#every time there is a post about heart of the sun i think of this

[neeeooon]

Good afternoon, elle. I'm here with my second request. May I request: The Blue Lock men propose to you on camera. Cue their fangirls' broken hearts. (Characters: Chigiri, Yukimiya, the Itoshi brothers)

of course!! thank you for the request 🫶🤍

when they propose to you on camera ;

aged up bf bllk x gn!reader

chigiri hyoma

-> you met on camera… sort of. chigiri just so happened to look up at the screen during one of his games, where you were randomly displayed and waving with your friends. he fell in love after that

-> it only makes sense for him to propose to in the same manner, right?

-> he planned it perfectly, even got the stadium staff to edit a “will you marry me?” logo onto the screen as you appear on one half and he shows up with your ring on the other

-> chigiri just so happened to score the game-winning goal (he may or may not have had help from his teammates), but when he appears on the big screen, you show up right next to him

-> you aren’t even looking, all of your focus on your boyfriend, but when people start screaming, you look up to see the ‘will you marry me, y/n?’ typed out across the screen and gape

-> there are tears as you nod enthusiastically, one’s of happiness from you, and heartbreak from the fangirls (and guys) throughout the arena watching the proposal

yukimiya kenyu

-> he plans everything to the t. the pathway, the flowers, the candles… the camera

-> it’s silly and cliche and romantic, but that’s the kind of guy your boyfriend is. when he asked you to meet him at the spot where you had your first date, you knew something was up. the “hidden” camera guy only confirmed your suspicions

-> “y/n—“ “what are your fangirls going to think?” you tease lightly, causing yukimiya to smile before taking your hand in his. “whatever they want. i’m a taken man.”

-> “just taken?” you say as you eye the small box he’s trying to hide in his coat pocket. knowing his cover is completely blown, yukimiya to reveal the box and hold it out to you. “will you let me ask?” “hmmmm, i suppose so!”

-> while most fans find your banter adorable, others spam about their broken hearts now that yukimiya kenyu is officially engaged

itoshi sae

-> he wanted to surprise you, which means he had to go all out on the cheesy cliches. you’d never in a million years see that coming from sae

-> you were only expecting a little drive with your boyfriend when he suddenly pulled over to a spot overlooking the city, the sun setting over the horizon

-> when you spotted the blankets, strings of bright fairy lights, rose petals, and mini camera crew, you panicked. “sae, we should go. i think someone’s getting engaged.” “someone is.” “??”

-> but your “??” quickly turns into “?!” as sae leads you to the spot, where your name is spelled out in flowers. “this.. what?!”

-> the whole thing filmed, sae gives you his awkward little speech before you interrupt him with a kiss and a million yes’s. flashes decorate you as he slips the ring on your finger, but all you can do is laugh at how extra itoshi sae was for you

-> the video spreads like wildfire, and you can’t help but cackle are your fiancé’s face every time you read a comment from one of his heartbroken fangirls out-loud

itoshi rin

-> the cameras were not planned. he didn’t want them there, but he wasn’t going to let them ruin your moment, either

-> you were enjoying your date with rin, blissfully ignoring the paparazzi following you, when he suddenly stepped in front of you and collected your hands between his. “y/n, there’s something i want to ask you…”

-> your photo, rin on one knee, one of your hands cupping your mouth as the other holds his, is all over magazines and websites the next morning

-> “look at how pretty we look!” rin just grumbles, “they always have to ruin everything.” “come on, look on the bright side! we’re together, and i wouldn’t have it any other way.”

-> you won’t tell rin, since he’s never on social media, but his fangirls were trending for the next two days where they’d post images of themselves crying and sliding down their walls. it was beautiful <3

[hyunjins-orange-slice-too]

i want to use the word ‘love’

pairing: changbin x fem reader

genre: fluff, friends to lovers

warnings: crying, breakups, pet names (bun and bubs), very brief mentions of violence, she/her pronouns used, guest appearances by channie and jisung, no smut- just some kissing :)

an: it’s finally here! this is what won the poll and i’m so excited about it. i wanted to post it sooner, but it’s the longest thing ive written in a while and it took some time lol i hope you like it :) happy valentine’s day. you are loved ♡

masterlist

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you waited outside on the curb for him to pick you up. it was just starting to get dark and you could see the sun setting behind the buildings. the concrete was cold on your bare legs, your dress only coming to mid thigh. but you couldn’t stand anymore, your feet throbbing from your shoes. you stared down and the pavement, pushing a pebble around with your finger as you sniffled. you had mostly stopped crying once changbin said he was on his way. your heart was still shattered, but somehow, knowing that he was coming made you feel better. though you were sure you still looked crazy to anyone who may be passing by. if you thought about it too much, how stupid you look and feel, a fresh wave of tears fills your waterline. so you try to think about something else.

you try, and you fail.

all you can think about is his stupid smile. how he made you feel so loved. so.. important. until he invited you to dinner tonight, only to dump you before you had even finished your salad. your eyes welled up again.

“fuck..” you said to yourself, voice watery. you threw the pebble, watched it skitter across the street as a car pulled up and parked a few feet from you. you recognized that car.

the door opened and changbin got out, rushing to your side. “are you okay?” he was crouching next to you, holding you at arms length, assessing you for injuries like you told him you were in a car crash or something. “look at me.” he put his fingers under you chin and turned your face up to him. “oh.. y/n..” his heart broke when he saw your tear stained cheeks, your red puffy eyes and running mascara. he did his best to wipe your tears with his fingers. “what happened?”

you were so relieved to see him. he was the person who was closest to you, the one you would trust with anything. that’s why he was your first thought when you needed someone to come save you. but as comforted as you were by his presence, getting dumped still really hurt. and the tears returned with his question. they spilled down your cheeks and over his fingertips. “he..” you hiccuped. “he dum-dumped me.” you struggled to get the words out, changbins sweet face and thick frame glasses blurring through your watery eyes.

he was suddenly filled with rage. how dare he dump you and then leave you stranded and crying? heartbroken and no way to get home? he wanted to track him down and give him a few swings for treating you this way.

he would never treat you this way

that thought had been crossing his mind recently. every time you found some new loser to date only to be left heartbroken a few weeks later. though, this asshole had lasted the longest, managing to stay around for six or so months. and changbin wanted to beat some sense into him. or just punch him until he felt better. but, you needed him right now. so he pushed aside the thoughts of violence, the thoughts of sticking up for you, the thoughts of treating you the way you deserved to be treated. he pushed all of those thoughts deep down and helped you up off the curb. you stood on shaky legs and he noticed that your feet were bare, your shoes discarded on the sidewalk.

he sighed at your recklessness. he looked at you, and then your shoes on the ground. “my feet hurt..” you said, your voice still broken.

“prince bin?” he asked, though it was more of a statement than a question. he bent over and grabbed your shoes, handing them to you. and then he scooped you up. one of his arms behind your shoulders and one of them under your legs, he carried you in his arms and placed you down into the passenger seat of his car, careful not to hit your head. he was used to doing this, though he hadn’t done it in a while. you liked to go out with your friends occasionally, have some drinks, and changbin would always come and scoop you up when you were too wasted to walk to the car. you drunkenly called him a prince one evening, (though he thought you probably meant knight) and the title kind of stuck. he thought ‘prince’ was an apt title, considering the way he held you was technically called a princess carry.

but as changbin started the engine and pulled from the curb, he thought it was more like a.. bridal carry. and that made him smile.

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about a month had passed since that night and not much had changed. you still went on random dates, with random guys, just searching for the one who would make you feel special. the one who would treat you like you were the most important thing in the world. that’s all you wanted. you just wanted to feel loved. to have silly little inside jokes, and hold hands, and have fake arguments about who loves who more. but so far all you’ve found are assholes and idiots. sometimes both at the same time.

“i think im going to take a break from dating.”

changbin rolled his eyes, grabbing the popcorn from the microwave and dumping it into a bowl. he returned back to where you were on the couch, drowning in a fuzzy blanket. “i’ve heard that one before.”

“no, bin, i’m serious this time. fuck all these guys.”

“you say that but you’ll swoon at the next cute guy that looks your way.” he laughed.

“i just want to find my person.” you said, a little defensive. “there’s nothing wrong with that.”

he immediately felt bad for his comment. he was just kidding. but he knew this was a sensitive topic for you right now. “i know, bubs. i didn’t mean anything. i’m just teasing.”

you let out a loud exhale. “i know, bin. i’m just frustrated with all of it. when will it be my turn? you know?”

he nodded. oh he knew too well. he often had the same thought. when would it be his turn? his turn to take you out. to kiss your cheek. to hold your hand. “you’ll find your person.” he said, looking down at the popcorn. you couldn’t see the sadness in his eyes in the darkly lit room, but you could pick up on his vibe.

“you’ll find your person too, you know.” you said, nudging his large bicep with your elbow. “i know you’ve been single for a long time, and your job is demanding, and it’s difficult with valentine’s day coming up-“

“gee thanks, y/n. you’re really making me feel better.”

you both giggled. “i mean it though!” you smiled. “you’ll find your person. i know it.”

and he smiled back at you, knowing in his heart he had already found his person. he had found you a long time ago. but you hadn’t found him yet.

he threw a piece of popcorn at you. it bounced off your cheek and landed somewhere in the blanket. “hey!” you giggled, reaching for the bowl. but he held it out of your reach. you struggled against him, trying to reach for some retaliation popcorn but it was no use.

“bubs, i don’t know why you’re throwing popcorn.” he teased, laughing. “we’re adults. let’s watch the movie.”

“you were throwing popcorn! not me!” giggling, you returned to your spot, pulling the blanket up around your middle. “i want some popcorn too.” you pouted, pressing play on the movie.

“ah.. see i don’t know if i can trust you not to throw it at me.” he grinned.

“you started it!”

“i don’t recall that.” he smirked. he grabbed a few pieces of popcorn and held them up to your mouth. “open.” he said.

and you didn’t know why, but you felt his words in your tummy. they grew wings and fluttered around, flushing your cheeks. you did as he asked and opened your mouth. he dropped the pieces in and smiled, before facing back toward the movie, shoveling popcorn into his own mouth.

what was that? you wondered. why did that fluster you? you had been best friends with changbin for as long as you can remember. but you don’t remember ever feeling.. flustered around him? of course, you knew he was attractive. the man was so incredibly handsome. there was no denying that. and he was funny and sweet. but you never allowed yourself to go there. never wanting to ruin the friendship you had built with him. but.. this was a new development. you tried to shove it down, tried to forget about it and enjoy your movie night. he held another handful of popcorn up to your lips, dropping them in. you chewed, happily. feeling content but also, warm. his body radiating heat. you scooted a little closer to him, as much as you dared, your knee touching his thigh.

he fed you some more popcorn as he tried not to hyperfixate on where your bodies were touching. he tried to relax, play it cool, but his heart was hammering.

you eventually fell asleep, as you always do during movies, your head falling against changbins shoulder. as the credits rolled he looked down at you, admiring you from this awkward angle. your long eyelashes tickled your cheeks. his hand found yours under the blanket, but he didn’t grab it. didn’t try to interlock your fingers. he just gently brushed his pinky against yours, enjoying the moment. but it didn’t last as long as he would have liked.

you made a confused noise as you stirred awake. you lifted your head from his shoulder, rubbing sleep out of your eyes. your hair was standing up, your cheeks puffy. “did i..” you yawned. “did i fall asleep?”

“you always fall asleep during movies.”

“sorry, bin. i was just so comfortable i guess.” you stretched your arms out in front of you, your lazy gaze looking over at him.

he started at you for a moment, before..

“you’re so cute.”

it just fell out of his mouth. and it wasn’t the worst thing he could have said. it wasn’t a full on love confession, but he definitely said it in a way that suggested he wanted to be more than friends. he internally chastised himself.

the butterflies returned to your tummy, still confusing you. you looked away, out of embarrassment, struggling with these new feelings you were having for your best friend. were they new feelings? or were you just now allowing yourself to feel what you had been feeling all along? you didn’t know.

changbin cleared his throat. “i should get going.” he said. “it’s late. i have practice in the morning and you need some sleep.”

you nodded sleepily, and stood to walk him out. you crossed your arms over you chest, suddenly cold without the blanket or his body heat. you dreaded crawling into your cold bed and the thought crossed your mind that it wouldn’t be so cold if changbin was there with you. you blinked hard, clearing the thought from your brain. at the door, he hugged you like always, mumbling a “g’night bubs.” into your hair.

you waved goodbye to him and latched the door shut behind him. your apartment felt dark and cold and lonely without him. and it made you sad. you pulled yourself in between your ice cold sheets and tried not to think about changbins arms wrapped around you.

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“so you just like, dropped popcorn into her mouth?”

changbin nodded. “yeah and i’m surprised she couldn’t see my hand shaking.” he smiled then, remembering. “you should have seen her face though. she’s never blushed like that because of me.”

“so maybe it’s time to tell her..?” chan sing-songed while tickling changbins sides.

“what if it ruins everything, hyung?”

changbin lounged on the couch in the practice room, his sweat soaked shirt sticking to his body. he took a drink from his water bottle, swatting chan’s hands away, catching his breath.

“it’s time to finally do something.” chan said. “if it doesn’t work out, then you’ll know and can move on. instead of pining over her for the rest of your life, yeah?”

“i guess so.” changbin ran his hands through his hair. “im just so scared.”

“y/n is your best friend. even if she doesn’t feel the same way, she wouldn’t stop being your best friend. she’s not like that.”

changbin nodded. “you’re right. i just need to get on with it.”

he noticed jisung giggling over his phone in the corner and started to ask him what was so funny, but minho called practice back together before he could.

they both stood, chan patted changbin on the back. “you’re seo changbin. you’re spearB! you can do anything.”

changbin scoffed. “that was cheesy, hyung.”

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it was the dreaded day. valentine’s day. you obviously didnt have a boyfriend to spend it with, and you didn’t really have friends to spend it with either. they all had their own relationships. all except for changbin. but with your budding new feelings, you were worried to spend it with him.

but none of that really mattered because you hadn’t heard from him? you had texted him this morning, right before you clocked in for work. and you checked it on your lunch break and there was nothing. and now it was time to head home and you were a little disappointed when you saw no notifications. but you tried not to let it get to you. he does have a very busy and demanding job. but you couldn’t help the thoughts creeping in that maybe he noticed your strange behavior last night. maybe he was worried you were attracted to him and he was pulling away. it made your stomach hurt to think about it.

but the whole way home you couldn’t help but think about it. by the end of your bus ride, you were physically ill. you had convinced yourself that you had ruined everything. that he didn’t want to be your friend anymore because he thought you were into him and that scared him. you had ruined an entire friendship spanning years and years because you couldn’t control yourself around his popcorn? you thought you may cry.

approaching your apartment, you noticed your welcome mat was crooked. the message said “welcome-ish” in swirling font and underneath that in parentheses said “depends on who you are and how long you plan to stay” though the print has faded over time. you kicked the mat back into place and slipped your key into the lock. clumsily opening the door, dragging your tired and depressed feet into the dark apartment. you toed off your shoes before flicking on the light.

and that’s when you saw him.

changbin stood in the middle of your living room, in a black button down shirt with matching black silk tie. his black slacks looking freshly pressed. his black dress shoes freshly shined. he was standing next to a table that he had set up, complete with two chairs, tablecloth, and lit candles. the entire ceiling was filled with red and pink heart shaped balloons, their curly strings cascading down. he held a small bundle of roses in his hands and he looked incredibly nervous. so handsome, but nervous.

“changbin..?” you quietly asked, stepping further into the apartment.

he cleared his throat. “uh.. hey bun.”

he brought one of his hands up to his ear, tugging on his earlobe. a nervous tick of his that he’s had the entire time you’ve known him.

you waited, staring, unsure of what to say or what was even going on and honestly, all you could think about was how handsome he looked and how you looked awful. your work clothes stained and dirty, your hair a matted mess on top of your head.

“i think i probably have some explaining to do.” he said. “well, i have a confession to make i guess.”

your heart started beating irregularly in your chest. was this what people meant when they say their heart ‘skipped a beat’?

you walked closer to him, noticing now the smell in your apartment. it smelled good. your stomach rumbled.

“these are for you..” he held the roses out and you took them from him. they really were beautiful. they were pink and smelled like spring time.

you started to thank him but he cut you off. “i just.. i need to get this out first before i chicken out.” he said.

“my apartment is filled with heart shaped balloons, bin. i think it’s too late to change your mind now.” you joked. he chuckled, your teasing seemingly making him feel a little bit better.

“i guess you’re right.” he smiled. “i.. like you.” he reached out and delicately took the flowers from you, placing them on the table. and then he took your hands in his and looked into your eyes. his hands were sweaty and shaking slightly, so you gave them a reassuring squeeze. “no, like isn’t the right word.” he paused, thinking. “i want to use the word love, but i don’t want to scare you.” his eyes softened. “but bun.. that’s what it feels like. and i’ve felt this way for so long now. i don’t think i can stand to see you cry over another idiot guy who doesn’t deserve you. who doesn’t treat you right. i’ve been silent because i didn’t want to ruin what we have. you’re my best friend in the whole world and i would never want to jeopardize that.” he swallowed and took a deep breath. “but, i love you bubs.” he exhaled, feeling relieved at finally saying it out loud to you. “i want to be the one to take you out. to hold your hand, and to cuddle you at night. i know i can treat you the way that you deserve to be treated. if.. if you’ll have me.”

“bin..” you reached up and grabbed his face between your palms. “i wish you would have told me sooner. maybe.. maybe if you would have said something before, it wouldn’t have taken me so long to realize that.. i love you too.” you smiled.

his face absolutely lit up. his eyes went wide and his smile grew large. “really?” he asked, feeling like he was dreaming. like he needed to make sure he heard you correctly. you nodded, tears welling up in your eyes. “say it again.” he said.

“i love you, bin.”

he grabbed you around your waist and lifted you off the ground, spinning you in a soft circle. “again!” he giggled.

“i love you!” you giggled back.

he sat you on your feet and looked into your eyes again. he tucked your hair behind your ear and stroked your cheek with his thumb. “you have no idea how long i’ve been waiting to hear that. but..” he tilted his head back and forth, thinking. his lips in a smirk. “i love you more.”

“not true!” you argued.

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“wait, you cooked?”

he chuckled. “i tried. i hope it tastes okay.”

you stuck your fork in the pasta, bringing it to your mouth. “i thought you only cooked for sustenance. wait, does this spaghetti have protein powder in it?”

he stuck his tongue out at you from across the small table. “very funny. just try it. i wanted to try cooking for you. i need to know if i should never do it again.”

you took a bite, chewing slowly. it was actually really good. “binnie, this is delicious.”

his shoulders relaxed and he took a bite of his own. “wow, it’s not terrible.” he said, chuckling. “i didn’t know i could do that.”

you ate your meal and sipped on some wine and talked about your day, just like normal. turns out, he hadn’t been answering your texts because he had been here setting all of this up. he used the spare key that you kept under your mat to let himself in. he said it took forever to blow up all the balloons and he was worried you would come home to find him passed out on the floor, surrounded by half filled balloons. only then did he discover that they only floated if they were filled with helium. so then he had to figure that out. and it took him even longer to cook the pasta, really working hard to make sure it was right. and he used your shower to wash up (if you thought about that for too long it made you squirmy) and he put on his nice clothes. then he says he waited in ‘a state of panic’ for you to finally come home.

“i can’t believe you did all of this for me.” you said, leaning back in your chair, sipping your wine.

“i wanted you to know how special you are to me.” he stood up and grabbed your plate, taking them both to the sink. he rolled up the sleeves of his button up, exposing his muscular forearms. you weren’t sure if it was the wine, but you had plenty of thoughts about those forearms. he began washing the dishes, the sound of running water filling the apartment. you finished your wine and brought it to the sink, sitting it on the counter next to the dirty cutlery. you looked at him, admiring his appearance. he really filled out his shirt nicely. it was spread tightly against his broad chest, the buttons barely hanging on.

“bun, you’re staring.” he smirked.

“sorry. you just look.. so good.” you confessed. “plus, i can openly stare now without fear of making you uncomfortable. it’s not.. making you uncomfortable, is it?” you pulled your eyes away from his biceps and looked up to his eyes. he was smiling, the tips of his ears a light pink.

“i don’t mind if you look. want me to take the shirt off and flex?”

your jaw fell open, your core pulsed. “don’t tease about that.”

he turned the water off and dried his hands with the towel. he walked over and touched your cheek again, cupping it in his palm. his eyes were darker now, and his thumb grazed across your bottom lip. “i’m not teasing.” he said, his voice low.

you thought your knees may give out. you grabbed his arms, steadying yourself. you had never seen this side of him before. had never seen him flirt and be so.. sexy. he leaned down, his nose brushing against yours, your erratic breath mingling with his. he waited.

“binnie..” you exhaled. “kiss me.”

he slowly brought his lips to yours, placing a delicate kiss on your lips. it started off slow and sweet but soon became a little more heated when he slipped his tongue into your mouth. you brought your hands up around his neck, tangling them in his hair. he kissed down your jaw and to your neck, licking and nibbling at the soft skin there. you threw your head back, panting. “bin.. let’s go to my room?” you phrased it as a question because you didn’t want him to feel pressured. after all, he had only confessed his feelings for you an hour ago. you didn’t want him to feel like things were moving too fast.

but he immediately bent down and scooped you up in his arms. “prince bin.” he mumbled against your lips, carrying you through your apartment and to your bed.

and you smiled into the kiss, your heart so full you thought it may burst. if you thought about it too hard you were sure that you would start crying. because you knew.. you had found your person. and he had been here all along.

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↑ inspo for binnies valentines fit hehe ↑

♡ pls reblog if you liked it! it truly helps a lot and makes me smile :) ♡

©hyunjins-orange-slice-too i do not give permission for this work or any of my work to be translated, copied, or reposted.

[universefcb]

Hi I love what you do could you do that hector is with the sister of marc guiu knowing very well that it's his little sister please

↬❥ Marc Guiu's sister

Hector Fort x Fem!Reader

sy: You and Hector have a multi-night stand, but she's the sister of one of his best friends. And you're insecure about it.

a/n: This request was made days ago, I just forgot to post it, sorry. And sorry if there are mistakes, English is not my language.I hope this is what you asked for!

warnings: Conflicts, fights, kisses and a Hector crazy about the reader.

The Barcelona sun was beginning to set when Héctor Fort parked his car in front of Marc Guiu's house. He knew he was about to step onto dangerous ground, but he couldn't help himself. Not when it came to her.

You, Marc’s little sister, were everything Héctor knew he shouldn’t want, but at the same time, you were the only thing he could think about lately. They had known each other for years, but something between them had changed in the last few months. The way she looked at him, the way her smile seemed different when she was with him…

And it happened. Hector declared his love for her and they had a small, secret, non-serious relationship.

Marc had always been protective of the girl. Anyone at Barça knew that getting close to her was like signing a footballing death sentence. Marc would not tolerate any player approaching her with ulterior motives.

And Hector? Well, Héctor was one of Marc's best friends.

Still, there he was, knocking on the door of the Guiu house with his heart racing and his thoughts plunged into uncertainty.

The door opened, and it wasn't Marc who appeared, but HER. Her hair loose, her eyes shining with excitement, and that smile that always disarmed him.

“Héctor…” she said, surprised but clearly happy to see him.

“We need to talk,” he said, looking around to make sure Marc wasn’t around.

She looked inside the house before leaving, closing the door behind her.

“What is it?” she asked, crossing her arms, but with an amused tone in her voice.

“This has to stop.” He ran a hand through his hair, frustrated with himself. “Marc will kill me if he finds out.”

She laughed.

“Are you afraid of my brother now, Héctor?” He rolled his eyes.

“It’s not a matter of fear, y/n. It’s respect. He trusts me. If he finds out that I’m… that we’re…”

“What are we?” she teased, tilting her head.

“That I am completely in love with you.”

Her expression softened. The playfulness in her eyes gave way to something deeper.

"Hector…"

He sighed, stepping closer.

“I can’t help it. I tried to ignore it, I tried to walk away, but when I’m with you… it feels like nothing else matters.”

“What if Marc finds out?” She bit her lip, hesitant.

“I don’t know. But I’m willing to take the risk.” Héctor held her hand firmly.

For a moment, silence fell between the two. Then, Sofia smiled.

“Then I think we’ve taken too long to do this.”

And without thinking twice, she approached, joining her lips to his. Héctor felt a shock run through his body, but the moment he hugged her, he knew he was lost.

If that was a mistake, it was one he would make again and again. Now, all that was left to do was find out how long they had until Marc Guiu found out. After they walked away, she gave him an awkward smile and wiped her mouth, watching him do the same. They went inside the house as if nothing had happened and Marc went downstairs.

“Hi, you didn’t tell me you were coming.” He crossed his arms, following his sister with his gaze until she disappeared into the kitchen.

“I was nearby and decided to stop by.”

You and Hector knew you were playing with fire, but that only made it all the more intense. The kiss from that night was still burning in both of your minds, and every secret look you exchanged, every discreet touch when no one was looking, only made it harder to keep it all hidden.

But the inevitable happened faster than they imagined.

Marc Guiu may be a great striker on the pitch, but off it he was also very clever. And nothing went unnoticed by him, especially when it came to his sister. And it was in a Barcelona training session that everything started to come together.

Héctor was in the locker room when he felt a shadow hovering over him. He looked up to find Marc standing with his arms crossed, his gaze hard and cold.

“I need to talk to you,” Marc said, his voice tense.

The entire locker room fell silent. The other players exchanged glances, sensing the tension in the air. With no other option, Héctor stood up and followed Marc into a more secluded hallway.

The attacker suddenly turned, his gaze fierce.

“Are you dating my sister?” Héctor froze.

He could lie. He could say that Marc was imagining things, that there was nothing between him and you but friendship. But something inside him refused to do that. He took a deep breath and held Marc's gaze.

"Yes." Marc's face turned red in an instant.

“Are you kidding me, Fort?”

“I’m not! And I know I should have told you sooner, but–

Before he could finish his sentence, he felt a strong push in his chest.

“You’re my best friend!” Marc growled. “How dare you?

“Because I like her, Marc. A lot!” Héctor didn’t back down.

“Marc!” You crossed the hall, quickly going to them, taking Marc’s hands off Hector. “Please, no.

She stood in front of Hector as she looked at her brother.

Silence fell between them. Marc’s chest rose and fell, his anger evident. But he knew Héctor. He knew his friend wasn’t the type to play with someone’s feelings.

“If you hurt my sister…” Marc clenched his fists.

“I would never do that!” he grabbed her shoulders.

The two's eyes faced each other for a few more seconds, until Marc let out a long sigh and turned his back.

“It’s going to take me a while to get used to this,” he said, before leaving without looking back.

You sighed, turning to Hector, analyzing every inch of his face.

“I’ll talk to him later. Are you okay?” Her hands cupped his face.

“I guess we’re boyfriend and girlfriend now.” He smiled, moving his hands down to her waist.

“You’re hopeless, aren’t you?” he laughed, feeling kisses being placed on his face.

[deepestnightcolor]

☾ ᴄᴜᴘɪᴅ'ꜱ ᴄʜᴏᴋᴇʜᴏʟᴅ ☽

Happy Valentine's, everyone! I hope that, if you want, you can spend your day surrounded by love. Remember, it doesn't always have to be romantic love. It can be a wish you fulfilled yourself, a nice day spent with your friends and/or family, or just a day you eat chocolates. It could also be some time spent with your Valentine that I have brought today - he is already so excited to see you! Have a lovely day, everyone! You are loved <3

ᴀ/ɴ: This can be read as either just a fluff, just a smut, or a fluff leading into smut. It is your choice - it is pretty clear when the fluff ends. Do whatever you feel like, it is your choice!~ ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: Sam (SDV) x Fem!Reader

ᴡᴄ: 3000 words in total. Fluff: 1109 words. Smut: 1891 words.

ᴍᴅɴɪ ✧ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: Fluff: love. Smut: unprotected sex, piercings, 69, cursing, name-calling (slut, cocksleeve), praise, you get a pounding.

February had come around quietly, and with that, Valentine’s Day was fast approaching, which meant that Pelican Town started to get covered in a blanket of pink, red, sometimes glittery, heart-shaped love symbols. There were heart-shaped bouquets being sold in the two stores, candy in heart-shaped boxes, cheesy little garlands wrapping around lamp posts, and a billboard happily yelling ‘DON’T FORGET – 14TH OF FEBRUARY IS VALENTINE’S DAY’ at whoever dared to pass by. Of course, not everyone was happy about the pink cloud looming over the small town – Sebastian claimed pink and red ‘fucking hurt in the eyes and make people go blind in these amounts’, Leah didn’t quite understand why a specific day was needed to show anyone their loves and why it needed to be broadcasted like this, and Harvey, while not minding it, worried about ‘people being quite careless in their loving frenzy’. Shane, the old grump, was not Cupid’s biggest friend, either, quite the opposite. He rolled his eyes at every cheerful person he saw and grumbled about the extra workload of stocking up for a ‘made up holiday no one cares about’, even though he knew very damn well that he was going to shell out the money to buy a bouquet for both Jas and Marnie.

Sam, on the other hand, had been shaped by years of listening to his mother’s romance audio books with her while she had been cleaning, and by the romantic telenovelas she had been watching during the colder winter months, which was why it came to no one’s surprise that he not only enjoyed Valentine’s Day, but took it seriously. Especially now that he had met the love of his life – you.

All these years of training would not be in vain – and when Sam made his way to your farm, he came prepared. A bouquet in his one hand – don’t you dare think he had gotten you one from Joja, oh no, Sam had robbed gardens (he had begged Evelyn and Jodi to give him some flowers) for this baby – and a basket in the other. He had been genuinely thinking about holding a rose between his teeth like he had seen in some movies, but much to his dismay, the thorns had won that battle. Still, he was quite proud of what he had in store for you; a hand-drawn card with a letter scribbled on the back, a plushie you had once excitedly pointed out in a store but put back when you had seen the price tag, and – his personal favourite – a handmade bracelet that fitted the one he was wearing around his wrist. You had pointed it out on your first date, and he had spent DAYS recreating it. Yes, Sam was prepared, and nothing would deter him from spending a great Valentine’s with you, not Sebastian complaining about the colours, nor a grumpy co-worker making fun of the love songs he had been blasting through his headphones.

And it did go very damn well – he knew it from the moment you opened the door with that shining glimmer of excitement in your pretty eyes, giddy smile decorating your pretty features, making your face light up and, in turn, making him feel like the sun had climbed from the blue skies to press a tender kiss to his heart and soul. God, he loved you, and he knew he would forever love you the moment your arms wrapped him up in a tender hug. “Happy Valentine’s Day,” he whispered, pressing a lingering kiss to your head – to show you his affection, for one, but also to inhale your scent like he usually did. He was sure; this was what pure love felt like. Warm, and safe, and comfortable. Do not get him wrong – Sam had loved loads and been very loved, too; he loved his mom, his dad and his little brother, he loved Sebastian (and all of them had gotten their little gifts to show his appreciation today, no matter how much they grumbled about pink wrapping paper (Seb did that, with a smile on his face while thrusting a small box containing a gift for Sam toward the blond)) but you? He loved you.

“Come in,” you chirped, and Sam was quick to follow, especially when your fingers wrapped around his wrist to tug you inside, a small chuckle falling from his lips. The scent of pizza lingered in the air, and you had decorated the table in your dining room with a white cloth and some rose petals (that rose had lost the battle, and to be fair? It gave him a little satisfaction), a candle in the middle of it, the tiny flame working hard to dip its surroundings in a soft glow. The man had asked you if you had wanted to go out for dinner for today, but you had shaken your head while telling him you had another idea – and your man had been happy to oblige. He was even happier now that he was sitting across from you in the soft glow of candlelight, a heart-shaped pizza having joined the two of you on the table. “You look gorgeous,” he murmured, grin spreading on his face when his eyes fell on the plushie you had draped over your shoulders. “And he suits you well,” he added, chin pointing loosely toward your little companion, making you reach out to pat the soft head. “I know, right?” You smiled, puffing out your chest before your face suddenly softened. “Thank you so much again, Sam.” “No, thank you, baby,” he cooed back, squeezing your hand lightly, his other hand wandering to the necklace you had gifted him, the tigers eye pendant that dangled from it carefully mined and processed by you, “for the gift, and for being my girlfriend.” The smile you gave him made his heart melt, and for once, Sam was at a loss for words. He just had to take you in for a moment, really let it sink in that all of this was true – you being his. Him being allowed to make you happy. Him just- “Fuck, I love you so much,” he whispered, voice cracking as he looked at you, drinking up the smile you generously gifted him. The card you had made him had already brought him close to tears, and if the night kept going like this – he was indeed going to fucking sob. “I love you, too, Sammy Boy.” He knew you meant it, and he was thanking whatever Cupid that had been merciful enough to make this happen, even if it meant he would be crying from happiness.

It seemed like you really wanted to see him cry tonight, or why else were you wearing that slutty little lingerie set that hugged your curves the same way a bow would wrap around a gift? But that was what you were, right?  A gift – his gift. “So fucking gorgeous,” the blond slurred as he inhaled deeply, blue eyes already completely pussy-drunk. Sam hadn’t even bothered to take off those cute little panties that clung to your hips so nicely, he just didn’t have the time! All he had done was shove them to the side to have them out of the way, to have access to your sweet, sweet pussy, folds already glistening with wetness you had spread by grinding against his thigh as you had sat on his lap just moments before. You did not need to worry, though – your boyfriend was more than happy to lap up what you were giving him as he buried his fat cock in your mouth, weepy, pierced tip kissing the back of your throat.   “So…fucking…good,” he groaned into your cunt, words forced out between messy licks and sinful slurps, muffled by your gorgeous thighs that pressed against his face. You moaned around him in response, coaxing a small whimper from your significant other. He just couldn’t help himself, had to fuck your pretty mouth – just a little! He promised, just a few small thrust upwards, having you take his cock juuust a little more.

And you took it so well - his good girl, his perfect princess; swallowing around his cock even when he stuffed your mouth so full. He just had to reward you with quick licks and desperate suckles on your clit, grunting as your hips shifted to grind down on his face. He would happily take it if you gave him more of those tasty juices, would let you ride his face all day and night long if he could keep tasting you on his tongue as he let the metal ball nestled in the muscle drag over your most sensitive spots. Another moan vibrated through him, making the knot in his stomach tighten, his head becoming lighter. If he was going to die like this – smelling you, tasting you, with his cock down your tight throat, allowed to mindlessly hump at it – he was going to die the happiest man on the whole damn planet.

You worked his cock heavenly, up and down you went while your hips ground back and forth, using his tongue however you pleased. Sam could feel his eyes roll back in his head, needy bitch brain forcing him to try and nuzzle his head further into your cunt, lips wrapping around your clit to suck before his tongue circled your entrance. He could feel you tense on top of him as he edged his tongue inside of you, your breathing becoming heavier as your hands began to drag toward his balls. “Good schlut,” Sam moaned against you, hissing when he felt your fingers wrap around them, giving them a gentle squeeze. He was going to cum, he fucking knew it. His hand came down on your hip in a soft smack and the way you clenched around his tongue told him that you weren’t that far off the edge either, orgasm approaching faster than you would have liked to admit, but he ate you like you were the best meal he had ever and had, hitting all the right spots with his messy licks. A sound that could have been identified as “Sam” had your mouth been a little less of cock sounded against him, making his hips snap up again as a twitch ran through his dick, tongue lapping at you almost desperately as he felt you choke on him. Another smack to your hip had you whining, the stinging sensation combined with Sam’s lapping and sucking made your mind go blank. You were so close, so, so close to just come on your boyfriend’s face. Your breathing came in shallow breaths around him, hips grinding to chase that high, your thighs beginning to twitch as the neatly tied bow in your stomach started to come undone.

Another slurred sound left your mouth, eyes squeezing shut as you were ready to embrace the rushing feeling about to crash over you, but it didn’t happen. Quite the opposite. You didn’t feel anything anymore. No tongue lapping you up, no hands massaging your hips, no cock filling your mouth. No, that was not quite right. You did feel something – the mattress below you were being pinned down on. Sam, who you had been sitting just moments before, was hovering over you now, strands of blonde hair sticking to his sweaty forehead, cheeks reddened and chest flushed with arousal, a grin on his wet lips as he stared down at you.

“So fucking pretty,” he cooed, licking over his lips, his hand wrapped around the base of his cock as he let the pierced tip run through your soppy wet folds. “My princess,” he sighed, sucking in a sharp breath through his teeth as the head of his dick caught your twitchy hole, swallowing down a thick glob of saliva that was threatening to spill past his lips, “I am so sorry…jus’ needed you on my cock s’badly, need that pretty fuckin’ cunt to swallow me whole, jus’- jus’ like thaaaat, fuck,” he whined as he pushed his tip past the ring of your cunt, his eyes rolling in the back of his skull. This surely wasn’t the first time the two of you fucked, but feeling your walls wrap around him always made the breath be knocked out of his lungs.

He took a gasping lungful of air as he slowly pushed forward, his eyes flickering from your face to your pussy, watching your sweet little cunt stretch to accommodate his size, back up to your face to see the dick-drunken look in your eyes. Another deep breath was needed before he could finally pull back, one of his hands wrapping around your ankle to push your leg back – he just needed deeper access, just needed all of you to wrap around him like the pretty little cocksleeve you were.

“My girl,” Sam croaked, soaking in the string of moans that fell from your lips, his hips starting to pump in and out of you slowly, letting the feeling of your wet gummy walls around him really sink in as he pulled back, just to be bottoming out inside of you completely again. Poor Sam was never able to keep up this slow pace for long, however. You simply were too much of a delicious treat for him to stay with this slow rock of hips, especially when you moaned his name like this – all stupid and needy. You pretty much didn’t give him any other choice than to hump into you quickly, filling you up just to pull back and fuck inside of you again in a fast pace, have your tits bounce as your eyes rolled, nails digging into his shoulders as you whined and begged for more. Really, he just needed to rut into you like his life depended on it, his dick had to bully your poor cunt, metal of his piercing dragging along your walls in a toe-curling caress. He simply loved you so much, and fucking you like this was the best way to show it, wasn’t it?

“Saaaahammm!” You whined, your hips snapping forward, nerve endings still raw and tingling from how close you had been before, but Sam did not let up. Your boyfriend pounded your cunt, his pierced tongue lulling out of his mouth, just to drag over your hardened nipple moments later, whimpering when your back arched toward him to have him suck it into his mouth.

The wet sounds of both his mouth sucking your nipple and your bodies meeting in a rough kiss didn’t veil what the two of you were doing, and your yells of his name only told the walls of the room who was fucking you so well, who made you see sparks with each thrust. “’M gonna cum! Sam, I am gonna cum! Fuck,” you cried, hips bucking helplessly to meet his thrust, to have him impossibly deeper, to take what was given to you. “Yes, baby, cum for me! Cum for me, make that cunt gush ‘round my cock, please, fuck, you are gonna gush around my cock,” he growled, moan rolling off his tongue as his dick pulsed.

Dick fucking into you roughly as your body began to tremble, taut muscles twitching as your back arched in again, your lower lip quivering as you tried to let a sound escape, but the force of your orgasm had you in a chokehold, leaving your brain empty and vocal chords unmoved until finally, a high-pitched cry of his name tore from you, your cunt spasming around his cock, pretty walls massaging his girthy shaft.

“That’s it, princess, hoooo, that’s fucking iiiit.” The groaned words were drawled, his own orgasm having his balls pull tight toward his body, breaths coming out in quick puffs. You looked up at him with love in your eyes, the high of your orgasm having blown the thoughts from your mind, and Sam was not holding up much better. He couldn’t think about anything but how much he loved you, and each soft smack of the pendant against his lean chest served him as another reminder.

“Gonna fill ya up, baby, all the way. You want my cum, hm? Want me to fuck my cum into that pretty cunt, yes? Come on,” he whispered, squishing your cheek with gentle fingers, small moan of appreciation sounding when you nodded eagerly. So dumb and yet so greedy for his dick and cum, weren’t you? Fuck.

A sudden hitch in his breath as Sam fucked deep inside of you, humping into your cunt without pulling out much, craving to cum as deep inside of you as humanly possible. “Saaaam, please. Need your cum!” You sobbed, toes curled and legs shaking. Sam couldn’t hold back anymore, cock twitching as thick ropes of cum filled your cunt. Quick breaths were pressed through Sam’s teeth, his hips working his sensitive dick into your cunt to truly stuff you full as your clenching walls worked on milking him nothing but dry. Slurred words tumbled from his lips, produced by his fuck-drunken brain and not at all coherent, but they didn’t need to be for you to understand them as praise, welcoming them with a weak moan as your body trembled as you neared overstimulation.

Your boyfriend’s thrusts slowed inside of you, becoming more of lazy drags and small shoves as he looked into your eyes, his hand slowly guiding your leg back on the mattress, instead finding your cheek to cup as he finally stilled inside your abused little pussy.

You both stayed like that for a while, silently staring into one another eyes, basking in the sweaty aftermaths of your orgasms, before the blond finally leaned down to press a kiss on your slightly swollen lips. “Happy Valentine’s Day, baby,” he whispered, when you finally parted, making you chuckle weakly. “Happy Valentine’s, Sammy,” you whispered, cleavage flushed, looking like an absolute angel, and he knew he was fucking done for.

[swordsovereign]

seofon genuinely gets mad whenever he thinks abt ceodric bc damn ... if his life had gone Bad he could've been just like that (also he has other seofon in the back of his mind this is not helping him) and he is just so ... Upset everything sucked there and it also sorta drove it home even more that people are not just envious of the power the eternals have, they're SCARED of it and he doesn't want people to be afraid of the eternals he doesn't want them to be afraid of HIM but it causes all these doubts and considering how his mental state has been going on the steady decline ... yeah.

that was bad times all around he just does the Usual Seofon Thing and smiles so people dont know how fucked up he is over it

[oncominggstorm]

My aunt decided a good way to wish me a happy birthday would be to text me a picture of me & my dead dad from my 22nd birthday.

Like yay thanks, I totally wanted to be sad and missing my dad on my birthday. I definitely wasn't trying to do the "out of sight out of mind don't think about sad things" thing to get through it without crying or anything 👍 Definitely wasn't already struggling missing not getting a happy birthday text from him 👍👍

[seventh-district]

i’m not like other girls, my “Rest” stats are a heart rate of 110bpm and a HRV of 14 fucking milliseconds. :)

[sharkdays]

i love pokemon

[andypantsx3]

FILLING IN | BAKUGOU x READER ˖˚˳⊹

summary: A production assistant for an erotic arts studio, you think you've seen every ridiculous plot line under the sun. But not even porn tropes can compare to the absurd reality you find yourself in when the on-screen talent drops out, and you're asked to fill in opposite the studio's number one star Bakugou Katsuki.  contents: The classic oh-no-the-porn-talent-has-gone-missing-let's-sub-a-rando-in trope, no quirks au, pornstar Bakugou, soft dom Bakugou, gn + afab reader, unrequited-requited crush, slight bondage, descriptions of afab genitalia, nipple sucking, cunnilingus, piv sex, pet names used: angel and sweetheart, porn with surprise feelings, 18+, 8.2k words notes: This is my Bakugou x Reader commitment for @ficsforgaza, and I am sorry it is late enough to also count for Valentine's Day (but also Happy Valentine's Day!!) Additionally, a special thank you to my angel princess @ofmermaidstories for handing me the nerd + pornstar combo when I was worried about Bakugou's characterization. I think this is the only way I could have ever written a pornstar Bakugou that felt right to me. Love you, Mermie.

The studio was churning in chaos by the time you arrived.

The first sign that things weren’t right was Komori, one of your fellow production assistants, propped against the wall outside. Her cellphone was pressed against her ear, and she looked nervous, her foot tapping a thousand miles a minute. She had a thumbnail pressed to her mouth and was chewing steadily through the nail like a rabbit through a lettuce leaf.

You didn’t want to disturb her, so you buzzed inside the studio, only to find the hallways filled with an equally nervous energy. Yaoyorozu, one of the production managers, hovered in the doorway of a dressing room. She looked to be arguing with someone, her normally sweet expression pinched in profile. A small circle of people took up the hallway behind her, shifting apprehensively.

A shrill voice filtered out of the dressing room as you tried to wedge yourself by. “I said I’m not doing it. We’re getting married and we agreed I wouldn’t do this anymore.”

“Bibimi—” Yaoyorozu started.

“Effective immediately. Find someone else,” Bibimi’s voice replied.

You stopped in your tracks, blinking as you turned back to the doorway, peering over Sato’s shoulder.

Bibimi Kenranzaki was one of the studio’s top actresses, the very performer scheduled to shoot the production you were working on this afternoon. The shoot was a Valentine’s Day special, and had already been delayed at Bibimi’s request several times. If you’d understood Yaoyorozu’s previous concerns correctly, today was the last possible day to shoot it with enough time for it to make it through editing to post on Valentine’s.

This was not good.

“Bibimi, of course we would never force you to do something you did not consent to,” Yaoyorozu said patiently. “But you can see how having delayed this shoot many times already puts us in danger of not delivering on our commitments.”

You heard a dismissive snort issue from the room, and peered over one of Yaoyorozu’s slender shoulders. Bibimi lounged across one of the waiting room couches, arms crossed over her chest. An enormous diamond ring you’d never seen before glinted from one of her fingers, clearly the source of today’s change of heart.

Oh, production was not going to be happy.

You winced as you ducked out from behind Yaoyorozu, heading back down the hall to stuff your things into one of the vacant lockers. It was a struggle to fit everything in as today you’d come directly from a lecture—two textbooks the size and weight of cinderblocks choking up all the space in your bag. You would have thought that, considering that a wide swath of the production staff were college students—including several of the performers themselves—the studio would have had a better set up. But it was often a fight to the death to even find an open locker amongst the many other bookbags, and an equally Sisyphean struggle to get the door shut on the tiny cubbies.

Once you finally managed to finagle the door shut on your backpack, you made a beeline for the supply room. Typically, your first task of any shoot was acquisition of about a million pounds of baby wipes and lube, though you wondered if they would be needed today, given the scene with Bibimi you’d just witnessed.

You checked the film schedule posted in the staff entry to find the allotted set room. Then you made your way down the twisting maze halls carpeted with ancient olefin to the set for You Cumplete Me, the obnoxious working title Kaminari had come up with for this particular Valentine’s Day project.

The room was set up like some generic apartment, a large bed with a wire-framed headboard dominating the majority of the space. A cherry wood nightstand cluttered with fake knick knacks stood diligently at the bedside, and two fake windows with their curtains drawn shut overlooked the whole affair, red dressings fluttering slightly in the breeze from a fan.

Most of the production staff was already inside the room, the cameramen and director huddled together in the corner, whispering nervously. You spotted Mina, the wardrobe coordinator and makeup artist, fussing with her phone in the other corner, her various products and brushes spread out across a plastic folding table, looking put out.

“You know if we’re going to be able to sub anyone in for Bibimi?” you asked as you approached her, flopping down in one of the chairs set up at her makeshift dressing table. You arrayed your armful of lube and plastic packs of wipes at the corner so as not to disturb her arrangement.

Mina’s eyes flicked up to yours and she grinned, the upturn of her mouth accented with perfectly-applied hot pink lipstick.

“Komori’s called like ten other actresses so far and can’t get anyone,” Mina answered. “And Shiozaki and Kendo are in-studio but both just got off another shoot so we contractually can’t use them. I think Yaomomo is ready to start shaking people down.”

You winced. Yaoyorozu never lost her cool, but the pressure must be mounting. You knew marketing materials had already been put out on the studio’s website, specifically promising the return of the studio’s highest-grossing star—Bakugou Katsuki—opposite Bibimi.

While Bibimi might be the highest paid actress, Bakugou was the real draw of UA Productions. UA churned out projects that were largely targeted towards less traditional markets—largely women—porn that was often of higher production value, higher quality scripting, and careful coordination showcasing enthusiasm and consent. It also subsequently employed more than its fair share of beautiful men.

And Bakugou Katsuki crowned that pile of performers. Though foul-mouthed and often irascible, he was undeniably breathtaking to behold, both on screen and in person. He was the typical blend of tall, strong, and well-muscled that most UA actors were. But he moved with a singular precision and intention that drove fans wild, and came equipped with bed-rumpled blond hair, mile-long lashes, a surly, pouty mouth, and a facial symmetry that Euclid himself would have wept over.

He was also nearing the end of his doctoral and would not be filming for much longer, you were given to understand. So the studio stood to lose a significant amount of audience trust and money, should this production fall through.

As if on cue, Bakugou Katsuki himself stomped through the doorway. The expression on his face told you he was already well-aware of what was happening with Bibimi, and he was getting annoyed with the hold up. He set a direct line for you and Mina, mouth twisted in dissatisfaction.

Your ears promptly went hot, the way they always did when Bakugou was in your line of vision.

You’d unfortunately had something of a crush on him from the minute you’d become a production assistant at UA, your third year of college. Funds were tight and your masters program loomed large in front of you, its meager stipend like a slap in the face. You’d needed something else flexible, and you’d found UA through the friend of a friend—its proximity to the university, and ever changing schedule of ongoing productions offering the perfect amount of flexibility for your situation.

Bakugou had been there that first day as Yaoyorozu gave you the tour, too. He’d been tucked up on the couch of the waiting room as you passed through, blonde hair rumpled, someone’s lip gloss still smeared at the corner of his jaw. He looked like a soft, relaxed mess—clothes askew like he’d pulled them back on after a shoot and immediately migrated to the couch—though his scarlet eyes tracked intently across the page of an enormous engineering text spread across his thighs. His long fingers twirled a pen absently, tapping against a notebook peeking out from just under the textbook, headphones jammed over his ears.

He did not look up as you made your way inside, but your stomach had flared to life with a sudden flutter of butterflies. You were startled by the pretty set of his mouth, the long lashes that swept over his cheeks as he read, the flex of those long, beautiful fingers on his pen. You had never seen a person so perfect in real life, and the effect was dumbing.

“That’s Bakugou, one of our performers,” Yaoyorozu had told you, leading you through the room. She did not stop to introduce you. “He’s working on a PhD in chemical engineering, and performs once every couple of months for us. He’s—erm—not quite friendly, so we’ll skip the introduction today.”

You’d followed her, nodding obediently, leaving Bakugou behind. You’d dutifully concluded your tour and signed all the paperwork, and met several other members of the staff. It was only when you’d been released from your onboarding obligations that you saw Bakugou again, as you ran out into the parking lot to start your car.

It was raining out, a torrential downpour much worse than when you’d arrived that came down in thick, pelting sheets. Visibility was bad enough that you almost missed the tuft of blonde hair across the parking lot, ducking under the awning of the nearby bus stop.

You knew the route headed back towards your university, and subsequently your apartment, and it dawned on you that Bakugou’s would most likely be attaining his cited PhD at your same college. You felt your mouth twist, impressed. PhD tracks were notoriously difficult to attain at Musutafu University—no wonder Bakugou needed a job that was, for lack of better phrasing, quick and dirty. He probably was drowning in post-grad labs and dissertation materials.

The memory of those long fingers tapping at the edge of his text suddenly flickered again in your brain, and something possessed you as you started up your engine. Before you knew what you were doing, you had pulled your car around into the bus stop bay, leaning out to call out to him.

“Hey—Bakugou, right?” you said, watching as scarlet eyes found yours, narrowing suspiciously. His pretty mouth lifted in an immediate, reflexive snarl, and those broad shoulders squared off, like he was getting ready for trouble.

You cut in, quickly explaining yourself when you realized he had no context for the rando hanging out of their car window at him. “I’m Yaoyorozu’s new production staff. Just joined today. Are you headed towards Musutafu U and do you want a ride?”

A blonde eyebrow lifted. “You’re with UA?” he asked. His voice was a kind of low growl, not unlike the thunder suddenly echoing overhead, and the sound shot through you like a bolt of lightning.

“I—yeah. Just signed the paperwork this afternoon.”

Several spatters of rain dampened your cheeks where you had your head poked out of the window, and Bakugou’s eyes tracked them closely as he leaned in. “Then let’s get one thing straight right off the bat—I don’t fuck coworkers off the clock.”

You recoiled, horrified at the conclusion he’d immediately brought himself to. “No! That’s not what I—I didn’t mean like—! I just thought because it’s raining out, you might want—”

“I want you to fuck right off, is what I want,” Bakugou said, crossing his arms over his chest. He made a show of leaning back against the glass wall of the bus stop, its interior papered over with moldering ads. It was a clear dismissal.

You blinked at him stupidly for a moment, mind reeling that your gesture had been received so poorly. But then you realized he hadn’t seen you, in your trek through the staff room during your afternoon tour. You’d only just seen him, and you hadn’t spoken to him besides. Despite your immediate interest in and respect for him, he knew nothing about you.

And he was a pornstar, come to think of it. He probably had had a fair number of creeps proposition him out of the blue. Enough that he was suspicious now, as you might have been, were you in his position.

Your cheeks heated, suddenly ashamed. You nodded, gritting your teeth as you ducked back inside your car.

“Right, fucking off, as requested,” you said, turning your blinker on to move back out into the road. “Sorry to scare you. See you, um—see you at work sometime.”

“Oi—I ain’t fuckin’ scared,” you heard him growl, but then you were turning back out into the street. You rolled your window back up as you sped up, resisting the urge to look back at Bakugou in the rearview.

What a humiliating first impression that had been.

You'd fretted about it for another week before your first official day at UA, and for several weeks more when you didn’t immediately run into Bakugou. When you’d finally met him properly, however, Bakugou acted like he’d never even seen you before in his life, and you somewhat gratefully followed his lead. He treated you like anyone else, with the same kind of universal severity he turned on the other production staff. You discovered very quickly that he was impatient, brusque, no-nonsense. He stalked onto every set with all the latent energy of a nuclear missile strike, and never softened until after the shoot was over.

His general attitude, and your humiliating first encounter should have been enough to turn you off of him. But the occasional glimpse of him after a shoot—rumpled, relaxed, open in a way he normally wasn’t, in the way that you'd first seen him—was unfortunately enough to keep those initial butterflies aflutter.

The fact that he was smart—and annoyingly adept in the bedroom, considering the number of reshoots his costars often needed after they accidently came too early—did not help matters.

“Where the fuck is Yaoyorozu?” he demanded of you and Mina, as he approached you in the set room now.

You met his scarlet gaze, holding very still under his regard.

“She was negotiating with Bibimi just now when I came in,” you told him, cheeks heating as his eyes flicked over you. He had a very direct way of evaluating people, and rarely missed a detail. You hoped your makeup wasn’t smudged from where you’d had your head propped up in your hand, valiantly resisting falling asleep in your earlier lecture.

“Bibimi’s a waste of fuckin’ time,” Bakugou growled.

You rolled your eyes. He couldn’t very well act opposite his own hand, so someone was going to have to fill in.

“Well Mina says we’re not having luck finding anyone else either so Bibimi is your best bet,” you told him.

Bakugou looked down his perfect nose at you. “Anyone in this damn studio could do better than she does.”

You felt your eyebrows raise. Bibimi was popular with a variety of audiences for her exaggeratedly dollish features—you doubted just anyone could fill in for her and look as good. You said as much to Bakugou, and he scoffed.

“‘S not about looking good, it’s about showing that you’re feeling good,” he said plainly, igniting a wave of fire across your cheeks. The flames worsened when he crossed his arms over his chest and you had occasion to notice he was in nothing but a workout tank, his bare biceps flexing enticingly in the studio lighting.

You were thankfully spared from having to form a coherent response by Yaoyorozu stepping into the room. She was tailed by Komori, and wore a troubled expression. She waved an elegant hand that encompassed both your camp in the corner and the directors on the other side of the room.

“Bibimi is unfortunately out. And we cannot use Shiozaki or Kendo. I am afraid we may have to call off the shoot this afternoon,” she said.

“So get someone else in,” Bakugou said, with his usual brisk directness. He turned to face her. You caught the whiff of something light and clean on him as he did so, laundry detergent and recently-applied shampoo.

Yaoyorozu fixed him with an expectant look. “We’ve unfortunately worked our way through the roster of available performers. Unless you know someone else?”

Bakugou stared back at her evenly, arching a blonde brow. “There’re a bunch of extras already here, aren’t there?”

A little shock went through you. Extras. As in the…people in the room right now? Did he really mean the production staff?

Yaoyorozu blinked, apparently taken aback. Then her gaze slid thoughtfully between Komori, Mina, and you. Another little thrill raced through you, like you’d suddenly missed a step. Surely they both could not actually be considering that.

“I’m a hoe but I’m a loyal hoe,” Mina said from next to you, immediately putting up a rosy palm. “Eiji is my one and only, sorry babes.”

Yaoyorozu nodded. “Of course, I would not expect you to violate any commitments you already had to a significant other.”

“I am also seeing someone,” Komori volunteered, a shy little blush sweeping across her cheeks. You smiled a bit at her obvious regard for whoever it was—until you sensed a dozen pairs of eyes suddenly turning to you.

Your stomach dropped—less of a missed step then and more of a sudden push off a cliff.

Worst of all was the pair of scarlet eyes suddenly burning with undue regard in your direction. You stared straight at Yaoyorozu, unable to meet Bakugou’s gaze. You still felt like you might burn up under his scrutiny, like an ant under a magnifying glass.

“I—uh—” you said dumbly, floundering for the right set of words to explain yourself. “Uhh.”

“You seeing anybody?” Bakugou prodded, prompting a fresh wave of heat to your cheeks.

“Well—no—”

“You clean?” he asked.

Your face burned hotter. “Yes, if you must know—-but uh—”

“Then what?” he prompted.

“Is it that easy for you? To just switch partners like that?” you asked. You weren’t exactly a blushing virgin but you still had only slept with partners you had cared for. Bakugou had worked with you for years and never signaled anything beyond dismissal and semi-professionalism—so it wasn’t like he had that same level of interest in you, despite your enormous crush on him. How could he just switch, just like that?

Bakugou uncrossed his arms to settle his hands on slim hips instead, and he gave you another evaluating once over. “Something the matter with you?” he asked. You noticed he did not ask if you thought something was the matter with him. You wondered if your crush on him was that apparent.

“No,” you said defensively. “Just—I don’t know that I’d be any good on camera.”

“You’ve been in videos before,” Mina pointed out, tugging playfully on your belt loop. “You were in Bibimi’s Christmas special a couple years ago.”

“That was different,” you said, staring at her. “I was her evil coworker who sent her running into Tetsutetsu’s muscular arms. I didn’t have to get naked.”

“We can give you time to get prepared,” Yaoyorozu promised kindly. “If you wanted to um, clean up or trim—”

“It’s not that!” you said quickly, waving your arms. Your ears burned. “I just mean I would be shy.”

Bakugou watched you silently for another long moment, his full mouth pursed in thought. His gaze dragged down your body and then back up to your face, and you felt it like a physical touch.

“Then if you forgot you were on camera?” he asked, a rasp in his tone.

You blinked at him dumbly. “If I—forgot?”

“If I made you forget,” he said, flashing a sharp smirk. The arrogance looked so good on him, zinging through your veins like an electric current. Your cheeks and ears flared even hotter, until you thought you might actually be emitting smoke from them.

You tried to form words but seemed to have trouble shaping the proper ones with your tongue, making a series of choking noises before you managed. “There is no way you could—you’re not that good.”

Something hot flared to life behind Bakugou’s eyes, and his smirk curled even sharper. “We’ll see about that.”

“What if Bakugou helps you get over your nerves, and we just try it and see how you do.” Yaoyorozu prompted gently. “Is that something you would be willing to do? Of course we won’t pressure you.”

Your gaze jerked back to her as you startled. For just a second you’d sort of forgotten there was anyone in the room but Bakugou.

“I sort of doubt—but if you really need—I mean I could—try…” you fumbled out.

Yaoyorozu nodded gratefully, looking pleased again. “Alright, then let’s at least try it. Mina please find proper costuming and help get Y/N ready. I will draw up a short contract with the same terms we promise all our on camera talent for you to look over when you’re done.”

You nodded, a little dazed. Had you really just agreed to—?

But then Mina was laughing, grabbing you by the elbow and drawing you out of the room. She marched you towards the back of the studio building where she’d amassed a respectable wardrobe, racks upon racks of clothes. “Alright, this is going to be so fun! I love dressing new talent! It’s always fun to work out what’s going to work with your coloring and style on screen.”

The mention of you doing anything on screen had all the blood draining from your veins, but Mina didn’t seem to mind. She kept up a stream of happy, easy chatter as she pecked around in the racks like a chicken hunting a grasshopper. Eventually she emerged with a robe in a deep pink, slippery and silky and glistening faintly under the overheads.

“Okay so you’re supposed to be a loving couple celebrating your anniversary and looking for ways to spice things up,” she said. “So you’ll be waiting for him to come home, looking delicious in this little slip of a thing. He can unwrap you like a V-Day present!”

Her callback to the plot of the shoot suddenly made you realize there were way more things involved in the project than just being pawed at on screen—and you did not know any of Bibimi’s lines. How the hell were you supposed to deliver any kind of performance?

“Don’t worry about it, I assure you the gears are already churning in Momo’s big brain,” Mina said when you asked as much. She peeled you out of your sweater and jeans, and ushered you into the robe. Cheeks burning, you let her look you over to make sure you were properly groomed for the camera.

Then before you could get cold feet, she bundled you up and shepherded you back into the set room and set to work on you with her various pots of paint and ointments. She worked a couple things into your hair, applied something glossy and sticky to your mouth, and adjusted the fit of your robe to her liking until she pronounced you ready.

Yaoyorozu was already leaning over you by the time Mina released you, laying out a packet of sheets in front of you. She detailed the terms to you in the professional, clipped tone you’d heard her conduct business in before, and soon enough you were penning in your own name in a shaky hand. The strokes looked almost foreign on the page, and you felt a little more than lightheaded thinking about what you’d just signed yourself into.

“So—what am I supposed to do about Bibimi’s lines?” you asked, your voice coming out kind of dry and crackly.

“We’re going to improvise,” Yaoyorozu said. “Bakugou will guide you. Try to respond as best you can to what he says, along the framework of being a couple celebrating their anniversary. It’s most important to capture your intimacy, however, so we can always come back and reshoot any dialog as needed after. You can call him Katsuki, there are no aliases for this shoot.”

You nodded, feeling even more nervous now that all the prerequisites had been completed.

That left Komori waiting for you. She was apparently assuming the duties you’d abandoned by becoming the star of this absurd alternate dimension. She led you over to what had been meant to be Bibimi’s starting mark on the bed and helped you spread your pink robe out enticingly. You almost laughed as you helped her, feeling foolish and distinctly unsexy for the deliberateness of it all.

There was nothing less romantic than half a dozen other people in the room with you, cameras and hot lights trained on you like you were an escaped convict under a helicopter floodlight. You got the impression that it was going to be a monumental task to work up the nerve to even loosen the tie on your robe, nevermind remove it.

Except then Bakugou walked in.

He’d changed, sometime in the half hour or so Mina had had you in her clutches. He prowled into the room in a dark charcoal suit, the consummate businessman home from his generic businessman job.

He looked unfairly good in it too—the close cut of it highlighted how his broad shoulders slashed inwards into a trim waist, and his pants showcased the flex of a strong, hard thigh. He’d acquired a chunky wristwatch in a dark metal, and it glinted dully under the overhead lights.

He looked sleek and dangerous, even though you’d just seen him stomping around in sweatpants not thirty minutes prior. You felt your breath escape you in a whoosh, your heartbeat kicking up as he prowled closer.

“I’m home, angel,” he said, a smoky rasp curling on the end of his voice. Despite the pet name, he sounded enough like his usual self that you almost answered him in turn.

You vaguely remembered you were obliged to playact with him, and you summoned up your nerve. “Hi, Katsuki,” you said. You hoped your voice did not sound too shaky. “Happy Anniversary.”

Bakugou’s scarlet eyes dipped down to your robe, fastening to the spot where it gaped open suggestively over one thigh. Your skin buzzed like a hive of bees was trapped beneath it.

“This my present?” he asked, stalking closer. He snagged the tie of your robe in his long fingers, toying with it speculatively.

“It should be easy to open,” you joked, then almost cringed.

Sexy. You were supposed to be sexy, not goofy as hell. And what happened when he really did try to open it?

A small amount of panic crept up your spine again, seeping into your veins. You did not feel ready to be naked before all of the eyes in this room, nevermind the roving gaze of the internet. What had you been thinking, signing up for this?

Your hand came up defensively to tug the robe tie back out of Bakugou’s hand, only for it to be captured too. Bakugou tugged you up and to him, and your face broke out in another sweeping wave of flame as you felt the hard planes of him against you. He was so warm, and smelled so good up close and you could not even begin to know what to do or where to put your hands—

Before you could ask him what the heck he was doing, however, he brought your captured hand to his mouth. You almost leapt out of your skin when you felt the gentle press of his lips on the inside of your wrist, the careful flicker of a tongue. Those scarlet eyes slid over you knowingly, near enough that you could see tiny flecks of deep purple in them.

His other hand came up to take your chin, his thumb stroking over the side of your jaw. The feeling made you shiver slightly, and it must have been clearly visible because the corner of Bakugou's mouth lifted into a smirk against your wrist. Your heart hammered against your ribcage, every inch of your skin thrilling with the feeling of your longtime crush doing something this to you.

“Think I’m gonna enjoying opening you alright,” Bakugou intoned.

You struggled to remember what he was talking about, giving up almost immediately as his mouth trailed along the inside of your arm. It traced up and up and up, until he was hovering dangerously close to your face. His fingers tightened on your chin, tilting your face up to his.

And then he bent his head, and crushed his mouth to yours.

Immediately, everything else disappeared.

Kissing Bakugou was three thousand zillion times hotter than you could have ever even imagined. You’d sort of imagined that with an attitude like his, he would be all power and impatience. And the power was there, but leashed, somehow. His mouth was hot and shockingly sweet on yours, and his fingers cupped your face to his, holding you there like he planned to kiss you for hours yet.

Your head was spinning by the time he let your mouth free, and the dip of his blonde lashes as he looked you over was extraordinarily self-satisfied.

His hand on your chin went to your robe instead, pulling the collar wide so that he could lower his mouth inside instead, kissing over your throat. You seized fistfuls of his suit, clinging to him, as he mapped a hot path across your shoulder and collarbone, one of his hands coming up to up your chest.

You heard yourself let out a soft hiss as his thumb pressed over your nipple through the silky fabric. Bakugou sucked a careful bruise into the side of your neck as he did it again, letting out a barely audible snort when you jerked in his hold, unconsciously arching into his hand.

“So sensitive for me, angel,” he drawled as his other hand came up to carefully pinch your other nipple.

You heard yourself make a small, choked off noise like a whine, and you could feel Bakugou’s lips pull into an answering smirk against your throat. You didn’t think you had been quite this responsive to a partner before—but something about the careful, purposeful way he was touching you had your blood running quicker in your veins.

Bakugou’s thumbs traced slow, deliberate circles over your nipples with just the right amount of pressure to make you groan. He teased you again and again as his mouth traced higher on your neck.

Within minutes you were panting, a slow, syrupy pleasure dripping down into your core.

Bakugou tugged your robe wider, then bent his head. You felt the tickle of his hair against your collarbone, softer than you would have thought, as his mouth closed over the point of one nipple. The draw of his mouth had you arching up into him immediately, pleasure zinging through your veins.

“Oh my god,” you said, seizing a fistful of that blonde hair.

Bakugou’s tongue teased at the nipple, and you writhed in his hold. Then he did the same to your other one, and you thought you might die. He hadn’t even touched you yet and you already wanted to crawl out of your skin with impatience.

“Katsuki—please,” you heard yourself say, almost distantly. “Katsuki—oh!”

“Please what, angel?” he said into the skin of your chest, before laying his mouth back over your nipple and giving a sweet suck.

“Oh my god—please!” you said, stupidly. Not an answer to his question but you’d forgotten how to string words together, your brain-to-mouth connection running on autopilot.

“Gonna have to be more specific, sweetheart,” Bakugou said, and you heard the relish in it. Your face burned, and you yanked his hair a little more firmly. He just groaned, and then sucked you a little harder.

“Touch me! Please—Katsuki,” you panted out, hips flexing unconsciously with the pull of your nipple.

“Thought this was my gift, angel. I can’t enjoy it how I want?” he asked.

You considered his words muzzily, having no idea what he was talking about. Gift? What gift was he talking about?

Bakugou’s scarlet eyes flicked up to yours, and something in your expression must have told him you had no idea what he was on about. His mouth pulled up into a self-satisfied grin, and he leaned up to kiss you again.

You flattened yourself out against his chest, all but velcroing yourself to him. You wanted to feel every inch of that hard body against you, wanted to climb as far into him as you could. Something gratifyingly hard pressed against your stomach as you kissed him, and he grunted, locking you to him with a muscled arm across your back.

“Want me to touch you, angel?” he asked.

You nodded. A smile played across his lips.

“Get on the bed for me then, sweetheart.”

It took a minute for you to process but then you were scrambling to obey, scrabbling your way onto the bed, turning and watching as Bakugou stepped nearer.

He shed his jacket as he approached, yanking off his tie too and flinging it somewhere behind him. Then he crawled over you, his fingers seizing the ties of your robe as he did. He pulled it open gently, then yanked a little harder until the silk tie slid free.

His eyes picked over it speculatively, then flashed back up to you. A look of intent interest settled over his features.

“You ever been tied up before, angel?” he asked.

You shook your head, even as it swam with the implication. Your skin prickled, somehow growing even hotter. He didn’t mean to…?

“You gonna let me?” he asked.

You rather thought you would let him do anything he wanted with you. The question was barely out of his mouth before you were nodding hurriedly. A shocked laugh punched out of him, and he gathered up your wrists, scooting you backwards until they pressed against the headboard.

He looped the silk around your wrists, gathering it into a series of complicated knots. He moved with a purpose and precision, his movements sure and practiced. You tested the give of the ties when he sat back on his haunches, finding that they held firm, even when you put a little more muscle into it.

Bakugou’s gaze blazed over you, hot like coals. His eyes traced over your body, spread out under him now, your silk robe pooling at either side of you in a pink puddle.

He bent his head and kissed you again, until you were fuzzy with the feeling once more. Then he worked his way downwards, softly biting your shoulder, licking over one nipple, pressing deep kisses into your belly and then indent of your left hip.

A shock of pleasure raced through you when you realized where he was going with this, and you let out an involuntarily little gasp as he hooked your thighs over his broad shoulders.

“Katsuki,” you began, though you had no idea what you meant to follow it up with. Bakugou didn’t wait for you to finish, ducking his head and licking a hot stripe up the cleft of you.

Immediately you arched, thighs flexing under his hands. Your face heated when he laughed again, but any embarrassment was instantly forgotten when he licked over you again, slower and more deliberate this time.

“Oh my god,” you said again, biting off into a groan when his tongue dipped deeper between your folds, flicking up over your clit.

“Yeah, angel?” Bakugou asked, his voice a heady rasp. “You like that?” He layered another open mouthed kiss over you, slow and thorough, until you were arching up into his mouth again.

It would have been evident to anyone on earth how much you liked it from the noises you made, the way you kicked and squirmed with the movement of his mouth. He sucked your clit gently into his mouth, then laved over it firmly as he pressed his fingers to you, the pads of his index and middle slowly sinking into you.

Your eyes almost rolled to the back of your head when he gave another slow suck, the feeling almost too much. His fingers pressed deeper into you, easily slipping in with how comically wet you were for him. The gentle suction of his mouth made everything a million times better, everything a million times worse, as he carefully curled his fingers within you. He seemed to immediately find a spot within you that felt like he was touching your clit from the other side too, and the feeling was immediately far too much.

“Holy shit,” you heard yourself say, cutting off into an honest to god whine when his tongue swirled around your clit, just as he teased a finger along you from the inside too. “Katsuki—oh! Katsuki please! Please oh my god oh my god.”

Bakugou’s ministrations grew a fraction firmer, and you heard him groan too as he kissed you messily.

“So fucking hot for me, sweetheart. So sweet,” he said, then sucked again, a tiny bit harder this time. His fingers stroked you from the inside, a firm, deliberate rhythm that had you turning your face and muffling a keen into the meat of your arm.

Your hips flexed against his face, wild and uncontrolled, wanting less, more, not enough, too much, oh my god—

“Katsuki!” you cried, as you suddenly hit the crest of your pleasure. Your wrists pulled against their bonds, and the feeling of helpless restraint suddenly made everything feel a thousand times more intense. Every single nerve ending in your body felt like it was on fire, so that even the air of the room seemed too harsh on your skin. You screamed as you rode out your pleasure against Bakugou’s face.

He worked you through it diligently, licking and sucking until you collapsed back to the mattress, panting like you’d just run a marathon.

“Good, angel?” Bakugou asked.

You nodded breathlessly, turning your face to his when he crawled up your body to kiss you again. The taste of yourself on him was both embarrassing and thrilling, but Bakugou didn’t give you much leeway to consider it, kissing you into a stupid, pliant little puddle against the mattress.

You could feel him hard and hot against your hip as he did so, but he didn’t make any move to get inside you yet. Instead, his hands moved over you, slowly teasing you from satiation back into want. His fingers played with your nipples again, pinching them softly and rolling them. It felt like he'd rigged up some kind of wire, leading from your nipples right to your core, that lit the pilot flame of your interest again.

A couple minutes of diligent teasing, and easy, unhurried kisses had you wiggling under him again soon enough. It was only then, when you realized you were unconsciously rocking your hips against Bakugou’s, that he finally sat back to shuck off his shirt and pants.

He was so unfairly beautiful, bared in the bright light of the room. You’d known he was gorgeous, of course, but up close he was something else entirely. He was chiseled with thick muscle, his chest and arms hard and glowing faintly with perspiration. The light and the shadows of the room played over the divots of his muscles with a deliberate care, like he was a painting instead of a man, highlighting him in loving shades. A set of perfect abs trailed down into the hard jut of hip bones over his pelvis, and his cock was just as upsettingly gorgeous as the rest of him. It was thick and full and flush with his arousal, and he wasted no time crawling back between your thighs.

“You ready for me, sweetheart?” he asked. His voice had gone even more gravelly than usual, and it plucked at your core like a string.

“Please, Katsuki,” you said, your voice embarrassingly breathy. You couldn’t help yourself though, couldn’t be ashamed with the easy way your thighs fell apart for him. Your ankles hooked across his back, trying to pull him closer still.

He groaned and surged up over you to grab a condom off the nightstand. He quickly rolled it onto himself in one practiced movement, before immediately pressing himself into you.

He sank in mortifyingly easily, you already half out of your mind with want. He didn’t seem to mind, though—you heard the soft, sibilant hiss of his own pleasure as he filled you, and your robe tugged the skin of your shoulder as he fisted a hand in it, just beside your head.

“Been dying to fuck you, angel,” he said. “Thinking about how hot and tight and sweet you would be for me. Been thinking about it nonstop.”

You made a vague noise of agreement, moving your hips with his as he drew back and pressed inside of you again. The slide of him inside you was mind-numbingly good, the pressure against your stomach as he pressed back in almost sparking stars in your vision. The flex of his abs between your thighs as he found his pace was almost immediately too much for you, and you had to turn your face away. You tilted your face up to his, watching him as he watched you.

Bakugou seemed to read your expression easily, finding the angle and pace you liked incredibly quickly. He slid an arm under the small of your back to angle your hips up into him, yanking you up like you were nothing, and the show of easy strength had your toes flexing and curling against his back.

He kissed you again, catching the sounds of your pleasure in his mouth as he rocked into you. You moved against him, hips bucking, delirious with the feeling of him. Eventually he freed his arm from under you, pressing his thumb to your slit again with deadly precision.

“Oh fuck,” you moaned into his mouth, legs tightening on him as he played with your clit. The almost-too-gentle sensation of his thumb on your clit, coupled with the relentless drive of him inside you had your vision sparking and greying at the edges. His face swam in front of yours, and all of your limbs began to feel shivery, almost too weak to lift yourself into him the way you needed, to rock against him and find relief from the friction.

Bakugou continued to tease at you, carefully pinching and petting. His hips drove into you tirelessly, slapping the bottoms of your thighs, as you strained in your silk bonds, wanting to grab him, pull him even harder into you.

“Katsuki, please please please,” you heard yourself begging. You felt him smile against your mouth, tasted his reply more than heard it.

“You want me to let you cum, angel?” he asked, doing something with his fingers that made your breath catch in your lungs.

“Unhh, yes—please!” you cried, desperation coming over you in a white haze.

You had never—never—been so desperate for anything in your entire life. You didn’t know how Bakugou was doing it, why his touch felt like so much more than anything else you’d ever felt in your life. If he didn’t let you cum you were certain you were going to die, right here and right now.

“You gonna scream for me, sweetheart?” Bakugou asked, his voice raspier than you’d ever heard it. He grit the words out, like he too was on the edge of his own climax, barely staving it off.

“Anything, I will do anything,” you babbled senselessly. “Yes—going to scream for you—Katsuki!”

Bakugou’s gaze was hotter than you’d ever seen it, scarlet eyes clouded with pleasure, glowing like banked coals. “Then you can come for me, angel. Come on, sweetheart.”

“Oh!” you cried in answer, your feet planting themselves on the bed to jut your hips up hard. Bakugou’s thumb pressed hard against your clit, then, firm and merciless, and he fucked into you harder, his pace growing faster, furious.

Your second orgasm hit you like a truck, snapping your spine into alignment, locking all your limbs up as if in rigor mortis.

“Katsuki!” you wailed as you writhed against him, clenching and fluttering around him as you sobbed.

“Oh fuck,” you heard him say, and his hips stuttered. You realized he was coming too, fucking into you sloppily and disjointedly as he rode out his own pleasure. You arched and spasmed with him, clawing uselessly at the silk that bound you, twisting in blissful agony.

When you finally came back to yourself you found yourself slumped on the bed, Bakugou’s weight pinning you down into the mattress. His chest was slicked to yours with sweat, and you could feel the rapid rise and fall of it against you as he caught his breath.

“That good, angel?” he asked, his voice heady with satisfaction.

You nodded, absently turning your face back up to his for a kiss. He granted it, kissing you almost possessively. He looked soft and rumpled, just the way you'd always liked him, and something in you purred with satisfaction at finally getting to have him like this for you.

Gradually, you became aware of other sounds in the room as you came down from your high. Quiet murmuring and the sounds of shuffling met your ears, the shutter click of a camera lens slicing through the atmosphere like a knife.

A sudden shock raced through you when you realized you and Bakugou were not alone—and you were on the set of a porn film, half a dozen eyes glued to you just over one of Bakugou’s thick shoulders.

A porn film. You had been shooting a porn film!

“And cut!” you heard the director’s voice ring out, like a bucket of water dumped over your head.

You tensed up beneath Bakugou, mind racing. Holy shit, he had actually managed to make you forget, exactly the way he'd promised.

You could tell Bakugou was thinking the same thing as he went to untie you, looking extremely satisfied with himself.

“Told you, angel,” he said, flashing something of a feral grin. You hated how good the self-conceit looked on him.

You went to draw your wrists back to yourself as he let them free. But Bakugou caught them instead, carefully massaging the skin there as if to make sure things were circulating properly. It was a startling note of unexpected care, as was the way he drew your robe closed around you again against the sudden chill of the room.

You found yourself saying wonderingly, “Wow. It was just that easy for you to switch partners like that.”

The thought somehow stung, even though you’d known going into this what you were getting yourself into. Somehow, the latent care and intention with which Bakugou had fucked you had addled your brain, made you think your connection had been something more. He had felt like he had feelings, beyond those mimed for the camera.

But here was evidence to the contrary, plain and simple. There literally was a camera.

Except then Bakugou looked down at you, a frown marring his pouty mouth. “Well yeah. ‘Course it was gonna be that easy when it’s you we’re talking about.”

You blinked at him, not understanding what he was saying. “Uh. When it’s—me?”

A crease came in between Bakugou’s blonde brows. “I said it, didn’t I? While we were fucking? Wanted to fuck you for a long time. Of course it was easy.”

Your stomach dropped, like a rug had just been yanked out from beneath you. “You—have? What? Since when?” you demanded.

Bakugou leveled you with an unimpressed stare. “Since the second time we met,” he said, and your mind flashed back to the way he’d seemed not to recognize you, that second time you'd spoken to him. “Once I realized you did work for UA and weren’t actually a little fucking creep trying to lure me into your car.”

You felt your eyebrows shoot towards your hairline. “Then—? For years? You cannot be serious. You never acted like we were anything other than coworkers!”

Bakugou scoffed. “We fucking were coworkers. And I told you, I don’t fuck coworkers off the clock.”

You blinked again, startled by the level of professionalism couched in the crassess of his statement. It made sense, you supposed, for a pornstar of Bakugou’s caliber to have put boundaries like that in place. Probably everyone in the world would just be dying for a shot at him.

“Wow,” you said, almost to yourself. You didn’t know what to do with this new information, wondered how it was going to be possible to behave professionally with Bakugou at all going forward. It was probably obvious to him how big your crush on him was, given that he’d known all along he could make you forget you were on camera. Given the way you reacted to him embarrassingly easily.

Except then Bakugou leaned forward, putting his face startlingly close to yours. “Emphasis on were, since this is my last shoot,” he said.

You stared at him, wondering if you were interpreting the implication correctly. There was no way he meant—?

“Uhhhh, meaning what, exactly?” you prompted, heart beating just a little bit quicker despite yourself.

Bakugou’s mouth turned up into a gorgeous smirk, and he ducked his head even closer, voice going softer.

“Meaning you’re going to get dressed and I’m going to take us to get something to eat,” he said, fingers playing at the edge of your robe. “And then you’re going to give me that ride home in your car after all. And we are going to do this all over again.”

Flames erupted across your face, sweeping across your cheeks. And you were up out of the bed before you even realized what you were doing, catching yourself on the bedside table as you stumbled.

Bakugou’s laugh chased out of the set room as you raced towards the wardrobe again. But you couldn’t find it in yourself to care, this time.

Not when your heart felt like it was going to beat right out of your chest. You smothered a smile as you ran down the hallway.

Much like Bakugou had just done to you—it looked like your hopes and dreams were finally lining themselves up and filling themselves in.

[menagerofmischief]

Heart song (OP81)

summary: in the middle of dating rumors, current music industry hit, y/n l/n releases a love song which leaves no space to deny her relationship. -> based on this request

fc: olivia rodrigo

cw: bad language,

a/n: the only bands I listen to are a bunch of old men or a bunch of dead man, safe to say I don't know much about bands so I made her a solo artist.

liked by: oscar piastri, sabrinacarpenter, and 1,556,895 more

yourusername: something coming soon, or whatever

comments:

ynsleftshoe: oscar in the likes before me again

hooklinesinker: girl same! and I got notifications on cococroissant: the struggle of making it here before pee ass tree vrom vrom is real

ynupdates: mother is cooking and eating for real

sabrinacarpenter: so excited for it!

justonechange: the bond between two girls scorned by a man is unbreakable breakmyback: sabrina is so me right now

likealovesong: my hears are about to be blessed again! thank you god for answering my prayers

liked by landonorris and 1,345 more

f1wagupdates: seems like a new wag may be entering the paddock, showcasing papaya!

mclaren driver, oscar piastri, has been spotted being touchy and affectionate with pop star, y/n l/n. this is not the first time the two have been spotted together.

comments:

vroomyroom: what the hell is lando doing in the likes of a wag updates page

norrizzz: he's so messy fr

user454: seriously what's wrong with you people, leave them alone!

justanichident: oscar's lucky he's good that polite cat smile because those hands do be wondering

breakmyback: I too am no better than a man (I'd be touching y/n's ass all the time if I could)

user334: ow! they're so cute together!

user331: power couple vibes

user564: ew, he can do so much better

user887: SHE can do much better

liked by hattiepiastri, nicolepiastri, yourusername and 1.345.221 more

oscarpiastri: great vacation, lots of sun

comments:

macmylarens: if bwoah was an instagram caption it would be tht

rockabye: who does bro think he's fooling with that soft launch

dropstoproll: like sir, we all know that's y/n l/n, now give us some good content

landonorris: you really poured your heart out with that caption mate

ynupdates: I spy with my little eye, y/n in the likes

justonechange: so ... he's not that bad

user423: I get y/n, he's hot

liked by sabrinacarpenter, oscarpiastri, landonorris and 1.978.645 more

yourusername: Summer When Everybody Ever Thought, Love In Knowledge Existed, Yellow Orchids Unidentified

see you on august 19th ;)

comments:

ynupdates: NEW ALBUM ALERT!!!

breakmyback: I don't care if a man driving in circles for living inspired it, new music is coming!

sabrinacarpenter: that caption triggered my dyslexia

justonechange: no because same user332: I thought I was the only one!

dotsaredotting: hear me out, the aesthethic of this album is orange (so far), and there's a car, mclaren F1 team is orange ("papaya" or wtv), oscar piastri drives for mclaren, oscar is soft launching, they wore spotted together = they're dating

crazyonce: this is so delulu it may be trululu

ynupdates: in case you thought you were crazy for not getting the caption, every words starts with a capital latters and all the letters together spell SWEET LIKE YOU which is either a song on the album or the name of the album

liked by oscarpiastri, landonorris, hattiepiastri, and 2.021.331 more

yourusername: the way sun shines over beaches, the first taste of summer peaches, yellowed pages of a favorite book it may all be sweet but not sweet like you.

my new album, sweet like you, is now available to stream. this is such a special album for me which is why it's dedicated to such a special person. I love you, Osc, keep on being sweet.

comments have been turned off for this post

liked by yourusername, sabrinacarpenter, landonorris and 1.987.554 more

oscarpiastri: every day I'm grateful I get to have you. you're the sun of my morning, the stars of my evening, the breath of my lungs and the song of my heart. I love you, y/n.

comments:

landonorris: wow, you actually poured your heart out with this one

sabrinacarpenter: she was mine first car boy, remember that

hattiepiastri: I hope you know how much cooler than you your girlfriend is

yourusername: love you too, my sweet boy <3

comments have been limited on this post

[harmoonix]

☾ Like a prayer ☽

𝐏𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐟𝐨𝐫/𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐭!* + 𝐒𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐟𝐥𝐚𝐠𝐬 𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐬

Note: Take this with caution! These placements are not bad. These are just some 'side things' that come within having such placements. Every placement has a dark trait, and sometimes, the nature of astrology can be negative as well as positive. Thanks for reading 🤎

• Venus x Moon harsh aspects (square, opposition, conjuction). When the Moon is in harsh aspects with Venus, the native will have a hard time telling what's on their heart. They can have the feeling of a 'heavy heart'. The native may be embarrassed or shy to tell their feelings

• Saturn x Moon harsh aspects (square, opposition, conjuction). These aspects can often feel very insecure about their feelings. They can get hurt fast, but mostly, these aspects can indicate being cold, having a hard time opening yourself, being more like a loner rather than with people

• Lilith in Gemini/3rd house, these placements often indicate gossiping and talking bad upon others. Cursing a lot, etc. The native may be savage in their communication, and their words can hurt

• Ascendant x Sun/Venus/Neptune aspects. With these placements, the native may have trouble with loving himself and may cause a lack of self-love from their side. Before having a relationship, you should always check up on yourself first. You can't love others if you don't love yourself

• Venus in the 5th/7th or 8th house. I did a 'mini post' about Venus in those houses, but in short, the native could've had more partners in their romantic past. If you're not interested in your lovers' past romantic life with other people, I think this won't affect you

• Uranus in the 7th house is also found within people who happen to have more lovers in their life. Also, dating or having casual one night stands

• Lilith x Moon aspects (all aspects). The native can have issues with their mother or their feminine energy. May feel like the black sheep or an outcast due to this. They may keep family things private in their life

• Pluto or Saturn in their 4th or 5th house could've indicated being abused as a child or having their childhood taken away from them. A person with a strong inner child

• Scorpio Saturn, the native with this specific Saturn placement can struggle with their intimacy. Can be insecure over some parts of their body and might overthink what the other person thinks about them in bed. Engaging in sexual activities can be chaotic but also beautiful

• Venus in Fire signs, the native can be either extremely loyal either extremely catchy with your feelings. Tends to flirt quite a lot. And may have multiple crushes

• Saturn in the 2h/6th/10th house or Saturn in Earth signs. The native can be an workaholic, they work over the program to gain more money/salary. This can also result as then coming exhausted from work and most times being away from home

• Lilith x Jupiter aspects (all aspects), the native with these aspects can crave more in bed. They're not happy if they're not satisfied. And they may struggle with obsession over sexual things

• Neptune in the 5th or 8th house, the native may have addictions related to 18+ content which can be a turn off for many. Nonetheless Neptune can also have a strong sexual energy

• Sun in the 7th or 10th house, the native might receive a lot of compliments. Sweet personality and a very charming aura, they like attention

• Scorpio/Capricorn/Cancer Venus, the native might be into dating older people, not very old but there can be some age gap between them. They might get successful relationships in their adulthood yesrs

• Pisces Venus and Moon, these natives are mostly ending up with a lot of scenarios in their head after an argument. They need lots of resurance from their partners

• Venus in the 8th / 12th house, the native could've had several admires, which he wanted to keep hidden. Secrets around their relationship

• Water Dominant: The native may be too clingy or very fast to respond to your feelings/they mirror the type of love you give them

• Pluto x Mercury aspects (all): The native will always have the last word in arguments. 'Truth hurts' archetype. They can use words to manipulate after their own will

• Sun x Jupiter in harsh aspects, the natives ego can be fragile, yet they tend to have a 'superiority complex' they may think they're better than others

• Aphrodite (1388) in the 2nd/5th/8th houses, the native may want to be satisfied physically. They may use their sexual energy to make themselves feel better

• Aphrodite x Ascendant/MC Aspects (all): People may find their beauty intriguing. Approachable with a soft/feminine/calm energy by the public (to both genders) tender personality

• Juno in Aries/Cancer/Scorpio may give a possessive and jealous spouse. If the spouse has low self-esteem, these can be intense

• Pluto in the 9th house, 9th house can indicate how your spouse family might see you. With Pluto here, they may see you as a powerful person to marry their son/daughter

• Pluto/Lilith/Saturn in the 11th house, the native could've had lots of issues with betrayal in their life. People in general weren't so loyal to them

• Sun in the 5th house, the native may feel to act more like a child when they are around your presence or if they feel safe with you

• Aries/Mars over their 4th house can indicate that they were raised in a household with abusive or angry family members, also can posses angry issues

• 2nd house ruler in the 8th house, they may be stingy with their money, may keep them like a secret behind you

• 2nd house ruler in the 10th house, the native may love money over anything. Money over love is their way to go

• Saturn in the 12th house can drain the native a lot. They may feel tired 24/7, get irritated fast, and becomes melancholic easily

• Leo Saturn, they can struggle with favoritism. Can be related to family trauma/ just they love picking on things to cause conflicts

• Scorpio or Lilth in the 4th house/Cancer, raised in a household where their family could have been manipulators, liars, toxic, etc

• Juno aspecting Jupiter can grant the native with fulfilments in their relationship, in harsh aspects you don't feel satisfied enough

• Mars in the 7th house can cause relationship arguments (which are normal for every relationship), but with Mars, these can he quite intense

• Having Retrogade planets like Venus in the 7th house can indicate your exes coming back in your life more than usual (these are mostly just things you need to finish, as an little advice, exes don't always come back to be together with you again, but you don't need to get back with them even if they come back in your life lol)

𝐈𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐢𝐝𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐫, 𝐈 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐩𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫

If you enjoyed this, let me know so I can make a second part 😊 🥰

Have a good day, everyone 🥰🥰

[rafecameronsslut4ever]

CASUAL pt.2— lando norris (angst)

pairing; fem!reader x lando norris summary: it took lando too long to realise it wasn't just 'casual'. warnings: a LOT of angst, toxic relationship, sexual implication, not proofread a/n: casual part 2 was not really a part of the plan but the audience had demands 🦧also i think this was too long lmao. AND IM SO SORRY FOR THE LONG DELAY OMG

part 1 - casual

miami grand prix: the biggest pr nightmare for every driver—especially lando norris.

the media had been all over him that weekend, going to the lengths of literally calling him 'the hottest catch on the single market'. hollywood stars and instagram models were so desperate to marry him and have his kids that they didn't catch on the fact that he was a 23-year-old racing driver who couldn't give a fuck about them.

because he was stuck on you.

for weeks, he'd waited—hoping you’d reach out, or at the very least, watch his instagram stories. he posted shirtless photos, sun-kissed photos—hell, he even threw out a thirst trap just for you. But you didn’t take the bait. you didn't take the fucking bait.

you hadn't texted him or spoken to him since the moment you walked out of that hotel room weeks ago, so he didn't try to reach out either. "would've been a blow to my ego," he'd told sainz.

but now, he didn't give a shit about his ego. he was tired of waiting.

his eyes darted across the packed club, friends and guests scattered all around. he couldn't wait to get out of there.

he hadn't been drinking. didn't really feel like it. truth be told, he hadn’t been feeling much of anything at all.

pool parties, clubs, yachts, champagne and girls.

he was tired of the glitz and glam of his life, and you were the only escape from it.

but you were gone.

his mind wandered to that morning, when you had kissed him and the two of you had ordered room service. when he had held you for the last time.

he hated how the only thing on his mind was you. how it was the only thing on his mind all through the celebrations, as hookers danced around him and people tried to pour drinks into his mouth.

for fuck's sake, he had won a grand prix for the first time in his life, and yet he was unhappy.

how did he get here?

he looked up, eyes falling on a group of men in the VIP section, the lights illuminating their faces.

everyone could tell something was off with lando. he didn't want to do any of this.

all he wanted was you. you, you, you.

the girl who had left without an explanation.

why had you left, anyway? no calls, no texts. your friends avoided him, and you avoided his friends. it was like the two of you were nothing.

lando norris was many things, but he was not a fool. he could recognise when something was wrong, or when a situation had escalated beyond his control.

he knew that there was a reason why you left, but the reason never clicked in that thick brain of his. what had he done wrong? where had he gone wrong?

"i'm not feeling too well, mate." he muttered, handing the beer bottle back to the guy standing next to him.

okay, maybe not admitting his feelings for you had fucked things up. but, what could you expect? he didn't have the time to give you what you deserved.

not right now, at least.

"what are you waiting for, then?" the other man asked, shoving his hands into his pockets.

"what?"

"just call her, bro. i know it's about a girl because there's no way any sane man would say no to expensive beers and a million hot hookers."

did lando even know this man? probably not.

"i can't call her. she doesn't want to talk to me. trust me, i've tried."

"have you?"

he didn't know how to deal with rejection. not like this, not with you. you weren't supposed to leave.

"judging by your sulkiness, i doubt you're going to find a girl like her again. and you'll never have her if you're here."

lando didn't have a heart of stone, as much as his social media persona might suggest. he didn't care for any of this. the women, the money, the fame.

he wanted to hold you again. kiss you, tell you he loves you. he wanted to hold your hand. he wanted to be near you, and only you.

so, when his feet hit the floor and he found himself walking towards the exit, he wasn't surprised.

yeah, it was foolish of him to leave a party full of women who were celebrating him (literally) for a girl who had ghosted him, but the need was stronger than his pride.

out of the yacht, he was dialling the only number he'd ever memorised. the phone rang, and then it rang again.

would she be wearing his clothes, or would she have gotten rid of everything related to him?

maybe she'd found another man, finally realising that lando was a bad investment.

as the phone rang, you were hidden in your apartment with blankets wrapped around you and a youtube video playing in the background.

it had been months since you'd heard the word 'casual' leave his mouth. months since you had fled london and monaco to move to miami.

at first, his words had echoed in your mind constantly, and you'd cried yourself to sleep a few times more than you'd like to admit.

but just like every heartbroken poet in history, the hurt faded and the pain slowly morphed into hatred. and anger.

you wanted to slam your head against a wall. scratch that, you wanted to slam his head against a wall.

it was so stupid, and you hated yourself for believing he'd been genuine.

it was just sex. that's all it ever was. it truly was just casual.

the phone was still ringing. your finger hesitated over the answer button. you weren't going to answer it.

it wasn't worth it. you didn't want to hear his voice. didn't want him to have the satisfaction of knowing that his words had hurt you. you didn't want to know if he was sleeping around, if his girlfriends were prettier than you.

so the line went dead.

lando stood by the harbour, watching as yachts and ships sailed past him. the air was humid and his t-shirt clung to his body, the heat almost unbearable. the sound of waves, the distant laughter and music, and the sound of his ragged breaths.

he ran his fingers through his hair, looking around. where was his car?

he had to find his way back to his hotel. he was a mess, and his clothes were sticking to his skin. he needed to fix his appearance, buy a bouquet a flowers.

he checked the time on his watch, and cursed as he saw the numbers. it was almost 3 am. he wouldn't find flowers anywhere at 3 am.

"fuck it." he said, running over to his car. the drive was quiet, save for the low hum of music and his occasional swearing when someone drove a little bit slower than he'd like.

lando norris had the world on his fingertips. he could have any girl he wanted. anyone, really. but he only wanted you. he was a hopeless romantic, and you were his muse.

when he pulled up outside the apartment, his nerves were going haywire. he ran a hand through his hair and took a deep breath before getting out of the car.

he knocked twice on the door and when it opened, his eyes lit up.

you stared back at him, sleepiness in your eyes and confusion etched on your face.

and god, did you look gorgeous.

he loved you, he realised. he had to cross his hands behind his back to stop them from reaching out and holding you close.

"lando?" you breathed out.

he had grown a slight stubble since you last saw him. his hair were still the same, except a little bit longer. his blue eyes were wide as he looked at you.

"hey," his voice was shaky.

"what the fuck are you doing here?"

he wanted to say so many things. ask you why you left, where it went wrong, why you moved to miami. he wanted to declare his love for you, press his lips to yours, hold you by the waist. he wanted to hear you say that you loved him too.

he was so in love with you, and you had no idea.

"lando? why are you here?" you asked again.

he was at a loss of words. what could he say? he couldn't exactly just stand there and say nothing.

"because," his voice cracked, "i miss you."

your throat went dry. he could not just say that.

it had been weeks. weeks of him not contacting you, weeks of you not speaking to him. the phone calls had stopped, the text messages had stopped, the late night chats had stopped. everything was just gone.

and now, he missed you?

tears welled up in your eyes, a lump forming in your throat. you shook your head, pushing back the tears, "go away."

"what? no, wait. wait. don't do this." he pleaded, his voice fragile and desperate, like a child trying to avoid bedtime.

"lando-"

he interrupted you, voice louder than before. "can we please talk about this?"

"what is there to talk about?" you were raising your voice. you hated him. how could he act like this after all that happened?

"everything. just—please, can i come in?" he sounded so pathetic. he felt so pathetic. his hands were slightly hovering over the door, ready to push it open and walk in.

the request took you by surprise. "i-no."

you missed him. there was no denying that.

you wanted him to tell you it was okay. wanted to go back to that night in his mclaren, the night he told you he liked you. wanted the weekends spent in london with his family. you wanted him, all of him.

his curly hair wrapped around your fingers, blue eyes staring at you, soft lips kissing you. his cold hands grabbing yours, and his voice saying your name. you wanted it to not be casual.

"i just want to talk to you."

he was drunk. there was no other way he would've showed up here, let alone begged to talk to you. the fact that he needed to be drunk to have this conversation made your blood boil.

"do you still have my jacket?"

of course, you still had his stupid jacket. the one that had his smell embedded into the fabric. it was an exclusive print mclaren had given him, and he had swung it around your shoulders after the night you had first made love to each other.

but he didn't care about the jacket, and neither did you. it was just a reminder.

you were silent for a while, taking in the sight of each other. it was his breath mingling with yours.

"i love you." he whispered.

your breath hitched in your throat, the tears finally falling out of your eyes as you sighed.

"i love you," he repeated to himself. "yes, i do. and i've known that since the day i met you."

you choked back sobs as you shook your head, "you're drunk, lando."

"i'm not," he chuckled, "maybe a little, but not enough."

then, he added, "i mean it. i love you." his voice was steady. he truly meant every word. but he didn't know what would happen now.

"what do you want me to say, lando?"

he sighed, "anything."

you laughed bitterly. anything, he said.

anything would've been better than what had happened.

"i don't think i can do this, lando."

"we can take it slow."

"you've never done slow."

he fell silent again because you were right. he'd never done slow. he didn't know how to take things slow. he was a fucking formula 1 driver, after all. slow wasn't something he did. he'd always lived life like it was the last day. and that's how he had lost you.

"i'm sorry," he began, his voice breaking. "i should've been a better person. i'm sorry for everything i did. i should've given you more, i-i should've loved you more, because you deserve so much more. i'm so, so, sorry."

"lando," you whispered, "it's not—"

"don't make excuses for me, please. i love you, i really do. and if i have to spend the rest of my life proving that, i will." and he meant every word. "i just want you back."

your mind was racing, a million thoughts running through it. it was like a movie. his blue eyes, his voice, the desperation in his tone, the way he stood before you.

"okay," you muttered.

"wait, okay? does that mean—"

"you're gonna have to work for this," you said.

"i know, and i will. i promise."

you sighed, rubbing your temple. this wasn't a good idea. "get in."

lando's face lit up, and before you could change your mind, he had walked into the apartment. he hadn't really been here before, considering you moved here after the two of you had stopped talking. but the apartment was lovely, homely. everything you.

you closed the door behind him, watching him look around the living room.

"how'd you know where i live?"

he chuckled, turning to face you. "i'm a famous driver. i have my sources."

"i'm sure." a tense silence followed, neither of you knowing what to say.

"i'm not letting this happen again," he blurted, "i'm not. i don't know how, but i won't."

"i don't believe you." you scoffed.

"fuck, baby, what do i have to do for you to believe me?" he stepped towards you, closing the distance.

"stop calling me that."

"you are my baby." he tried to joke.

"lando, i'm not joking."

"i'm serious too," his voice was sincere, "i love you, and i'll do whatever it takes for you to believe me."

you had been through a lot together. the highs, the lows. you had seen him at his best, and at his worst. the good and the bad.

he moved closer, reaching a hand out to hold yours. you didn't know why, but the moment his hand touched yours, it was like a switch had flipped inside of you.

you let his hand wander over yours like a ghost, his calloused fingertips tracing over your knuckles. he intertwined your fingers together, eyes casted down.

"i've never cared about anyone the way i care about you." he admitted in a soft voice.

and then he pressed his lips to yours. his other hand wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer to him.

and god, did he taste the same. lando had a way with his lips. it was a talent. he kissed you like he needed your lips to survive. he was desperate for your touch as if he had been starving without it.

you were so lost in the feeling that you hadn't realised how far you had pushed him until the back of his knees hit the couch, and he fell on top of it.

his eyes were wide, mouth hanging open. his shirt was halfway unbuttoned, exposing his chest and toned abs.

the two of you stared at each other, eyes searching the other's.

"i love you." he murmured for what seemed like the hundredth time that night.

maybe it was the way his blue eyes bore into yours, or the way his lips quivered, or maybe it was the fact that he had driven across the city to say this.

but for the first time that night, you believed him. and suddenly, the anger was gone. it was all gone.

"i love you, too." you whispered.

it was the only thing the two of you needed. the confirmation, the reassurance. the love.

you leaned down and connected your lips once more, hand reaching up to his curls and tugging lightly. he moaned into the kiss, pulling you on top of him.

your tongue entered his mouth, the taste of him making you lightheaded. his hands roamed over your body, the feeling of his skin against yours.

"baby," he whispered between kisses, "i want you so bad. i've waited so long."

his lips trailed along your jaw and down your neck, sucking marks into the sensitive skin.

"i want you," he murmured against the crook of your neck, "so fucking bad."

but he pulled away, flipping the two of you over so he was on top of you. he took off his shirt, and rested his head on your chest. he cleared his throat, "i should've asked this question earlier, but are you single?"

"yeah." you chuckled, running a hand through his curls.

"so, can i be your boyfriend?"

"lando norris," you hummed, "did you finally get the guts to ask me out?"

"yes," he smiled, lifting his head up to look at you, "yes, i did. will you be my girlfriend?"

"you're a dork."

"that's not an answer."

"yes," you laughed, "yes, i'll be your girlfriend."

lando grinned, and you grinned back.

yeah, it wasn't casual anymore.

(u guys im so sorry if i've tagged someone who doesnt want to be tagged i just had no idea how to let non-followers know part 2 is out bcs tumblr is not letting me reply to comments😭if anyone wants their tag removed, feel free to dm me!! i hope u liked this) @oscarpiassrri @meglouise00 @f1fantasys @technicallypleasanttree @ggaslyp1 @obxstiles @nataliambc @prudyhoo @idkwtdwml123 @ushygushybaby @emilyroxy @yootvi @fishingarden @pillowprincess4him @herexpertcollector

[metalheadsforblacklivesmatter]

Heat Intolerance

This disability pride month I'd like to talk about heat intolerance. Because honestly although it's not the first health issue that presented symptoms in my life. It was the first time I was like "I don't think my body works right".

And honestly given disability pride month is during one of the hottest months in the year. It seems fitting. Especially because there's a lot of disabilities and medications that cause it.

What is heat intolerance?

Simply speaking it's the inability for the body to regulate it's temperatures especially in hot settings to cool itself down.

Why is awareness important?

Because gaslighting people or worse not providing them a place to cool down just because you "feel fine" is extremely fucking dangerous.

What are the medicines that can cause heat intolerance?

Antihistamines (Allergy medications) . Decongestants (Sudafed or any medication that has the D at the end of it). Stimulants (ADHD medications. Steroids. Caffeine.) Beta-blockers (blood pressure medications). Overactive bladder treatment. Psychiatric medications (including but not limited to medications for depression and anxiety). Pain relievers. Antibiotics.

What medical conditions can cause heat intolerance?

EDS (Elhers-Danlos syndrome). Autism. ADHD. Migraines. Brain/spinal-cord injury. Sensory processing disorder. Chronic fatigue syndrome. Endocrin problems. POTS. Menopause. Hypothyroidism. Diabetes. Heart Disease. Multiple sclerosis. Mental health disorders.

What should I do if I suspect I have heat intolerance?

Reduce time outside during hot months. Keep your electrolytes up. Drink plenty of water. Stay out of the sun whenever possible if outside. Be aware of the symptoms of heat exhaustion and heat stroke.

Clothes that are best worn for heat intolerance. Loose lightweight breathable fabrics. Natural fibers. Long sleeves that protect from sunburn as sunburns will increase your risk. Light clothes that reflect light. Wide brimmed hats that shade the face and neck.

Cool. So what are those symptoms I'm supposed you be looking for?

Headaches. Excessive fatigue. Mood changes. Muscle cramping or weakness. Nausea/ vomiting. Rapid heartbeat. Excessive sweating or not sweating at all.

When should I do to the doctor?

If you suspect you have heat intolerance you can go to your PCP to discuss what medications you may be on and what you can do about it. Otherwise, please go to the emergency room if you have symptoms of heat stroke.

This is good information and all but why are you making this post?

To raise awareness. Not just for the people that have it but weren't aware of what it was called. But for all of the idiots that tried to gaslight me when I was in school because I was like "I don't think this is normal. Every time we do our mile run outside I vomit all over the place but other kids aren't doing that."

Also because people always blame me for over heating if I wear long sleeves or pants. I always like to take notes from what people in the middle east wear because they literally live in the excessive heat and spend long hours in the excessive heat. Often in clothing that covers most of their body. They've gotta know what they're doing, right?

I have some type of xenophobic comment about why people from the middle east cover up

Shut the fuck up 😊

-fae

[johnslittlespoon]

morning reblog + snippet <3 need to get in the habit of doing this but somehow once the chapter is actually posted i get nervous despite sharing bits and pieces the whole time i'm writing lol?? silly!

sappy but waking up to the ao3 comment emails had me giggling kicking my feet twirling my hair this morning, i rly do tear up reading them, i'm so so thankful for every interaction on this fic and ik i repeat myself every time i post a new chapter but i just. appreciate the love so much and i'm so grateful for the patience i've been shown as i navigate a proper long fic for the first time!! wowie

idk what i did to deserve stumbling into a fandom so kind and sweet and supportive and INSANELY creative and talented (simultaneously thanking barry and hating him for getting me attached to that precious little lieutenant and then ripping him away just as fast fml), i genuinely feel so lucky to have something to be excited about every day and as much as i love writing this fic, i can't wait to be done so i can lock in and pour over all my friends' fics and give back so much love :')))

You're A Dog (I'm Your Man)

Ch. 5/8 – 'I Count My Time In Dog Years'

[WC: 27K | Gale Cleven/John Egan, Pining, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn, Requited Unrequited Love]

John Egan loves like a dog.

[AO3 LINK]

[clxja16]

Not Actually Together

Charles Leclerc X Reader

Genre: fake dating au!

Warnings: swearing, emotionally dramatic

Word Count: 11K+

Author's Note: okay so I tried to do it a little different this time. usually i write like three/four part series, because it's easier for my brain. but i don't think people like that so i just wrote it all, so this is one long part but a somewhat satisfactory conclusion. lmk what you guys thinks.. thank you to anyone who enjoys this. imma be honest it feels a little melodramatic.

---------------

It had been a few weeks since Charles first mentioned Alexandra to you. Since then, you’d pieced together bits of their relationship but he was careful to keep it discreet. You didn’t ask questions, and he didn’t offer details. It was better that way. Today, though, was different. It was the last race before the summer break, and as usual, Charles was driving you to the track.

The early morning sun filtered through the car windows, casting a golden glow over the roads. The hum of the engine was a familiar backdrop to your thoughts. In the beginning, Charles had been rigid about the drive to the track—no touching the radio, no deviations from his carefully curated playlists. But over time, he’d loosened up. First, he’d let you choose the music on practice days. Then, gradually, he began trusting your taste entirely. Now, it was almost expected of you to play the music for the drive. 

You weren’t always sure if he liked what you chose, though. He never said much about it. But every now and then, after he parked the car, you’d catch him adding one of your songs to his personal playlist. It was a small thing, but it made your chest warm in a way you couldn’t quite explain.

Today was no different. As the car rolled to a stop, you saw him pull out his phone and add another song. The corner of your mouth lifted in a faint smile. “Shall we head in?” Charles asked, turning to look at you.  

His eyes—those eyes—always seemed to catch you off guard. People argued over whether they were green or blue, but to you, they were something else entirely. When he looked at you like that, it was impossible not to feel something. Something deep and unspoken. Charles wasn’t yours. He would never be yours. But the way he looked at you—that was yours, and yours alone. 

“After you,” you said, smiling up at him. It was a sweet, genuine smile, the kind that made his heart skip a beat.

Charles wasn’t sure when it had started, but your smile had become his undoing. Every time you flashed it at him—soft, warm, and just a little teasing—he felt his cheeks heat and his stomach flip. It was ridiculous, really. He wasn’t yours, and he never would be. But when you smiled like that, you owned him, if only for a moment.   

He stepped out of the car and came around to your side, opening the door with a quiet grace. He held out his hand, and you took it without hesitation. His grip was firm, grounding, as he helped you out of the car. Together, you walked toward the entrance, his hand still in yours.  

To anyone watching, you looked like the picture of a perfect couple—two people completely in love, completely in sync. But you and Charles knew the truth. Or at least, you thought you did.

-

At the race, Charles had crossed the finish line in fourth place. It wasn’t a terrible result, but you knew he wouldn’t be happy—not when he’d started on the front row, not when he’d been aiming for the podium. You waited for him in the garage, watching as he went through the motions of post-race interviews in the media pen. When he finally returned, his expression was unreadable, his usual spark dimmed by disappointment.

He didn’t say a word as he walked past you. You followed him silently, giving him the space he seemed to need. The two of you entered his dressing room, the door clicking shut behind you, and still, he remained quiet. You didn’t push him to talk. You knew better than anyone how Charles processed his emotions—how he needed time to sort through the frustration before he could voice it.  

The silence stretched between you, heavy but not uncomfortable. You were used to this, to the way he retreated into himself after a race that didn’t go as he planned. But then his phone buzzed, breaking the stillness. Alexandra’s name lit up the screen, her picture flashing brightly.

Charles’s face softened as he answered the call, a smile spreading across his lips—a smile you couldn’t remember ever eliciting from him. It was warm, genuine, and effortless, the kind of smile that made your chest ache. You didn’t stay to listen. Instead, you slipped out of the room, leaving him to talk to her in private. 

As you wandered through the paddock, you felt the weight of your anonymity settle over you. Without Charles by your side, you were just another face in the crowd. No cameras followed you, no fans called out your name, no one demanded your attention. For a moment, you told yourself you liked it this way—the peace, the freedom, the ability to move unnoticed. You repeated it like a mantra, trying to convince yourself that this was what you wanted.

But deep down, you knew the truth. You didn’t mind the chaos that came with being by Charles’s side. You didn’t mind the flashes of cameras, the constant attention, or the noise. Because being with him made it all worth it. He was the reason you endured it, the reason you smiled through it. And now, as you walked alone, the absence of it all felt like a void you couldn’t quite fill.  

You told yourself you liked the solitude, but the ache in your chest told a different story. 

- 

Charles watched you walk out of the room as he answered Alexandra’s call, the door closing softly behind you. For a moment, he hesitated, his gaze lingering on the space where you’d just been. A part of him wanted to hang up the phone, to follow after you, to take you by the hand and  be with you for a quiet stroll. He loved those moments with you. The moments where the world seemed to fade away and it was just the two of you, moving in sync through the chaos of the paddock.

He loved the way you held onto him a little tighter when fans approached, your fingers curling around his arm as if he were your anchor. He loved how you’d gently tug him toward the crowd, your voice soft but insistent as you reminded him to acknowledge the people who adored him. 

And then there were the photos—the endless requests from fans eager to capture a moment with him. You never seemed to mind the interruptions. You’d stand patiently by his side, your hand still in his, as he posed for pictures and signed autographs. 

As he listened to Alexandra’s voice on the other end of the line, his thoughts drifted back to you. He wondered where you were now, if you were wandering the paddock alone or finding a quiet corner to sit and wait. He wondered if you missed him as much as he suddenly missed you. But the call demanded his attention, and so he stayed, his heart being tugged in two different directions.

“Charles,” Alexandra says his name through the phone, “you’re gonna come tonight, right?” 

Charles brings himself back to pay attention to Alexandra, “yeah, yeah.” 

“And you’re gonna bring y/n right?”  Alexandra questions, excitement evident in her voice, “I really do want to meet her.”  

The idea of you and Alexandra meeting sends a ripple of unease through Charles. He doesn’t have a valid reason for the two of you not to meet—after all, you’re his fake girlfriend, and Alex is his real one. But the thought of the two worlds colliding makes him tense. He hesitates, choosing his words carefully. “I don’t know, Alex. I can ask y/n, but she’s not really a clubbing person. And honestly, I’m not in the mood to party tonight.”  

Alexandra’s voice takes on a pleading edge. “Please, Charles. We don’t ever do anything together—not in public, at least.”  

“Alex, that’s just how…” 

“Charles I know that’s how it has to be, and I love hanging out at home with you, I really do. But it would be nice to go out for once, to feel like we’re… normal. And if you bring y/n, it would be the perfect opportunity. No one would suspect anything.” Alex makes her case, and Charles doesn’t want to deny her.  

Her words hang in the air, and Charles can hear the longing in her voice. Alexandra isn’t just asking for a night out; she’s asking for a chance to exist in his world, even if it’s just for a few hours. She wants to feel like she matters, like she’s more than a secret tucked away in the shadows of his life.

“I will ask,” Charles says, his resistance wavering, “but if y/n says no, then i’m not going tonight.  She has made it clear how she feels about this, and I'm not going to make a fool out of her.”  

“I understand,” Alexandra replies, though her sigh betrays her disappointment. She doesn’t like this feeling of being second to you—not when she’s the one in the real relationship with Charles. It’s a bitter pill to swallow, knowing that she has to share him with someone who doesn’t even truly have a claim on him.  

As the call ends, Alexandra stares at her phone, a mix of emotions swirling inside her. She loves Charles, but sometimes she wonders if she’s just another piece in the carefully constructed puzzle of his life. She wants to be more than that—more than the girl he hides away, more than the one who has to beg for a night out. But for now, she’ll take what she can get, even if it means sharing him with you.

-

As you and Charles walk back towards the car, after the events of the day, Charles asks, “what are you doing tonight?”  

You sigh, “I’m hoping to pack, my flight home is tomorrow in the late morning.” 

Charles stops in his tracks, his brow furrowing as his thoughts shift. “You’re not coming to Monaco with me?” His voice is tinged with surprise, almost disbelief, as if the idea of you not being there hadn’t even crossed his mind. 

You turn to face him, noticing the way his expression falters. “I’ll be in Monaco before you have to go to the Netherlands,” you reassure him, your tone gentle. “But no, I’m not going straight to Monaco from here.”

Charles stands still, a few paces behind you, his eyes searching yours. For a moment, you think you see a flicker of pain in his gaze—something raw and unspoken. “I just thought…” he begins, his voice trailing off as he struggles to find the right words. He looks at you with those eyes—the ones that always seem to see straight through you, the ones that hold a world of emotions you can’t always decipher. “I just thought you were coming home with me.”

You offer him a smile, that sweet, reassuring smile that he loves, and take a step closer to him. “Charles,” you say softly, “I’ll be back in Monaco before you can even miss me.”  But the truth is, he’s already missing you. He hasn’t even let go of you yet, and already he’s dreading the emptiness your absence will leave behind.  

You hold out your hand to him, a silent invitation to close the distance between you. For a moment, he hesitates, his emotions swirling just beneath the surface. Then, with a quiet resolve, he takes the first step forward, his hand slipping into yours. His grip is firm, almost as if he’s afraid you’ll slip away too soon. 

The two of you walk toward the car, Charles reaches the passenger side first, opening the door for you with a small, almost reflexive gesture. You slide into the seat, murmuring a quiet “thank you,” but you notice the way his movements seem to slow, more deliberate than usual. As he walks around the car to the driver’s side, his mind races. There’s something he needs to ask you, something he doesn’t want to ask of you. He tries to find the right words, weighing each one carefully. This isn’t a conversation he can rush—it requires caution, a gentle touch. 

When he finally settles into the driver’s seat, the car door closing with a soft thud, the silence between you feels heavier than before. You glance at him, noticing the way his hands grip the steering wheel a little too tightly, the way his jaw tenses as he stares straight ahead. It’s clear he has something on his mind, something he’s struggling to put into words. 

“Charles,” you call out softly, looking at him cautiously, “what's on your mind?” 

Charles freezes, looking like a deer caught in headlights, and you smile at him.  Charles sighs, running his hand through his hair.  “Alex wants to meet you,” he admits.   

You physically cannot hide your surprise, “Oh.” You don’t know what to say.  Your mind races, trying to process the idea of meeting Alexandra. She seems nice—kind, beautiful, and clearly someone who makes Charles happy. There’s no logical reason to refuse, but the thought still makes you feel awkward,  “Sure,” you smile, “when is a good time?”  

Charles hesitates, his gaze dropping for a moment before meeting yours again. “Well,” he begins, taking a deep breath, “she was thinking tonight, there’s this party at this club.”  

“Charles,” you start to shake your head, “that’s not really…” 

“I know,” he interrupts, his words tumbling out faster now, as if he’s trying to explain before you can object. “Alex wants to go, and she thinks it would be something we could do in public if you’re there. Since, you know, all we usually do is hang out at home. But if you say no, y/n, I won’t go. I promise.” He takes another breath, ready to say more, but you cut him off this time.  

“Don’t do that,” you say sharply, your voice rising as your face hardens with anger. “Do not make it seem like you can’t do something because of me, Charles.” The way you say his name—cold, clipped—makes him flinch. It’s not the way you usually say it, and the shift in tone stings. “Do not act like I’m the reason we’re in this situation.” 

Charles’s eyes widen, and he quickly shakes his head. “No, no, that’s not what I’m trying to do, y/n,” he says, his voice earnest. He looks at you with those eyes—the ones that always seem to make you weak—and you feel yourself soften, just a little. “Alex wants to meet you because we spend a lot of time together. And that’s not your fault or your doing. She just wants to know who I’m spending my time with, and she thought tonight would be a good chance for that.” He looks down at his lap, his shoulders slumping. “If you don’t want to go, I won’t force you. We can just go back to the hotel, and we’ll figure out another time for you to meet Alex. I just meant… if you say no, then it’s no. I won’t argue with your decision.”  

You sigh, the tension in your chest easing slightly. None of this is ideal—not the fake relationship, not the secrecy, not the way Charles is caught between you and Alex. But you know it’s not his fault. “I’m sorry,” you say quietly, your gaze dropping as you take a deep breath. “I know this situation wasn’t your idea. It’s what the team wanted, and I shouldn’t blame you.” You pause, then look up at him, forcing a small smile. “I’ll go tonight. I’ll meet Alex tonight.” 

Charles looks up at you, studying your face.  “Are you sure?”  He asks softly, his expression showing a mix of relief and concern.  

“Yeah it could be fun,” you smile, that sweet smile, that Charles loves so much.  There’s a silence that falls over you both, as Charles looks at you with those eyes, and there’s so many unspoken thoughts behind them.  

“Thank you,” Charles whispers to you.  

-

Much later that evening as you adorned an outfit befitting of a night out. Charles and you made your way to the club.  You and Charles walk hand in hand, into the club, he waves at some of the fans that spot him.  Inside, it’s much more crowded than you expect.  Charles pulls you closer to him, as he weaves his way through the crowd.  You know that there were gonna be several of the drivers and their girlfriends out tonight.  

As you approach the area that the drivers are gathering at you spot Kika.  You and her have formed a simple friendship, just from seeing each other at the races.  You and her aren’t exactly close, but she is definitely someone you find comfort in.  You smile and wave at her, as you find a seat next to her.  

“I thought parties like this weren’t your thing?” she shouts over the music in your ear.  

“They’re not, but Charles asked me to come.” Kika nods, as she hands you a shot.  Without hesitation, you down it—and then two more in quick succession. Kika watches with a mix of amusement and concern, giggling at your boldness. She’s not sure if you’re a regular drinker, but your actions suggest something is on your mind.  

Meanwhile, Charles is a few feet away, mingling with fellow drivers like Pierre and Carlos. They’re deep in conversation, their words drowned out by the music. Charles is in his element, laughing and gesturing animatedly, while you and Kika share a quieter moment amidst the chaos.  

You watch as Charles rises from his seat, his figure cutting through the dim, pulsating lights of the club. He disappears into the crowd, his broad shoulders and confident stride making him easy to track—at first. But as the sea of faces shifts and sways, the crowd swallows him whole, and your eyes lose him in the blur of bodies and flashing lights. You crane your neck, trying to catch another glimpse, but he’s gone. 

Moments later, you spot him again. This time, he’s not alone. Standing beside him is Alexandra, her presence commanding attention even in the chaotic atmosphere. The club’s lighting seems to bend around her, casting a soft, golden glow on her flawless skin. She moves with an effortless grace, her every step exuding confidence and poise. Her beauty is undeniable—radiant, almost otherworldly.

You can’t help but notice how perfectly she fits into this world, how she seems to belong in a way you never could. Her smile is dazzling, her laughter carrying over the music as she leans in to say something to Charles. He laughs too, his expression relaxed and open in a way you can’t bring out of him. 

Your eyes follow them as they draw closer.  “y/n,” Charles calls your name, and he looks at you with those eyes.  Those eyes, with that look, that belong to you and only you.  He gives you that look, and your heart breaks knowing that’s the only thing you have.  “This is Alexandra.”  He steps aside, presenting her to you.  His tone is polite, but there’s a flicker of unease in his expression, as if he’s bracing for impact.

“Hi,” you say with a big smile, as she moves to hug you and you are forced to stand and hug her back.  

“Hi,” Alex says breathlessly, and even her voice is beautiful.  “It’s so nice to meet you, Charles says nothing but praises about you.”  

For a split second, your heart skips a beat. Charles talks about me? The thought sends a rush of warmth through you, but it’s quickly replaced by doubt. You force a blush, playing along. “Charles says nothing but wonderful things about you too,” you lie, your voice steady despite the ache in your chest. You realize, with a sinking feeling, that her words are probably just as hollow. Charles doesn’t talk about Alexandra to you, and you doubt he’s ever mentioned you to her.  

“I’m so grateful that you let Charles ask me out,” Alex says with a genuine smile, even her smile is beautiful.  

“Of course,” you say, your smile tightening, “it really isn’t my place to tell him who he can and can’t date.”  

Alex giggles, a sound that’s light and carefree. “And thank god your relationship isn’t real,” she adds, as if it’s the most casual thing in the world. “I mean, I knew Charles was in a relationship when I started hitting on him, so I’m just relieved it wasn’t a real one.”  

Your breath catches, and you’re not sure if you manage to keep your expression neutral. “I mean, thank god,” you echo with an awkward chuckle, your mind racing. Did she really just say that? You glance at Charles, but he’s already looking away, his jaw tight. “You guys should go get a drink or something,” you suggest quickly, desperate to end the conversation.

“Yeah, we’re gonna go check out the bar,” Alex says as she turns back and looks at Charles to point at the bar.  She turns back to look at you, still smiling so radiantly, “it was so nice to meet you, let’s hang out sometime.”  

You nod, “of course we must have lunch or something.”  You watch as they walk away, your smile fading the moment they’re out of sight. You sink back into your seat, reaching for another shot on the table. You down it in one gulp, the burn of the alcohol doing little to numb the sting of Alex’s words. You want to believe she didn’t mean it the way it sounded, but the doubt lingers.

“Did she say she knew?” Kika’s voice cuts through your thoughts, her tone sharp and accusing.

“I think it sounds worse than-” you shake your head as you talk.  

“No,” Kika interjects, “it sounds like she was willing to be a homewrecker.” 

“Kika, I think you’re exaggerating,” you reply, trying to laugh it off, but the sound falls flat.

“Girl, be so for real right now,” Kika snaps, leaning closer. “She just admitted she knew Charles was in a relationship when she made a move on him. That’s not normal.” 

“But we’re not actually together,” you retort. 

“She didn’t know that,” Kika fires back. “All she knew was that he was in a relationship. That’s messed up, and you know it.”

Kika raises her eyebrows, daring you to disagree. You sigh, your shoulders slumping. There’s no point in arguing. Not that any of it matters now.  

-

The rest of that night is a blur, the edges softened by too many drinks and the weight of unspoken words. You and Charles don’t discuss Alexandra again. The next morning, you leave Belgium before he does, slipping away without fanfare. The summer break stretches before you, a welcome reprieve filled with family and distance. The time away gives you space to breathe, to think, to untangle the mess of emotions tied to Charles.

Two weeks pass, and you convince yourself you’ve figured it all out. The conclusion is clear: you don’t like Charles. Not in that way at least. The hours spent together, the shared smiles, the quiet moments—they were just part of the act.  You tell yourself you’ve mistaken his kindness for something more.  That your feelings are nothing more than a byproduct of the close proximity. You repeat it like a mantra: You don’t like Charles. You don’t like Charles.  

By the time you land at Nice Côte d'Azur Airport, you’ve almost convinced yourself it’s true. Charles insisted on picking you up, despite you arguing that a taxi would be fine. You protested, but he wouldn’t budge. And now, as you spot him weaving through the crowd, your resolve wavers.  

He looks… different. Or maybe it’s just that you’ve forgotten the way his presence makes you blush, the way his eyes light up when he sees you. Your chest tightens as he approaches, and you realize just how much you’ve missed him.  

“Hi,” he says, slightly out of breath, as if he’d been running to you. Before you can respond, he’s pulling you into a hug, his arms wrapping around you like he’s afraid you’ll disappear. “I missed you,” he murmurs into your shoulder, so softly that you wonder if you imagined it.  

“Hi,” you reply, your voice muffled against his chest. You hug him back, your hands gripping the fabric of his shirt as if to anchor yourself. When he finally pulls away, he looks at you with those eyes—the ones that belong to you and only you.  

You can’t help but smile, and when you do, Charles’s heart skips a beat. He’s waited two weeks to see that smile, the one that lights up your face and makes his stomach flip. It’s the smile he’s come to love, though he’d never say it out loud.  

“Let’s go home,” he says, holding out his hand to you. The word home lingers in the air, heavy with meaning. You take his hand, your fingers slotting perfectly into his, and something about the way he says it makes your chest ache.  

Charles grabs your suitcase, his free hand still holding yours, and the two of you make your way to the car. The airport buzzes around you, but at this moment, it feels like it’s just the two of you, walking toward something you’re both too afraid to name.  

The drive from the airport to Charles’ apartment is quiet.  The hum of the car engine and the soft music you play, filling the space between you. You stare out the window, watching the familiar streets of Monaco blur past. Charles glances at you occasionally, his fingers tapping the steering wheel as if he’s searching for an opening to speak. But the words never come, and neither do yours.

When you arrive, you look up at the building before you.  You try to remind yourself that everything from here on out is just an act.  Charles carries your suitcase upstairs, his movements brisk and efficient. You follow him, your stomach twisting with a mix of anticipation and dread. The door to his apartment swings open, and the smell of something delicious wafts out—garlic, herbs, and warmth. 

“Welcome back!” a cheery voice calls out, as Alexandra rounds the corner to greet you.  

You freeze seeing her standing there.  She has an apron tied around her waist, subtle sweat beads drip down the sides of your face.  The smile she wears is genuine and kind.  She looks breathtaking at this moment.  Even the disheveled, homebody, tirelessly working version of her is stunningly beautiful. 

“Y/N! It’s so good to finally meet you properly,” she says, pulling you into a hug before you can react. Her embrace is warm, her perfume soft and floral. “Charles has told me so much about you.”

You stiffen, your arms moving awkwardly up to hug her back.  Over her shoulder, you catch Charles’s gaze. He looks uneasy, his jaw tight as he sets your suitcase down. 

“Alex wanted to make something to welcome you back,” Charles says, his voice carefully measured.  

Alexandra pulls away, her smile still radiant, and glowing.  “I made pasta, I hope you like it,” she says as she plants a soft kiss on Charles' cheek before returning to the kitchen. The act makes you clench your jaw, how you wish that it was you doing that.  

You try to remind yourself that you don’t like Charles.  “That was really kind of you Alex,” you say walking past Charles and towards the kitchen.  

“I know I love a good home cooked meal after a long flight,” Alex says as she plates the food, “I thought you would enjoy the same.”  She brings the plates to the dining table.  

She ushers you toward the dining table, which is set with candles and a bottle of wine. The scene is so domestic, so perfect, that it makes your chest ache. You glance at Charles, but he’s avoiding your eyes, busying himself with pouring glasses of water.

“Please, come sit,” she says.  You take your seat across from Alexandra.  You can tell she’s worked hard on this meal.  

“It smells amazing,” you say, your voice tight as you smile. You pick up your fork, your appetite gone, but you force yourself to take a bite. It’s delicious, of course.

“Tell me all about your summer,” Alexandra says, she looks more beautiful in the candle light, “Charles said you were with family.” 

“It was good,” you say, “quiet.  Different.” 

“That sounds lovely,” she says, her tone warm. “I’ve been here most of the break. Charles has been such a great host.”

You glance at him again, but he’s staring at his plate, his fork pushing food around without eating. The awkwardness in the room is cutting, though Alexandra seems oblivious—or maybe she’s just that good at pretending.

“It’s nice to finally have you here,” she continues, reaching for the wine bottle. “Charles talks about you all the time. It’s like I already know you.”

“Does he?” you ask with a bit of a force chuckle, “I hope it’s nothing but good things.” 

“Oh of course,” Alexandra says as she looks at Charles, nothing but love in her eyes, “I think it would literally kill him to say a negative thing about you.” 

You smile, looking back at your plate.  Charles looks at you, that smile you wear isn’t the same.  It’s not the smile that he loves.  It’s different, it’s a sad smile.  “I’m glad he’s not telling lies,” you finally say looking at Alexandra.  You can feel Charles’ gaze on you, but you don’t meet it.  

The rest of the meal passes in a blur. Alexandra fills the silence with stories about her summer, her laughter bright and easy. You nod along, your responses polite but distant. Charles stays quiet, his presence a heavy weight at the table.

When the meal is over, Alexandra insists on cleaning up. “You two must be tired,” she says, shooing you toward the living room. “Go relax. I’ve got this.”

“Thank you again for cooking,” you say.  

“Of course,” Alexandra smiles, “It was so nice having you. Now go unwind.” 

You don’t argue. You follow Charles into the living room, you try to remind yourself once more. You don’t have genuine feelings for Charles.  He sits on the couch, his elbows on his knees, his head in his hands.

“Charles,” you call out to him softly.  

He looks up, his eyes tired. “I’m sorry,” he says, his voice rough. “I didn’t know she was going to do all this.”

You sit beside him, your hands clasped in your lap. “She’s… really kind.”

Charles sighs, his hands gripping the edge of the couch as if anchoring himself. “Yeah, she is,” he murmurs, his voice low and strained. He looks at you, his eyes searching yours for something—understanding, maybe, or forgiveness. But the words don’t come, and the silence between you grows heavier.  

You lean further back into the couch, your gaze fixed on the ceiling. “When the season is over, you can be more open about your relationship with her,” you say, your tone carefully neutral. “No more pretending. No more… me.”  

Charles flinches, his jaw tightening as he stares at the floor. His fingers tap restlessly against his knee, a telltale sign of his unease. “It’s not that simple,” he says finally, his voice rough, though he doesn’t elaborate.  

You turn to look at him, your heart aching at the conflict etched across his face. “Isn’t it?” you ask softly, though you already know the answer.  

For a moment, he doesn’t respond. His eyes drop to his hands, his shoulders slumping under the weight of everything left unsaid. The sound of Alexandra humming in the kitchen fills the silence, a painful reminder of the life Charles has built—and the one you’re no longer sure you belong in.  Neither of you say anything more for the night.  

-

Time doesn’t allow you to wallow. It never does. It throws you into the next event before you can catch your breath, before you can prepare. Time forces you to face the crowd, to put on the mask and play the part. You sit in the passenger seat, staring out the window at the paddock entrance. The sea of photographers waits, their cameras poised, ready to capture every and all moments.  

Charles comes around to your side, opening the door for you. His hand is steady, but his eyes show his concern.  

“You okay?” he asks, his voice soft, his gaze searching yours.  

“Yeah,” you force a smile, though it feels brittle on your lips. You take his outstretched hand, your fingers slipping into his as you step out of the car. His grip is firm, grounding, and for a moment, you let yourself lean into him.  

“I forgot about this,” you murmur, your voice barely audible over the hum of the paddock.  

Charles’s jaw tightens, guilt flickering across his face. “We can take the other entrance,” he offers, his tone hesitant. The other entrance is quieter, less crowded, but it feels like running away.  

You shake your head, your resolve hardening. “It’s okay.”  

The moment you take the first step forward, the cameras erupt. Flashes of light burst around you, blinding and relentless. Charles’ smile is bright, effortless, as he waves at the crowd. You mirror him, your own smile plastered on, but your grip on his hand tightens instinctively.  

His thumb brushes against the back of your hand, a small, unconscious gesture that sends a shiver up your spine. You glance at him, but he’s focused on the crowd, his smile never wavering. His grip on your hand tightens slightly, as if he’s afraid you’ll slip away.  

“Charles,” you say softly, your voice barely audible over the noise. You’ve just arrived at the Ferrari motorhome, the chaos of the paddock fading behind you.  

He looks down at you, his eyes dark and unreadable. “Yeah?”  

You hesitate, the words catching in your throat. This isn’t real, you remind yourself. It’s just an act. But the way he’s looking at you—like you’re the only person in the world—makes it hard to breathe.  

“Nothing,” you say finally, your voice barely a whisper.  

Charles lets go of your hand, and the loss of his touch is immediate. You clench your hands into fists, your nails digging into your palms to keep from reaching for him. You watch him disappear into a room, his figure swallowed by the shadows. You know you’ll barely see him for the rest of the day, and the thought leaves you hollow.  

Hours pass in a blur. You make yourself comfortable in the Ferrari motorhome, but your mind is anything but at ease. The weight of your feelings presses down on you, a constant ache in your chest. You don’t notice Charles approaching until he’s standing in front of you, his presence pulling you back to the present.  

“Hey,” he says softly, taking a seat across from you. His fingers move instinctively, brushing a strand of hair from your face. The gesture is so tender, so intimate, that it steals your breath. “What’s on your mind?”  

“Nothing,” you say, shaking your head gently. “Nothing important.”  

Charles’s gaze softens, his hand lingering near your face for a moment before he pulls it back. “Everything about you is important to me,” he says, his tone casual, as if the words don’t carry the weight of the world.  

Your heart flutters, a traitorous warmth spreading through your chest. You want to believe him, to let yourself fall into the comfort of his words, but you can’t. Not when you know this is an act.  

“We’re heading to the track,” he says, standing up. “I’ll see you later.”  

You nod, your throat too tight to speak. As he turns to leave, he pauses, his hand brushing against your shoulder. Then, without warning, he leans down and plants a soft kiss on your cheek.  

The act is so unexpected, so intimate, that it leaves you frozen. Your mind races, a million questions swirling in your head. Why? There are no cameras here, no fans watching. No one to perform for. So why?  

Charles pulls away, his eyes meeting yours for a brief, charged moment. Then he’s gone, leaving you sitting there, your hand pressed to your cheek as if to hold onto the warmth of his lips.  

-

The Dutch Grand Prix unfolds like all the others—chaotic, exhilarating, and filled with the same familiar routines. You play your part as Charles’ girlfriend flawlessly, smiling for the cameras, laughing at his jokes, and holding his hand as you navigate the paddock. But every moment together leaves you more confused than the last. 

Time, however, is relentless. As soon as the race ends on Sunday, you’re boarding a plane. The Italian Grand Prix is next, and the entire week is packed with events for Charles. There’s no time to breathe, no time to process. Sponsor appearances, media commitments, team meetings—his schedule is a whirlwind, leaving little room for anything else.

In a strange way, you’re grateful for it. The constant busyness means your time together is limited, and that makes it easier to keep your walls up. If you don’t see him, you can’t fall deeper into the trap of pretending this is real. If you don’t hear his voice, you can’t let yourself believe the way he says your name means something more. Distance, you tell yourself, is your only defense against the ache in your chest.

But even as you cling to that logic, a part of you wishes for just one more moment—one more stolen glance, one more brush of his hand against yours. Just one more chance to pretend, even if only for a moment.

Today is Sunday, race day—the final act of this week-long spectacle in Italy. The air is thick with anticipation, but Charles has been in a slightly sour mood since yesterday’s qualifying, where he secured fourth on the grid. You watch him now in his dressing room, his movements sharp and focused as he goes through his timing drills. The rhythmic sound of his steps fills the room, a steady beat that mirrors the tension in his shoulders.  

“Don’t tire yourself out before the race even starts,” you tease, your voice light and playful, cutting through the silence.  

Charles pauses, glancing over at you. The corners of his mouth twitch, and for a moment, the weight on his shoulders seems to lift. He’s grateful you’re here, sitting in the quiet with him, offering a moment of calm before the storm.  

“I’m just psyching myself up,” he says, flashing you a small but genuine smile.  

You smile, your tone softening. “You’re going to do great out there,” you say, your voice steady and sure. “I have nothing but faith in you that you’ll bring home the results you want.”  

Charles stops completely, his drills forgotten as he turns to face you. His eyes—soft, caring, and impossibly kind—meet yours, and for a moment, the world narrows to just the two of you. The look he gives you, that look.  Something so raw and intimate just below the surface. 

He might not be yours, he may never be yours, but this look—that look—is yours.  

“Thank you,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper, as if the words are too fragile to speak aloud.  

The room feels warmer somehow, the air between you charged with unspoken emotions. You don’t say anything else; you don’t need to. The quiet understanding between you is enough.  

Charles takes a deep breath, his shoulders relaxing as he exhales. He gives you one last lingering look before turning back to his preparations, a small but steady smile playing on his lips.  

You stay there, watching him, your presence a silent anchor as he readies himself for the race ahead.  

-

You watch the race from the garage, your eyes glued to the monitors tracking Charles’s car as it weaves through the pack. The tension is palpable, every overtake, every corner, every lap tightening the knot in your chest. When Charles fights his way into first place, you can’t help but jump to your feet, cheering alongside the rest of the crew. You hold your breath as he maintains his lead, the checkered flag feeling like it’s an eternity away.  

The race drags on, each lap stretching time to its limits. You count them down, your heart pounding in sync with the roar of the engines. As Charles approaches the final corner on the final lap, the garage erupts. You’re jumping, screaming, caught up in the electric energy of the moment. There isn’t a garage in the paddock cheering louder than Ferrari.  

The second the checkered flag waves, you’re running. You sprint with the team to parc ferme, your feet barely touching the ground. You arrive before Charles does, your chest heaving as you watch his car pull up in front of the number 1 sign.  

You don’t have to pretend to be happy for him. You don’t think about the cameras or the fans or the performance you’re supposed to put on. All you care about is Charles Leclerc, standing there in his red Ferrari, victorious at the Italian Grand Prix.  At the home grand prix. 

Charles wastes no time. He leaps out of the car, his movements fueled by adrenaline and joy. He crashes into Fred first, hugging his team principal with a force that nearly knocks them both over. The crowd surges forward, hands reaching out to pat him on the back, to share in this moment of triumph. The atmosphere is intoxicating, a heady mix of pride, joy, and sheer exhilaration. You’re overwhelmed by it all—by the love for Formula One, for Ferrari, for the tifosi, and most of all, for Charles.  

When Charles steps back from Fred, he pulls off his helmet, his hair damp with sweat, his face flushed with victory. His eyes scan the crowd, and when they land on you, everything else seems to fade.  

He doesn’t think. He doesn’t hesitate.  He acts on his emotions alone. 

Charles strides toward you, his hands cupping your face with surprising gentleness. And then he kisses you.  

The kiss is raw, unfiltered, and filled with emotions you can’t name. It feels real—so real that it steals your breath. The world around you disappears, the noise of the crowd fading into a distant hum. All you can feel is the warmth of his lips on yours, the way his hands tremble against your skin. His fingers grasping at the ends of your hair.  For a moment, it feels like you’re the only two people in the world.  

When he pulls away, he doesn’t say a word. His eyes search yours, a flicker of something unspoken passing between you. But before either of you can speak, Lando and Oscar are there, clapping him on the back, pulling him into the chaos of celebration.  

You’re left standing there, your fingers brushing against your lips as if to hold onto the memory of his kiss. The warmth lingers, a bittersweet reminder of a moment that felt too real to be part of the act.  

-

Alexandra watches the scene unfold from her hotel room, the glow of the television casting shadows across her face. She sees Charles leap out of his car, his joy radiating through the screen. She sees him hug Fred, the team, the crew—his smile so wide it could light up the entire paddock. And then she sees you.  

Her breath catches as Charles pulls off his helmet, his eyes scanning the crowd. When they land on you, something shifts. His expression softens, his movements slow, and for a moment, it’s like the rest of the world ceases to exist.  

She watches, her heart pounding, as he strides toward you. She watches his hands cup your face, so gently, so reverently, as if you’re the most precious thing in the world. And then she watches him kiss you.  

It’s not the kind of kiss they share—quick, polite, perfunctory. No, this kiss is raw, unfiltered, and filled with an intensity that makes her chest ache. She sees the way his fingers tremble against your skin, the way his body leans into yours as if he can’t bear to let go. She sees the way he looks at you when he pulls away, his eyes brimming with an overwhelming amount of love.  

Alexandra feels the tears before she even realizes she’s crying. They roll down her cheeks, hot and relentless, as she clutches the edge of the bed. She tries to tell herself it’s an act, a performance, nothing more than a show for the cameras. But deep down, she knows better.  

She’s tried to ignore it—the way Charles’s eyes follow you instinctively, like you’re the only person in the room. She’s tried to ignore the way he speaks about you, his voice softening with a fondness he’s never shown her. She’s tried to ignore how your smile can brighten his mood, even on his darkest days. She’s tried to ignore how gentle he is with you, how careful, as if you’re something fragile and precious.  

But now, watching the two of you from this private hotel room, far from the crowds and cameras, she can’t ignore it anymore. You look like a real couple. You look like his girlfriend.  

Alexandra knows she can’t compete with someone like you. You’re the sunlight breaking through on a rainy day, the sparkle on the ocean under the moonlight. You’re the tinkle of the brightest star, the kind of light that draws people in and holds them captive. You’re a shiny emerald in a sea of diamonds—unique, irreplaceable, unforgettable.  

You are everything.  

And she is nothing.  At the very least she is nothing compared to you for Charles. 

The realization crashes over her like a wave, pulling her under until she can’t breathe. She curls into herself, the tears coming harder now, as the weight of it all settles in her chest. She loves him—she loves him so much—but it doesn’t matter. Because he loves you.  

And there’s nothing she can do to change that.  

-

After the podium celebrations, Charles disappears into a sea of cameras that follow him towards the press conference. You slip away, weaving through the crowd toward the motorhome. The weight of the day presses on your shoulders, but it’s the stares—the lingering gazes of strangers—that make your skin crawl. You can feel their eyes on you, their whispers trailing behind you like shadows.  

You quicken your pace, your heart pounding in your chest, when you hear the rapid click of footsteps behind you. You turn, and there’s Kika, breathless and flushed, her face etched with something you can’t quite place. Pity. Concern. Fear.  

“Y/N,” she says softly, her voice trembling as if she’s afraid to shatter you.  

“What is it?” you ask, though the unease in her expression tells you everything you need to know. Your stomach twists as she hands you her phone, the screen glowing with a headline that stops you cold:  

‘Charles Leclerc Cheating? Two Is Better Than One.’

Your hands tremble as you scroll through the article. It’s filled with photos—Charles and Alexandra, laughing on a sunlit terrace, walking hand in hand through the streets of Monaco in the middle of night, sharing quiet moments that feel too intimate to be real. Some of the pictures date back to the Hungarian Grand Prix, a timeline of a relationship you didn’t know existed.  

And then, at the bottom of the article, there it is: a photo of you and Charles from just hours ago. His hands cupping your face, his lips pressed to yours in a kiss that felt so real, so raw, so yours.  

The caption beneath it reads: ‘Was it just a summer fling, or is it a torrid affair for the Formula One driver?’  

The article is careful to blur Alexandra’s face and omit her name, but the damage is done. The world sees her. The world sees you. And the world sees Charles caught between the two.  

“He said he wouldn’t do this to me,” you whisper, your voice breaking as you hand the phone back to Kika. The words feel hollow, like a promise that was never meant to be kept.  

You turn on your heel, your feet carrying you toward the motorhome before your mind can catch up. Kika follows close behind, her steps hurried and anxious.  

“Y/N, wait—what are you going to do?” she asks, her voice laced with worry.  

“I’m going home,” you say, the words final, absolute. “Tell Charles I had an emergency. Or don’t tell him anything at all. But I’m not staying here for another second.”  

Kika reaches for your arm, her touch gentle but insistent. “Let me come with you. I’ll make sure you get home safely.”  

You shake your head, your vision blurring with unshed tears. “Pierre’s going to be looking for you. You don’t have to worry about me.”  

You step into the motorhome, your movements quick and mechanical as you gather your things. Kika watches from the doorway, her expression torn between concern and helplessness.  

“Thank you, Kika,” you say softly, slinging your bag over your shoulder. “For everything.”  

Before she can respond, you’re gone, disappearing into the chaos of the paddock. Kika stands there, frozen, as she watches you walk away—your figure growing smaller and smaller until you vanish from sight.  

The noise of the paddock fades behind you, replaced by the hollow echo of your footsteps. You don’t look back.  

-

The press conference with the podium finishers is winding down, the atmosphere in the room relaxed as the moderator announces the final questions. Charles sits between Lando and Oscar, his smile easy but tired, the adrenaline of the race still buzzing faintly under his skin.  

Then, like a crack of thunder, a reporter shoots to his feet, his voice cutting through the calm.  

“Charles!” he shouts, not waiting to be called on. “Care to comment on the article that was just released minutes ago?”  

The room erupts into chaos. Reporters scramble for their phones, fingers flying across screens as they search for the article. Murmurs ripple through the crowd, growing louder with each passing second. Charles glances at Lando and Oscar, their faces mirroring his own confusion.  

“I’m sorry, what article?” Charles asks, forcing a chuckle, though his stomach twists with unease. He can’t imagine what they’re talking about, but the tension in the room is palpable.  

The reporter doesn’t hesitate. “Are you cheating on your girlfriend, Y/N?”  

The silence that follows is deafening. Every eye in the room locks onto Charles, every camera lens zooms in on his face. Even Lando and Oscar turn to him, their expressions a mix of shock and curiosity.  

Charles freezes, his mind going blank. The question hangs in the air, heavy and suffocating. He opens his mouth to respond, but no words come out. His heart pounds in his chest, his thoughts racing in a thousand directions at once.  

Before he can gather himself, a Ferrari representative rushes the stage, their voice sharp and commanding. “We’re going to end right there. Thank you for your time!”  

The room explodes into noise as crew members swarm Charles, pulling him to his feet and ushering him toward the exit. Reporters surge forward, shouting questions, their voices overlapping in a cacophony of accusations and demands. Cameras flash, their blinding lights adding to the chaos.  

Charles stumbles as he’s pushed through the crowd, his mind spinning. He fumbles for his phone, desperate to see the article, but the noise around him is overwhelming. The questions keep coming, each one louder and more invasive than the last.  

“Charles, is it true?”  

“Who is the other woman?”  

“How long has this been going on?”  

He doesn’t answer. He can’t. His thoughts are a jumbled mess, his pulse racing as he’s hurried toward the Ferrari motorhome. The crowd follows, a relentless wave of voices and cameras that he can’t escape.  

When he finally reaches the motorhome, he bursts inside, his eyes scanning the room frantically. “Y/N?” he calls, his voice strained.  

The room is empty. His heart sinks, panic clawing at his chest.  

“She’s not here,” a voice says softly.  

Charles turns to see Kika standing in the doorway, her face pale and her expression grim. “I didn’t know what to do,” she admits, her voice trembling. “So I waited here for you, trying to figure out what to say.”  

“Where is Y/N?” Charles demands, his voice cracking under the weight of his fear.  

Kika hesitates, her eyes filled with pity. “She said she was going home.”  

Charles stares at her, his mind reeling. “Home? What do you mean, home?”

Kika shakes her head, her voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know, Charles. I don’t know.  Do you know where home is for Y/N?”  

The words hit him like a punch to the gut. He sinks into a chair, his hands trembling as he clutches his phone. The noise outside fades into the background, replaced by the deafening silence of his own thoughts.  

-

After hours of enduring a relentless lecture from Ferrari’s PR team, Charles is finally allowed to leave. The weight of the world feels crushing on his shoulders as he steps out into the cool night air. His mind races, trying to remember where home is for you. He knows you told him—back at the beginning of the season, right after you signed the contract agreeing to pretend to be his girlfriend.  

It was supposed to be a simple arrangement, a business deal. But that first day, after the ink had dried, you and him went on a little date—just to get to know each other. You shared many little details about yourself: where you were from, your favorite foods, the music you loved. He listened, but he didn’t commit it to memory. He didn’t think he needed to.  

Now, standing alone in the dimly lit parking lot, he curses himself for not paying closer attention. He should have remembered. He could have remembered. If he wanted to, he would have.   

When he reaches his car, he opens the passenger-side door, his body moving on autopilot. He stops, his hand frozen on the handle, as the reality hits him: you’re not here. You’re not sitting in the seat beside him, laughing at his terrible jokes or scrolling through your phone to find the perfect playlist.  

His chest aches, a sharp, hollow pain that makes it hard to breathe. He closes the door gently, as if you’re there sitting inside, and walks around to the driver’s side.  

As he slips into the car, he takes a deep breath, his eyes drifting to the empty passenger seat. For a moment, he can almost see you there—your smile, your hand resting on the console, your voice filling the silence with stories and laughter. But the illusion shatters as quickly as it forms, leaving him alone in the quiet.  

He starts the engine, the sound jarring in the stillness. He doesn’t remember to put on any music. You always did that for him. The silence is deafening, a constant reminder of your absence.  The drive to the hotel feels endless. His mind is elsewhere, replaying every moment he took for granted, every detail he failed to hold onto.  

When he finally pulls into the hotel parking lot, he sits there for a moment, his hands gripping the steering wheel. The weight of his loneliness presses down on him, heavier than any race-day pressure.  He doesn’t know how to fix this. He doesn’t even know where to start.  

As Charles makes his way to his hotel room, his thoughts are consumed by you. The weight of the day, the accusations, the chaos—it all fades into the background as he imagines what he’ll say when he sees you. When he opens the door, the room is dark, but he can see a figure standing there, silhouetted against the faint light from the window.  

For a moment, his heart leaps. He thinks—no, he hopes—it’s you. That you’ve come back, that you’re standing there waiting for him, and that he can fix this. He hopes that home, for you, is with him.  

But as the figure steps forward, the hope shatters. It’s not you. It’s Alexandra.  

Charles doesn’t try to hide his disappointment. His shoulders slump, his face falls, and the breath he didn’t realize he was holding escapes in a quiet, defeated sigh. The reaction is like a knife to Alexandra’s heart. She doesn’t need words to confirm what she already knows: it was never going to be her.  

“Alex,” Charles says softly, his voice heavy with exhaustion. “What are you doing here?”  

He moves to walk past her, not sparing her another glance, but she stops him with her voice.  

“Did you ever love me, Charles?” Her words tremble, fragile and raw, as if they might break under the weight of her own fear. She needs to hear the truth from him, even if it destroys her.  

Charles freezes, his back still to her. He does love Alexandra. He loves her in a way that is unique to her, a way that is tender and real. In another lifetime, in another world, he might have been happy with her. But this isn’t that lifetime, and this isn’t that world.  

“I do love you, Alex,” he says finally, his voice barely above a whisper. He still doesn’t turn to face her. “Just… not in the way I love Y/N.”  

Alexandra’s breath hitches, a sob catching in her throat. “Why?” she asks, her voice breaking. “Why lead me on like this, Charles? Why let me fall in love with you when you knew you wouldn’t feel the same?”  

Charles finally turns to look at her, his heart aching at the sight of her tear-streaked face. The pain he’s caused her is written plainly in her eyes, and it cuts deeper than he expected.  

“I thought,” he begins, his voice faltering, “I thought you could stop me from falling in love with Y/N.”  

The admission hangs in the air, heavy and suffocating. Alexandra stares at him, her chest heaving as she tries to process his words.  

Charles steps closer, his hands reaching up to gently cup her face. His thumbs brush away her tears, his touch soft and soothing. She leans into it, just for a moment, savoring the warmth of his hands one last time.  

“I didn’t mean to hurt you like this,” he whispers, his voice thick with regret.  

Alexandra pulls his hands away from her face, her own trembling as she holds them for a moment before letting go. “Goodbye, Charles,” she says, her voice steady despite the tears still streaming down her cheeks.  

She turns to leave, her steps slow and deliberate. But as she reaches the doorway, she pauses, her back to him. “I hope you get her back,” she says softly, her voice carrying a bittersweet finality.  

And then she’s gone, the door closing softly behind her.  

Charles stands there, alone in the silence, his hands still outstretched as if reaching for something—or someone—who’s no longer there.  

-

“Get up!” a voice barks, sharp and impatient, cutting through the fog of Charles’s hangover.  

His head pounds like a drum, each throb synchronized with the blinding sunlight streaming through the window. He groans, squinting against the assault of light, his mouth dry and sticky as he smacks his lips together. The events of last night are a blur—fragmented images and muffled sounds that refuse to connect into a coherent memory.  

“Get up already!” the voice shouts again, louder this time, coming from the foot of the bed.  

Charles rolls over, his body heavy and uncooperative, to see Pierre standing there, arms crossed and a scowl etched across his face. Charles doesn’t bother with a response. Instead, he collapses back into the pillows, the plush mattress swallowing him whole.  

He hears Pierre scoff, the sound dripping with exasperation, but he can’t bring himself to care. Not until Pierre grabs him by the ankles and yanks him halfway off the bed.  

“What the fuck?” Charles snaps, his voice hoarse and ragged as he kicks out, trying to free himself. He glares at Pierre, his eyes bloodshot and wild.  

Pierre doesn’t let go. “I found Y/N.”  

The words hit Charles like a bucket of ice water. His exhaustion, his irritation, his pounding headache—it all evaporates in an instant. He sits up abruptly, his heart racing as he scrambles to his feet.  

“Where?” he demands, his voice sharp and urgent.  

“Andrea’s already getting the jet ready,” Pierre says, watching as Charles frantically rummages through the room, shoving clothes and belongings into a bag. “You’ve got an hour to get to the airport.”  

Charles’s hands tremble as he zips up the bag, his mind racing. He doesn’t know what he’s going to say to you. He doesn’t know how you’ll react. But he knows one thing with absolute certainty: he needs to see you.  

His heart pounds in his chest, each beat a reminder of what’s at stake. He grabs his phone, his keys, his bag, and heads for the door, Pierre trailing behind him.  

“Charles,” Pierre calls after him, his tone softer now. “Don’t mess this up.”  

Charles doesn’t respond. He’s already out the door, his mind focused on one thing and one thing only: you.  

-

Charles stands in front of your door, his heart pounding in his chest. On the other side is you. You, with your sweet smile that lights up every room. You, with the music he’s come to love because it reminds him of you. You, with all your kindness, your patience, your unwavering love. He hopes that you can forgive him, that you can accept him, that you can love him the way he loves you.  

He knocks on the door, the sound echoing in the quiet hallway. He holds his breath, his hand trembling as he waits. The seconds stretch into an eternity, each one heavier than the last. When the door finally opens, the sight of you hits him like a wave.  

You’re there, standing in the doorway, and for a moment, the world stops. The sight of you feels like the first light of morning breaking through the darkness. It feels like the first sip of a cold drink on a sweltering summer day. It feels like coming home.  

And then, just as quickly, it’s ripped away.  

You slam the door in his face.  

“Y/N,” Charles calls out, his voice desperate, raw. He presses his forehead against the door, his hand flat against the wood as if he can reach through it to you. “Please,” he begs, his voice cracking. “Please open the door.”  

His pleas make your heart ache, the sound of his voice tugging at something deep inside you. Against your better judgment, your feet carry you back to the door. You open it again, and the sight of him is like a punch to the gut.  

Charles looks like he’s walked through hell to get here. His eyes are bloodshot, his face pale and drawn. His hair is disheveled, sticking out in every direction, and his clothes are wrinkled, as if he’s been wearing them for days. He looks broken, lost, and utterly exhausted.  

You don’t say a word as you step back, allowing him to enter your home. He walks in slowly, his eyes never leaving yours. The look he gives you isn’t the one you’ve come to love—the one filled with warmth and affection. This look is different. It’s sad, heavy with regret and pain and loneliness. It’s a look that makes your chest tighten.  

“Y/N,” he says your name softly, so gently it brings tears to your eyes. “I’m sorry.”  

“No,” you say, shaking your head as you turn away from him. “No, no, no.” Your voice breaks, and you wipe at the tears already spilling down your cheeks. “You don’t get to come here and say you’re sorry and expect everything to be forgiven.”  

You turn back to face him, your anger flaring. “You,” you say, pointing at him, your finger jabbing the air with every word as you step closer. “You told me you wouldn’t do this. You told me you wouldn’t make a fool out of me. You told me you wouldn’t let me look like some stupid little girl. You promised me, Charles.”  

Your voice cracks as you say his name, and the tears come harder. Charles doesn’t hesitate. He wraps his arms around you, pulling you into a hug so tight it feels like he’s trying to hold you together. His warmth, his embrace—it feels like home.  

“I’m sorry,” he whispers against your neck, his voice trembling. “I’m so sorry.”  

You break down completely in his arms, your legs giving out as the weight of everything crashes over you. The two of you sink to the floor in the middle of your living room, Charles holding you as you cry. From the moment you saw the article, this is where you wanted to be—in his arms, safe and loved.  

But he’s not yours. He never was yours. And he will never be yours.  

The thought makes you push away from him, scrambling to your feet. Charles reaches for you instinctively, trying to pull you back, but you’re faster, putting distance between you.  

“What are you doing here, Charles?” you ask, your voice laced with disdain. “Shouldn’t you be with Alex?”  

“Why would I be with her?” he says, his voice steady but pleading. “I want to be with you.”  

He steps closer, his hands cupping your face. You lean into his touch despite yourself, not wanting to lose the warmth of his hands.  

“She’s your girlfriend, Charles,” you say, your voice hollow as you look at him but don’t really see him.  

“I broke it off with her,” he says, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.  

“Why would you do that?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper. You’re still not putting the pieces together, and Charles doesn’t know if it’s because you’re naive to his feelings or if you just need him to say it out loud.  

But he doesn’t mind. He’ll say it today, tomorrow, next week, next month, or ten years from now if he has to.  

“I’m in love with you, Y/N,” he says, his voice firm and unwavering. “I am madly in love with you. I don’t want anyone but you.”  

You shake your head, your eyes searching the room as if looking for a camera, for proof that this is just another act. “No, no,” you say, your voice trembling. “If you were in love with me, why did you go out with Alexandra?”  

Charles sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Because I was an idiot,” he admits, his voice heavy with regret. “I was too blind to see what was right in front of me. And I will spend the rest of my life making it up to you if you’ll let me.”  

“Why didn’t you tell me?” you ask, more tears falling from your eyes, this time for a completely different reason.  

“Because I was a coward,” he says, his voice breaking. “And I was weak. But if you’ll have me, I’m yours. Y/N, I am all yours. All of me belongs to you and only you.”  

This boy—this man—who you’ve fallen so deeply in love with is yours. He’s yours for the taking. He’s yours and yours only. He belongs to you.

-------------------

tags: @charlesgirl16 @janeh22

[theonottsbxtch]

FOREVER AND ALWAYS | MV1

an: military au go reeeee, my friend is currently talking to a marine so it makes this funnier, anyway this is a request and be prepared for how much im about to post, im posting all my wips so i can start a new

wc: 3.8k

THE LAST MORNING MAX spent in town was unseasonably warm for late September, but she still wore his old hoodie over her dress. It swallowed her, the cuffs rolled up clumsily so her fingers could peek through. Max liked seeing her in it; she made it look softer than it ever felt to him. They sat on the hood of his truck by the edge of the lake, the same spot they always went to when something big needed to be said.

“You’ll write, right?” she asked, her voice steadier than the fingers twisting the hem of his sleeve.

Max didn’t answer right away. He hated promises. He hated making them and breaking them even more. But he wasn’t going to break this one. “Every day,” he said, his voice a little rough. “I mean it, okay? You’ll be sick of me by Christmas.”

“I could never,” she said, and the words felt too small for how much she meant them.

The sun caught in her hair, and Max felt the ache of leaving settle deeper in his chest. He should’ve been relieved—one last night in this town, in that house—but all he could think about was how hard it was going to be to drive away from her in the morning.

“I’ll write back every time,” she promised, her eyes locked on his like she could hold him here through sheer willpower. “Don’t you dare stop.”

“I won’t.”

It was the closest thing to forever they’d ever said to each other, and Max wanted to believe it could be.

He didn’t sleep much that night. Max stayed parked outside her house long after walking her to the door, watching the glow of her bedroom light until it finally went dark. He told himself he’d leave when she was asleep, but his hands stayed glued to the steering wheel, his heart beating louder than the crickets outside.

Morning came too fast. He stood on her porch in his pressed uniform, his duffel slung over his shoulder. Her dad answered the door, grunted something about “too early for this,” and disappeared back into the house. Max heard her footsteps upstairs, quick and light, and then there she was, rushing down to meet him, already wearing a smile he didn’t deserve.

“You’re really doing it,” she said, her voice tight with something caught between pride and fear.

“I am.”

She stepped closer, her fingers brushing the crisp fabric of his sleeve. “You’re going to be okay, right?”

Max didn’t know how to answer that. He could handle the yelling, the rules, the miles of running. But leaving her? That felt like the first real battle.

“You’re the toughest guy I know,” she added softly, filling the silence.

“Tough’s not the same as okay,” he admitted, his voice low.

“Then I’ll be okay for both of us.”

The words hit him harder than he expected, wrapping around something fragile in his chest. He leaned down and kissed her, quick and desperate, like he could steal a little of her steadiness to take with him.

When they finally broke apart, she laughed softly, her forehead still resting against his. “You’re coming back, Max. Don’t forget that.”

“I won’t,” he said.

He didn’t know if it was a promise or a prayer.

The bus station was quiet that early in the morning, just a couple of strangers milling around with their heads down and coffee in hand. Max stood off to the side with her, his duffel at his feet and his hands shoved deep into his pockets to keep from grabbing hers. She said she couldn’t come, but watching him walk back to the truck made her call in sick for work and follow him in. 

“You should go sit,” he said, nodding toward the bench near the car park.

She gave him a look, one eyebrow raised in challenge. “I’m not leaving this spot until you’re on that bus.”

A faint smile tugged at his lips. Of course she wouldn’t. She was stubborn like that, always had been. He loved her for it, even if it made saying goodbye harder.

The bus pulled up, its brakes hissing as it rolled to a stop. Max felt the weight of the moment settle on his shoulders, heavier than the duffel. This was it.

He turned to her, unsure of what to say. Every word that came to mind felt too big or too small.

“Write me first,” she said, breaking the silence. Her voice was soft, but her eyes burned with determination. “As soon as you get there. Don’t wait for me to start.”

“I will,” he said, nodding. “Every day, remember?”

She smiled at that, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. She stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him, holding on so tightly it felt like she was trying to anchor him there.

He let himself hold her back, burying his face in her hair for just a moment. He wasn’t going to cry. He wouldn’t let himself.

“I’ll see you after training,” she whispered against his chest, her voice shaking just a little. “I’ll be there, Max.”

He pulled back, cupping her face in his hands. “You promise?”

“I promise.”

The driver called for boarding, and Max grabbed his bag. He didn’t look back as he stepped onto the bus. He couldn’t. If he did, he might not get on at all.

But as the bus pulled away, he glanced out the window. She was still standing there, exactly where he left her, her hand raised in a wave he couldn’t return.

He pressed his forehead against the glass, the weight of her promise settling in his chest. She would be there. He had to believe it.

Training was relentless.

The early mornings were the worst—before the sun even thought about rising, before his body remembered how to move. They ran until their legs felt like they’d snap beneath them, did push-ups until their arms gave out, and marched under the weight of packs that felt heavier with every mile. The shouting never stopped, every mistake earning a punishment meant to break them down and rebuild them into something sharper, stronger.

But it was nothing compared to what Max had already endured.

At home, the yelling was never meant to make him stronger. The bruises weren’t badges of discipline—they were reminders of how small he was made to feel. Every time he hit the ground during training, his drill sergeant barking at him to get up, Max thought of how often he’d done the same thing in that house. He got up then, and he got up now.

The other guys complained at night, lying on their bunks and licking their wounds, but Max didn’t join in. They didn’t know how lucky they were—how much easier it was to run ten miles when there wasn’t a door slamming behind you or fists flying to match.

And then there were the letters.

Her first one came the day after he arrived, folded neatly into an envelope with her handwriting scrawled across the front. The sight of it made his chest ache, and he didn’t even wait to get back to the barracks to read it.

Hey, tough guy. I hope this gets to you quick. Are they making you run as much as I think they are? Do you miss me? I miss you. It’s been one day and this town already feels different without you. Keep writing, okay? I’ll keep writing too. Just don’t let them make you forget who you are, Max. I love you.

The letters became his lifeline. Every night, after lights-out, he’d sit on the edge of his bunk with a flashlight and write her back. He told her about the blisters on his feet, the meals that barely qualified as food, the drill sergeant who could make a grown man cry with a single word. But he also told her how he was getting stronger, faster, better—how he thought about her every time things got too hard.

She didn’t just write about missing him. Her letters were full of details—what their friends were up to, how the leaves were starting to change by the lake, what songs were playing on the radio. She made him feel like he wasn’t missing everything. Like she was keeping his place for him.

The days blurred together after a while, a constant cycle of exhaustion and repetition. But then, one morning, everything felt different.

It was the last day of training.

Max stood in formation with the others, the sun rising behind them as their drill sergeant paced in front of the line. They’d been through hell together—guys who had started as strangers now felt like brothers. But Max wasn’t thinking about them.

He was thinking about her.

He scanned the crowd of families waiting just beyond the training field, his heart pounding harder than it ever had during a run. She had said she’d be here. She promised.

And then he saw her.

She was standing near the back, craning her neck to see over the heads of taller people in front of her. When their eyes met, she smiled so brightly that for a second, everything else—the noise, the exhaustion, the fear—fell away.

Max’s throat tightened, but he forced himself to focus. One last task. One last push. He would finish this, and then he’d go to her.

And this time, he wouldn’t have to leave too soon.

Max’s heart hammered as the ceremony came to a close. The drill sergeant dismissed them with a sharp bark, and the tension that had held the recruits in place finally broke. Families surged forward, cheers and hugs filling the air. Max stood frozen for a moment, scanning the crowd again until he saw her pushing through the mass of people, her face a mix of determination and joy.

She was exactly how he remembered her, but somehow even better. Her hair bounced as she hurried toward him, and the familiar tilt of her smile made his chest ache. And yet, as soon as she stopped a few feet in front of him, she planted her hands on her hips like she had all the time in the world.

“Well, well,” she said, eyes sparkling with mischief. “Hey there, tough guy.”

Max swallowed hard, trying to keep his composure. But her teasing grin made the corner of his mouth twitch, threatening to break into a smile he wasn’t supposed to give just yet.

From behind her, one of his barrack mates, Danny came up and watched her as she eyed up Max. When she noticed him, he nodded at her. “Ma’am.”

She snorted, shaking her head. “Don’t ‘ma’am’ me, I’m only young.” She stepped closer, looking at Max once more, her expression shifting to exaggerated awe. “That’s a whole lot of muscles you’ve got there now. What’ve they been feeding you?”

Max tried not to laugh, but he couldn’t stop his lips from curving upward.

“You’re not supposed to touch the recruits until they’ve been tapped out,” Danny said, his voice low, playful.

She raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed by Max’s attempt at staying serious. “Is that so? Guess I’ll have to keep my hands to myself for a minute longer, huh?”

He held her gaze, the tension building between them until it was almost unbearable. She took another step forward, her smile softening into something sweeter, something he’d missed so much it hurt.

“Max,” she said quietly, her voice just loud enough for him to hear over the noise around them.

And then, finally, she reached out and tapped his shoulder.

That was all it took. Max didn’t hesitate—he dropped his duffel to the ground and swept her into his arms, lifting her clean off the ground. She laughed, but it broke halfway through, and then she was crying, her face buried in his shoulder.

“I missed you,” she said, her voice muffled against his uniform.

Max held her tighter, his eyes stinging as he pressed his cheek against her hair. “I missed you too,” he murmured, his voice thick.

For a moment, neither of them moved. She clung to him like she was afraid he might disappear, and Max let himself soak in the feel of her in his arms—the warmth, the softness, the familiarity he’d craved every single day he was gone.

When she finally pulled back, her hands stayed on his shoulders, her fingers brushing against the hard muscle beneath his uniform. She tilted her head, a teasing smile breaking through her tears. “Seriously, Max. What’s with these muscles? You didn’t look like this when you left.”

He chuckled, the sound low and rough, and shook his head. “Had to give you something to brag about, didn’t I?”

She laughed, swiping at her cheeks with the sleeve of her sweater. “Oh, I’m definitely bragging. You’re not going anywhere without me showing you off first.”

“Not going anywhere without you at all,” Max said softly.

Her smile faltered for just a second, her eyes filling again. “Good,” she whispered. “Because I’m not letting you go.”

He cupped her face gently, leaning in until their foreheads touched. “You’re stuck with me now.”

“Always,” she said, and for the first time in months, Max felt like he was finally home.

As they were about to kiss, a cough disrupted them. Danny. “Are you done?”

“Leave me alone Danny, I’ve seen enough of you.” Max laughed, pulling her in closer. 

“I’m heading out, my girl’s at the car but I’ll see you soon, yeah?” Danny asked, taking off his hat and running his hand through it.

“Yeah you will. See you soon Dan.”

The desert heat was unrelenting, the sun beating down on Max and Danny as they sat outside their barracks during a rare moment of downtime. Max leaned against a wall, his cap pulled low over his eyes, but it wasn’t enough to shield him from Danny’s relentless teasing.

“You’ve been staring at that box for five minutes, man,” Danny said, smirking as he leaned back in his chair. “You sure you don’t want me to take it off your hands? I’d do a solid job proposing to her, you know.”

Max shot him a look, his jaw tightening, though there was no real heat behind it. “Touch it, and I’ll bury you in the sand.”

Danny snorted, tossing a rock lazily across the dusty ground. “Relax, lover boy. I’m just saying—you’ve had that ring for months. You’ve got the whole speech planned, don’t you? ‘I’ve loved you since we were kids, you’re my whole world,’ blah, blah, blah. Bet you even practiced in the mirror.”

Max rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t help the faint smile tugging at his lips. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the small velvet box, flipping it open to reveal the simple but elegant ring inside. He didn’t need anything flashy—she wouldn’t want that. The ring was perfect: timeless, just like her.

“I don’t need a speech,” Max said quietly, running his thumb along the edge of the box. “She already knows. She’s known since before I left the first time.”

Danny’s teasing grin softened into something more genuine. “She’s a lucky girl, you know. Not everyone would stick around through all this.”

“She’s not sticking around,” Max corrected, his voice firm. “She’s living her life—uni, friends, everything she’s always wanted. She’s just...waiting for me to come back, too.”

Danny whistled low. “Well, when you put it like that, I guess you’re the lucky one.”

Max didn’t argue. He thought about her every day—her laugh, the way she scribbled little doodles in the corners of her letters, the photo she’d sent him of her sitting on the quad with her textbooks spread out around her. She looked happy, and that was what mattered most to him.

But God, he missed her.

“I’ll ask her when we’re off duty,” Max said, snapping the box shut and tucking it safely back into his pocket. “The next time I get to see her, I’m not waiting. I’m not wasting another minute.”

Danny grinned, tipping his chair back on two legs. “You’re gonna make me cry, man. I’m just glad I’ll be there to see it.”

“You’re not invited.”

“Like hell I’m not.”

They both laughed, the kind of laugh that felt rare in a place like this. For a moment, the heaviness of deployment lifted, replaced by something lighter—hope.

But when the laughter faded, Max’s mind drifted back to her. He pictured her sitting in a lecture hall, twirling a pen between her fingers, her hair catching the sunlight. She’d promised him that first day he left that she’d always be there waiting for him, and she had never broken that promise.

And soon—so soon—he’d finally get to make one to her.

The cab pulled up to her apartment building, a modest brick complex tucked onto a quiet street just off campus. Max stared out the window, his heart thundering in his chest. It didn’t matter that he’d seen her a year ago on leave or that they’d talked just last week on a grainy video call. Being here, knowing she was just a flight of stairs away, made it all feel brand new.

Danny’s words echoed in his head as he grabbed his bag and climbed out. Don’t mess this up, man. She’s been waiting long enough.

The door to her unit opened before he could even knock. There she was, framed in the doorway, wearing an oversized sweater and leggings, her hair falling loose around her shoulders. She broke into a smile so bright it felt like the sun had come out, and before he could say a word, she threw her arms around his neck.

“Max!” she breathed, holding onto him like she never wanted to let go.

He dropped his bag and wrapped her up, burying his face in her hair. She smelled like home, like everything he’d missed.

“Hey,” he said softly, his voice catching.

She pulled back just enough to look at him, her hands sliding to his shoulders. “You’re here. You’re actually here.”

“I’m here.”

She laughed, the sound a little shaky, and grabbed his hand, tugging him inside. “Come on, I made dinner. It’s probably cold by now, but I didn’t want to risk leaving the kitchen in case—”

She didn’t get to finish.

Max stopped dead in the small kitchen, his eyes scanning the space—the mismatched dishes on the counter, the vase of sunflowers he recognised from her letters, the magnets on the fridge holding up her class schedule and pictures of them together. It was perfect.

And suddenly, he couldn’t wait.

“This wasn’t how I planned it,” he muttered, mostly to himself.

“What?” She turned, confusion flickering in her eyes.

Max dropped to one knee right there in the middle of the kitchen, pulling the velvet box from his pocket. He saw her gasp, her hands flying to her mouth, but he was too focused to stop now.

“I wasn’t going to do it like this,” he said, the words tumbling out. “I had a whole plan—something big and romantic—but I don’t care about plans anymore. I just...I love you. I’ve loved you for as long as I can remember, and I don’t want to wait another second to ask.” He opened the box, his hands steady despite the chaos in his chest. “Will you marry me?”

She froze, her wide eyes locked on his. The silence stretched, and Max felt a flicker of panic.

“So?” he said, his voice cracking slightly.

That broke her. She let out a choked laugh, tears spilling down her cheeks as she dropped to her knees in front of him. “I’m sorry! I’m just—yes! Of course, yes!”

Her arms went around his neck, and she kissed him fiercely, her tears wetting his face. Max held her close, the ring box forgotten on the floor as he kissed her back, pouring every bit of love and relief into the moment.

When they finally broke apart, she laughed through her tears, her fingers tracing the line of his jaw. “You really couldn’t wait, huh?”

“Not for this,” he said, his voice low and raw.

She smiled and kissed him again, slower this time, her hands sliding down to rest against his chest. Max stood, lifting her with him effortlessly, and set her on the edge of the counter.

“Max,” she murmured, her hands slipping beneath the collar of his shirt.

“Yeah?” he said, his forehead resting against hers.

“Welcome home.”

He smiled against her lips, capturing them in another kiss, and for the first time in what felt like forever, Max let himself feel it all—the love, the relief, the joy of knowing he was exactly where he was meant to be.

Dinner had been a blur, both of them too giddy and caught up in the moment to care that the food was lukewarm and hastily reheated. They laughed, talked, and stole kisses between bites, the kind of easy affection that felt like they’d never been apart.

Now, hours later, they were tangled together in her bed. The room was dark save for the soft glow of the streetlight filtering through the blinds. She lay draped across his chest, her fingers tracing lazy patterns on his skin, her eyes fixed on the ring now resting snugly on her finger.

“How are we going to do this?” she asked quietly, her voice thoughtful but tinged with uncertainty.

Max’s hand came up to stroke her back, his thumb brushing along her shoulder blade. He let out a soft sigh. “I leave in three months.”

She stilled for a moment, her finger pausing mid-trace.

“But,” he added, his voice warm and steady, “until then, we live the happy life. All of it. You, me, late-night takeout, bad movies, everything.”

She tilted her head up to look at him, her brow furrowing slightly. “Three months isn’t that long, Max. And I’m still at uni. I’ve got two more years. How—”

“We’ve made it work for two years while I’m away,” he interrupted gently, cupping her cheek with one hand. “We can do two more. You’ve been with me through everything—every deployment, every letter, every call. This won’t be any different. Except now,” he added, his lips quirking into a small smile, “you’ll be my fiancée.”

Her lips trembled, and she leaned up to kiss him, slow and deliberate, her hand slipping over his to hold it against her cheek. When she finally pulled back, her eyes shone with determination.

“You’re really bad at letting me be dramatic, you know that?” she teased softly.

“Someone’s gotta keep you in check,” he said with a smirk.

She laughed quietly, settling back against his chest, and Max tightened his arms around her. They lay there in silence for a while, her fingers once again toying with the ring as if she couldn’t quite believe it was real.

He was engaged.

He was happy.

And he was going to marry the love of his life.

the end.