living room, his heels propped on the coffee table, and his laptop rested on his thighs. His eyes are narrowed with concentration— and the inevitable sleepiness washing over himself — as his fingers move across the keyboard, quiet clacks sounding with each word typed out.

His airpods are in, and Roscoe is curled up next to him, sleeping contently. The house is quiet, but your mind is far from that.

You lay in the spare bedroom, eyes fixated on the ceiling, watching the fan go round-and-round. You’d always figured you’d ’grow out of’ your anxiety, and in some ways, you had learned to manage it better, but you still have those moments where it drowns you, and you can feel yourself slowly slipping into that.

Your chest is heavy, and each moment of calm in your brain is combatted by a rush of worry.

Letting out a soft breath, you sit up, swinging your legs over the edge of the bed you’d been nestled into. You slide your hoodie over your head, grab your phone, and head to the door. Maybe fresh air and a different view would help your mind relax. Everyone’s asleep, you could just have a moment to yourself, right?

Lewis may be immersed in his work, but he doesn’t miss the movement within his peripheral vision. He looks up just in time to see you scurrying into the kitchen, your sock clad feet quiet on the smooth, hardwood floor.

You hadn’t expected the man to be there, so when you made it to the bottom of the stairs, finding him on the couch, you immediately went for the kitchen. Standing in the somewhat private space, you sigh, shaking your head at the way your heart is racing for a reason unrelated to anxiety now.

Who doesn’t find Lewis Hamilton attractive, at least a little bit? You figured your “crush” on him was just because he’s conventionally attractive, but being in the same vicinity as him, you’ve always felt a pull towards him.

You grab a glass from one of the cupboards and pour yourself a glass of water, gulping it down. He wouldn’t mind if you sat with him, would he? Your brows furrow as you debate that— would he let you in his company just to avoid being seen as rude? Would that be worse than being flat out told no?

Meanwhile, Lewis is wondering if it’s his place to check in on you. He’d been amused at the way you seemed startled by his presence, but also didn’t miss the nervousness you seemed to exude.

Before he can make any further decisions, you come out of the kitchen. His brown eyes flicker to you, following your form as you walk back through the living room. He cocks a brow as you slow, as if to stop, then keep walking, then pause again at the stairs.

“I don’t bite—“

“Can I sit with you?—“

He laughs with you, as you’d both spoken at the same time. You meet his eyes, and his warm smile makes your heart skip a beat.

“You wanna sit with me?” he repeats your words, and you nod slowly. “I just…get anxious, at night, and company might help,” You explain.

Immediately, a look of understanding washes over his face, and he nods. “Come on,” he encourages gently, and he can’t help but just grin when you choose to sit on the floor in front of the couch, just next to his legs. He has to resist the urge to reach out and pet your hair, his fingers twitching over his keyboard.

“You wanna talk about it?” He asks you, partially to distract his own mind. He meets your gaze as you look over your shoulder, his eyes staring into yours in a way that makes it hard to maintain eye contact.

“It’s a lot,” You muse, and he shrugs, taking out his airpods, a smile gracing his lips.

“I have time and patience.”

George is pretty serious about his schedule. From what he chooses to snack on (*cough* him asking “would an athlete snack on chocolate?” *cough*) to his workouts, and right down to his sleep schedule, he rarely goes off that.

So, George isn’t your best option, you rule out, as you sit on the air mattress next to your best friend’s bed, trying to control your shaky, uneven breathing. He’s fast asleep, probably has some busy day tomorrow, and even if he’d be polite enough to give you his time, he’d definitely steer clear of it in the future. Anyone hates the idea of being a bother to another.

Looking up above your friend’s bed, you find her asleep, curled away from you, shoulders shifting as she melts further into the bed.

With a heavy sigh, you grasp your phone and get up, quietly leaving the bedroom. If nothing else, some fresh air might do you some good.

You find your place in the almost luxurious lounge area of their home, curled up on a small couch, staring down at the ground as your mind races. However, the sound of a door opening, and footsteps following, makes you look up.

George.

He sees you as he rounds the corner, and even on his sleepy way to the bathroom, he still looks well put together.

He gives a friendly, playful smile. “Don’t let the bed bugs bite, am I right?”

Of course this man would make a dad joke.

You manage a breathy laugh, more of a huff, watching as he walks into the bathroom and shuts the door.

Meanwhile, George can’t help but think a little harder than he might need to about your reaction. Typically, you’d banter with him, be it by making fun of his stupid jokes, or telling one that’s just as bad, and tonight, you’d just seemed off. Not to mention, he’d found it odd that you weren’t in the bedroom…not that it’s his business, but he can be a nosy man at times, and suddenly, he’s worried.

As he comes out of the bathroom, his gaze lands on you, and then meets yours when you look back up.

“What?” you ask, brows furrowing. You figured he wouldn’t pick up on your state, especially with you trying to mask it for his sake.

“You alright?” He asks, accent clear as day, as if he hadn’t most likely been sleeping peacefully moments ago.

“Uhm,” you pause. Should you tell him, or just let him be on his way? Is it more annoying to leave him wondering? He probably doesn’t even care that much—

“We may not be close, but I’m always here if you need anything,” he says, voice kind, the smile on his lips equally as polite. After all, you’d been friends with his sister for years now, and it’s not like you’d never spoken to him.

So, you give in. With a reluctant sigh, you watch as he walks down the stairs and stands in front of you, tilting his head, as if to encourage you to go on.

“…I get anxiety,” you finally say, feeling a bit ridiculous to be keeping him up for this. “Anxiety?” he echoes, “about?”

“Everything,” you laugh, shrugging. “My brain just gets really active at night, and I tend to spiral into bad thoughts, but most of it’s irrational, and i’ll be fine—“

“What can I do?” he asks, as he looks at you with worried eyes. “To help, I mean,” he expounds.

You blink a few times, a bit taken aback at how eagerly he’s jumped to that. “I feel better talking to someone,” you admit, and he hums in acknowledgment, nodding.

“Is it alright if I sit, then?” he asks, gesturing to the space on the couch next to you, and takes a seat when you give him permission.

While it takes a few minutes of silence, he eventually gets talking, and you find that despite how you imagined a situation like this going, it’s vastly different. He’s patient, talkative in the right way, and a good listener.

So, when you eventually drift off in your spot, after George was rambling about something you truthfully didn’t have much interest in, he smiled to himself, laid a blanket over you, and took himself back to bed.

Safe to say, you weren’t a bother to him. At least, you can’t imagine you were, when he brings you breakfast the following morning, and offers to take you out for coffee.

Max frequently stays up later than he should. He likes how peaceful and quiet things are at night. No one’s awake to be in his space, he feels most comfortable by himself, and it’s a great time to invite himself to the driving simulator without being interrupted, or forced to share.

He doesn’t bother to check the time. It’s late, he knows that much, as well as the fact that he doesn’t have any reason to be up early later. His hands grip the steering wheel of his sim, eyes fixed ahead on the screen, as he seamlessly takes corner after corner of a track. He’s got a headset on, and no more light than one lamp next to the couch, just enough for him to see his surroundings, but not so much that it’s glaring on the screen.

He’s so focused that he doesn’t notice when you watch him from across the room, peaking out of the hallway. You’d initially been coming out to refill your water, and use the bathroom, trying to power through your anxiety, but now, you’re finding that this is working wonders to soothe your brain. Your eyes flicker from the screen to his face, watching his expressions shift, the way his brows furrow and lips purse slightly…or the way the veins in his forearms move under his skin-

He also doesn’t notice when you set your phone down, then leave, and return with a blanket, and make yourself cozy on the couch. You don’t really want him to know you’re there, anyways. Is this an invasion of his privacy? You briefly wonder, but eventually decide that it’s not like he’s doing anything scandalous, and he’s in the main room of the house anyways.

Max eventually finishes a handful of laps and exits out of that particular track, then leans over the arm of the chair to grab his water bottle, only to then realize that you’re lying there.

His eyes widen, then his brows furrow, and he pulls his headset off, taking in your form. Your stretched out on the couch, blanket laying neatly over your form, and your hands are laying on your stomach. He can tell you didn’t just sit down, and mentally backtracks, trying to remember when he last knew he was alone.

“Well,” he starts, staring at you, looking over the edge of the chair. “What’s this about?” he asks, and you smile slightly. You’d become rather comfortable with Max. He’s a nice guy, always been polite to you, and you always end up sitting next to him when you go out to eat with his family, anyways, so it’s only natural that you learned how you can talk to him.

“Anxiety,” you shrug. “I just like watching you play, and tonight, i’ve learned that it helps my brain quiet down,” you explain.

He hums, nodding slowly. He can understand that, in some way, he supposes. He looks back at the screen, then at you. “Do you want to try?” he asks, gesturing to the sim. “…It would help, maybe? Take your mind off of things?” he suggests.

It always shocks you how considerate he can be, and every time, your heart warms.

Max has good intentions, he does, but fuck does he hate watching other people drive the sim. As he explains (maxplains) the driving to you, and tries not to cringe too hard at the way you handle the car, you find that this is a fantastic distraction. You’re well aware that you’re driving him to insanity, and before you can tease him, your eyes get heavy, and you slowly drift to sleep.

When the car first starts going off track, straight for the barriers, Max thinks you have to be fucking with him…and then he realizes your head is tilted to the side, and you’ve somehow fallen asleep in the damn driving seat.

He spends a lot longer than he’d like to admit being baffled at your actions, before he comes to carefully take apart the arm of the sim, and scoop you out of the seat. He’s a strong guy, and for some reason, the only rational way to go about this, in his mind, was to carry you to bed.

Halfway down the hall, he realizes how much of a hassle it would be to open Victorias door and put you back on the air mattress without waking you and her up, so he just pushes into his own room, lays you in his bed, and tucks you in.

He stares down at you in his bed, a sigh leaving his lips. He wants to be irritated, but more than anything, he’s relieved that you’re clearly in a better state.

Safe to say, he finds it very hard to focus on the sim when he goes back to it.

Franco Colapinto is one of those people that can get along with anyone. He’s fun, talkative, usually good at reading the room, and it’s rare that he doesn’t get on well with someone.

So, it’s only natural that you and him had been well acquainted. However, you’re also one of the lucky people that gets to experience his flirtatiousness. In fact, he’s been flirting since day one, and you’ve been matching his energy the whole time. He loves it, and so do you.

That being said, even though you’re relatively close, and consider him a friend, your anxious mind has convinced you that he flirts with you because it’s fun, rather than because he likes you, even as just a friend. He flirts with everyone, and thus, your brain uses that against you.

Which is why you walk past his room, and down to the living room, where you sit on the couch, looking out of the window, into the beauty of Argentinian greenery that’s currently illuminated by moonlight. You practice your breathing, letting your eyes flutter shut. Your chest only feels a little lighter when you hear footsteps, and look over your shoulder to see Franco there, staring at you with mischievous curiosity, like he’s ready to pop off a flirtatious joke. In any other moment, you’d be just as ready, but right now, you’d rather not.

You don’t speak, unable to curate the correct words to express your feelings in a way that feels right. Fortunately, Franco seems to understand by the look on your face that now isn’t the time to flirt. He holds your gaze, then walks into the kitchen. You refrain from watching him, not wanting to give away your interest in literally anything he does, simply because it’s him.

You hear him grab a glass…then another? Then, it sounds like he’s pouring water into one, before a click sounds, like a kettle.

Within a few minutes, he’s bringing you a mug, and has a glass of water for himself. You raise a brow at him, taking the mug despite your skepticism.

“Franco, I don’t really want to be hopped up on maté right now—“

“Not maté,” he assures you, with a wave of his hand, “it’s to help you relax, amor. I promise.”

You trust him, and the sincere twinkle in his pretty eyes is enough that you’d be convinced even if you didn’t trust him already.

He watches you bring the mug to your lips, and reaches out to guide it slower to your mouth. “It’s hot,” he murmurs, aiding you in taking a sip, watching so attentively. Your chest warms, and you know it’s not just the tea. You’ve seen Franco be gentle, obviously, but this is different, and oh, so divine.

“Why are you still up?” he asks you softly, fingers brushing yours as he retracts his hand.

“Anxiety,” you muse simply, and he nods understandingly, reaching out to rub your arm. He’d only experienced your anxiety once, some time ago when his sister mentioned you were having a hard time, and he’d noticed your shaky hands at the dinner table.

His hand trails up to your hair, and he pets the back of your head, as if to brush away your worries. Rather than fixating on your anxiety, he starts talking about how nice it is to have you around again, and his excitement for the upcoming season. You and him grew up together, in a way, even if you’d been “closer” to his sister.

By the time your tea is half finished and cool, you’re leaning into his side, and he’s gently taking the mug from you, setting it down on the coffee table. He guides you further into his hold, and you comply, letting yourself melt into his warmth, and the sound of his voice continuing to talk to you.

“You think I flirt with you for no reason?” Franco asks, laughing quietly, as if that’s unbelievable. “Franco, you flirt with anything that has legs and speaks a language you understand,” you grumble into his shoulder, making the man huff quietly. “Ay, dios mìo,” he murmurs, resting his cheek on your head. “Maybe it doesn’t seem that way, but I flirt with you differently,” he explains quietly, “and I flirt with you because I want to, because I like you.”

If you weren’t half asleep, you’d pry into that response. Instead, you let yourself heart feel content with the knowledge that you’re more than what you’d managed to convince yourself of.

Throughout the night, you learn that banter isn’t the only thing that comes easy to you two. You talk and talk, various topics coming naturally, and by the time you’re both drifting to sleep, the sun is peeking through the window. And, in due time, you’d be found curled up on the couch together, confirming everyone else’s suspicions.

Logan’s schedule is all over the place. Some nights, he’s out by 9 pm, and others, he’s unable to rest until early morning. Tonight is one of those insufferable ones where he’s tossed and turned, and not one position is comfortable enough to stay in for more than five minutes, his bed is getting too warm, even though he’s thrown off the blankets and stripped his shirt off, and he’s tired, but not sleepy.

“Oh my god,” he murmurs to himself, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands, trying to clear his mind enough to relax. As he lowers them, his head begins to throb, and he sighs heavily. Of course he’d get a headache now.

As he sits up and reaches for his water bottle, a timid knock sounds on his door. “Just a sec,” he says just loud enough for you to hear, and takes a few gulps of water, before he gets up. He slides his shirt back on before opening the door, and even though it’s not necessarily crazy that you’re at his door, it still takes him aback. He hadn’t really thought about who it would be.

“Shit, are you okay?” he asks, when he notices your distressed features, immediately dropping his own frustration.

“Not really,” you murmur, fiddling with your hands, picking at the skin around your nails. “I’m just having a really anxious night, and I can’t sleep,” you explain.

Logan had always been a sweetheart. He’s polite and respectful, always the type to open doors for you out of habit, the kind of guy you could always go to if you needed it. Which is why you’re coming to him now. You’d known he was up, after hearing him shuffling in his room, and the opportunity seemed to present itself to you.

The man stares at you for a moment, pressing his lips together as he contemplates how to go about this predicament. He looks back at his room. It’s not messy, but it’s not clean either. He needs to do laundry, has a few pairs of shoes here and there that should be in their rack in his closet, and of course his bed is a clear representation of his inability to rest. He doesn’t exactly want to invite you into his space. If it’s stressing him out, he wouldn’t want to have you there, and risk making your troubles worse.

“Would a drive make you feel better?” he asks, looking back to you, blue eyes meeting yours. “A drive?” you echo curiously.

“Yeah, like…the suns gonna be up in a few hours,” he shrugs, “we could go to the beach, grab some breakfast or something,” he thinks aloud, and he speaks almost hesitantly, like he’s scared that he’s suggesting the wrong thing.

Meanwhile, your heart skips a beat with excitement, and you nod. “Yeah, yes— if that’s not an issue for you?” you ask, brows knitting with a new concern that this is an inconvenience for him.

“No, no,” he shakes his head adamantly, grabbing his car keys off of his dresser. “I can’t sleep either,” he assures you, offering a small smile, and the tiredness in his eyes says it all.

Thus, you join him for a long car ride. He drives smoothly through Floridian streets, giving you the time to talk about your struggles, should you want to. He shares his own, as if to help you feel more comfortable, and after some time, he offers you the aux chord.

As the sun starts to come up, he drives to the beach, and you both sit down on cool sand, shoulders together. Waves roll just to your feet before retracting, the sound soothing. The sun slowly arises, shining down on the both of you.

You let your instincts take over, and rest your head on his shoulder, eyes fluttering shut as you soak up the gentle warmth of the morning sun. Logan sighs contently, and rests his cheek against your head, as if to assure you that you’re fine where you are, with your head on his shoulder.

You grew up on the Schumacher ranch. Being family friends and having a love for the work, you’ve been helping since you were a child, and now spend a majority of your time as a ranch hand, helping take care of things. You were best friends with Gina as a child — still are — and likely would have been just as close with Mick then, if it weren’t for him being away for races most of the time.

Now that he’s back home more often, you’ve been able to get closer with him, your relationship bordering on more than friends, but not quite a couple. Everyone else sees it, though, and you think about it too often to not want it, truthfully.

You’ve also always struggled with anxiety. You’ve got an active mind, and working yourself from sun up to sundown has always kept the irrational worry at bay. However, recently, for whatever reason, it’s kicked back up, and tonight has been particularly bad — the worst in a while.

So, after tossing and turning, you get up and head out to the stables. You check on the horses, even if you know they likely don’t need to be checked on, and as you round the corner, you find Mick sitting on the ground, hand on the mane of a foal.

Huffing a small laugh as he meets your gaze and smiles, you tilt your head playfully. “It’s past your bedtime, Micky,” you hum, making the man laugh gently.

He checks his wrist, an imaginary watch, and raises his brow, looking up at you, “it’s also past your bedtime,” he teases back. “What’s up?” he then follows up, making you sigh.

“Just anxiety. Nothing fun, unfortunately,” you muse, taking a seat in front of him. You admire the young colt next to Mick, a small smile forming on your lips as the cool air greets your skin, and you feel momentarily comforted by surroundings you’re so fond of. The ranch, nice weather, the horses, and undeniably, Mick.

“Awe,” he frowns sympathetically, nudging his boot against yours as if to comfort you, and it works. He’s not sure what to say, how to make it better, but the fact that you’re smiling, even if only a little, makes him feel better. “How have things been?” he asks, leading you to walk him through just that.

He’s stared at you as you rundown the ranch gossip, the ranch hands that have come and gone, some wanting to stir up drama, some wanting to put their nose where it doesn’t belong. You tell him that you’ve been following his races, that you and Gina watch them together.

“Gina misses you more than she’d ever admit to you,” you hum, making Mick chuckle, smiling fondly at that thought. They’d always been fairly close, close as siblings can be. “Not to make it about me, but i’ve missed you too,” you add, making Mick’s smile wider.

“Yeah?” he inquires, nudging your boot once again. “You can always text me, or call, you know that, right?” he asks, and you honestly hadn’t thought about that.

“I want you to, actually,” he adds. “It would be good to hear from you more…I miss you too.” He muses, and by now, you’re not so worried about anything, and far more focused on the knowledge that your feelings for Mick are definitely not one sided.

THANK YOU FOR READING! requests are open for any drivers written above, and i do headcanons, written fics, text fics, and smaus, as well as any reader.

I appreciate your support and time. 💌

[cosmiclily]

teehee hii again - i noticed that u had a caitlyn request and omg do i have requests 🤭

im thinking ofc x fem reader, could u do like university or college?? some sorta sport element amddd here's the best bit. caitlyn after training every morning and ungodly hours goes to this coffee house and every morning, there's this cute girl barista who takes her order and it gets to the point that she has her order ready for her already. and Caitlyn is smooth and flirty and barista is like flirty but more shy. ok one more thing - they would exchange socials and like and comment on stories and posts. THANK YOU SO MUCHHHH your fics acct make my day i love youuu

💐 - some flowers

morning shift (derogatory)

✰ caitlyn x f!reader

wc: 4.8k

notes: i’ve been trying to post this for AGES, the app kept crashing and my computer wasn’t turning on 😭😭😭 how have you guys been?

Getting the morning shift and having to wake up at five in the morning was far from ideal. In fact, it was the last thing you ever wanted to do. Dragging yourself out of bed, forcing yourself into the shower, and getting dressed while barely conscious was pure torture. You didn’t just feel like a zombie—you looked like one too.

But all of that became worth it the moment she walked into the coffee shop.

A goddess in tiny training shorts, a jacket so tight it perfectly accentuated her waist, and legs that seemed to go on forever. Every morning, like clockwork, she’d rush in, order her stupid green juice and iced americano, and somehow make suffering through the early shift feel like a blessing.

You would take this shift for the rest of your life if it meant getting to see her.

And today, just like every other morning, Caitlyn Kiramman strolled in, hair slightly messy from her run, cheeks flushed from the cold. But what really sent a jolt through your sleep-deprived body was the way her lips curled into a teasing smile as she approached the counter.

“Good morning,” she said, leaning against the counter ever so slightly. “The usual, please. And maybe… a smile from my favorite barista?”

You nearly choked on your own breath.

A smile? From her favorite barista?

You scrambled to plaster the biggest, most natural-looking smile on your face (which, given the ungodly hour, wasn't easy). “Of course,” you said smoothly, ignoring how your heart was now hammering in your chest. “That’ll cost you extra, though.”

Caitlyn chuckled, handing over her money, her fingers brushing against yours for a second too long to be an accident. “Worth it.”

She took a seat at her usual table, and as she walked away, you shamelessly let your eyes trail after her, taking in the way those tiny shorts hugged her ass perfectly.

“You should just give her your number, you know?” your coworker commented, picking up a cup beside you. “She comes in every day, flirts with you, and you just stand there grinning like an idiot. Write your number on her cup. Do something.It’s getting a little pathetic.”

You scoffed, shaking your head as you started preparing her drink. “Caitlyn Kiramman is way out of my league. I’m nothing but a mere mortal in her goddess realm.”

Your coworker snorted. “Okay, poet, but have you considered that maybe—just maybe—she likes her coffee a little more than usual because of the person making it?”

That made you pause for a split second before you shook it off. No way. There was no chance in hell that Caitlyn Kiramman—beautiful, confident, rich Caitlyn Kiramman—would ever look twice at you.

So, as always, you just wrote one of your cheesy pickup lines on her cup, adding a little smiley face next to it, and went on with your day like it didn’t mean anything.

You went to class, dozed off between lectures, ate lunch half-aware of your surroundings, and then finally made your way home, exhausted. But even as you lay in bed, you couldn’t stop yourself from replaying your morning interaction with Caitlyn. The way her fingers had brushed against yours, the way she smiled when she read your note—was it just your sleep-deprived brain making things up, or was there something there?

The next morning, there you were again. Five a.m., standing under the shower, letting the warm water run over you as you took the slowest shower of your life. Your mind was occupied with one thing and one thing only—what line you were going to scribble on Caitlyn’s cup today. And, if you were being completely honest, a tiny part of you was also daydreaming about what outfit she’d be wearing.

Would it be the black shorts today? Or maybe the navy blue ones that hugged her just right? Would she zip up her jacket, or would you get a glimpse of the tight sports bra underneath?

You shook your head, forcing yourself back to reality and going to work. You need help.

For some unknown reason, you felt extra antsy today. Your stomach was fluttering in a way that had nothing to do with hunger, and the anticipation was getting to you. So when the clock hit 6:45, you automatically started making Caitlyn’s drinks, your hands moving on autopilot. You blended her green juice, strained it, and set up the coffee to brew, wondering if today she would actually stick to her usual order or throw you off by asking for something different.

“What are you doing?” your coworker asked, staring at you like you had lost your mind. The coffee shop was empty, the lights still dim, and not a single customer had walked in yet.

“Making Caitlyn’s drinks” you replied simply.

They frowned. “Uh… there’s no one in line.”

“She comes in at seven sharp every morning,” you explained casually, still focused on your task. “It takes me 10 minutes to blend and strain her juice and for the coffee to finish brewing. That leaves me with five minutes to think of something to write and cup her drinks so they’re still fresh.”

You said it like it was nothing. Like it was a perfectly logical, totally normal thing to be this dedicated to one customer’s order.

Your coworker just stared at you for a long moment before sighing, shaking their head. “You’re crazy, you know that, right?”

You shrugged, pouring the freshly brewed coffee into a cup. “If this is crazy, I don’t want to be sane.”

They snorted, rolling their eyes. “Alright, Romeo, at this point, you might as well just ask her out.”

You scoffed, shaking your head. “Yeah, right.”

But then, at exactly 7 a.m., there she was.

Earbuds in, navy blue jacket, black shorts, high ponytail—looking like she had just stepped out of a magazine. She had that effortless kind of beauty, the kind that made the world slow down for a second, the kind that made you forget how exhausted you were.

You barely had time to compose yourself before she was standing in front of the register, and you forced your brain to function.

“Good morning, the usual?” you asked, maybe a little too eagerly, but could anyone blame you?

Caitlyn pulled out her earbuds, flashing you that smile that had you questioning every life decision you had ever made. “Certainly a good morning now that I saw you.”

Your brain short-circuited.

Did she—did she just say—?

“And yes, please, the usual,” she added casually, as if she hadn’t just dropped that line like it was nothing.

You scrambled to punch in her order, hoping she didn’t notice the heat creeping up your neck. “Right—yeah, coming right up.”

As you handed her the cups, her fingers brushed against yours again, and this time, you swore she did it on purpose. She glanced at the side of the cup, reading the little note you had scribbled there:

Are you French? Because Eiffel for you.

A soft chuckle left her lips, and she shook her head, amused. “This one was bad.”

You grinned. “But did it work?”

She looked up at you, something playful in her gaze. “Maybe.”

And with that, she took her drinks and walked to her usual table, leaving you standing there, gripping the register like it was the only thing keeping you upright.

Your coworker, who had been watching the entire interaction with barely concealed amusement, leaned in. “So, uh… still think she’s out of your league?”

You swallowed hard, eyes still on Caitlyn as she sipped her coffee, her lips curled into a smirk.

Yeah. You were so screwed.

──────────────────────

On a random Thursday night, just as you were winding down and nearly ready for bed, your phone pinged with a notification.

@CKiramman followed you.

You stared at your screen like it had just grown a second head.

For a moment, you thought you were seeing things. Maybe your sleep-deprived brain was playing tricks on you. But no—the notification was real. You picked up your phone, unlocked it, and there it was. Caitlyn Kiramman had actually followed you on Instagram.

Your heart was hammering in your chest as you clicked on her profile. Her account wasn’t private, which meant you could see everything—pictures from her morning runs, candid shots of her with friends, a few elegant photos from what looked like fancy Galas (because, of course, she was that kind of rich), and even a couple of casual selfies. You scrolled down absently, then snapped yourself out of it.

Focus.

Had she searched for you? Did she somehow already know your name? Or—your stomach flipped—had she actually been interested enough to ask someone?

Before you could spiral too much, another notification popped up.

@CKiramman liked your photo.

And not just any photo.

One from three months ago.

Your eyes widened. Oh, she scrolled.

Your mind raced. Should you message her? Follow her back? Ignore it and pretend you weren’t currently gripping your phone like your life depended on it?

Before you could decide, another message appeared.

Caitlyn Kiramman: So, are you ever going to give me your number, or do I have to keep deciphering bad pickup lines on my coffee cups?

Your mouth fell open.

Holy. Shit.

You stared at the message, your brain short-circuiting.

Caitlyn Kiramman had followed you, stalked your profile, liked an old photo, and now she was flirting with you in your messages.

What alternate universe had you fallen into?

Your fingers hovered over the keyboard, but every possible response sounded either too eager or too indifferent. You needed something cool, something casual—something that didn’t scream I’ve been lowkey in love with you since the first time you walked into my coffee shop in tiny shorts.

After what felt like an eternity (but was actually 37 seconds, not that you were counting), you finally typed back:

You: You decipher them? I thought you just rolled your eyes and ignored my genius.

The little “typing” bubble appeared almost instantly.

Caitlyn Kiramman: Oh, don’t get me wrong. Some of them are truly awful. But they’re entertaining.

You grinned.

You: That bad, huh? Should I start charging extra for the comedy?

Caitlyn Kiramman: I think you’ve already overcharged me. Every morning I walk in expecting just coffee, and instead, I leave with a new terrible joke and a distraction for the rest of the day.

Your heart did an actual flip.

You stared at her message, rereading it at least five times before you processed what she was saying. A distraction for the rest of the day? Was she serious? Was she just teasing? Was Caitlyn Kiramman really implying that she thought about youafter she left?

Before you could think too hard about it, another message popped up.

Caitlyn Kiramman: So? Are you going to give me your number, or do I have to find another way to keep myself entertained?

You exhaled sharply, fingers shaking slightly as you typed back:

You: Wouldn’t want you to suffer without my daily wisdom. (xxx-xxx-xxxx) Use it wisely.

Within seconds, another notification popped up.

Unknown Number: Now I can finally place my coffee orders in advance.

Unknown Number: Also, I might use it for other things.

You swallowed hard, rereading her message.

Other things.

Yeah. You were so screwed. And maybe just a little bit in love.

──────────────────────

To say you spent the whole night texting Caitlyn would be an understatement. The conversation flowed effortlessly, jumping from topic to topic until you realized it was waaaay past your bed time. She told you about her upcoming track competition, and somewhere in the middle of it, she casually invited you to come cheer her on. (Which, obviously, you accepted before she even finished asking.)

By the time morning rolled around, you were running on fumes—more tired than usual, but weirdly, it didn’t matter. Because today, you weren’t just going to see Caitlyn from behind the coffee counter. You were actually going to talk to her and that alone had your energy levels shooting up to a hundred.

So, naturally, you got extra ready.

You actually took your time in the mirror, making sure you looked good. Not that Caitlyn had ever seen you at your best before (you were always half-dead on your morning shifts), but today was different. Today, you wanted to impress her.

And apparently, it showed.

“Okay, where’s the event?” your coworker asked the second you clocked in, giving you a once-over. “And why do you look nice today?”

“Oh, nothing…” you said, trying to sound casual as you adjusted your apron. “Just, you know… Caitlyn Kiramman not only followed me, stalked my profile, liked a picture from three months ago, but also slid into my DMs… and I gave her my number.”

Your coworker froze.

Then, in the most dramatic way possible, they grabbed your shoulders and shook you. “WHAT?”

You laughed, swatting them away. “I’m serious.”

They gawked at you. “You mean Caitlyn Kiramman—the woman you’ve been hopelessly crushing on for months—the actual goddess who walks in here every morning—is now texting you?”

“Yep.”

“And flirting with you?”

“Seems like it.”

They stared at you for another second before groaning. “Oh my God. I take back everything I said. You’re not pathetic. You’re a legend.”

You smirked, grabbing a cup as you started prepping Caitlyn’s usual drinks. “Glad you finally see it.”

Your coworker sighed dramatically. “You better not mess this up.”

“I have no plans to, thank you very much.”

But then… 7 a.m. hit. And Caitlyn didn’t show up.

7:10. Nothing.

7:30. Still nothing.

Your excitement started to deflate just a little. You glanced at the door between customers, waiting for that familiar navy blue high ponytail to appear, but the minutes kept ticking by, and your carefully prepared drinks were sitting there untouched.

By 7:40, the juice had turned an unsettling shade of green, and the ice in the Americano had completely melted. With a sigh, you had no choice but to dump them out.

Just as you were starting to wonder if maybe last night had been some weird dream, at exactly 7:46, she rushed in.

Cheeks flushed, hair slightly messy, breathing a little heavier—Caitlyn Kiramman looked… flustered.

And God, if that wasn’t the cutest thing you’d ever seen.

The line was long—the morning rush just starting—so she had to wait her turn, and when she finally reached the front, she immediately leaned in, looking at you with something close to guilt.

“I’m so sorry,” she blurted out, shaking her head at herself. “I overslept for the first time in my life. Which, by the way, is very unusual for me.”

You raised an eyebrow, suppressing a grin. “You? Oversleeping? That is unusual.”

She groaned, covering her face for a second before peeking at you through her fingers. “I know. And I feel terrible. 7 a.m. is our unofficial meeting time, and I—” She stopped mid-sentence, realizing what she just said. Her eyes widened slightly, and she bit her lip.

Your smirk grew. “Oh? Our unofficial meeting time?”

Caitlyn blinked. Then, instead of backtracking, she straightened her posture, tilting her head slightly. “Yes,” she said, completely serious. “Our meeting time. And I broke it. Which means I need to make it up to you somehow.”

You leaned on the counter, amused. “Oh yeah? And how do you plan on doing that?”

She hummed, pretending to think about it before giving you a small smirk. “Well, for starters… I’ll let you pick my drink today.”

You blinked. “Wait, what?”

“I don’t think I want the usual,” she said casually, resting her elbows on the counter. “What do you recommend? I want to try something new.”

You stared at her for a second. Caitlyn had been ordering the same thing every morning since the day you met her. Now she was just… trusting you to pick something for her?

“Oh wow,” you said, placing a hand on your chest mockingly. “This is a big responsibility. What if I mess it up?”

She grinned. “Then I guess I’ll just have to punish you.”

You choked on your own saliva.

Caitlyn laughed, absolutely delighted by your reaction. “Relax,” she teased, her voice dropping just a little lower. “I just meant I’d make you remake it if it’s terrible.”

You swallowed hard, regaining whatever composure you had left. “Right. Of course. That’s what you meant.”

She winked. “Obviously.”

──────────────────────

After that, your routine changed.

At exactly 7 a.m., Caitlyn would walk in, looking effortlessly gorgeous, and instead of ordering her usual, she’d lean on the counter and ask, “What’s on the menu today?”

And every morning, you’d surprise her with something new. A different coffee, a new kind of tea, a random experimental drink that sometimes turned out great and sometimes… not so much. (She still drank them, though—grinning at you over the rim of her cup like she secretly enjoyed watching you squirm.)

You spent as much time talking as the morning rush allowed, stealing moments between customers, exchanging teasing glances, and sharing stories that made the mundane mornings feel electric.

And then there were the texts.

At first, they were casual—updates on her day, comments on whatever drink you’d made for her, the occasional complaint about a professor or a late-night craving for coffee. But soon, they became… constant.

Messages during lunch. During her breaks. Late at night when you were both too stubborn to sleep.

You talked about everything.

Her childhood. Your family. Her ridiculous rich-person hobbies (which, yes, included knowing how to shoot, for some bizarre reason). The names of her childhood dogs. The fact that she still slept with a ridiculous amount of pillows.

There were no awkward pauses, no forced conversations. Just endless back-and-forth banter, teasing, and something elselingering between the words that neither of you addressed.

Until one night, when your phone buzzed with a notification:

Cait 💙: So, when are you going to ask me out on a proper date? Or do I have to do everything in this relationship?

You blinked.

Stared.

Read it again.

You: Relationship?

The little typing bubble appeared instantly.

Cait 💙: Oh, my bad. Did you think all this was just friendly customer service?

You gawked at your screen.

Was she serious? Was she just teasing? Was this a test?

You: I mean… technically, I do give excellent customer service.

Cait 💙: Uh-huh. And do you text all your customers at midnight?

You: Only the pretty ones.

You hesitated for half a second before hitting send.

And then, before you could panic about that message, she replied:

Cait 💙: So just me, then.

You: Yeah. Just you.

The typing bubble appeared again.

Then it stopped.

Then it started again.

Your heart was practically in your throat.

Cait 💙: Friday. 8 p.m. I’m picking you up. Wear something cute.

──────────────────────

You could not wait for Friday.

And, apparently, the universe had something against you, because the week felt twice as long as usual.

Every hour dragged. Every class felt like a never-ending lecture. Every shift at work felt excruciatingly slow, even with Caitlyn still dropping by at 7 a.m. sharp, flashing you that smug little smirk like she knew you were impatiently counting down the days.

By Friday afternoon, you had done everything you could possibly do to make time pass faster.

Assignments? Finished.

Room? Spotless.

Laundry? Folded.

At one point, you even considered reorganizing your entire closet just to keep yourself busy. But no matter what you did, 8 p.m. refused to get any closer.

You were convinced that if given a few more hours, you could probably find the cure for cancer before the time for your date actually arrived.

You sat up, swinging your legs over the side of the bed. Maybe you needed to redo your hair. Or change outfits. You thought you looked good, but what if the lighting in your room had deceived you?

You rushed to the mirror, checking yourself for the tenth time. You turned to the side, then to the other, scrutinizing every detail.

Your outfit was good. Really good. You had picked something that made you feel confident, something that you knew Caitlyn would like. (Not that you had memorized her favorite colors or anything. That would be insane. Definitely not something you had done.)

Your hair? Also fine. Your face? Fine.

So why the hell did you feel like a mess?

You groaned, flopping onto your back dramatically. “I’m gonna die before 8 p.m.,” you mumbled to no one in particular.

Your phone buzzed.

You launched yourself up, grabbing it instantly.

Cait 💙: Excited?

You bit your lip, debating how to answer. Be cool. Be casual. Don’t let her know you’ve been losing your mind all day.

You: Meh. It’s just a date. Not like I’ve been counting down the minutes or anything.

Cait 💙: You’re terrible at lying.

You scoffed, shaking your head.

You: Am not.

Cait 💙: Mhm. Keep telling yourself that.

You rolled your eyes, smiling despite yourself.

Cait 💙: I’ll be there in 30. Be ready, sweetheart.

Suddenly, your heart was pounding.

Oh. Oh, shit.

This was real.

You were going on a date with Caitlyn tonight.

──────────────────────

Caitlyn picked you up in a sleek, undeniably fancy car. You had no idea what kind it was—cars weren’t exactly your thing—but it looked expensive and smelled like it had never known a day of spilled coffee or fast food wrappers.

But the car was the last thing on your mind.

Because Caitlyn? Caitlyn looked gorgeous.

Her usual high ponytail was gone, replaced with loose waves that framed her face perfectly. She wore a crisp white button-down shirt, sleeves rolled up just enough to show off her forearms, paired with tailored black slacks and shiny loafers that somehow made her legs look even longer. She was all elegance and confidence—and yet, when she smiled at you, there was still that warmth, that sparkle that made your chest flutter.

“You look… wow,” you said as you slid into the passenger seat, your voice almost caught in your throat.

Caitlyn glanced at you, lips tugging into a knowing smile. “You don’t look so bad yourself.”

You laughed softly, your nerves settling a little as the car pulled smoothly out of your driveway. “Is this where you tell me we’re going somewhere casual and I’m overdressed?”

She grinned. “Nope. I figured we could both use a night out somewhere a little extra.”

“Well, mission accomplished,” you said, glancing over at her again. “You’re dangerously close to making me forget how to form coherent sentences.”

She smirked, eyes still on the road. “That’s the goal.”

You turned to the window, smiling like an idiot, cheeks burning just a little. How was this your life right now?

“How was your day?” Caitlyn asked after a moment, her voice softer now, more intimate—like the initial flirty spark had melted into something quieter and warmer.

You told her about your shift, your overly nosy coworker, and the old lady who insisted that oat milk was a government conspiracy meant to destroy traditional dairy farming. Caitlyn laughed, the sound bubbling out of her so naturally, like she was genuinely enjoying every second with you. And maybe she was.

The conversation flowed effortlessly on the drive to the restaurant—Caitlyn had finally caved and told you where you were going after a little playful prodding—and when you arrived, your jaw nearly hit the floor.

The place was fancy. Not just candlelight-and-linen-napkins fancy, but the kind of fancy where the valet wore white gloves, and the front of the menu didn’t even have prices.

You stepped out of the car slowly, glancing up at the glowing sign and the perfectly manicured entryway. Suddenly, the outfit you had spent hours choosing didn’t feel like quite enough. You smoothed your hands over your clothes and swallowed hard, a flicker of anxiety settling in your chest.

You knew Caitlyn had money. That was never a mystery—everything about her practically whispered old money and prestige. But standing outside this restaurant, with her looking like she’d walked out of a fashion editorial and you feeling like you didn’t quite belong, you couldn’t help the quiet question that crept into your mind:

What does she even see in me?

Caitlyn stepped beside you, noticing the way you hesitated. She gently touched your hand, her fingers brushing yours. “Hey,” she said, catching your eye. “You okay?”

You nodded a little too quickly. “Yeah, just… wasn’t expecting a place like this.”

She tilted her head, her expression softening. “I wanted to take you somewhere special. Not to impress you—just… because I think you deserve something special.”

You blinked at her, your heart doing something traitorous in your chest.

“And for the record,” she added, leaning in just slightly, like she was reading your mind, “you belong exactly here. With me.”

──────────────────────

After that first moment of insecurity, everything fell into place. It didn’t matter that you weren’t used to places like this. It didn’t matter that you felt underdressed or that you had to quietly Google a few words on the menu under the table. None of it mattered, because Caitlyn made you feel welcome—seen. Like you belonged not just at her table, but with her.

She didn’t look at you like you were out of place. She looked at you like you were the only thing in the room worth paying attention to. Every smile, every glance, every gentle brush of her hand across yours grounded you. And with her, this fancy restaurant didn’t feel so intimidating anymore—it felt like a memory you’d want to replay a hundred times.

“So,” Caitlyn said, casually sipping her wine, “I have a track competition coming up—I think I told you about it?”

You nodded, already smiling. “Yeah, you mentioned it.”

“Well, I’d really like you to come,” she said, her voice a little more tentative, like the invitation mattered more than she wanted to admit.

“Oh, I’ll definitely be there,” you grinned. “Front row. With a giant glittery sign that says ‘#1 Caitlyn Fan.’ Maybe I’ll even wear a matching tracksuit.”

She laughed, leaning back in her seat. “Please do. I want pictures.”

“Careful what you wish for,” you teased. “I’m not above going full cheerleader mode.”

She raised an eyebrow, a playful spark in her eyes. “Now that’s something I need to see.”

You leaned in slightly, resting your elbow on the table and tilting your head. “Oh yeah? You fantasize about me in a crop top and pom-poms, Kiramman?”

Caitlyn didn’t miss a beat. “Only every night.”

You nearly choked on your drink, laughter spilling from your lips as she smirked. “You’re dangerous.”

“I’ve been told,” she replied, her voice dropping just enough to make your heart skip. “But you seem brave.”

You stared at her, all trace of joking fading for a beat. Warmth settled in your chest, creeping up your neck. She was looking at you in that way again—the kind that made everything else disappear.

“God, you’re beautiful,” you whispered before your brain could stop your mouth.

Caitlyn’s smile softened. “So are you,” she said, her voice low and honest.

The air between the two of you shifted instantly, thick with something unspoken. Your heart thudded in your chest as warmth crept up your neck, your cheeks flushed—you didn’t know if it was the wine or just the effect of being near Caitlyn.

Then you felt it—her foot slowly sliding up your leg under the table, smooth and deliberate, and your breath caught in your throat. You practically melted in your seat, your fingers tightening slightly around the edge of the table for composure.

Caitlyn was still watching you, eyes darker now, pupils slightly dilated. There was something unreadable in her gaze, something electric.

“Do you want to get out of here?” she asked, her voice no louder than a whisper, but heavy with suggestion.

You swallowed hard, pulse pounding, every nerve ending alive. “Yes,” you breathed. “God, yes.”

She didn’t smile this time—not in the usual teasing way—but there was a curve to her lips that told you she’d been waiting for that answer.

The ride back to her place was quiet but charged, your fingers brushing on the gearshift, the tension between you stretching tighter with every passing second. The moment her door closed behind the two of you, it snapped.

She stepped forward, cupped your face with both hands, and kissed you like she’d been holding back all night. There was nothing hesitant now—just heat and hands and the thrum of something real blooming between you.

When you finally broke apart, both of you breathless, her forehead rested against yours again.

“Still think you don’t belong in my world?” she whispered, her thumb brushing across your lips.

You shook your head, smiling against her touch. “I think I might be exactly where I’m supposed to be.”

──────────────────────

masterlist

[luveline]

that spencer x bombshell one you just posted has me giggling and kicking my feet I think I’m in love with YOU 🫵

Now I’m thinking of spencer x bombshell where the team starts to not view reid as unwillingly tortured by her flirting. Like maybe Morgan makes a comment to reid about something he does and is like “don’t torture the poor girl” and he’s like oh shit I’M the one torturing too now?

im in love with YOU !! for you, ty for requesting ♡ fem

“Difficult,” you say, resting your head on the table. 

“I know.” Spencer wiggles his pen back and forth between two fingers, thinking hard. This case is proving to be indecipherable. None of the details want to add up, and no clear profile geographical or otherwise appears. 

“Useless.” 

“Who, me or you?” 

“Us.” You sigh morosely. “Mostly me.” 

You're not being serious. Spencer huffs a soft laugh and continues to turn the details over in his head. You open your notebook and scratch down a couple of sentences with a pen, a visual thinker. Your mind map turns to a second iteration and then a third. You can't connect the dots because they're too far apart from each other; Spencer can't do it either. Not alone. 

He scoots his chair as close to yours as possible, your knees touching, his elbow in your side. “Can I look?” he asks. 

“Of course you can. Sorry about my handwriting.” 

He shakes his head. Your handwriting is perhaps the only thing about you he wouldn't say was one hundred percent perfect. You can't control it like other things. It is perfect, in a way, because it's yours, but you've been writing quickly and he struggles to make out the occasional letter. 

He leans in toward the page. “What's this word?” he asks. 

You lean in to see it. “Coruscated.” 

“The swimming pool?” he asks, lifting his face to yours. You're closer now, and beautiful like this. He can see the powder under your eyes, the lines in your irises, the slight fading of your lipstick at the corners of your mouth. There's an eyelash on your cheek. He lifts a hand to wipe it away. “What's so important about that?” 

“It reminded me of something…” You pause as he touches your face. “Something…” Your voice lilts up in question, half-shudder. 

“Eyelash,” he explains, blowing it off of his finger. 

“Right,” you say, eyes oddly wide and soft at once, your eyebrows lifted at the starts. 

“You okay?” 

“Is she okay? Reid, you're torturing the poor girl. Give her some air,” Morgan says with a chuckle. 

Spencer leans backwards in surprise, no idea what Morgan could possibly mean. Your eyes relax as you regain some personal space, your hands coming together loosely in your lap. You laugh weakly. 

Spencer looks you up and down. He's torturing you? That doesn't make sense. For as long as you've known one another, the team has joked that your flirty ways and feminine wiles are too much for Spencer to handle. You once gave him an apology he didn't want, worried you actually were hurting him by being your playful self, and he'd set that straight immediately. You don't torture him. It's a lot of feelings to be doted on so much by you, and painful isn't one of them. Overwhelming, sometimes, and exciting, sure. 

He never realised he had the power to overwhelm you. Not until that moment. You offer a funny smile far from your usual smirk and try to steamroll Morgan's claim. “Guess I should've made a wish.” 

“What would you wish for?” Spencer asks quietly. 

You still. Morgan shakes his head in disapproval, but he laughs again and stands up. “I think they'd call that a taste of your own medicine, sweetheart,” he says to you. 

You meet Spencer's eye. “I think they would,” you say bashfully. 

For three blissful seconds, Spencer enjoys the reality of having made you flustered. You, gorgeous, confident you, left flushed and a little daunted by his casual actions and simple (maybe slightly flirtatious) questioning. But then he remembers how much he likes you and pushes it away. 

“Sorry,” he says, plastering a smile over uncertain lips, “I didn't mean to do that.” 

“No, it's okay.” 

He turns to your notes, but gives you a look from the side. “I hope you wished for someone to solve the case. We're never getting anywhere like this.” 

“Are you saying you can't?” You rest your chin in your hand. “And here I thought you were more than a pretty face.” 

You have a quick recovery rate, evidently. 

[lovegalor333]

˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪ ౨ৎ˚₊✧˚ · .

woman crush wednesday (paige x reader) (next part)

summary: paige is asked who her celebrity crush is on instagram live and you’re pleasantly surprised when she responds with your name

content warnings: none!

inspired by this request from @rizzlerbuckets 🌟

“You have to see this, Y/N.” Your best friend exclaimed as she joined you in your kitchen where you were making dinner for the both of you.

You glance up from the stove to see her phone in her hand outstretched in your direction. There’s a video playing and from what you can see, it’s a screen recording of an Instagram live. The are two girls in the frame and they look like they’re in a dorm room.

“What is this? Who are they?” You ask confused, turning your attention back to the steak you were frying in a pan.

“They’re basketball players, just watch.” She insists, pushing her phone closer to your face.

You turn your gaze to the video and do as your best friend says. You watch the girls on screen as they read through the comments they were getting. They would laugh every now and then and you found yourself entranced by the blonde and the way her eyes scrunched at the sides when she smiled.

Your best friend turns up the volume of her phone and watches you closely with raised brows.

“OK OK! This is a good question whos your celebrity crush?” The girl with the braids directs to her friend next to her.

The blonde girl ponders for all of three seconds, “This is easy.” She grins and you’re expecting the usual response of one of the many famous men that most girls pine over. Channing Tatum, Michael B Jordan, Harry Styles, Justin Bieber, Vinnie Hacker, Jude Bellingham and you’re not sure why your best friend wanted you to watch this so bad. Until you hear her answer and it’s none of the names you imagined, it’s not even a man. It’s you.

“She’s bad bad.” The blonde continues, “And she sings. What more could you ask for?”

“Damn OK, someones down bad.” Her friend teases, “Y/N, if you’re watching this, let my girl Paige here take you on a date.” You laugh because you imagined the girls never would have thought you’d actually watch this video but, little do they know, your best is chronically online and sees everything that’s posted about you. Of course, she picks and chooses what she shares with you but you’re secretly glad this video made it through her vetting process.

“How old is this girl?” You ask cautiously before making any further comments.

“I’ll Google!” Your best friend chimes, tapping away at her phone. “Twenty two.” She clarifies, the same age as you.

“And she’s still in college?” You ask.

“It says here she was injured for the majority of two seasons so she was eligible to redshirt. She goes to University of Connecticut.” Your best friend explains, probably reading through Wikipedia.

You and your best friend discuss Paige over dinner, scrolling through her various social media accounts. Now you knew her age, you had no problem voicing how you felt about her. “She’s hot.” You say as her most recent TikTok plays on a loop.

Not only was she blonde, which was historically your type, but she had the most beautiful blue eyes that could draw you in, even through a screen. She played basketball, so of course she was tall but the way she carried herself so confidently and purposeful had you in a chokehold. Her muscular body, that she had no problem showing off, had your heart rate spiking each time she flexed her biceps in videos that now flooded your For You Page.

“Well, you know where Connecticut isn’t far from? New York.” Your best friend says, “And where are we? NEW YORK!” She triumphs as if you hadn’t already been able to come to that conclusion yourself.

“I’m messaging her.” You announce, opening Instagram and searching for Paiges name.

“What are you going to say?”

“I don’t know, something flirty.” You reply, fingers hovering over your keyboard as you think.

“Picture of your mommy milkers?” Your best friend says and you laugh at her suggestion, “No! Not yet, anyway.”

You type out a message before deleting it and you finally land on,

heard you wanted to take me on a date?

Paige is quick to reply, you’ve barely put your phone down before it pings.

hahah you saw the live?

im embarrassed

dont be, im flattered

and wondering where you’re taking me

You cringe at your boldness but the send the message anyway. Paige was hot and she clearly thought you were too so what was the harm in having some fun?

are you busy right now?

wow, you don’t waste any time

not for the date darling, call me

Paige sends you her number and you press call, anxiously waiting for her to answer. When she does, her voice is smoky and sweet and your brows raise at her tone and you excuse yourself to your bedroom, leaving your best friend grinning from ear to ear like a kid in a candy store.

You and Paige chatted for longer than you realise and you find yourself giggling like a teenager at her words. It’s almost midnight when Paiges words become softer and slower, “It’s late. I should let you go.” You say not wanting to keep her up.

“Or you could stay on the phone and sing me to sleep.” She quips, earning another giggle from you.

“Let’s save that for another time. When I’m actually there and you can feel my breath on your neck.” You drawl.

You hear a sharp in take of breath, “Don’t play.” Paige says lowly.

“Goodnight Paige.” You giggle, satisfied with her flustered response.

“Goodnight Y/N.”

˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪ ౨ৎ˚₊✧˚ · .

a/n: just a short one but this was actually really fun to write! hope u enjoy 💋 vinnie hacker mention because p is never escaping that 😭

[honeydippedfiction]

She's Mine {JB9}

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Synopsis:

Warnings: Heavy Flirting & Tension, Joe Being Down Horrendous, Mild Language, Slight Possessiveness

Themes: Push & Pull Romance, Reader loves teasing Joe, They're in love your honour.

WC: 10.8k

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A/N: I apologise if this sucks, I had so many ideas so I just said screw it and combined them. Also yes there's some similar elements like Red Zone idk I just like Joe like this for some reason, sue me😅

• you DO NOT have my permission to copy my work, upload as your own, translate, or repost on any other website •

It had been nearly two years since Joe and Y/N started dating, and the relationship had changed both of them in ways they hadn’t anticipated. What started as a flirty encounter at a charity event had quickly evolved into something deeper, more complicated, and more real than either of them had expected.

Y/N stood in front of the full-length mirror, adjusting the strap of her dress and smoothing out the fabric. She liked how she looked tonight—sleek, confident, and undeniably herself. But she also couldn’t deny the fluttering in her chest when she thought about Joe. He had a way of making her feel seen, even when she wasn’t sure if she fully understood herself.

Joe had never been with a Black woman before, and despite the constant hum of media attention around them, he never treated her any differently than any other person. But Y/N could sense that, for him, she was an entry into a new world, one that he hadn’t fully explored until they met. It wasn’t that he was uncomfortable with her culture—far from it. It was just that sometimes, she could see the questions in his eyes. He was learning, too, and though he was often quiet about it, Y/N knew he was just as introspective as she was. Their love was still new, and they were still figuring out how to navigate their differences in ways that felt right for both of them.

"Are you ready, baby?" Joe's voice called out from the other side of the apartment, deep and warm, like it always was when he was close.

Y/N’s lips curved into a smile, and she turned toward the doorway. “Just about. You know how I am—always taking forever.”

Joe leaned against the doorframe, wearing a perfectly tailored suit that fit his broad shoulders just right. He looked good, too good, in that effortlessly cool, "I don’t have to try this hard" way. But his eyes softened when they met hers, a flicker of admiration dancing behind the usual quiet confidence.

“You always look perfect,” he said, his tone so casual, but his eyes held the weight of his words.

Y/N shrugged but felt the warmth spread across her cheeks. “Thanks. But I know you’re just saying that because I’m your girlfriend.”

He smirked, pushing off the door frame and walking toward her. His hand brushed hers as he took a step closer, and despite their routine, she still felt that electric spark every time. "Well, that’s true. But it’s also because it’s the truth." His eyes flickered down to the necklace she was wearing—a delicate gold piece he had bought her for their one-year anniversary. It was simple but thoughtful, just like him.

Y/N smiled, appreciating the way he always made her feel special, even in the smallest of moments. “How’s your wrist?” she asked, noticing the slight tension in his jaw as he reached for his tie.

Joe sighed, rubbing his temple. “Still sore. It’s been a long week of practice. But nothing I can’t handle.”

Y/N’s brow furrowed. She’d been with Joe long enough to know when he was trying to downplay something. “Joe... if you’re hurt, you need to take care of yourself. You’re not invincible.”

He smiled softly at her, but there was a flicker of stubbornness in his eyes. “I’m fine. I can handle it. It’s just a little tension from all the snaps, you know?” He reached for the tie again, and Y/N didn’t miss the way his fingers lingered on the fabric, betraying the tension in his body. She didn’t want to push him, but sometimes she wished he would let his guard down just a little more.

“I still worry about you,” she said softly. “But I’m not going to nag. I’ll just keep making you food that’s good for you.”

Joe chuckled, his usual smirk appearing. “You really think you can fix me with a plate of food?”

“It’s worth a shot,” she replied with a wink. “You’ll feel better with some of my chicken and greens. Trust me.”

Joe laughed again, the sound rich and genuine, and for a moment, Y/N felt her heart soften. She had learned more about him in the past two years than she ever thought possible. He was the first white man she’d ever seriously been with, and the first person she had allowed to get close enough to see both the beauty and the burden of her life. Being the first Black woman Joe had ever dated added a layer of complexity they both had to navigate, but it was one they were both determined to face together.

They had talked about the difference in their experiences in the world, the subtle ways race played into how people viewed them. Joe had never been naïve about the fact that dating Y/N was new for him in many ways. But there was never a moment where he treated her differently—except for the obvious, which was that he cherished her in a way that felt like he was learning to love her culture as much as he loved her.

"Do you ever think about how different we are?" Y/N asked suddenly, leaning against the kitchen counter. “I mean, in terms of where we come from, the things we’ve experienced?”

Joe stopped adjusting his tie, his eyes locking onto hers. There was no hesitancy in his expression, only thoughtfulness. “All the time,” he admitted. “I’ve learned so much from you in ways I didn’t even know I needed. About the way people see you, the way the world works for you. It’s... it’s opened my eyes.”

Y/N nodded, her chest tightening a little. They hadn’t had this kind of conversation in a while, not because they avoided it, but because they both carried it in their hearts in different ways.

“I’m grateful for that,” she said quietly. “But, sometimes, I wonder if it’s hard for you. Dating me. Knowing I’m the first Black woman you’ve ever been with. I know it’s not just about race, but it matters, Joe. It’s a lot to take in.”

Joe’s expression softened, and without saying anything, he reached for her hand, pulling her gently into his chest. “Y/N, it’s not hard for me. It’s just part of the learning curve, you know? And I’m lucky to be on this journey with you. You make me want to be better. For you, for us. You don’t have to explain anything to me.”

Y/N melted into his embrace, feeling the sincerity in his words. “I just want you to know what you’re getting into,” she whispered. “It’s not just about me being your girlfriend—it’s about all the little things. The things I’ve had to grow up with, the things I’ve learned to navigate.”

“I know,” Joe murmured, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “But it’s also about us. And I want to learn with you, not just about you.”

For a moment, they stood there in silence, holding each other, letting the weight of their two years together settle between them. Y/N had always known Joe was different, that there was something in him that was unlike anyone else. But the longer they were together, the more she saw how much he was growing, how he was changing for the better. And maybe that was why she was willing to keep pushing through the difficult conversations, through the challenges of navigating a relationship that was as beautiful as it was complicated.

After all, their differences didn’t tear them apart. They only made them stronger.

Finally, Joe pulled back slightly, his eyes glimmering with mischief. "So... do I get my greens and chicken tonight, or are you just gonna keep holding out on me?"

Y/N laughed, feeling the tension ease between them as she leaned up and kissed his cheek. "You’re lucky I’m not holding out. Let’s get you fed, QB1."

Joe grinned, his usual swagger returning. “Best decision you’ll make all night.”

The laughter from their conversation faded, but the heat between them didn’t. If anything, it only intensified. Joe’s fingers still lingered on Y/N’s wrist as he pulled away from their hug, and she caught the flicker of desire in his eyes. The tension between them was palpable, crackling in the air like static electricity.

Y/N wasn’t about to let him get away with playing it cool, though. She noticed the way his gaze dropped to her lips for just a second longer than necessary. It was almost like he was waiting for her to make the first move.

She leaned back slightly, teasing the edges of her voice. “You really think you’re getting away with that chicken tonight, huh?”

Joe’s eyes narrowed, his lips quirking up at the corners in a mischievous smile. "It’s not just the chicken I’m after," he muttered under his breath, the weight of his words hanging heavy between them.

Y/N tilted her head, her lips curling into a knowing smirk. “Oh? What else do you want?”

Joe took a half step forward, closing the gap between them, and there it was—the unmistakable pull between them. The way his presence seemed to take up all the space, filling her senses until there was nothing else. His eyes darkened, his voice low as he looked down at her, "You know exactly what I want."

The way he said it, so blunt and raw, made her heart race. But instead of backing down, Y/N matched his intensity, her chin tilting up defiantly. “Yeah? You think you can handle me tonight, Joe? You’re in for more than just a good meal if you’re not careful.”

Joe’s hand brushed the side of her face as he tilted his head, his thumb running over her jawline like he was savoring the moment. His touch was so soft, so tender, that it made the sudden heat that rushed through her feel like a burn. “You have no idea what I can handle, Y/N,” he muttered, the words almost a challenge.

Y/N’s lips parted as her breath hitched, caught somewhere between temptation and control. “Maybe you should show me, then,” she whispered back, a daring little tease in her voice. Her fingers grazed the front of his shirt, brushing the buttons like she was trying to make him lose his composure.

But as soon as she touched him, Joe seemed to snap, his hands suddenly on her waist, pulling her closer with an urgency that surprised her. His lips were just inches from hers, but he paused, his eyes searching hers for a moment. “You’re playing with fire, Y/N,” he growled, his voice thick with desire and warning.

Y/N's heart skipped a beat. She could feel the intensity building, a rush of adrenaline coursing through her veins. “Maybe I like the burn,” she teased, leaning in as if to kiss him—but then pulling back at the last second, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

Joe cursed under his breath, his hands tightening around her waist, pulling her flush against him so that she could feel the heat of his body. "You're killing me, you know that?"

Y/N’s smile deepened. "I haven’t even started yet."

The playful tension between them was electric, but there was an underlying intensity that both of them had come to expect. Y/N was used to his confidence, but tonight, there was something about Joe’s demeanor that made her feel like he was just on the edge of losing control—and the idea of that, of him giving in to her completely, stirred something in her she couldn’t ignore.

Joe’s grip on her waist tightened, his fingers digging into her skin with just a hint of possessiveness. "You’re not gonna make me wait forever, are you?" His words were almost a warning now, a hint of frustration seeping through.

Y/N’s smile softened, but she wasn’t ready to give in. Not yet. “Maybe I will. You don’t get to control everything, Joe."

The sharpness in her voice made his chest tighten. He hated the push and pull, but he couldn’t deny that it excited him. There was something about her—about the way she made him feel out of control, something he hadn’t experienced before. Usually, he was the one in charge, the one everyone turned to for answers. But with Y/N? It was different. And damn if it didn’t drive him wild.

"You think I’m the one who needs to be in charge?" Joe said with a dark chuckle, leaning his forehead against hers for just a second. "You have no idea, do you? You have me twisted in ways you don’t even know."

Y/N’s lips brushed his ear as she leaned in, just a whisper. "That’s the problem, Joe. You think you’re in charge. But you’re just playing catch-up."

For a moment, Joe didn’t know whether to pull her closer or push her away. The pull between them was so strong, he could hardly breathe. "You think I’m playing?" he breathed, his hands skimming over her sides, holding her as if he couldn’t get enough. "I’m not the one playing games here. You’re the one making me lose control. Don’t act like you don’t know exactly what you’re doing to me."

Y/N’s eyes sparkled with mischief, and she let out a little laugh that only made Joe’s grip on her tighten. The sound of it, that soft but teasing laugh, was like a match to his already burning desire. She knew exactly what she was doing—and damn if it wasn’t driving him crazy.

"You really think you're the one in control here, huh?" Y/N teased, her fingers gently tracing the edge of his jaw. Her touch was light, almost deliberately so, and it only made Joe ache for more. She could feel his pulse racing under her fingertips, the tension between them thickening with every second.

Joe’s breath hitched. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep his composure with her this close, her lips practically begging him to kiss her again, her body pressed up against his in a way that felt like fire and ice all at once. But he couldn’t back down. Not now.

“No, I don’t think I’m in control,” Joe murmured, his voice rough. His hands slid lower along her waist, pulling her even closer so there was no more space between them. “I know I’m not in control. But that doesn’t mean I’m not going to fight for it.”

Y/N arched an eyebrow, clearly amused by his admission. “Fight for it?” she repeated, her lips curling into a seductive smile. "You’ve already lost, Joe. You’re way behind, and you’re still trying to catch up.”

Joe chuckled, a low sound that vibrated against her ear. His hands tightened on her hips as if to claim her, his lips grazing the edge of her earlobe. “You think you’ve won? You think I’m just going to let you walk away with the upper hand?” His words were laced with the kind of challenge that sent a thrill through both of them. "That’s cute."

Y/N’s smile faltered for just a second, a flicker of something dangerous sparking in her eyes. She wasn’t used to backing down, not from anyone, especially not from Joe. But there was something in his presence tonight, something possessive and all-consuming, that made her wonder if maybe, just maybe, he was right about this tug-of-war between them.

“You really think you can turn this around?” she asked, voice almost a dare. Her fingers found the collar of his shirt, pulling him down just a little closer, her breath warm against his skin. “Prove it.”

Joe felt his resolve slip. The playful tension was still there, but now there was something deeper, a shift from flirtation to something that could easily cross into something darker, more primal. “Don’t tempt me, Y/N,” he growled, his lips brushing over her neck. He wasn’t even sure if he meant it as a warning or a challenge anymore.

And then it happened. In one swift move, Joe leaned in, capturing her lips in a kiss that was far from tender. This time, there was no hesitation, no games. He kissed her as though he had nothing left to lose, his hands gripping her with a mix of desperation and possessiveness that made Y/N gasp into the kiss.

For a moment, she let herself be swept away, her hands tangling in his hair, matching his intensity. But just as quickly as the kiss started, she pulled away, her lips lingering just out of reach, her eyes flashing with mischief.

“See?” Y/N whispered, breathless from the kiss. “You’re always a step behind, Joe.”

The teasing tone in her voice was the last straw. Joe’s jaw clenched as he grabbed her by the waist and spun her around, pinning her against the wall with surprising force. Her breath hitched as her back collided with the cool surface, but the fire in her eyes only spurred him on. He leaned in close, his lips brushing against her ear as he spoke in a low, almost dangerous tone.

“Don’t push me too far, Y/N,” he warned, his voice thick with desire. “You think I’m playing, but you have no idea what I’m capable of when I’m this close to losing it.”

Y/N’s heart pounded in her chest as she looked up at him, the powerful intensity in his eyes sending a shiver down her spine. “I’m not afraid of you,” she said, her voice steady even though her pulse was racing. “Not at all.”

Joe’s lips curled into a grin, but there was something darker in it now, something possessive. “You should be,” he said, before capturing her lips again in a kiss that was rougher this time, more demanding, as though he was claiming her in every way possible. His hands moved over her body, a touch that was both gentle and forceful at the same time, as if he couldn’t decide whether he wanted to cherish her or lose himself completely in her.

Y/N’s fingers dug into his shoulders, pulling him closer, needing him just as much as he needed her. The mix of their bodies, the pull between them, was intoxicating.

But then, as quickly as it had started, Joe pulled back again, his forehead resting against hers, their breaths mingling as they both tried to regain control. His hands were still on her, gripping her firmly, but there was a softness to the way he held her now, a vulnerability he didn’t show often.

“You think I’m losing, huh?” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’m not the one who’s gonna give in first, Y/N.”

Y/N’s chest rose and fell with each breath, her lips tingling from his kisses. “Maybe you won’t give in,” she said, her voice low and teasing, “but you sure as hell are going to work for it.”

Joe’s grip on her tightened, a low growl escaping his throat as the push and pull of their relationship continued to blur the line between control and surrender. “If I have to work for it,” he whispered, his voice dark, “then I’ll make sure you never forget who’s in charge.”

—

Joe had never been in a relationship like this before. Sure, he’d had flings. The casual dates, the one-night stands, even a few steady things here and there. But nothing like this. Nothing that could even compare to the way Y/N made him feel. It wasn’t just about the sex—the way she had him on edge, unable to think straight when she was near—it was the depth of everything she brought to his life. The way her presence grounded him, but also made him crave the chaos she brought.

But Y/N? She wasn’t like the other women he’d dated. She wasn’t trying to fit herself into some idea of what he wanted. She was unapologetically herself. And even though Joe had never dated a black woman before, he was more than okay with it. Y/N wasn’t just beautiful. She was real. She brought a different energy, a new perspective into his life, and she was everything he didn’t know he needed.

Still, that didn’t mean he didn’t feel in over his head sometimes.

Joe stood by the window in his office, looking out over the city. He hadn’t meant to be standing there in silence, but his mind was racing. He kept thinking about how far they’d come. About the late nights, the quiet moments, the arguments and apologies, and of course, the pleasure. God, Y/N had a way of getting under his skin. But she also had this way of making him feel like he was the only one who mattered to her.

As if on cue, there was a soft knock on the door. His heart fluttered, and for a second, he was caught off guard. He hadn’t even realized he was waiting for her.

“Come in,” he called, his voice smoother than he expected.

The door opened, and Y/N stepped in, her presence filling the room instantly. She was wearing an oversized sweater that hung off her shoulders just right, and those damn jeans that hugged her in all the right places. Joe's pulse quickened, his hands instinctively tightening around the edge of the window frame.

Y/N noticed, of course. She always noticed.

"What's got you so distracted?" she asked, her voice a mix of teasing and concern. Her brown eyes glinted with that signature mischief, but there was something deeper there too. The way she always seemed to look at him, like she was figuring him out with every passing moment.

Joe chuckled, but it was a little breathless. "Just thinking, that's all."

She raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing on her lips. "Thinking about me?" she asked, her tone teasing, yet a bit more serious than she probably meant.

Joe met her gaze, unable to hide the intensity in his ocean eyes. “Of course. Always thinking about you.”

The words left his mouth before he could stop them, but the moment they did, he realized just how true they were. Y/N was always on his mind, even when she wasn’t with him. He’d never been someone who got caught up before. Never someone who let himself fall so hard for someone else, but with Y/N? It was impossible to hold back.

Y/N walked toward him, taking slow, deliberate steps that sent a spark of desire straight through him. She stopped just a few inches from him, looking up at him through those dark, knowing eyes. She was so close now, he could feel the warmth of her body, the sweet scent of her perfume mixing with the air between them.

“You know,” she began, her voice low, “for someone who claims to have it all figured out, you sure don’t seem very confident tonight.”

Joe swallowed, unable to tear his gaze away from her lips. God, she was doing it again. Throwing him off balance, just enough to make him want more.

“I’m confident,” he muttered, his hand brushing against hers, the touch almost accidental but still enough to send a jolt of electricity through him. “Just... a little distracted by the most beautiful woman in the room.”

Y/N's lips twitched into a smile, but there was a glimmer of something softer in her eyes. Something that told Joe she could see right through him. She knew what she did to him.

“You’re not the only one who's distracted, Joe,” she whispered, stepping closer still until her chest was almost touching his. "It's cute how you pretend like you're not down horrendous for me."

He smirked, though it was shaky, unsure. “I’m not pretending. I just...” He hesitated, his voice lowering. “You’ve had me from the beginning, Y/N. You know that.”

Y/N reached up, her fingers grazing the side of his face as she let the silence stretch between them. Joe’s heart was beating too fast, his breath shallow as her touch seemed to burn him. It wasn’t a flirtation anymore; it was something heavier, something deeper.

She looked up at him with that same mixture of challenge and vulnerability. “Then why haven’t you kissed me tonight yet?”

Joe didn’t even think—he leaned down, his lips crashing into hers with a hunger that had been building between them for what felt like forever. He didn’t care about the world outside. In this moment, there was only her—the way she tasted, the way she responded to him, her body pressing into his like she was trying to absorb him.

But just as quickly as she had kissed him, she pulled away, her lips curling into that playful smile again. "You really think that was going to be that easy, huh?"

His chest was rising and falling with each breath, his mind in a fog as he tried to process what just happened. “God, Y/N. You’re killing me.”

Y/N’s hands slid up his chest, fingers pressing into the fabric of his shirt as she deepened the kiss, her body leaning into his as though she couldn’t get close enough. Joe’s heart was pounding, his pulse a frantic rhythm in his ears. She made him feel like he was on the edge of something he couldn’t pull back from, and every part of him—his mind, his body, his soul—was screaming for more.

But just when Joe thought he had her, just when he thought he could finally take control of this burning attraction between them, Y/N pulled back, her lips leaving his in a slow, deliberate drag that had him groaning in frustration. Her breath was shallow, her eyes heavy with something both tender and dangerous.

"You’re getting too comfortable, Joe," she whispered, her voice teasing but with an edge. "You really think I’m just gonna let you have me this easily?"

Joe’s chest was rising and falling with every breath, his entire body tense. Damn, she was good at this. She knew exactly how to make him feel like he was on the edge of losing control without actually giving in. It made his head spin and his heart race.

"I don’t know, Y/N," he said, his voice low and rough. "But I sure as hell think you’re making it harder to hold back."

Her smile was wicked, and there was that playful glint in her eyes again—like she was daring him to chase her, to prove just how far he was willing to go. He couldn’t tell if she was pulling away on purpose, to test his patience or to test them, but he hated it. He hated not knowing if she was teasing him, or if she was actually trying to push him away.

"Maybe I like making you work for it," she replied, her tone sultry, her fingers trailing across the fabric of his shirt before resting on his collarbone. The subtle pressure sent a shockwave of heat through his body.

Joe shook his head, his hands gripping her waist, pulling her closer as his eyes darkened with intensity. "You’re playing with fire, Y/N," he growled. His voice was low, dangerous, and there was something almost possessive in the way he held her—something that he couldn’t deny, something that had been building for months.

"Am I?" she asked, cocking her head, that ever-present challenge dancing behind her eyes. "I think you like it."

Joe leaned down, his lips grazing her ear. "You have no idea how much," he murmured, his breath hot against her skin. His fingers tightened on her waist, almost as if trying to hold her in place, as if he couldn’t let her slip away again.

Y/N chuckled softly, the sound of it like music to his ears, even though it was teasing and full of mischief. "You’re funny, Joe," she said, pulling away just enough to look up at him, her hand resting on his chest. "You act like you're the only one in control here. Like you’re the only one who can make moves."

Joe was breathless. "You know I’m not the only one," he said, his lips brushing hers again in a brief, heated kiss. He was so close to breaking. So close to giving in to this tension that had been building between them for what felt like forever.

"But you sure do like pretending," Y/N teased, a smile tugging at her lips. She gave him that look again—the one that made his heart race and his thoughts scatter. It was a look that said she knew just how much power she had over him. And damn, if that didn’t make him fall for her all over again.

Joe let out a frustrated sigh, his hands gripping her hips tightly. "God, you’re killing me, Y/N." His voice was rough with longing, his body leaning into hers, his breath coming faster with each passing second. He wanted to kiss her, to take this further, but there was something about the way she held back that kept him in check.

She reached up, her fingers brushing against his jaw, her touch soft, almost teasing. “Then don’t wait for me, Joe,” she whispered, her lips brushing against his ear. “Take what you want.”

Y/N’s touch lingered on Joe’s skin, sending electric sparks across his chest. He’d never quite felt this way before. She was different—beautiful in a way that felt so familiar, so raw. But there was something else in the air between them now, something that made his chest tighten, his breath catch.

Joe’s heart slammed in his chest. He knew what was coming. Hell, he had been waiting for it, but now that it was here, he found himself caught between the urge to kiss her senseless and the need to figure out why he felt like he was failing her in some way.

His hands rested at his sides, the tension thick between them. “You think I’m scared?” he muttered, his voice rough with frustration. “You’ve been making me work for this—for you.”

Y/N’s eyes softened, and she reached up, her fingers grazing the side of his face again. “Scared? Nah. Just... you don’t seem like the type of guy to let anyone get under your skin. But with me? I think I’m doing just that.”

The words hit him like a punch. He wasn’t scared of her—hell, he wasn’t even sure what scared felt like anymore. But there was this weight to her, this intensity. The way she carried herself. And the deeper he got into this with her, the more he was realizing just how much he had underestimated her, and how much he needed her in a way he’d never felt before.

“I’m not scared,” he muttered, a half-laugh escaping his lips, but it sounded more like a sigh. “You’re just…” He paused, struggling to find the words. “You’re not like anyone I’ve ever been with.”

Y/N tilted her head, studying him with those dark eyes that seemed to see right through him. She wasn’t just teasing anymore. This wasn’t playful. This was real. She was real.

“Not like anyone? Is it because I’m... different?” Her voice was low, almost too casual, but Joe heard the subtle vulnerability beneath it. “Because I’m Black?”

Her words hit him in a way he didn’t expect. His mind whirled as he stared at her, realizing just how much he hadn’t considered. He’d never dated a woman like Y/N. Hell, he hadn’t even considered the idea that his feelings for her would bring him face-to-face with things he’d never had to think about before—things that were buried deep under the surface. The idea that he wasn’t just falling for her, but for everything she represented, terrified him.

His chest tightened at her question, because it was the kind of thing he had been avoiding even thinking about. He’d never dated a woman like Y/N before. Never been with someone who not only challenged his perceptions but also made him feel this level of unsettled in a way that he couldn’t even put into words.

“You know,” he started, his voice unsteady. “You’re the first Black woman I’ve ever dated. And I—I didn’t even realize how different that was until I started... really thinking about it.”

Y/N’s gaze softened, a quiet understanding passing between them. She wasn’t surprised. Joe knew she’d seen this coming. But her reaction still felt like a weight off his chest. She didn’t make him feel stupid for saying it, for realizing something he hadn’t thought about before.

“I get it,” she said gently, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “You’re not the first guy to have that realization. It’s okay to feel... whatever you’re feeling.”

But that wasn’t the thing that had been weighing on Joe’s mind. It was deeper than just dating someone from a different background. It was about how much she made him question himself, made him confront things he didn’t even know were there. How freaking terrified he was of messing this up.

“I don’t want to screw this up,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “I never thought I’d end up with someone like you, Y/N. You make me feel things I’ve never felt before.”

Y/N’s expression softened, and she reached up to cup his face in her hands. “What do you mean, someone like me?”

Joe’s breath hitched, and he felt a tightness in his chest. “Someone who... challenges me. Who makes me see the world differently. Someone who’s not afraid to call me out. But also someone who makes me feel like I don’t know enough, like... like I’ve been missing out on a whole world I didn’t even know was there.”

Y/N gave him a faint, understanding smile. “You’re not the first white guy I’ve dated who feels like that. But, Joe... you don’t need to apologize for it. I don’t need you to have all the answers. I just need you to be you.”

Joe closed his eyes, leaning into her touch, his chest rising and falling as he took a shaky breath. “You’re so much more than I expected. And I’m... so far in my head about everything, I don’t even know what I’m doing. But I need you to know how much I care. How much I... want you.”

Her fingers trailed down his neck, and she tilted her head, studying him carefully. “I know, Joe. I feel it too. But you’re going to have to stop overthinking it. I’m not some prize you have to win. You don’t need to prove yourself to me. Just be with me.”

Joe’s pulse hammered in his ears. He wanted to kiss her. He wanted to pull her into him and never let go, but this... this was different. He had to be real with her. This wasn’t just a game, or some fling. He knew that now.

“Y/N...” He shook his head, frustrated with himself. “I don’t want to hurt you. I don’t know how to make you understand how much this means to me. You’re my first everything like this.”

She looked at him, the corners of her lips lifting in a knowing smile. “I know, Joe. And I’m not looking for perfection. I’m looking for real. And right now, I’m here. I’m with you. And that’s enough for me.”

He leaned his forehead against hers, taking in her words, trying to calm the whirlwind inside his chest. This was real. Y/N wasn’t asking for him to have all the answers. She wasn’t asking for perfection. She was asking for him to show up.

And for the first time in a long while, Joe felt like he could do that. He could be himself with her. All of him. Even the parts that terrified him.

“I’m down horrendous for you,” Joe admitted, his voice rough and full of raw honesty. “I’ve never been like this with anyone before. You’ve got me tangled up in you. In us.”

Y/N smiled, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. “Good. You’re exactly where I need you to be.”

And in that moment, Joe knew it wasn’t just the feeling of being “down horrendous” that mattered. It was the fact that he was letting himself fall—for her, for this connection. And for the first time, he wasn’t scared of the drop.

–

Joe leaned against the kitchen counter, looking like he was trying his hardest to act casual, but Y/N could see right through him. He was completely down horrendous. She had that effect on him, and they both knew it.

"You know," she said, sliding the last slice of pizza onto her plate, her eyes glinting with playful mischief. "You keep looking at me like that, Joe. People might start thinking you’re in love with me or something."

Joe scoffed, but there was no mistaking the slight pink flush creeping up his neck. He was definitely flustered, despite how hard he tried to hide it. "I don’t know what you’re talking about," he muttered, trying to shift his attention to the game on TV, but his eyes kept darting back to her. Of course she caught it.

Y/N leaned in just a little closer, letting the tension between them simmer. "You sure about that? Because you’re looking at me like you’re about to do something… wild."

"Stop," he warned, his voice rougher than he intended, the kind of warning that was more an invitation than anything else. His gaze was locked onto her lips now, and she smirked.

"Make me," she challenged, arching an eyebrow.

Joe's breath hitched. This was it—every damn time she got this close, he could feel that pull. The push and pull between them had been relentless ever since they started dating nearly two years ago. But it wasn’t just the attraction; it was the way she was different—the first Black woman he’d ever dated, and the one who made him question every idea he had about what he was looking for in a partner.

Y/N wasn’t like anyone he had dated before. She didn’t play by his usual rules, didn’t fawn over his fame or football career. She challenged him. She forced him to confront parts of himself that he didn’t even know existed—things about race, identity, culture, and connection that he hadn’t thought about before he met her.

She was unapologetically confident, bold, and there was something about the way she held herself that made Joe feel like he was constantly on edge, wanting more but not entirely sure how to navigate it.

"I’m serious," he said, his voice softer now, almost like he was trying to regain control. "You’re killing me with that look."

Y/N’s eyes softened, but only for a second. Then, as if she couldn't help herself, she leaned in just a fraction closer. "I’m not doing anything. You're just letting me get to you." Her voice was barely above a whisper, but it felt like an accusation.

Joe exhaled, frustrated and fully aware of the shift in the air. He could already feel the possessiveness creeping up—he hated the thought of anyone else getting her attention the way he did. He wasn’t used to being the one who felt jealous, but with Y/N, it was different. He needed to be the one to keep her attention locked on him.

"Don’t do that," he growled, stepping closer, almost trapping her against the counter. His hands landed on either side of her, caging her in, but his eyes were far from angry. They were heated, dark. "Don’t make me lose control."

Y/N leaned back just enough to meet his gaze, her smile teasing but knowing. "You’re already losing it, Joe. I can tell."

Joe wasn’t sure why he was fighting it anymore. His usual smooth, confident self had fallen away, replaced by something more primal. Y/N had this way of getting under his skin, making him feel exposed in a way no one ever had before.

But she didn’t give him a chance to recover. She stepped out from the kitchen counter, making a show of casually walking past him. She brushed her fingers against his arm, sending a jolt straight to his chest. "You really think I’m gonna be the one to lose control here?" she said, her voice a little breathless, knowing damn well how she was affecting him.

Joe's patience was wearing thin. "You’re playing with fire, Y/N," he said, low and intense, stepping up behind her. She wasn’t going to get away with that. Not this time.

She tilted her head, her eyes daring him to do something about it. "Then burn me, Joe. You’re the one who can’t handle it."

Joe’s hands shot out, grabbing her wrist with a little more force than he meant to, but Y/N didn’t flinch. She liked it. Hell, she wanted it. "I don’t want to hear you talking like that unless you mean it," he said, his breath hot against her ear, his fingers tightening around her wrist just enough to make her shiver.

She tilted her head back, her lips brushing against his ear. "You don’t get to tell me what I can and can’t say," she teased, but there was a flicker of something else in her voice—a challenge he couldn’t ignore.

Joe’s grip loosened just slightly, but not enough for her to pull away. He was always teetering between wanting to let go completely and keeping things just a little out of reach. But tonight? He wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep pretending he wasn’t all in.

"You think you’re in charge, huh?" He leaned in closer, the heat between them practically crackling. "You forget who you’re dealing with. I’m the one who calls the shots here."

Y/N smiled, lips curling sensually. "Then make me listen."

It was impossible to ignore the magnetism between them anymore. They had been together for almost two years, and while they had their ups and downs, the tension between them was always undeniable. Their relationship had made Joe confront parts of himself he never thought he would. Y/N was the first woman to make him feel so seen, to challenge him in ways that pushed him outside his comfort zone. She wasn’t just any woman—she was the first Black woman he had ever dated, and somehow, everything was different with her. She made him think differently, not just about the world, but about himself.

Her presence was a constant reminder of that shift, and he couldn’t help but feel both unsettled and more alive than he ever had before.

Joe’s hand drifted up, brushing her hair back from her neck as he pulled her closer. "You’re gonna regret that," he warned, his voice low and serious.

But Y/N didn’t look scared. She only leaned in closer, their faces a breath away. "We’ll see, won’t we?"

—-

The atmosphere in the room was electric, the kind of night that felt bigger than both of them. The NFL Honors was an event of its own, the crowd bustling with the game’s finest—players, coaches, and legends. The stage was set for glitz, glamour, and recognition, and the spotlight was firmly on Joe. But for him, it wasn’t the award that was making his heart race.

It was Y/N.

She was standing just off to the side of the room, her presence commanding attention even though she wasn’t the one being celebrated tonight. The deep, midnight blue of her gown hugged her body in all the right ways, the delicate straps that criss crossed her back highlighting the graceful curve of her neck. Her hair was styled in soft waves, a perfect contrast to the sharp, sleek edges of her dress. Her lips were painted in a deep shade of red, her eyes glimmering with mischief, her confidence so palpable that it could be felt in the air around her.

Joe couldn’t stop looking at her.

It wasn’t that he hadn’t seen her dressed up before. But tonight, she was radiating something new—something electric. His hand itched to reach out to her, to pull her into him, to remind everyone around them that she was his.

"You’re making it hard to concentrate, you know that?" Joe murmured under his breath, his eyes glued to her as she turned to look at him, her lips curving into a knowing smile.

Y/N raised an eyebrow, the hint of a challenge in her gaze. "Is that a problem?" she teased, leaning a little closer, her voice like honey but laced with something daring.

Joe’s chest tightened. The way she always had that effect on him, the way she made everything else fade away when she was near—it was like no one else mattered. Especially tonight, when everything felt like it was culminating in this perfect moment.

"No," he responded simply, his voice low, his eyes darkening with desire. "But you might be distracting the hell out of me."

Before Y/N could say anything else, Ja'Marr Chase and Tee Higgins slid into view, each of them sporting devilish grins. Joe couldn’t even pretend to be surprised. His two closest teammates had always loved to tease him, especially when it came to Y/N.

Ja'Marr nudged Joe with his elbow, an exaggerated whistle escaping his lips as he eyed Y/N. “Damn, Joe. You lucky as hell. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’ve got the best thing in the room right there.”

Tee, unable to keep a straight face, chimed in. “Bro, you’re seriously making us look bad. We’re all dressed up, but she’s got you beat. I don’t know if we’re gonna be able to compete with that.”

Joe's grin was the kind that wasn’t fully amused, but still carried that cocky edge. His fingers curled into fists at his sides, but his gaze never left Y/N. She was still looking at him, her lips curling into a soft smile, but there was something dangerous in the way she glanced back at him—like she knew exactly what was going on, and she was loving every second of it.

"You both wish," Joe muttered, but his eyes were already scanning Y/N once more, his desire impossible to hide. He didn’t care who noticed—he was so down bad for her, and he liked it that way.

Ja'Marr snickered and glanced at Tee. "Man, this dude’s gone soft. The moment he found her, he stopped paying attention to all the rest of us." He winked at Joe. "Don't worry, we get it. She's something else."

Joe’s jaw clenched, but there was a glint of pride in his eyes. "Don't get it twisted, I’m just making sure no one forgets who she’s with." He said it like it was nothing, but his voice was low, protective, possessive in a way that only Y/N could inspire.

Y/N noticed, of course. She caught the way Joe’s tone shifted when he spoke about her, how his voice had dropped with that familiar possessiveness, and she couldn’t help the thrill it sent through her. Her smile deepened, but her eyes held a challenge.

“Is that what you’re doing, baby?” she murmured, her voice low but laced with heat, every syllable heavy with the unspoken pull between them. “Trying to mark your territory?”

Joe looked back at her, his expression softening, but his eyes still filled with that intensity, that hunger. "Damn right. No one else gets to look at you the way I do."

There it was again, the low, undeniable tension between them. Y/N felt her heart skip a beat. She loved how possessive he could be, how the world melted away the moment they were alone together. It made her feel seen, wanted, like she was the only thing that mattered to him. And in a room full of people, that was what really kept her coming back for more.

Ja'Marr and Tee, sensing the shift, couldn’t help but chuckle at Joe’s evident struggle to keep his cool. “Alright, man, we’ll leave you to it,” Ja'Marr said, flashing a grin. “Just don’t break any necks, alright? We still have a night to get through.”

Joe shot them a quick glare, but he didn’t care. Not with Y/N still standing there, her eyes locked on his, her smile sly and seductive. As soon as the guys moved away, he took a step toward her, his gaze never leaving hers.

Y/N raised an eyebrow, playing it cool, but there was a wicked glint in her eye. "You like that, huh? Getting teased in front of your whole team like that?"

Joe didn’t answer at first. He didn’t need to. His body was already moving toward her, his hand coming to rest on her waist, his fingers brushing the small of her back as he pulled her closer. The slight possessiveness in his touch sent a fire shooting through her, and before she knew it, she was leaning into him, the tension between them so thick it was almost unbearable.

“I like that you’re mine,” Joe whispered against her ear, his voice low but full of that dangerous edge she craved. "And everyone else is gonna know it tonight."

Y/N’s lips curled into a smile, her breath catching in her throat. "Is that so?" she murmured. "Well, lucky for you, I don’t mind showing them."

His grip on her tightened just a little, his eyes darkening. “You sure about that? You wanna test me tonight, Y/N?”

The challenge was clear in his voice, the flirtation palpable. But beneath it all, she could feel the undercurrent of something deeper. Something real.

Y/N’s heart pounded, and with a sly smile, she stood on her toes to kiss his cheek—just a soft brush of her lips against his skin. But her voice, when it came, was smooth and full of promise.

“I’ll show you just how much I’m yours, Joe,” she whispered, her words barely audible above the music and chatter.

Joe’s breath hitched, his hands coming to rest on her hips, possessive and claiming, and he could hardly think straight anymore. “Damn right you will,” he said, his voice rough with desire. “Just wait ‘til we’re alone, baby.”

And as they stood there, surrounded by the flash of cameras and the cheers of the night, Joe and Y/N both knew that tonight, the real celebration wouldn’t be about awards or recognition. It would be about them—what they had, what they’d fought for, and how, despite everything, they had each other.

And Joe? He was so down bad for her, and that was exactly how he liked it.

JB9 Taglist: @lilfreakjez, @dasia21

[purplereina11]

🏀 Based after Eleven 🏀

Chapter 9

It started as playful online chemistry with someone unexpected-Alexia Putellas. Flirty banter turned into late-night texts before a heated moment on a club balcony shifted everything.

Now it was post game meet-ups, no-strings friends-with-benefits arrangement. They shared passion, comfort, and the grind of pro sports. But as the season went on, lines blurred.

It was supported to stay simple. These things never do however. Not in professional sports. The option to stay isn't always yours.

The press room was packed—shoulder to shoulder with journalists, cameras, microphones, and the heat of anticipation buzzing off every surface. The pre-final press conference always drew attention, but this one was something else. It wasn’t just another game. It was a shot at trophy number four of four. A chance to keep chasing history.

And most importantly it could be your last game in Barcelona.

You sat at the table in your team’s warm-up top, the club crest over your heart, ankle still slightly taped under your pants but stronger now—your presence here was no longer symbolic. You were starting.

Your coach answered the early questions—tactics, opponents, rotations. Maya followed with her usual sharpness and charm. Then it was your turn, and the room leaned forward like it always did.

And after a few standard questions—your fitness, your leadership, how much this final means—came the one everyone had been waiting for.

A quiet, confident voice near the back asked it, “You’ve been pretty quiet during all the contract speculation, but with the season almost over, can you comment on where you stand? What’s driving your decision?”

You took a breath, looked down at the table for a second, then straightened up. No spin. No fluff. Just truth. “Look,” you said evenly, your voice steady but honest, “It’s not just about playing basketball. If it was, I’d already have re-signed.”

Cameras clicked. Pens paused.

“I’ve loved playing here. I’ve grown here. I’ve helped make history here. But this job? This career? It doesn’t last forever. We’ve got a small window to earn, and then it’s over. So when one team offers you a certain figure—and several others are offering double, sometimes triple—“you shrugged, “you’d be stupid not to think about it.”

There was a ripple across the room. Eyes wide. A few scribbled notes. One or two raised brows.

“It’s not just about the badge on the shirt,” you continued. “It’s about where you are. Who you’re playing with. How you’re treated. And yeah—money matters. Because five, ten years from now? When I’m done? No one’s gonna pay me to relive my glory days. It’s about building something now that helps me later.”

A silence followed. Not awkward—respectful. The moderator moved to wrap, but you leaned forward to finish your thought.

“Right now, I’m focused on this final. I want this last trophy. I want to finish strong. But after that…” you paused, a small, knowing smile tugging at the corner of your mouth, “we’ll see who’s really in the business of backing their belief with more than just words and promises”

And with that, the press conference ended. But the headlines they were just getting started.

—

The final week of training before the big game was always a pressure cooker—drills crisp, energy high, everyone a little sharper, a little louder. Every pass felt tighter. Every play call had weight. And you were locked in. Blocking out the noise. Staying focused on the fourth trophy—just one game away.

Your ankle had held up, your rhythm was back, and you’d just hit a string of perfect shots in transition when your coach called a sudden stop. “[Last Name],” she said, voice raised slightly over the buzz of sneakers on hardwood. “You’ve got a visitor.”

You frowned, confused. Visitors weren’t unusual, but during closed practice? That was rare. You turned toward the far end of the gym, wiping sweat off your brow as you jogged off court—and then you saw her. Alexia. Hovering in the doorway, her hoodie pulled low, hands shoved into her sleeves, like she wasn’t sure she was actually going to go through with this.

Your heart kicked—fast, involuntary. You walked over slowly, the sounds of practice fading behind you, your teammates shooting glances in your direction, but no one saying a word. Alexia’s eyes met yours, soft but determined.

You stopped in front of her, arms crossed, breath still catching from drills. “What are you doing here?”

She swallowed. “I know you’re preparing. I didn’t want to interrupt.”

You raised a brow. “Bit late for that.”

She flinched slightly, then nodded. “I know sorry.”

You waited. And then, quietly, she said, “I want to go to Paris.”

You blinked. “What?”

“For the final,” she clarified, eyes flicking to yours, holding them now. “I want to be there. I want to support you.”

You stared at her, trying to read between the lines—because with Alexia, it was never just about what she said. There was always something else, something buried beneath the surface.

She continued, softer this time. “I know I haven’t earned much of anything lately. But I still want to be there. If you’ll let me.”

You exhaled slowly, heart a mess of adrenaline and emotion. You’d told yourself you were done. You meant it when you said it. But looking at her now—open, asking, showing up for you without expectation for the first time in a long time— It made something shift.

You glanced past her, toward the gym full of noise and motion and pressure, then back to her. “I’m not a sideshow, Alexia. This isn’t about proving a point.”

She nodded quickly. “It’s not. I swear. I just… I want to be there when you win. If you’ll let me stand in the crowd this time. Not outside your door.”

The honesty in her voice made your throat tighten. You paused, then gave her a small nod. “Paris, then.” And for the first time in what felt like forever, she smiled without fear behind it.

You gave her a long look—sweat still clinging to your skin, the thrum of practice still pulsing faintly in your limbs—and she just stood there in the doorway, shifting slightly on her feet, eyes never leaving yours.

“Come over later?” she asked, voice quiet. Not a demand. Not a lure. Just… an ask.

Simple. Soft. You let the words hang in the air between you, unreadable for a beat too long. Long enough to make her glance down and lick her lips like she was bracing for a no. But you surprised yourself with your answer.

“Okay.” Her eyes flicked up, surprised. Hopeful—but cautious. Like she wasn’t sure you’d say it, and even now, wasn’t sure what it meant. You stepped back just a little. “I’ve got film review after this, and recovery. I’ll text.”

She nodded, her voice barely above the hum of bouncing basketballs behind you. “I’ll be home.”

Then she turned and left as quietly as she came, the door swinging shut behind her like a breath being released. You stood there a moment longer, staring at the space where she’d been. Something in your chest fluttered, unsure. But something steadier whispered, not everything was finished yet.

And maybe, just maybe… some things were ready to begin again.

—

You stood outside her door for longer than you probably should’ve—hands buried in your jacket pockets, staring at the brass numbers like they were going to give you an answer. Like they'd whisper what to say, how to act, who to be.

It was easier before. When everything was sharp. When it was anger and jealousy and fire. Now… now it was a slow burn. An ache. A silence you didn’t know how to fill.

You knocked. Not hard. Just enough.

The door opened almost instantly, like she’d been standing right behind it, waiting.

Alexia looked tired—but not unkempt. Like someone who hadn’t been sleeping but still wanted to make it look like she was fine. Hair pulled back, clean hoodie, fresh mascara but no concealer under her eyes. She looked like she’d tried. And that fact alone made your chest twist.

“Hey,” she said softly. Not a greeting. A test.

“Hey,” you replied, just as quiet. Just as unsure.

She stepped aside without saying anything else. You walked in, that familiar scent of her place wrapping around you like it always did—fresh linen, vanilla, something vaguely citrus. You used to tease her about how her apartment smelled like a luxury candle. Now it just smelled like her.

You didn’t sit. You hovered, shifting from foot to foot like you were still deciding if you were staying.

Alexia leaned against the back of her couch, arms crossed loosely. Not defensive—just contained. “You want water or something?” she offered.

“No, I’m okay.”

Silence stretched. Not tense. Just… cautious.

You looked around the room like it would give you something to latch onto, but the space was cleaner than usual. No clutter. Nothing out of place. Which only told you how much she was trying to maintain control.

You stepped a little closer but not enough to breach whatever line was hanging invisible between you.

Alexia’s lips pressed together, then relaxed.

Her eyes flicked to yours then. Not sharp. Not soft either. Just looking. Like she was trying to read you through layers she didn’t know were still there.

You stood there, silent for a moment, then crossed your arms—more out of instinct than anything. “I don’t really know how to be around you anymore.”

Alexia met your eyes again. “Yeah. I feel that too.”

It wasn’t cold. It wasn’t angry. It was just… careful.

You wanted to reach for her. You wanted to say something clever, something disarming, something that would take all of this back to the place where you knew her and she knew you, and it didn’t feel like walking through emotional landmines just to ask how the other one’s been.

But you didn’t.

Because this time—this moment—wasn’t about kissing your way around the hard parts.

So you just said, “I don’t know what this is anymore. Or what it’s supposed to be.”

And Alexia nodded, not flinching from the truth. “Me neither.”

You both stood in that admission like it was something sacred. Something broken.

And for once, neither of you tried to fix it. Not yet.

You stood there a moment longer, eyes on the floor, breath caught in your throat.

And then, barely louder than a whisper, “Can I have a hug?”

Alexia didn’t even pause.

Her arms were around you in an instant—gentle at first, like she was afraid to break something already cracked. But when you sank into her, let your weight fall against her chest, she pulled you in tighter. One hand slid up your back, the other cradled the back of your head, her fingers threading into your hair like they had a lifetime of permission.

You hadn’t meant to cry. Not really. But it started anyway. Quiet at first, then steadier. You buried your face in her shoulder, the fabric of her hoodie soft and warm and familiar, and let yourself unravel just a little.

Alexia didn’t say anything. She just held you. Rocked you slightly, barely perceptible—like the motion was more for her than for you.

And when you finally pulled back, your face damp and your voice stuck somewhere in your chest, she didn’t tease. She didn’t joke. She just reached up and gently wiped the tears from your cheeks with the sleeve of her hoodie, her touch soft, slow, careful. Like she was afraid to make anything worse.

“Hey,” she said, her voice low and quiet, “it’s okay. You don’t have to hold it together right now.”

That made your throat tighten even more. “I just… everything’s shifting,” you managed, barely. “And I don’t know what’s coming. With my career. With anything.”

“I know,” she said, thumb brushing just beneath your eye again. “I know it’s a lot. You’re allowed to feel it.”

Her forehead pressed gently against yours, not asking anything more of you—just being there. Present. Solid.

“You’ve always carried so much,” she whispered. “You don’t have to carry all of it alone.”

You closed your eyes, just breathing her in. Letting her words settle in the spaces where all your worry lived.

For once, she didn’t try to kiss it away. She didn’t try to fix it. She just held you.

And maybe—for right now—that was exactly what you needed.

You weren’t sure how long the two of you stayed like that—folded into each other on the couch, her arms wrapped around your waist, your head tucked beneath her chin. The silence was warm, not awkward. A rare kind of quiet that asked nothing of you, just let you be.

Her fingers traced soft, absent-minded circles along your arm, and every so often you’d feel her chest rise a little deeper—like she wanted to say something, but didn’t. And maybe, like you, she was afraid the wrong word would pop the fragile peace you’d finally landed in.

Eventually, you exhaled, your voice muffled by the cotton of her hoodie.

“I’m so tired, Alexia.”

She shifted slightly, just enough to look down at you. Her brow furrowed, but her voice stayed soft. “Physically?”

You hesitated. “Yeah. But not just that.” You paused, then added, “It’s like… tired in my soul, you know?”

She nodded slowly, brushing a strand of hair off your cheek. “I do.”

A beat passed. Then, carefully, “Do you want to stay?”

You looked up at her, surprised. She must’ve seen it in your face, because she was already clarifying before you could speak.

“Not like that,” she said quickly, her thumb still grazing your skin, steady. “I’m not asking for anything. No pressure. I just meant… stay. Rest. You don’t have to be alone tonight.”

Your heart ached at the way she said it. Honest. Earnest. Gentle.

“I’m not trying to start something just because we’re hurting,” she added, quieter now. “I just… I care. And if you need somewhere to breathe, this can still be that.”

You stared at her, the weight of everything behind you pressing heavy against the relief of that simple offer. “Okay,” you whispered. “Yeah. I think I want that.”

Alexia nodded once, her arm tightening just slightly around you. “Good.”

You tucked your head back under her chin, your eyes already drifting shut. Her breathing steadied against you, and for the first time in what felt like weeks, the exhaustion didn’t feel like drowning.

It felt like rest. Real, safe rest.

No expectations. No promises. Just presence.

And for now, that was more than enough.

Later, after a quiet dinner of leftovers you barely touched and a shared tea neither of you really drank, you both padded down the hallway to her bedroom. It felt surreal, familiar and foreign all at once—like muscle memory mixed with déjà vu. You’d walked this hall before. Slept in this bed before. Undressed in this room a hundred times with her eyes following you like gravity.

But tonight was different.

Tonight, you both got ready like roommates. Soft silence. Occasional glances. No tension, just... that cautious kind of calm that follows a storm.

You stood at her bathroom sink brushing your teeth while she folded a hoodie over the back of a chair. At some point she handed you a clean pair of sweatpants—her own—and you didn’t even hesitate to change into them.

And now you were both lying on her bed, under the same duvet, facing opposite directions, bodies stiff with the effort to not touch.

You blinked up at the ceiling for a few long seconds before finally muttering into the quiet,

“Well... this is weird.”

Alexia let out a soft laugh behind you. “Weird?”

“Yeah. Us. Clothes on. Not immediately making bad decisions. Kinda feels like a sitcom where the two exes get stuck in the same room for the night.”

You heard her shift slightly, the mattress dipping. “Except we’re not technically exes,” she murmured.

You turned your head slightly toward her voice, raising an eyebrow. “What are we, then? Chronically confused situationship survivors?”

That got a real laugh out of her this time—quiet, tired, but genuine. “Something like that.”

You smiled faintly, turning back to the ceiling. “Still weird though.”

“I know.” Her voice was soft now. Close. “But not bad weird.”

“No,” you agreed. “Just... like we’re trying not to touch a bruise.”

There was a silence after that. Comfortable, if a little fragile. Like maybe tonight was your version of a bandage.

Eventually, her voice came again, lower this time. “I don’t mind weird if it means we’re okay.”

You glanced at her. “Are we okay?”

Alexia was quiet for a moment, then nodded slowly. “I think we’re trying. And that counts.”

You nodded back, even though she couldn’t see it. “Trying’s better than nothing.”

You both settled again, the stillness a little softer now.

And for once, the quiet didn’t feel like avoidance. It felt like peace.

—

Paris shimmered beneath a spring sun, the city buzzing louder than usual—not just with tourists and locals, but with the weight of something historic. Your team was one game away from completing the impossible:

Four trophies. One season. A perfect run.

You stepped off the team bus, headphones on, tracksuit zipped to your neck, your expression unreadable behind the sunglasses shielding your eyes from the chaos of flashing cameras and reporters shouting your name. But inside, your pulse was steady. Your focus, sharp. Your heart, beating with purpose. This wasn’t just another final. It was the one.

The end of a chapter—maybe your last in Barcelona colours.

The air in the locker room was electric—nervous laughter, bouncing knees, whispered affirmations. Maya was already blasting a playlist. Liv was braiding someone’s hair. Your jersey hung in your locker, bold and bright like a crown. You pulled it on slowly, taking in the moment.

One more game.

The tunnel was tight, echoing with footsteps, and you could hear the roar of the crowd even before you stepped onto the pitch. French fans, Barça fans, international press. It felt like the world had shown up for this. And somewhere in the crowd you knew she was there.

Alexia.

She’d said she wanted to come. You hadn’t texted to confirm. You didn’t need to. She'd be there. And for the first time, you weren’t playing for her. You were playing for you. For the girl who grew up chasing this dream. For the player they tried to undervalue. For the team you helped carry this far. The whistle blew. The game began. And from the first possession, it was clear—you weren’t here to play it safe. You were here to win.

From the moment the ball tipped, the game pulsed with intensity. This wasn’t just a final—it was a war of wills. A battle between two sides clawing for glory, but only one of them had already held three trophies this season. Only one of them had a shot at cleaning the slate. And only one of them had you.

You moved with purpose. First assist. Then a steal. Then a layup through contact that had the crowd roaring and your bench on their feet.

Your ankle? Forgotten.

Your doubt? Gone.

Every possession was crisp, calculated. The court shrank to just your teammates, your breath, the rhythm of the ball echoing against hardwood and crowd noise. The opposing team tried to double you. Didn’t matter. You split it. Hit Maya on the roll. Bucket.

They tried to force you to your weak side. Didn’t matter. Step-back. Three. The crowd exploded. You didn’t celebrate. You pointed to your chest, to the crest. One more. Eyes locked on your coach. Laser focus.

In the stands you allowed yourself one glance. And you found her. Alexia. Standing. Hands clasped near her mouth. Eyes wide. Watching you like you were a storm rolling through the court—and she was helpless to look away. She looked proud. Not possessive. Not broken.

Just… proud. And for a flicker of a second, your chest loosened. Because even if she hadn’t said the words yet—you knew she saw this version of you. The best version. And she loved it.

The game was close all the way into the fourth quarter. Bodies on the floor. Foul trouble. Timeout drama. You were exhausted—but not done.

With less than a minute left, tied score, the ball found your hands one more time.

You didn’t hesitate. Crossover. Step. Fadeaway. Net. Clean. And the stadium—detonated. The other team burned their last timeout. Your bench swarmed you. Maya shouted something you didn’t catch, but Liv was already grabbing your shoulders and screaming, “YOU’RE UNREAL!”

But you weren’t celebrating yet. Not until the final whistle. Twenty-three more seconds of defence. One more stop. You locked in. And when that final shot missed—When the buzzer went—When the scoreboard flashed your win— You dropped to your knees.

Four for four.

The dream.

The story.

History.

And when your teammates tackled you to the ground, screaming, crying, laughing— You let yourself feel it all.

Confetti rained down like a summer storm—gold and silver falling in flurries over the court, caught in your hair, clinging to your skin. Your teammates were everywhere—hugging, crying, collapsing in disbelief on the hardwood.

You were on top of the scorer’s table. Shirtless. Drenched in sweat and adrenaline. Your jersey in one hand, raised high above your head like a flag. The stadium was deafening, a wall of noise surrounding you, vibrating through your chest as you roared into it, face flushed with triumph, voice hoarse from the game.

“VAMOOOOOS!” you bellowed, chest heaving.

Your arms stretched wide, like you could catch the sound and throw it back. Your mouth cracked into a wild grin, the kind that only came when dreams met sweat and sacrifice and everything you bled for came to life.

You turned slowly, taking it all in—the sea of fans, the flags, the chaos. But your eyes stopped on one section. The family and friends section. Your parents were there, standing, hands over their mouths in disbelief, your dad clapping hard, your mum crying behind a camera lens. Erin was yelling, hoarse and proud. Ivy was on someone’s shoulders, both arms in the air, screaming your name like you were a superhero.

And then—her. Alexia. Not front row. Not waving like a fan. Just standing. Still. Focused. Her eyes locked with yours. And for a moment, everything slowed. You didn’t need to say anything. You could see it in her face—what she wanted to say. What she hadn’t said yet. Pride. Respect. Something deeper.

You pounded your fist to your chest, once, twice, then pointed at your family. Then you threw your jersey into the stands and dropped down into the waiting arms of your teammates—dragged into a dogpile of champagne and history. Four out of four.

Tonight, you were the one they’d never forget. The lights above the court felt brighter now—not stadium-bright, but spotlight bright. Like they knew who this moment was for. Security had relaxed, the crowd still roaring behind barriers, but the family and friends section had been opened. That sacred post-championship tradition—let the people who got you here step onto the floor you conquered.

You were still damp with champagne, a gold medal swinging around your neck, your voice nearly gone from shouting. Your heart? Still racing. You turned and there they were. Your mum pushed through first, her arms already opening before she’d even fully reached you.

“Oh my god,” she whispered as she pulled you in, her voice cracking, “you did it—you did it.”

You held her tighter than you had in years, your eyes stinging again—not from pain, not from pressure—but from everything this moment meant. “We did it,” you murmured back. “You got me here.”

Your dad was next, clapping your shoulder like he was afraid he’d break if he hugged you too hard. “That shot,” he said, eyes wet but proud, “you owned it. Like you were born for that moment.”

“I was,” you grinned. “You made sure of it.”

Then Erin appeared, already crying, already rolling her eyes. “You just had to go and make it impossible for me to ever be the favourite again, huh?”

You laughed, pulling her in for a one-armed hug. “You’re welcome.”

Then you heard it— “AUNTIE!” And suddenly you were on your knees, arms wide, catching Ivy as she launched herself at you, all tulle skirt and glitter face paint. “I KNEW you’d win,” she said, her small hands holding your cheeks like she was trying to memorise you.

You smiled, forehead pressed to hers. “You did?”

“Yep. I told mummy. You’re like… a superhero. But better. 'Cause you're real.”

Your throat caught. You kissed her forehead, swallowed the lump building there, and hugged her a little tighter. Behind them, your brother, sister-in-law, cousins—all there, all beaming, phones out, voices hoarse from screaming. This wasn’t just a victory. It was a legacy. Something they'd talk about forever.

And when you stood again, medal glinting under the lights, arms wrapped around your mum and Erin, Ivy holding your hand tightly—You looked out across the court and locked eyes with Alexia again. Still watching. Still waiting.

The celebrations had finally settled into a quiet hum. No more cameras in your face. No more champagne showers. No more speeches, interviews, or staged photos with trophies clutched to your chest. Just a cool Parisian night, your gold medal still warm against your collarbone, and your teammates—your people—sat with you on a stone wall that lined the river, facing the glowing majesty of the Eiffel Tower as it sparkled on the hour.

You’d taken a photo there earlier with Maya and Liv—feet dangling, smiles exhausted, but pure joy behind your eyes. After that, no one wanted to leave. So you sat there, trophy beside you, legs swinging over the edge, shoes muddy from a night that didn’t care.

And then, maybe because you were feeling bold… Or maybe because your chest still hadn’t settled—You pulled out your phone and texted Alexia.

If you’re still in Paris… come see me. Riverbank. Across from the tower.

You didn’t expect anything. She hadn’t texted post-game. Hadn’t come down to the court. Maybe that had meant everything, maybe it meant nothing. But part of you needed to give her the choice. One last time. You tucked your phone back in your pocket and didn’t tell the others.

Sometime later when you’d convinced yourself she wasn’t coming “[Your Name]!”

You froze.

Your head snapped toward the voice, heart leaping into your throat, and sure enough—There she was. Alexia. In jeans and sneakers, a long coat wrapped around her, hair still damp from a quick shower, cheeks pink from the breeze. And beside her, like some chaotic dream, were Mariona, Irene, and Jenni Hermoso, all bundled up and laughing like they’d just crashed someone else’s night.

You stood slowly as she reached you, your heart pounding. Mariona threw her arms out dramatically. “Did someone say Paris celebration? We brought snacks. And alcohol.”

Jana waved a flask and grinned. “You didn’t really think we’d let her come alone, did you?”

Alexia looked at you, something unreadable in her eyes. “You didn’t think I’d come, huh?”

You smiled, exhaling softly. “Honestly? No.”

She stepped closer, glancing briefly at your teammates, who were giving each other the look but staying silent—for now. Alexia nodded toward the space next to you. “You saved me a spot?”

You reached out and patted the stone wall. “Always.” And just like that, she climbed up beside you. No words. No pressure. Just the two of you, side by side, staring out at the city of lights. History behind you. Something else—maybe something new—still ahead.

The others were still laughing behind you—Liv and Maya teasing Jana about her tiny contraband flask, Mariona dramatically reciting poetry about the Eiffel Tower, and Irene recording it all for future blackmail.

You caught Alexia’s eye. She raised an eyebrow, a quiet, knowing smirk tugging at her lips. “Wanna walk?” you asked softly.

She nodded, hopping down from the wall without a word. You followed her down the cobbled path, your sneakers crunching lightly against loose gravel, the Seine beside you glimmering gold with the reflection of the tower lights. Neither of you spoke. You didn’t need to. The quiet between you wasn’t awkward for once—it was calm, gentle, a kind of peace that had been rare between you.

You walked shoulder to shoulder, the buzz of the evening still humming through your body, the medal in your pocket catching the occasional tap against your leg with every step. Alexia glanced sideways at you once or twice, like she was waiting to see if you’d say something first.

You didn’t. You were too busy noticing how soft she looked in this light. How her coat swayed around her legs. How close your hands were swinging as you walked, almost brushing.

The Eiffel Tower started to twinkle again—that five-minute magic moment every hour. Lights dancing across iron bones like the city was holding its breath. You both stopped. Turned toward it. Silent.

And then, Alexia spoke, voice low, like she was afraid if she said it louder, it might ruin the moment. “You’ve never looked happier than you did tonight.”

You blinked. “I was. I am.”

She nodded slowly, eyes on the tower now. “It suits you. That kind of joy. I don’t think I’ve ever let you feel it without… pulling it away.” That ache rose in your chest again—but before you could respond, she stepped in closer.

Her hand brushed yours—deliberately this time—and her fingers laced with yours like it was the most natural thing in the world.

You looked at her. She was already looking at you.

The light of the tower flickered in her eyes, and for the first time, there was no tension behind her gaze. No sharp edge. Just something soft. Something you hadn’t seen before. “Can I kiss you?” she asked quietly.

You nodded. Just once. And she did. Slow. Steady. Tender. It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t heavy. It was romantic. Which—honestly—threw you off more than anything else ever had with her. You weren’t romantic. You’d never been romantic. Not with her. But this? This kiss, under the twinkling lights, in the city of love, after the biggest win of your career— It made your stomach flip in a way you didn’t know what to do with.

You pulled back gently, your breath caught somewhere in your throat, nervous laughter bubbling just beneath the surface. Alexia tilted her head. “What?”

You licked your lips, a little dazed. “That was… really nice.”

She smiled. “You sound surprised.”

“I am,” you admitted, cheeks warm. “I wasn’t expecting to feel like I’m in a movie.”

Alexia leaned in, pressing her forehead to yours, voice barely a whisper. “We’ve always been drama. Maybe it’s time we try a little romance.”

—

Paris was quieter now.

The celebrations were winding down, the riverbanks slowly clearing, and the city had retreated into that hush that only comes late at night—when the world feels too big to speak in full sentences. You didn’t plan to end up at Alexia’s hotel.

But when she asked softly—“Come back with me?”—you just nodded.

No hesitation. No expectations. Just the two of you chasing whatever this was a little longer.

The elevator ride was silent, except for the quiet buzz of the city still clinging to your skin. When she unlocked the door and you stepped inside, it wasn’t like all the other times. It wasn’t immediate. It wasn’t hungry.

You stood in the middle of her room, face to face, the glow of the Eiffel Tower still faint in the window behind you, and for a long moment—neither of you moved.

Then she reached for you. Slowly. Like she wasn’t just touching your body this time, but asking for something deeper.

Her lips found yours again, and it wasn’t rough or desperate. It was reverent. Like she was trying to memorise the shape of your mouth, the way your hands fit at her waist, the way you sighed when she leaned in fully.

Clothes fell away in soft motions. Her hoodie sliding off your shoulders. Your shirt caught in her fingers like she didn’t want to let go just yet. Every movement was slower. More careful. Intentional. When you reached the bed, it wasn’t rushed. It was quiet. Tender.

She kissed you like she was trying to say everything she hadn’t. And you kissed her back like you understood anyway. There was no teasing this time. No need to prove anything. No power play between skin and sheets.

Just love, in its most fragile, most fleeting form. When she moved over you, it wasn’t possessive—it was intimate. Her hands weren’t just touching your skin, they were holding pieces of you she hadn’t earned until now.

And when you finally broke, when your breath caught and your fingers gripped hers—she whispered your name like it meant something more. Maybe it always had.

Afterward, you lay tangled in the sheets, her arm draped over your stomach, her breathing slow and steady. No one said a word. Because the unspoken truth hummed louder than either of you dared to voice.

You were leaving. And she wasn’t stopping you. Not with words. Not with promises. This—whatever this was—felt like a goodbye.

A beautiful, aching one. And still, neither of you said it. You just held each other under the soft hum of Paris, pretending the sun wasn’t already on its way up.

[vroomvro0mferrari]

CL16 | Oblivious

Sorry it took me so long, I was really busy with finals the last couple of weeks but I've finally finished the fic from the poll! I hope you like it :)

Summary: Charles has been blatantly flirting with Y/N for months, but she's the only one who hasn't noticed.

Charles Leclerc x Sainz!Reader

WC: 2.4K

Warnings: None

Masterlist

Charles was busy in the garage, talking with his mechanics when he saw her walk in. Y/N Sainz, the younger sister of his friend and teammate. He had seen her many, many times when she came to support her brother at his races. It seemed like Charles could sense her presence, knowing she was there without having seen or heard her, always looking up right when she walked in. Y/N Sainz was greatly loved by the Ferrari employees. With her bubbly personality, witty jokes, and bright smiles, all the team members enjoyed her presence. And Charles couldn’t help but feel the same way, although Y/N was completely oblivious to his affection. 

His face lit up when their eyes met, instantly smiling at her company. As soon as she was close enough, he greeted her, “Ah Y/N! Nice to see you again, you look lovely today!” He grinned.

“Oh, thank you, Charles. You’re so kind!” She responded with a bright smile as she hugged him in greeting, the flirty undertone going by entirely unnoticed.

Charles had been enamoured with Y/N since the first time they met. In an effort to not come off too strong and scare her away, Charles tried to flirt with her subtly. However, after several occurrences without any reaction from Y/N, it seemed his flirting was too subtle. Either that or she was not into him. But he couldn’t give into that possibility just yet.

As time passed and Y/N became a more familiar face in the paddock, Charles’s flirtations became bolder. He’d constantly try to include her in conversations and would make up all kinds of excuses just to talk to her. Whenever he did manage to string her into another conversation, he’d try to make her laugh as much as he could. Simply because he could, and because he loved to see her happy and smiling. And if he was feeling really confident, he would even go as far as to touch her arm or the small of her back while they were chatting away or walking around the paddock together. Nevertheless, to Charles's frustration, Y/N didn’t seem to notice his underlying motives, dismissing his actions and words as nothing more than friendly gestures.

Meanwhile, everyone else who had ever been around the duo seemed to have caught sight of the one-sided infatuation and attempt at courtship. Everybody except for Y/N had noticed Charles was desperately trying to make his feelings for the girl obvious, but she simply kept friend-zoning him. Frankly, he found it embarrassing. 

Nearly all of Charles’s fellow drivers had been caught up in one of his attempts to woo Y/N while she simply brushed his compliments off as friendly comments. It was hard not to notice Charles’s fruitless flirting when he did it right in front of them, but they didn’t say anything about it. His colleagues merely exchanged knowing glances with others aware of the situation, amused at Charles’s futile attempts at winning Y/N over. But as time wore on, and Charles kept trying, at least a few of his colleagues started to comment on his persistence, calling him a simp, and joking about his poor flirting. Some suggested he should stop his pursuit of Y/N, as it seemed she wasn’t interested, but Charles was relentless: he would not quit until he knew for sure Y/N Sainz didn’t and would never like him.

And so, when Charles spotted Y/N walking through the paddock with Lando, one of the people in the paddock she got along with better, talking animatedly and laughing loudly with each other, he approached her once more; he would seize any opportunity to blatantly flirt with Y/N. He quickly caught up with the two, putting his hand on the small of her back as he matched his speed with theirs. “You’re absolutely radiant today, chérie” He greeted her with a cheeky grin.  

Y/N looked to her side, greeting the new presence “Hey, Charles!” As oblivious as always, she sweetly smiled up at him and replied, “Thanks! You’re such a sweet friend!”

Lando was a mere bystander in the situation as he observed the interaction, surprised and amused at the ease with which Y/N once again waved off the man who was so clearly crushing on her. He held his opinions back until Charles left, “Wow, you certainly have no trouble friend-zoning him, don’t you?” He commented.

Y/N cocked her head as she looked at him, her brows furrowed. “What do you mean?”

Lando laughed humourlessly, “Dear God, you really have no idea?” He paused, “Y/N, Charles has been flirting non-stop with you for ages. How on earth have you not noticed?”

She stopped walking and looked at him in confusion, “He’s not flirting with me, Lando, he’s just being nice. He’s a good friend.” 

“I’m actually quite sure he’s flirting with you, Y/N. So is everyone else. You could literally ask any of the drivers, and they would confirm it. The Ferrari employees too, I reckon. He likes you, Y/N.” He said unimpressed.

“Charles likes me?” She asked softly, suddenly turning shy, a blush creeping onto her face.

Lando sighed, realising his friend was even more oblivious than he initially thought. “Yeah, he does. I’m honestly surprised you’ve never noticed.” He gently squeezed her shoulder before they parted ways.

— — —

For the rest of the day, Y/N thought about Lando’s words. She thought about all her interactions with Charles over the last few months and realised that he did compliment her quite often. 

Once, on a sunny afternoon, Y/N was chatting with some of the Ferrari team members near the garage when Charles spotted her. He, as always, decided to walk over to talk with her, his usual charming smile on his face and mischief in his eyes.

"Y/N, only you can make a sunny day even brighter," he said with a big, playful smile and admiration in his voice.

Y/N blinked at him, surprised by his sudden appearance and his bold statement. "Oh, thank you, Charles! That's really sweet of you to say."

Unfazed by her obliviousness, Charles pressed on, determined to make his feelings known after such a long time. "No, really," he insisted, his gaze unwavering. "I mean it. You bring a brightness to the paddock that I can't quite explain."

Y/N laughed softly, “Well, um, thank you. That’s very kind. What can I say? I try my best.” She replied with a smile.

Another time, Y/N was in the team hospitality when she accidentally spilt her drink, leaving an obvious stain on her white shirt. Charles, who was, unsurprisingly, standing nearby (as always), had noticed immediately and courteously offered one of his extra Ferrari shirts. When he saw the girl he had liked for months in his clothes, wearing his driver’s number, he naturally couldn’t resist the urge to flirt with Y/N.

"Have I ever told you how stunning you look in red?" he remarked, his eyes sparkling with mischief and fondness at the sight of her.

Y/N laughed and replied, "No, I don't think you have," smiling at him in a friendly manner.

"Well, consider it said," he said, his tone playful. "You wear it better than anyone else, that's for sure."

Y/N laughed softly, appreciating her friend’s words, "I doubt that’s true, but thanks, Charles."

Thinking back to these moments, Y/N realised maybe Charles had indeed been flirting with her. However, he might just be like that with all of his friends, complimenting everyone he cares about. Nevertheless, now that Lando had brought this to her attention, she would surely pay extra attention to what Charles would say to her tomorrow.

— — —

The next day, Charles had caught her in a conversation again. They were talking about the race and the current situation with Ferrari. He mentioned the pressure from the team and all the fans that want him to do well, and that the car and the strategies aren’t working the way he wants them to. Of course, Y/N tried to reassure him; to relieve the pressure and stress Charles was feeling. He absolutely adored the way she was trying to comfort him and was not afraid to let her know, “I have to admit, Y/N, nobody can cheer me up like you can. You calm my nerves like no one else,” he said, looking at her lovingly while he expressed his feelings.

Y/N didn’t know how to respond. This was the first time she noticed he was flirting with her whilst he was actually doing it, and she had no idea how to react. When she felt her face heat up, she could only assume she was blushing from the nerves. She diverted her gaze, trying to come up with a good reply to Charles’s advances. How did she usually respond when Charles complimented her? She couldn’t remember now.

Charles was confused at Y/N’s lack of response to his remark. Normally, she’d immediately smile at him and thank him for whatever compliment he’d come up with, but now, she was looking away, and - was he seeing that right? Was she blushing? He had flirted with her countless times, but she had never blushed at any of his comments. Had she finally noticed his advances? Charles watched her with an amused smile while she searched for the right words.

Eventually, she shyly smiled at him, meeting his eyes in a fleeting glance before responding, “I’m glad to be of help.”

Charles, Charles, proud that he was the one to cause her flustered appearance, decided to push a little further, curious to see what would happen, “You really have no idea how much you mean to me, Y/N. Your support helps me so much.” Charles smiled gently and put his hand on her arm. When there’s no immediate response, he continues, “Anyway, I have to get ready for the race. I’ll see you later, yeah?” Y/N merely nodded and watched him walk away.

Her brother had been watching the interaction from a distance, observing the way his sister responded to Charles’s obvious flirting and, too, noticing the difference. “You finally figured it out, huh?” He said with a teasing smile. Y/N rolled her eyes at him in annoyance, but Carlos just continued, “You should let him know you like him too.” Y/N didn’t respond. “You do like him don’t you?” He asks, confused at her unresponsiveness. “Leave me alone, Carlos!” She replied, pushing her brother away. He laughed at her; that reaction was enough for him to know the answer to his question. He ruffled her hair and walked away, also needing to get ready for the race.

After her short talk with Charles, Y/N was sure that he liked her, but how to proceed? She could barely focus on the cars going around the track while all types of ideas were racing around in her head. What on earth was she supposed to do now? Should she wait until the next time Charles would flirt with her, or should she make the move instead? Considering Carlos’s advice, she decided she should take matters into her own hands.

She walked up to Charles as soon as she saw him entering the garage after the race. She had always thought Charles was incredibly attractive – like most women, but he looked especially handsome after he had raced.

“Hey, good job on the race!” She greeted Charles, pulling him into a hug. She looked at him for a second or two, contemplating whether she should actually do this. She smiled up at him shyly, “You know, I love the way your hair looks after a race.” She said blushing, running one of her hands through his messy hair. Charles is surprised at her comment, but he’s shocked at her hand in his hair. This is the first time she has complimented him – or at least, initiated it. Let alone, her touching him in such an intimate way. His eyes were wide and his mouth was slightly agape as he stared at her in disbelief. It was now Charles’s turn to be flustered as Y/N finally reciprocated his attempts at flirting.

In his silence, Y/N decided to continue, “It’s hot.” She said, avoiding eye contact. Charles was unsure how to respond. He had never experienced a situation like this before; he always knew exactly what to say, but she had caught him off guard. After Y/N had friend-zoned him countless times, he was definitely not expecting this; he was not sure what to do.

The absence of a reply only made Y/N more nervous. She distanced herself from him, letting her hand fall from his hair, realising she probably shouldn’t have touched him without permission. Charles was quick to notice her retreat and held her face to stop her from leaving. He raised her chin to make their eyes meet and asked her softly, “Let me take you to dinner?” while he stared at her with adoration.

Y/N smiled at him fondly and nodded her head, “I’d like that, Charles. I’d really like that.” 

“Good,” He said firmly, his smile growing wider, matching hers. “I have to leave now for the debrief, but I’ll text you, okay?” 

Y/N nodded her head in response, letting out a hum. Charles pulled her face closer with the hand on her cheek, and fleetingly kissed her forehead before leaving, looking over his shoulder to catch her gaze one last time.

Y/N stood still in shock for a while, processing what just happened. She had agreed to go on a date with Charles. She was staring outside, letting the situation sink in as she watched people pass by in the busy paddock. Suddenly, she spotted Lando waving wildly at her, trying to get her attention. When he realised that she had seen him, he smiled mischievously and gave her a thumbs-up, assuming the kiss he saw Charles give her was a good sign. Y/N rolled her eyes at him, annoyed by his nosiness, but Lando just laughed, amused at her bother and glad his meddling had helped.

[strangerstilinski]

𝙧𝙤𝙗𝙞𝙣 𝙗𝙪𝙘𝙠𝙡𝙚𝙮

summary: Steve gives his best friend some admittedly questionable dating advice — but it all works out in the end.

fem!reader ~ just a silly and awkward little meetcute. alcohol consumption. lots of pining. far too many mentions of robin's freckles. and i threw in a silly moment with steve because, well, this is me we're talking about and how could i not? fluff [1.9k]

a/n: baby's first robin fic — wow! as always, please leave some love in the form of comments and feedback if you enjoy xx

Steve has practically sworn on his life that the pick-up line will work on you. On the condition, of course, that Robin delivers it with the right amount of cool nonchalance, with just enough flirty undertone to let you know her intentions.

So, naturally, Robin is repeating the phrase over and over again in her head, because the last thing she wants to do is screw up this monumental opportunity her best friend has practically laid out in front of her. Though, now that she's making her way toward you, she's belatedly realizing that Steve's confidence is almost entirely based on the fact that the line had worked on him when a girl used it at a party. Which was... Decidedly not the most reliable focus group, but she's determined to push past her fear regardless. Plus, Steve has technically shared more words with you than Robin ever has — even if that does equate to a single conversation to Robin's zilch.

Was it against her better judgment to willingly accept dating advice from Steve Harrington? Maybe, but she manages to swallow past her anxiety long enough to push the words out anyway.

"Is this seat taken?"

The words pull you out of where you've been lost in your own head. The music coming from the boombox at the corner of the patio, paired with the raucous laughter from the group splashing around in the pool, had lulled you into a trance-like state.

You were third-wheeling beside Nancy and Jonathan, because you work with them and they're really the only people that you really know at this party. So you might kind of be clinging to them a bit.

You've let your mind wander in an effort to remain unbothered by their flirty laughter, especially with the way that light intoxication and the chaos in the Harrington backyard has slowly brought the volume of their conversation from hushed to outright loud beside you.

Before you knew it, you've spent a good fifteen minutes sipping steadily on your drink and watching the ants march in and out of a gaping crack in the cement in a mindless daze. So, when you hear the question, your head snaps up so hard it nearly gives you whiplash as you focus on the girl standing in front of you.

You've seen her before, but that does nothing to lessen the blow of just how pretty she is. So pretty. Her cheeks are still a little pink from the setting sun, freckles marking her skin everywhere your eyes land as your gaze rakes over her. A wonderfully short pair of denim cutoffs cover the tops of her thighs, and you have a hard time forcing your gaze to continue to travel upward. She's picking at the label on one of the bottles of beer in her hands, both of them dripping with ice water from the cooler she must've snatched them from. Her eyes are wide, a panicked little grimace pulling at her lips before she seems to shake herself off and school her expression into something more relaxed.

"Hey, Robin." Nancy acknowledges sweetly, Jonathan nodding in greeting beside her.

The pretty girl, Robin, smiles in response, albeit tightly, before her attention moves determinedly back to you. She blinks once, twice. Shifts on the balls of her feet and repositions her beers, the glass clinking as they knock together between cold fingers. Her gaze flicks just once to something or someone over your shoulder and she seems to nod to herself once before an adorably nervous little smile pulls at her lips.

You've only ever seen fleeting glimpses of her from afar as she re-shelves movie rentals at Family Video. You'd tried to catch her at the check out counter one time, but Steve Harrington had crushed your hopes the moment he had nudged his co-worker away with a not-so-hushed whisper about letting him test the waters that had your shoulders slumping dejectedly.

When he'd spotted the empty plastic case in your hands, he'd squared his shoulders, a poor attempt at nonchalence, "Gremlins, huh? Uh.. Gun to your head! Who's hotter — Phoebe Cates or Zach Gilligan?"

You'd laughed before correcting him, "Galligan. Gilligan is the guy on the deserted island."

He'd only waved you off, taking the crumpled dollar bills you pulled from your pocket with an oddly pointed comment about how pretty Phoebe Cates was though, right? You blame the way his eyes had flashed with something like excitement when you'd agreed as the reason for your next comment-

"But all time celebrity crush? Gotta be Claudia Wells." You'd paused after the admission before continuing somewhat nervously, "Y'know, from uh, Back To The Future?"

"Oh! The guy's hot mom?"

"Oh, no. His, um, Marty's girlfriend. I just think she's a little softer than Cates. Pretty but still approachable, y'know? Girl Next Door. That kinda thing."

He hadn't looked judgmental, but the moment you'd left the store and the adrenaline brought on by the absurd encounter had receded, you'd been mortified with yourself for being so goddamn transparent. You'd almost gone back a week later, hoping to see the cute mystery girl working the counter again — alone, preferably — but in the end you'd chickened out. Had a friend return your rental for you and you hadn't been back since.. Because she really was nerve-wrackingly pretty, and you were a coward.

But right now she's looking at you expectantly. Waiting.

"Hi?" You manage, words soft and unsure.

The playing field doesn't quite feel even with her standing above you. It's a bit unfair, you think as you blink up at her a little dumbly — It's hard to focus when her attention is on you like this. The sky is a backdrop of pink and orange behind her, stunning little shadows collecting beneath the bridge of her nose and the ridge of her brow. Perfect teeth dig in at the corner of her lower lip with her smile. There's a pale stripe of skin at the base of her middle finger, untouched by the sun and only visible because the chunky ring she's wearing has gone slightly askew against one of the beer bottles in her hand.

"Hi," Robin returns, just the single syllable sounding giddy on her tongue. Blue eyes drop to where you sit on the stone bench beside Nancy, gaze lingering on the bare skin of your thighs beneath your shorts before they travel back up to meet your own again. "Is this seat taken?" She repeats, a little more hopeful this time.

"Oh." It only comes out a little dejected. You look toward Nancy and Jonathan in your peripherals, as if willing another space on the stone bench to suddenly appear — When one doesn't, you sigh. The nearly empty plastic cup in your hands crunches when you clutch it a little tighter to your chest. Your jaw tightens, heel scuffing against cement as you kick your foot out in preparation to rise and relinquish your seat. "No, I mean.. Yeah, you can have it." You nudge Nancy with your arm, chin to your shoulder as you speak a little softer, "I'm gonna go grab a drink and, um.. Mingle."

The look on Nancy's face immediately gives away the fact that she knows there's no way in hell that you plan to do anything of the sort. You are not a person who mingles, Nancy and Jonathan both know this. However, before Nancy can say anything, Robin is speaking again.

"No!" She nearly yells, voice cracking. Her eyes have gone a little wide. She takes a small step closer, one of her knees knocking against your own and effectively impeding your ability to stand.

"..No?" You echo in confusion.

"Um," Robin swallows harshly, curling in on herself just a little. Her face scrunches with embarrassment, her teeth scraping along her lip. She blows out a harsh breath before thrusting one of the beers in her hands toward you, "Here! I, uh, I brought this over for you."

You bend to place your plastic cup beneath the bench in a flash, entirely too eager when you reach out to take the offering. You get a little distracted by the way her fingers glisten with condensation, and your stomach outright flips when they brush your own in the transfer.

"Oh. Thank you," You feel a bit like a schoolgirl with the airy cadence that slips into your voice. Her touch lingers for a moment, blue eyes seemingly glued to the place where your index finger covers her pinky around the neck of the bottle. "You can totally still have my seat," You add quickly, "I don't mind! Like I said-"

"Actually-" Robin interrupts, "Well, actually, I thought- If you want, of course- I thought we could maybe, kind of, in a way, share the seat?" It comes out as a question and only serves to make you more confused. "I thought – again, if you want – I thought I could, possibly, sit.. on your lap. Just, because.. You know, that way you could avoid forfeiting your seat and maybe, you and I, we could get to know each other a little better? But we totally don't have to! That's okay too! Absolutely okay, in fact. You can just enjoy that beer and I'll go-"

She's already shuffling a small step back as her words bleed together in her anxious rambling. Your free hand catches her wrist to pull her back before she can get too far, your legs parting to allow her to slip between them. Her knees brush the insides of your thighs and your heart thumps entirely too obnoxiously beneath your ribs in response.

"I don't mind," You say quickly. Your fingers shake with the adrenaline that washes over you suddenly and you give a gentle tug to urge her to sit. "You can sit. You can absolutely sit."

She sits.

She sits and pockets of her denim shorts press into the top of your thigh, her knees knocking together as she tries to settle into a comfortable position. You surprise even yourself with the hand that lands on the small of her back to keep her balanced, and when she presses into your touch minutely you choose to leave it there. Your palm is without a doubt sweating where it settles against the cotton of her shirt, but you don't dare move it now that it's found a place there.

If you thought it was hard to breathe when she was standing in front of you, it's a whole new ballgame to have her face this close to your own. You're still looking up at her, neck craned back just a little to look at the cluster of freckles above her cupid's bow, the dark eyeliner smudged artfully beneath her lashes.

You watch her gaze drag slow over your own face — like you're something to be admired and, God.

You can practically hear your own blood pumping in your ears, and you will your excited nerves to settle, sipping from the chilled beverage in your hand just for something to distract you, even just for a moment. The glass catches the top of Robin's bare thigh when you lower it again and she gasps at the cold, the gasp turning over into a breathless laugh while you curse and stutter out an apology.

You miss the way her gaze flicks over your shoulder to meet Steve's watchful eye where he sends her a whole flurry of excited hand movements ending with an emphatic thumbs up. But, you do notice the way her toe nudges into your shin lightly, the shy smile pulling at her lips as she leans into you a little more comfortably, arm pressing into your shoulder.

"Hi," She starts slowly, "I'm Robin."

lovely dividers by @strangergraphics

[berrystarkey]

I don 't know why people are in a frenzy now over what's speculated to be Drew and Odessa under that umbrella in Aaron's photo dump; if you all read the room, it was apparent they were more than platonic from the jump, especially if they were seen exiting the same hotel in Paris back in January . Many people wanna insinuate that O is a lesbian who has a girlfriend . I guess them thinking it's Quen Blackwell or maybe Billie Eilish, but Quen said 2 years ago that Odessa had a boyfriend on a podcast . She mentionedhow her and O would go on double dates ,and how she was in love. During those times , O was seen with Drew a lot . Ifshe was in a relationship with someone else , why would that believed - to - be partner let Odessa share clothes with Drew , fly internationally just to see him ,and have no other friends involved , and be okay with that ? Wouldn't Drew deny the British Vogue article or Daily Mail one mentioning how him and O were in a relationship ? His own cousin was commenting on a TikTok video , claiming he had a girlfriend . This was the same cousin that was with him in Charleston at the obx4 premiere . Some little girl who was at the Tribeca Film Festival during O's premiere of Fresh Kills that O even follows claimed that O referred to Drew as her boyfriend . O doesn't treat Drew just like one of the guys . Although she may emasculate him and embarrass him ,they're emotionally attached to eachother and at the hip . It worked for them this long to never confirm them being together , otherwise they get more hate ,even worse than the backlash they received from Aaron's photo dump.Because Drew fans would crash out worse than Rudison fans when it comes to Rudy and Elaine . There were already fans threatening to unstan because of the umbrella photo . Drew deleted all traces of O off his page and turned off tags at a point because there were hate pages doxxing his family , sending him death threats , and going too far . Thosepeople make it unbearable for him to feel confident going through fully coming out and admitting what O is to him . He is hypersensitive and doesn 't know how to stand up for himself . O is pathetic to be okay with not having a title , and being allover him, or vice versa . It 's been going on for 4 years now . He 's living in Odessa's old apartment with Jesse . Shedrives his car . They share a Pomeranian dog , and all her friends have become his, and his have become hers . Drew isn't coming off Odessa no matter how bad she plays in his face , embarrassing him ,showing up to his . Premiere looking like a hobo and thenhaving to sneak into restaurants through the back door , or not be visible in public. Zero PDA . They are a shit show . Sheis still pursuing other women like Billie and Manon , and flirty with Quen . He isstill on Raya and following sex workers .These people are flawed and have faults the public may not see . People are so disillusioned with this fantasy . He 's Prince Charming when he's going out like a cuckold.

yall just read this because honestly it left me speachless. applaud this anon because they said it ALL. anon ily you explain lowk everything perfectly

[girlkisser13]

aphrodite cabin headcanons

a/n: i know that the cabins are in order based on where each olympian sits on the olympian council but i find it funny that aphrodite is #10. get it? because she's a 10. i'll stop. 😔

children of aphrodite

• they're the most diverse cabin at camp.

• they're kind of like a cult.

• mean girls quotes. all day. everyday.

• they have loads of spare clothes that they lend out to new campers that arrive with nothing.

• they actually wear the least amount of makeup out of all the campers because they have the gift of natural beauty.

• they help kids work out their sexualities and make sure they're confident and okay with them.

• they are physically incapable of misgendering people.

• trans aphrodite kids can change their appearance at will.

• they know the basics of every romance language.

• they do couples counseling.

• camp matchmakers.

• they're the camp hairdressers and they also run a secret piercing parlor.

• sucker for romance movies.

• they have the most creative ways of swearing ("you impractical second hand prada bag").

• aphrodite gives them charmed bags that can hold ANYTHING AND EVERYTHING.

• they're particularly fond of sweet foods. like they need a little sweet treat after every meal.

• they keep a running list of the best make out and date spots at camp.

• they're always that person that has a tampon or pad if you need one.

• they're the type of people that will chop off their hair if it doesn't match their outfit.

• the cabin hosts regular beauty and self-care nights, where campers can relax and pamper themselves with facials, manicures, and other treatments.

• they are huge advocates of self love and self care. they do everything in their power to teach every single camper to love themselves.

• they are the most lgbtqia+ supportive cabin, as they are also very diverse in the terms of sexuality: imagine a ton of pansexuals, demisexuals, bisexuals, flirty gays/lesbians, a few aro/ace chilling in the background- everyone is represented.

cabin exterior

• instead of being a life size barbie dreamhouse like it's described in the books, its very subtle, and natural, and soft.

• the outside is pink, but such a pale pink that it looks white unless the right light is hitting it.

• there is natural ivy growing on each wall and onto the roof. It wraps around shutters and the frames of the doors.

• it almost looks like a small manor and like it should have been built on some far off hill that is surrounded by flower fields for miles.

cabin interior

• the inside is very warm and welcoming.

• there are so many pictures, posters, mirrors, and shelves that you can barely see the paint.

• lowkey feels like you're walking into a bath & body works.

• their cabin is filled with scented candles.

• pop music constantly plays in the background and everything in there is expensive as hell.

• their beds are tailored to each camper's exact taste. so it's a bizarre mix of furniture from a fluffy bed with 16 pillows to a bed that looks like it belongs in a prison.

• aphrodite charmed it so that it is bigger on the inside.

• there is a walk-in, expanding, closet where you put old clothes you don't want anymore and other siblings can come and get some new clothes if they need them (other campers are welcome whenever invited. it happens more often than it should).

cabin traditions

• at the beginning of every summer, everyone (if they feel comfortable) gets in front of the rest of the cabin and gives names, pronouns, and sexuality.

• there is an item from every sibling that has lived in the cabin somewhere on the walls. all of the pictures, posters, things on the shelves are placed there by a past sibling.

• there's a hook where, if your jewelry breaks in the cabin, you tie it off and hang it there. there is a necklace made of leather with a hundred year old stone heart on the hook.

divider by @chilumitos

[willowsnook]

Secret Identity (OP)

oscar piastri x zakbrowndaughter!reader

You and F1 had never gotten along. It's not like you didn't like racing, you loved it; you'd been at almost every IndyCar race this season. But racing took your dad away from you and that had majorly fractured your relationship.

Being 16 when it happened, you thought it was the end of the world. As an only child, your dad was your best friend and now he lived a whole new life across the world from you. Being as stubborn as he was, you barely spoke the first year that he was gone. It had gotten a little better since then, especially because he had gotten you an internship with Arrow McLaren that turned into a full time job, but it wasn't what it was.

This weekend was definitely him trying to make up a lot to you. Your season was over and F1 was racing in Austin so he flew you out to be a "VIP" guest. And he gave you his credit card for the whole weekend so you swallowed your pride and came.

Being in the F1 paddock was a lot more uptight than you were used to. Way more cameras and people looking frantic; you found yourself missing IndyCar already. Putting your headphones in you turned on your favorite sports podcast while scrolling through your phone in hospitality. The food you grabbed from the buffet barely touched and you didn't notice when someone sat down in the chair diagonal from you.

A couple of minutes later you realized he was saying something to you. Yanking out your airpod you apologized.

"I'm sorry, were you saying something?" You asked and he blushed. You recognized him as one of your dad's drivers, Oscar.

"Yeah, sorry I didn't realize you had headphones in," he said awkwardly. "I was just saying that I hadn't seen you around before."

"Yeah, this is my first F1 race in a very long time," you replied. "My dad works here and asked me to come."

You were thankful when he didn't ask who your dad was.

"Well, thoughts so far?" You shrugged, looking around.

"IndyCar is better," you replied making him chuckle.

"Oh yeah? Go to a lot of those races then?"

"Yeah I actually work for Arrow," you admitted.

"Little bit of nepotism ya think?" He joked and you snorted, if only he really knew.

"Just a little bit," you said, eyes twinkling with amusement. "It's way more relaxed than this."

"I've heard that," he said. "I actually have always been curious about NASCAR."

This surprised you, the boy sitting across from you pretty much screamed the opposite of NASCAR.

"You're looking at me like I just grew another head," he said.

"It's just that you seem so polite and dainty," you said and he scoffed.

"Dainty?" He questioned and you twirled a piece of hair around your finger thinking.

"It's like you have F1 with all your media and PR training," you started. "And then you move to Indy with no training but still some decorum, and then NASCAR where you basically get anti-PR training."

"I think I could surprise you," he said confidently with a flirty edge.

"Oh yeah?" You said and he smirked, dragging his eyes down to your lips and then back up making you flush. Jesus this guys has some kind of weird hot aura.

You chatted a little longer before he got pulled away and you found yourself actually enjoying yourself a little.

Oscar's POV

"Dude what has gotten into you?" Lando was looking at his teammate weird. Oscar had been distracted ever since he got back from lunch, clearly zoning out in their meetings this afternoon. The younger driver blushed and Lando's eyebrows shot up.

"I just met someone very interesting during lunch and it was nice," he said refusing to meet Lando's eyes.

"Was she a guest or what?" Lando asked smirking, following as Oscar started walking out of the garage.

"Yeah, her dad works here or something and she works for our IndyCar team," he said and Lando had to look away to keep from laughing. He knew exactly who Oscar had met but he was not about to let him in on that info.

"It was just nice to talk to someone my age who wasn't a fangirl," he admitted. "Plus she was hot as fuck."

Lando couldn't keep his laughter in at that and Oscar turned to him confused.

"Sorry, I've just never heard you talk about a girl like that," he quickly covered and Oscar nodded.

"Hopefully I'll get to see her again today," he said.

"I'm sure you will," Lando said grinning.

Y/n's POV

Heading into the McLaren team dinner, you were nervous. There were a ton of people here as basically everyone affiliated with the team + their plus ones were able to come resulting in the team renting out a restaurant.

You absolutely did not want to have to cling to your dad's side for the evening but also you didn't know anyone else here. Your worries were short lived though, as you felt someone softly touch your back.

"Hey," Oscar said smiling and you were relieved.

"Thank god you are here," you said and he laughed.

"Y/n, I'm literally a driver why would I not be here?"

"Idk I was just stressed because I don't really know anyone else."

"Didn't want to sit next to your dad?" He asked and you shook your head.

"We aren't on the best of terms," you admitted and he frowned.

"Well you can come sit with me," he said holding out his hand. You grabbed it and let him drag you over to a table, sitting down next to him on the bench. He introduced you to the other guys at the table, most of them were mechanics and all young enough that they didn't put two and two together about your dad.

As a couple more people joined you had to squeeze closer to Oscar, your thighs touching. He had his arm rested along the top of the railing behind you and it was making your heart rate go up.

You were happy that you had decided to come and found a lot of the younger members of the team easy to talk to. They all drilled you on what IndyCar was like which you enjoyed. As the night came to a close you found yourself wishing it didn't have to.

"Do you want to walk back to the hotel with me?" You asked, turning to Oscar. "It's nice out."

"Yeah, c'mon," he said pulling you up. You passed Lando on the way out and he shot you a wink which you ignored.

Conversation was light as you walked back and after going through a crowd and Oscar grabbing your hand in order to not lose you, you didn't let go. It felt nice and you felt butterflies in your stomach.

As your hotel came in to view, Oscar slowed down, nudging you towards a bench nearby.

"I'm really glad you decided to come this weekend," Oscar said, looking deeply into your eyes.

"Me too," you agreed smiling. Your breath hitched as he got closer, stopping just short of contact.

"Can I kiss you?" He asked and you nodded. He met your lips in a sweet kiss, slowly exploring your mouth with his tongue. After publicly making out for a bit you pulled back, smirking at his flushed face.

"Come up with me?" You asked, adrenaline from the kiss boosting your confidence. His eyes bore into yours, getting darker as he nodded and you led the way back up to your hotel room.

The second the door closed, your back was against the wall his lips on yours. This was not like the kiss you shared outside as you clawed at this shirt, ripping it off his body. His hands moved to your ass, lifting you up and carrying you towards your bed. You pulled your shirt over your head while he worked to slide your jeans off of you.

"So beautiful," he murmured looking down at you. He pushed open your legs and you blushed at being so exposed to him but your mind went blank right as you felt his tongue dart out on your clit. He dragged his tongue threw your folds, circling back up at your clit for a second before moving down again. Your hand found his head as you pulled his hair crying out.

"You like that baby?" He teased and you moaned in response. Adding a finger, you felt yourself nearing the edge of your orgasm and were left a whimpering mess. Looking down and seeing him staring back at you while his mouth covered your pussy sent you over the edge, climaxing all over him. He cleaned you up before standing back up and pumping himself a couple of times with his hand.

"Do you have a condom?" He asked and you shook your head.

"I'm on the pill, don't worry," you said and he nodded. You gasped as you felt him push in and he bottomed out, eyes squeezed shut and breathing heavy.

"Please move," you begged, needing more friction. His eyes snapped open as he set a brutal pace, slamming the headboard into the wall repeatedly. The shy, sweet guy you had met at lunch earlier today was not the same one in front of you.

He leaned down to take one of your nipples into his mouth, nipping lightly causing you to cry out. You moved your legs to be over his shoulders and almost blacked out at the new deeper sensation.

"You like it rough huh," he said, slamming into you his hand finding it's way around your throat. "I want to see my pretty girl cum around my cock."

Your eyes widened at his words, getting closer to finishing. He moved one leg off his shoulder giving him access to bring his chest down to yours as he pounded into you. He brought his hand down to your clit making circular motions and that sent you over the edge. You screamed out as you finished and listened to his grunts as he joined you. Breathing hard he pulled out, staring down at you.

"Shower?" He asked and you nodded. He wrapped his arms around you and carried you to the bathroom where you stepped into a very much needed hot shower. You both were silent as you washed each other.

"I can stay for another hour or so but I have to wake up really early for tomorrow's practice," he said.

"It's okay," you said. "I didn't expect you to sleep over."

He grabbed your chin, pulling it up to look at him.

"I would if I could."

You dried off and cuddled for a little bit before he kissed you goodbye, heading back to his own room.

----------next day--------------

After the practice session ended you found yourself talking to Oscar in the garage when Lando walked up.

"Hey guys," he said looking at you amused.

"Hey, this is y/n," Oscar said and you fidgeted nervously.

"Yeah, we've met," he said full on smirking now as Oscar looked between the two of you confused. "You know who her dad is right?"

You were about to jump in to argue with Lando when you were interrupted by the man himself.

"Hey guys, been keeping my girl company here," your dad Zak said, his arm thrown over your shoulder and leaning in to kiss your forehead. Oscar paled and Lando bust out laughing. "I'll see you guys for the debrief in a bit."

Zak walked away and you turned to Oscar who had yet to come back to reality.

"I was going to tell you," you said softly.

"I slept with my boss's daughter," he said to no one, staring blankly. Lando was laughing so hard he was crying and you did not know what to do. "I slept with Zak's daughter."

You watched as he went through all the stages of grief and then settled back on anger making you flinch.

"Why didn't you tell me?" He demanded but you didn't back down.

"Hmm I don't know let me think," you fake pondered. "Would you have even talked to me if you knew?"

He didn't say anything but you knew the answer. Lando took this as a sign to leave, leaving the two of you together.

"Look, I know I should have told you, but it was fun just getting to be here and with you and feeling normal," you said. "I hate feeling like people are walking on eggshells around me because my dad controls their fate."

You saw his expression soften as he contemplated and you continued.

"I'm never at these races, he doesn't have to know," you said looking down. "I'll leave after this weekend and we can pretend this never happened."

You were prepared for the rejection because come on, who would want to date their boss's kid? That's why you were shocked when he moved closer to you, grabbing your hand.

"That's the problem though," he said. "I don't want to pretend this never happened."

You smiled at him and he wrapped his arms around you. Lando popped back up next to you holding his phone.

"Yeah sorry to eavesdrop lovebirds but the whole world is not going to pretend it didn't happen either," he said and you looked at his phone. It was a video of you and Oscar making out outside of the hotel. The next thing you heard was the unmistakable scream of your father.

"WHERE IS OSCAR? AND WHERE IS MY FUCKING DAUGHTER?"

[nerdyjaw]

How would yandere Levi be like with a civilian reader, since she doesn't really fall under his command like a cadet would?

girl in a bar | yandere levi ackerman & civilian reader hcs

content warnings (please read before continuing.): yandere themes, stalking, drinking, bars, people being aggy (not levi), manipulation, forced isolation, forced dependency, reader is tricked into a relationship, reader is deceived into thinking they are in love. mdni.

age in bio or you will be blocked.

this media is in no way being romanticized or normalized.

the actions in this media are a work of fiction and are not to be portrayed or mimicked in real life.

you are responsible for the media you consume. you have been warned.

if you’re a civilian, things would probably be much more complicated for levi.

he can’t bark orders at you or change your schedule to no longer align with your friends.

so, he makes you do it all yourself. the isolation. the dependency. the start of your relationship.

he tricks you into doing it all yourself.

i imagine you two would meet at a bar. the scouts went out drinking, loud and half drunk on survival. levi didn’t even want to be there. he was just lurking in the corner, doing his whole brooding and unapproachable thing.

you were working. nothing special— just serving drinks, dodging drunk hands, and avoiding eye contact with soldiers who think a smile means “come talk to me.” yikes.

but levi notices you. not because you’re flashy or flirting in attempt to get some extra tips— but because you aren’t. you’re quiet. you look like someone who knows how to disappear.

he doesn’t approach you that night. just watches.

but after that, he starts showing up more. alone. always when you’re working. always ordering the same thing, but never finishing it. just sits and makes small talk until you’re off your shift.

he’s not pushy. never really flirty. he’s just.. present. every time. like clockwork. like he knows when you’re working. (he does.)

one night, some drunk grabs your wrist. you try to play it off, but you’re clearly uncomfortable. before you even say anything, levi’s there. he doesn’t yell. doesn’t raise his voice. just grabs the guy’s arm and squeezes. hard. then there’s a crack. and finally.. silence.

you thank him. he doesn’t say anything. just stares at you.

after that, things get closer. slowly, naturally. you two become "friends." he walks you home.

he brings you little things—tea, cloths, cleaning supplies. just trinkets. helps you fix things in your house. lingers longer and longer every visit.

and at some point, it just becomes.. normal that he's around.

you don’t really question it. you could use the company.

you start to wait for him. not in a romantic way (at first), but you enjoy the safety his presence offers.

your friends notice. they start to ask questions.

“is he your boyfriend?”

“he’s around alot.”

“thats’s a survey corps member. i wouldn’t trust him if i were you.”

you laugh it off— even going as far as defending him. tell them they’re overthinking it. “he’s just nice,” you say. they don’t get it. they don’t know what he’s actually like.

next time he visits, you tell him about it.

“they seem nosey. they treat you like you can’t make decisions for yourself.”

“do they even respect your choices?”

and that’s all it takes.

before you know it,

your friends are now strangers.

you don’t realize it— but he’s isolating you.

and you’re helping him do it.

he never told you to cut them off.

but he planted the seed.

eventually, you start to crave his presence.

your house feels so empty without him.

because he becomes the only person who checks in on you. the only person who really gets you. its only natural you begin to confide in him. its only natural you begin to feel empty without him.

and by the time you look around and realize there’s no one else left,

you’re already completely dependent on him.

then things shift.

he never really asks you out. it kind of just.. happens.

he touches you more. sleeps over more. talks to you like you’re already his.

you don’t correct him.

why would you?

you start to call it a relationship.

what else would it be?

you’re just two people in love.

..or atleast that’s what you think.

and when you lay beside levi in your bed, whispering a “i love you”, he kisses your forehead and says,

“im glad you finally realized it.”

[futureplayboibunnie]

Spiderman Kiss

Miguel O’Hara x fem! black cat! reader

- i wanted to write a little fluffy, very flirty upside down romantic rainy spiderman kiss w miguel just because. black cat is in almost every spiderman story and i really wanted to include that for this one cause she’s a badass. just a cute little blurb to get me out out of my writing slump, i was thinking of making a part 2 cause lawd it’s steamy. (yeah i did make a part 2 im just too lazy to link it😔)

warnings: there is some dirty stuff, lil bit filthy but just a lil bit (i’m the worst) streamy sloppy makeout but overall just some romance for y’all.

You were walking on the damp, cold streets of New York, the soft pitter-patter of rain colliding with your umbrella as your sad eyes were glassy, street lamp lit. The neon buzzing and humming a little in the air as the dark clouds rolled over your head, promising heavier rain in the next few hours. Your boots were fitting for the autumn chill, your little black dress and a mid-length trenchcoat made you look like a detective from a shitty 50s novel, but it was fitting. It felt…romantic. As you walked down the street you caught yourself smiling at nothing. Well, not 'nothing' per se.

Spiderman.

Miguel O'Hara.

The self-appointed leader of the infamous Spider Society, aptly remembered as the Spider with the stick up his ass and a temper akin to that of a raging bull being flagged down by a red tarp. He had been on your coattails for months now. The Black Cat. The thief. One wrong-manicured finger or one slip of that vulgar tongue could end in you being an anomaly, which is a bigger problem than just a petty thief. Miguel wasn't from your universe but he had been watching you from afar...just to keep a watchful eye on you, making sure you were behaving yourself-which was never the case. What was jarring though is that he never stepped in on you making your own mess, he just surveilled you. You never seemed to notice and even if you did, you wouldn't care or give him the time of day.

Miguel watched you stroll confidently as the rain hit his broad shoulders, he had never seen you so casual. He cocked his head to the side to survey you from the rooftop you weren't far away from. You didn't fear the elements, the elements fear you. You boasted a certain naturality, your eyes glassy and the bridge of your nose pinched a pretty pink. Huh, cute. He dismissed the thought as quickly as it came, his eyes narrowed as your hair bounced with each step, lips parting in the process as the cold chilly air started to get to you. See, Black Cat was this force of nature, mysterious, sexed up, a siren seducing her prey into a strangle. Black Cat always gets what she wants, those silk lips ready to bite and those eyes ready to roll back like second nature. Miguel wanted to turn a blind eye to you acting in such a way but he couldn't help but admire your tactics: men would quite literally throw themselves at you, they would beg at your feet, they would lick the ground you'd walk on, they would be desperate for mercy and you didn't even have to touch them to do it. It was something that you just had the ability to do.

But now, here you are. Without the mask. Without the suit. Beaming against the damp night, giving him the opportunity for him to see who you really are when you're not being someone else. Showing the real you when no one else was looking. Miguel had a problem with admitting things. He could never admit when he was wrong, he could never admit the thoughts that buzzed his brain awake at night because no one would understand. You were dangerous, you were a threat. Then why did he want you? Why were you his calling? Why did he catch himself thinking of you?

Miguel was agitated because of it, acting out in the shadows, being more aggressive and hot-headed than usual. He had to do something about it.

Miguel swung to the alley that you were just about to walk past, hanging upside down from the metal fire exit. Thank God for his adhesive feet. Your boots clacked as you walked past the opening. Something blue and red flashed against the corner of your eye and you stopped in your tracks, the breath almost leaving your lungs dry. You couldn't believe it. You scoffed, a smile tugging your lips upwards as your tongue licked at your back teeth.

‘’Late night?’’ Miguel questioned in that low voice of his, you turned your head to face him squinting your eyes slightly. ‘’Couldn't risk getting your hair wet, could you?’’He insulted but there was a playful tone in his voice. Fuck you. You make him playful. He's always fucking serious- the weight of the multiverse rested on his broad shoulders, and here you are not doing anything and he was already letting go. He really needed to check himself.

‘’Take off the mask, couldn't risk getting your hair wet, could you?’’ You walked towards him as he dangled upside down, his massive reached for the flexible fabric of the mask and pulled it off of his insanely structured face.

Lord above, even upside down he looked fucking delicious, his bone structure and dark eyes made an ache form inside of you. A few strands of his raven locks stuck to his forehead due to the rain. He looked dreamy, you couldn't fucking lie about that. You had eyes, after all, you weren't blind.

‘’I think we know each other enough to not be bound by masks.’’ You added completely serious but a smirk played on his lips and his gaze softened just a little but enough for you to notice.

‘’Mask or no mask...’’ Miguel trailed off, unsure of how to finish his sentence.

‘’What are you doing here, Miguel?’’ Your voice was above a whisper as your gaze fell to his lips. This was coming from a case of genuine and undying curiosity- Miguel always has so much to deal with. What made you worth the precious minutes of his day? Well other than being a criminal, today wasn't one of those days though. ‘’You want me to prove to you I can get my hair wet?’’ You closed your umbrella and the droplets of rain started to dampen your hair and slide through the strands.

He couldn't give you an answer, he just cocked his head and looked at you. Fuck, you were beautiful. It was almost scary. You raised your eyebrow at his silence, his face went hard like his thoughts were racing a million miles per hour. And they were, relentlessly. A few burrowed thoughts pierced through the front of his mind.

Miguel let himself be selfish and he let himself wander when it comes to you. He wanted to fuck you, any red-blooded man would. He didn't want you to do all the work though like you usually would expect, he wanted to worship your body and praise you. He wanted to paw at you like an animal. Hold your hips down as he kissed and bit down your thighs, eat at you, devour you, spending hours at a time just tasting you to make you feel good.

Though he did want to take you over his knee for so blatantly misbehaving. Oh, but he did find it impossibly cute though when you were trying to act all smart defying his orders- you'd end up on his knees, ass up face down. Whimpering and on the verge of tears as he had to spank and fuck the disrespect out of you. The dirty thoughts so obviously transferred onto his face, his eyes darkened instinctively as he glared at your lips, he was worried his fangs would pop out unprovoked. The sexual tension between you two was astronomical and difficult to ignore. He didn't want to ignore it anymore, it was affecting him in so many different ways.

‘’You're a million miles away.’’ You bit your lip, eyes going heavy as your perfectly manicured hand tangled in his hair. Fuck, your touch was like magic.

‘’Stop biting your lip. I need to do that instead.’’ Miguel whispered. Your mouth popped open slightly at his words but you definitely knew this was the PG clean version of what was actually going on in his head.

‘’I'm afraid you'll tear them right off.’’ You flirted back, the proximity between you closing with every second.

‘’No, you're not.’’ Miguel's eyebrows furrowed as if he could read your mind. You swallowed the lump in your throat as his response started to shimmy and have an effect all over your body, your eyes widened and you wet your lips with your tongue. A daring invitation.

Miguel closed the gap between you, the rain sliding across his face as he leaned in to capture your lips with his. You expected his kiss to be mean and filled with anger, he was half expecting you to grab his lips and cut them off with a pocket knife for being so callous but no. It was soft. Sensual. Romantic. It felt...meaningful.

You moaned a little and he took it as an opportunity to open your mouth wider to slip his tongue in. It was slow. Messy. Wet. Tongues gliding against tongues, he even nibbled at your lips with his fangs. The strings of saliva kept pulling you back together like an invisible string. It felt so wrong but so good. It was a sloppy kiss turned makeout session, you swear your heart was burrowed inside of your throat as the butterflies in your tummy were starting to turn into hummingbirds. That ache he was making you feel was unmatched. Damn, that's surprising.

‘’Ah.’’ You moaned softly against his lips, finally detaching yourself even though it pained you to do so. Those soft noises shot down all the way to his cock. What was he, a fucking horny teenager? He wanted to hear you moan into his ear. You smiled as you pulled back from his mouth, your tongue darted out and flicked against his lightly protruding fangs, and licked it all the way to his bottom lip. Jesus Christ, you were fucking toying with him. It was like a cat and mouse game with you but in this case, it was cat and spider. You lifted your head to stare into the dark abyss of his eyes and to your surprise they were gleaming. You ruffled your hand into his damp hair messing it up for him as to further prove your point.

‘’I usually hate spiders. Cats eat spiders.’’ You mused.

‘’Do you now?’’ He teased back. ‘’It seems like you don't hate them enough.’’

‘’I like that you've been watching me, Miguel.’’ You exposed that you knew what he's been doing, the man is 6'9 he's not good at hiding things.

‘’Needed to make sure that you've been behaving.’’ He said huskily and it made your knees buckle a little.

"You already know that I haven't been."

"I should punish you.’’ He scolded coldly, he was being deadly serious and you fucking loved it

‘’Swing by my universe whenever bug boy.’’ You pressed a soft kiss to his lips and he was salivating yet again. And bug boy? That's just unforgivable. ‘’Call me.’’ You smirked playfully, giving into your teenage fantasy of a boy falling head over heels for you, wrapping the telephone cord around your finger and twisting it whilst whispering sweet nothings across the line. But you were both far too dangerous to have anything normal.

‘’Maybe I will.’’ He replied in a rich low tone that made your insides melt, he said it like it was a promise.

You shuffled his hair one last time before your eyes fell on his, eyebrows wilting as an expression of sad tenderness. ‘’Goodbye, Miguel.’’ You breathed as if it was the final moment you’d share with him, finally taking the necessary steps back to successfully be back on the main pavement. You opened up your umbrella and then you were gone, Miguel sighed.

‘’Parting is such sweet sorrow.'’

[lafortezaboy]

request: "could i req something fluffy of like yunjin or kazuha being down bad for fem!reader and trying to ask them out? :("

warnings/triggers: fluff, non idol au, fem!reader

it wasn't that you were popular, because you weren't. it was simply that yunjin wasn't. she wasn't picked on or teased by any means, your university was much more respectable than to allow that, but while you made friends with everyone, she stuck to her little group. where you could make conversation with anyone, she could put her foot in her mouth. luckily for her, it was one of the many traits of hers you found adorable.

you weren't stupid. you knew about the crush she had on you, and you'd known about it since the day you asked her to help you study for an english final, knowing she was at the top of your class. the blushing and the tripping over her words throughout the whole study session had been cute, so cute you couldn't help but ask to make studying together a regular thing despite still not really understanding the material.

months later though, you wished she weren't so shy, and would just ask you out already. you saw how she was with chaewon, how flirty and confident she could be when not talking to you. as cute as her not knowing how to handle you flirting with her was, you really wanted to kiss her.

you weren't sure who convinced her to make a move finally, but you wanted to get them flowers or a fruit basket or something. it wasn't uncommon for you to tag along with her and sakura to see a new movie, but tonight it was different. it was just the two of you, for starters, and she was doing everything that a date would. she'd opened your car door for you, paid for your snacks, sat right next to you instead of leaving the seat between you open like usual. honestly, seeing her so different, so relaxed with you, it made you feel things the blushing and the stuttering didn't. that was adorable, but this?? god, you just wanted to keep her all to yourself.

as the movie progressed, you found yourself wanting to hold her hand, but you didn't want to push her too far. so you rested your arm against hers, something that could be written off as casual just in case. a few minutes later though, you felt her fingers tracing little patterns into the back of your hand, and you couldn't help but offer her your palm instead. her touch was soft, hesitant almost, but it was more than enough. as soon as she was brave enough, her fingers laced with yours, and you didn't let go of her hand for the rest of the night.

you were still holding onto her as you made your way out of the theater, heading towards her car. ""i had a lot of fun tonight," she said, looking back at you, and the little smile on her face made your heart skip a beat. "i did too," you replied, squeezing her hand gently. that made her pause, just for a split second, and you saw the nerves beginning to bubble up again.

it seemed she wasn't letting this newfound confidence go, because she pushed through, stopping by the passenger seat door. "maybe we could do it again sometime? like ... like as a date?" she asked. it was the worst time to giggle, but you couldn't help it. her face quickly fell, and you rushed to explain yourself.

"hey, look at me," you said, free hand reaching up to grasp her chin gently. "i would love to go on a date with you. i just think it's cute you took me on a date to ask me on a date." you watched as the words sunk in, and her cheeks flushing had nothing to do with the cold. your hand moved to cup her cheek then, gently stroking your thumb over her cheek as you looked at her.

"i've been waiting on you to ask me out, you know that?" you asked her, and when she shook her head you smiled, because of course she hadn't noticed you felt the same. "i have been, for a while. you could anything you wanted from me."

that seemed to catch her attention, because her eyes instantly shot down to your lips, and you couldn't help but stare right back at hers. you'd thought about her lips far too many times. "what about ..." she began, her eyes flickering back up to yours. "what about a kiss then? if this was already a date?" she asked, and you didn't even think about answering her with words. you lean up then, hand still on her face, and press your lips against hers.

the kiss is slow, a little timid, but god were her lips soft. when her hands find your waist, you scoot in closer to her, and the whole world stop s around the two of you as you let yourself finally get lost in her.