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katethetank · 2 days ago

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Yours for the Night - Chapter 6

Rating: 18+ minors gtfo Chapter Summary: Steve and Eddie fall fast and hard, and start to carve out a life together CW: Alcohol, discussion of sex work, anal fingering, protected p in a sex, STD testing and Eddie's anxiety about it, blow jobs, unprotected p in a sex, switching, cum as lube, Richard Harrington is a dick Pairing: Escort!Eddie x Rich!Steve Word Count: 5.3k

Chapter 5<<Masterlist

Eddie takes the drink offered to him and swirls the scotch in his glass before taking a sip. It’s smoky and burns a bit, but it’s good. Art Guy’s scotch is always good. They just went out to dinner tonight, one of the Michelin star places he likes, and headed straight to his loft after. Eddie steps over to the large windows overlooking the neighborhood and takes another sip. A hand slips around his waist and settles on his stomach, and lips press to the spot on his neck that usually makes him shiver but tonight…it makes something in his gut twist.

He’s only been seeing Steve for a couple weeks, but it’s literally been every day. They’ll meet for lunch when Eddie has dates in the evening, and when he’s not working, they go out to dinner, or cuddle on Steve’s couch and talk or hours, or fuck until they’re ready to pass out.

Eddie is completely obsessed with him.

Steve keeps insisting that he’s fine with Eddie’s job. He’s had no problem with him going on dates, even asks questions about what they’ll be doing and what the guys are like. And it’s with genuine interest, not a hint of jealousy. He’s said over and over that he’s ok with the other part of Eddie’s job. And Eddie believes him.

All the dates he’s had since he started seeing Steve have been pretty cut and dry. Just random events and then he goes home. Tonight is his first time out with one of his regulars where sex has basically become part of their routine. And for the first time since he started this…Eddie feels fucking gross for doing it.

“Martin.”

“Mhm,” the man hums as he kisses lower on Eddie’s neck. It makes his skin crawl.

“Martin, stop. I…I can’t.”

He freezes and immediately puts space between them. Eddie’s never told him to stop, and he’s so fucking glad that it’s being respected. When he turns around to face him, Martin looks confused and disappointed. “Edward, is everything alright?”

“No. I’m so sorry. I just…I don’t think I can do this anymore.”

Martin assesses him and a look of understanding crosses his face. “Ah. I see. You’ve met someone.”

“Yeah…I have. I just don’t feel right doing this.”

“It’s alright, Edward. I suppose it was only a matter of time before someone won your heart. Whoever he is, he’s a lucky man.”

Eddie disagrees, but doesn’t say anything. He’s the lucky fucker who gets to be with Steve. “Thank you, Martin. I appreciate that.”

“So. Does this mean you’ll be…retiring?”

That gets a laugh out Eddie. “No, not retiring. I’ll still be taking clients, but the uh…extra services will no longer be available.”

Martin, surprisingly, looks pleased. “I’m glad to hear that. Obviously I’ve enjoyed all of our time together, but you really have been a lovely companion. I’ll be sure to let Nancy know when I’m in need of your company again.”

“Please do. You’ve always been one of my favorites.” He takes a final sip of scotch and sets the glass down. “I should get going. I had a great time tonight.”

“As did I.”

Martin walks him to the door and hands him the standard envelope he always has ready. Eddie shakes his head and puts his hands up. “No, no…I can’t take that.”

“You can and you will. Consider it a bonus for all you’ve done for me. Take you boy out. Someplace nice.”

Eddie sighs and gives him a half smile. “Thank you. For everything.” He takes the envelope, tucks it in his jacket, and gives Martin a chaste kiss on the cheek. “Goodnight, Martin.”

“Take care, Edward.”

As soon as he leaves, he heads straight to Steve’s apartment. It feels like a weight has been lifted that he didn’t even know he was carrying. Steve basically gave him his blessing to do whatever the fuck he wants when he’s on the job, but Eddie just…can’t. He doesn’t want to anymore. Having someone else’s hands and lips on him? He’s never felt any shame about the work he does, but tonight it made him feel cheap. It was meaningless. And he realized with stunning clarity that Steve is the only person he wants touching him like that.

The doorman has seen him at the apartment nearly every day over the last two weeks. When Eddie arrives, he greets him warmly and lets him right in. Eddie takes the elevator to the top floor and practically sprints down the hall and starts banging on Steve’s door. It opens a moment later and his heart swells in his chest. Steve’s wearing slippers, sweatpants, and a shirt Eddie must have left there earlier in the week. The faded Metallica logo never looked so good.

“Eddie! I thought you were out with Art Guy? You said you usually stay out late.”

He could fucking cry. He can’t believe how chill Steve has been about everything. And seeing him all soft like this, wearing his shirt, so fucking happy to see him. Eddie just knows. This is it for him.

“Hey baby. I uh…I ducked out early. Wanted to come see you.”

Steve’s cheeks go a little pink, and he gently takes Eddie’s hand and pulls him inside. “You didn’t have to do that. I was gonna meet you for lunch tomorrow.”

Eddie can’t take it. He cups Steve’s face and puts everything into the kiss. Steve slips his hands under Eddie’s jacket and holds his waist and…yeah. Those are the only hands he wants on him. He licks into Steve’s mouth and moans as their tongues caress each other. Steve giggles into the kiss and Eddie pulls away. “What’s so funny, sweetheart?”

“You taste like scotch. Pretty sure it’s Lagavulin.”

Eddie giggles right back and nods. “Yeah, it is. You’re ridiculous.”

“And you’re supposed to be on a date. Is everything ok?”

“Yeah. Everything is perfect, actually. I just um…can we sit?”

Steve takes his hand and they head to the living room where he has a half drunk mug of tea on the coffee table, a fluffy blanket heaped on the couch, and a paused episode of Conan O’Brien Must Go on the tv.

“I didn’t realize I was interrupting a romantic night with your boyfriend,” Eddie teases.

“Oh, shut up!” Steve laughs and pushes Eddie down onto the couch, settling in next to him. “What’s going on, babe?”

Babe. Eddie is always big on the pet names with him…sweetheart and honey and baby and angel and dollface and anything else that’ll make Steve blush. It’s only been in the last few days that Steve calls him babe all the time. It makes a tornado of butterflies swirl in his chest.

Eddie’s been nothing but honest and upfront with Steve about his profession. He knows about his regular clients, where they usually go, and what they get up to after. He doesn’t want any secrets with Steve, and wants to give him all the space in the world to back out if he finds he doesn’t actually want to be with him knowing what he knows. But Steve is just…so fucking cool about everything. So Eddie finds he doesn’t have to beat around the bush at all.

“So, I was out with Art Guy. We had a great night! Went out to dinner, had some amazing food. Then he took me back to his place, poured us a scotch, and I was just standing there looking out his windows and…he came up behind me. Put his hand on me. Started to kiss my neck and it…it made me feel sick. I realized that I don’t want anyone touching me like that anymore. Nobody but you. So I told him to stop-”

“He did, right?!”

Steve looks like he’s about to burn Martin’s place down if he didn’t. “Yes! Yeah, baby. He did. I told him I couldn’t sleep with him. All I could think about was how it just didn’t feel right having someone else touch me. I wanted it to be you. I only want it to be you.”

“Eddie…I don’t know what to say. This is your job, babe. I don’t want you missing out on anything for me.”

“I’m not! I still want to work for the agency. I really do like it, and I’m good at it. Just…the extra stuff? The sex work? I’m done. I don’t want anyone else. I just want you.”

Steve’s face goes all soft and gooey. He scoots closer and kisses Eddie’s cheek. “You don’t have to do this for me. But if you want to do this for yourself, I’m behind you one hundred percent.”

Eddie sighs and takes Steve’s hand in his. “You might be the most incredible man I’ve ever met. And honestly? I’m doing this for both of us. I don’t want to give that part of myself away anymore, and I don’t want to do anything that might risk your health or safety. You’re too important to me.”

He used to get such a thrill out of men who wanted to pay for a chance to sleep with him. It made him feel powerful. Irresistible. But none of that compares to the way Steve is looking at him right now. Like he actually cares. Like he doesn’t just want Eddie’s body, he wants Eddie.

Steve leans in and gives him the most tender kiss. He lets it linger. “You’re important to me, too.”

God, all he wants right now is to erase the feeling of Martin’s hands and lips on him. Eddie pulls him back in, and it’s not long before they’re stripping each other down right there on the couch. He reaches into his discarded jacket pocket and pulls out his lube and a condom, and hands them to Steve. His confused expression is so fucking cute. “Get me ready, sweetheart?”

Steve’s eyebrows shoot up into his hair. “Oh! You want me to…”

They haven’t switched yet. Every time they’ve slept together, Eddie has topped. And it’s been incredible, truly. But he’s fucking dying to have Steve inside him. “Yeah, I do. I need to feel you, Stevie. Your hands, your lips…everything.”

By the look on his face, Eddie is pretty sure Steve gets it. He lays him down the couch and opens him up so slowly and gently that Eddie feels like he’s going out of his mind. Steve kisses all over his neck. Gets his mouth latched onto that spot and Eddie’s whole body shivers. That’s what he needed.

Steve rolls the condom on and leans over Eddie, lining himself up. “Ready for me?”

Eddie nods and wraps his arms around Steve’s shoulders. “So ready.”

Feeling Steve’s thick cock push into him steals his breath away. It’s so slow and cautious, and Eddie’s eyes water looking at the concentration on Steve’s face. He’s cataloging all of Eddie’s expressions and reactions as he eases himself in. God, he feels so cared for and it’s everything.

When Steve finally bottoms out, Eddie feels so fucking full he can barely breathe. Eddie’s pretty big, but Steve is fucking hung. He feels him everywhere. He closes his eyes and lets his head fall back into the cushion below him. Steve’s lips and tongue work their way up and down his neck and it’s so fucking tender. Eddie’s body relaxes around the welcomed intrusion and he holds Steve close. “Stevie…baby, you can move. I’m ok honey. Please…please fuck me.”

Steve keeps kissing his neck as he starts to rock hips in a slow rhythm. “Eddie,” he pants. “You feel so fucking good, babe. Goddamnit, I’m not gonna last long.”

Eddie can do nothing but moan and gasp and cling to Steve tighter as he picks up his pace. Fuck this man is amazing. Eddie’s only known him for a couple weeks, but he would be perfectly content if this is the only person who ever touched him again. It’s fucking crazy. And he doesn’t care.

The couch squeaks underneath them as Steve’s thrusts get harder and faster. Eddie’s not going to last longer at this rate, either. There’s really no need to. He doesn’t need to impress anyone. He doesn’t have a tip he’s working towards. They’re just two men who have a fucking insatiable need to feel each other and touch each other. To make each other fall apart and then just…hold each other. His favorite part of all of this has been how Steve lets him stay, wants him to stay, whispering sweet things to him as they fall asleep curled around each other.

It might be the sappiest fucking thing he’s ever done, but the thought of falling asleep with Steve in his arms, never wanting to let him go, is what tips him over the edge. Eddie’s whole body shakes and he bites down on Steve’s shoulder as he cums between them. The high pitched, needy, pathetic sounds coming out of him don’t embarrass him in the slightest. Especially not when Steve echoes them, burying himself deep and filling the condom with a shudder.

They lay in the afterglow for a long time. Sharing soft, sleepy kisses and touching everywhere they can reach.

And when they finally separate and clean each other up and get ready for bed, they slip into Steve’s sheets naked and content. Steve turns over and Eddie wraps himself around his back, trails his lips across Steve’s shoulder and neck and smiles to himself when he hears the man sigh happily.

This is the only place he wants to be.

They’ve made it official. After a month of obsessing over each other and seeing each other every day, Steve asked him if he wanted to be his boyfriend. It was so fucking cute. They were cuddled up on Eddie’s couch. Steve had come over after Eddie was done with a date and they put on High Fidelity. It was during the scene where Cusack was at Green Mill Lounge when Steve turned his head and said, “You know I knew that night, when we were at that bar, that my life was never going to be the same again. I’ve never felt that before.”

“Is that so, babydoll?” Eddie had asked.

Steve kissed him. “Yeah…I just knew. And I’ve been kind of nervous to ask you this, but…you wanna be my boyfriend?”

Eddie tackled him and kissed all over his face, shouting yes, yes, yes between each smack of his lips.

The rest of the movie remained unwatched.

The next morning Eddie had to awkwardly ask over coffee and pancakes if Steve would want to get tested with him. He was kind of embarrassed to admit that he was overdue for it. He’d been so wrapped up in the newness of their budding relationship, and with him only sleeping with Steve since they got together, he just kind of…forgot that he needed to do that. He’d made a habit of going in at least once a month just to make sure he was all clear, if not more depending on how…busy he was with work. Eddie has always been religious about using condoms for everything, but he also tends to get paranoid.

Steve was so fucking understanding about it.

And now he’s here, in a clinic he doesn’t normally go to, because they decided to meet after Steve was done with work and this place was close by, and Eddie is feeling some sort of way about filling out this form with his boyfriend right next to him. The staff here doesn’t know him. They don’t know what his profession is (or was technically). The ladies at the place he normally goes to have always been so cool about what he does and just glad that he takes his health so seriously.

So now here, with people he doesn’t know, and his boyfriend easily filling out this fucking form, Eddie is trying to brace himself for judgement or something.

Have you had sex in the last 6 months? __Yes __No

With how many people? 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 more than 10

His eyes dart to Steve’s form that’s almost totally filled out and he feels a little sick when he sees the number 2 circled.

Eddie has to circle more than 10.

How many people have you had sex with in your lifetime?

0 1 2 3 4 5 10 15 25 30 50 75 More than 100

Steve circled 6.

Eddie has to take a moment to do a quick mental calculation, adding in his body count before he started working as an escort, and his hand shakes a little as he circles 50.

Have you ever exchanged drugs or money for sex? __Yes __No

He doesn’t have to sneak a peek at Steve’s form to know the answer to that question.

“Babe? You ok?”

Eddie lifts his head and looks at his boyfriend, whose expression is so open and caring. “I don’t know. Just feeling kinda…something.”

It’s not shame exactly. But it feels close.

“Kinda something, huh?” The corner of his mouth ticks up in a little grin and Eddie wants to kiss him.

“Yeah. Just maybe…regretting some life choices I think.”

A look of understanding crosses Steve’s beautiful face. He sets his clipboard down on the empty seat next to him and turns to face Eddie. “You know I don’t judge you for anything, right? I don’t care how many people you’ve been with or what you’ve done in the past. Hell, if anything I’m actually kind of grateful for it.”

“How?!”

Steve laughs and takes his hand, giving it a kiss. “Because it’s made you insanely good in bed.”

Eddie snorts and tries to hide his face in his hair. “Jesus Christ, Steve. You might be the only person on the planet who would feel that way about dating a former prostitute.”

“Good thing you found me then.”

Yeah. Good thing indeed.

Negative.

Every result that came back for both of them was negative and Eddie’s never felt so relieved to see that word before.

They basically cleared their calendars for the weekend with the hopes that they’d both be clean. When Steve comes over to Eddie’s apartment, he basically mauls him as soon as he’s through the door.

It’s a frantic scramble to his bedroom as they practically tear each other’s clothes off. Steve pushes him onto the bed and immediately gets Eddie’s dick in his mouth. Fuck this feels infinately better without flavored latex in the way.

“Oh fuck! Baby, your mouth!”

Steve hums as he bobs up and down, taking Eddie as far back as he can. God damn, Eddie could bust so fast watching him do this. Feeling those soft lips wrapped around his cock. That wet tongue lapping at the underside of his shaft. The feeling of Steve’s throat convulsing as he tries to swallow Eddie down.

“Shit! Honey, you need to stop or I’m gonna cum in like three seconds!”

His boyfriend pops off with a loud slurp and grins up at him. “Fine. But only because I want you to cum somewhere else.”

Eddie throws his head back, pinching his eyes shut and pulling at the roots of his hair. “Jesus fucking Christ, sweetheart. You’re gonna kill me.”

He feels Steve crawl up the bed, hears the bedside drawer open and the pop of a cap. Eddie opens his eyes and looks up at his boyfriend who’s pouring lube into the palm of his hand. Steve straddles his thighs and wraps his slick hand around Eddie’s cock, giving it a firm stroke. “Stevie…baby you gotta let me prep you first. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t.” He strokes Eddie a few more times, wipes his hand on a discarded shirt, and reaches behind himself as he arches his back. With a little wiggle and grunt, Steve smirks at him and tosses a thick black plug onto the bed next to them.

“Oh my god, you perfect fucking-”

His words are cut off as Steve scoots up and practically impales himself on Eddie’s dick. Fucking Christ, it’s so good. So hot. So tight. So wet. Steve’s body is the only place he ever wants to be again. He wants to live and die here. His heart might actually give out as Steve fully seats himself in Eddie’s lap and starts swiveling his hips.

“Eddie! Oh my god, babe! Been fucking dying to feel you like this.”

Eddie’s biting his lip so hard he’s pretty sure his teeth are going to slice all the way through. Steve starts lifting himself up just the tiniest bit and grinding back down and Eddie’s so fucking close already it’s laughable. It’s taking everything in him to not blow his load and Steve is making it very fucking hard. Especially as he picks up his pace and fucks himself harder and faster on Eddie’s cock.

“Stevie…baby…you gotta slow down. I’m too close, honey.”

He doesn’t. The bastard just smiles down at him, plants his hands on Eddie’s chest, and goes even faster. “Do it. I want to feel you, babe. Cum inside me.”

Eddie quickly wraps his arms around Steve’s waist, holding him still as he cries out, pumping his load into his boyfriend’s tight ass. “Fuck! Fuck fuck oh my god baby!”

It feels like his orgasm is never going to end. His dick keeps pulsing, his balls are so tight, his abs are clenched so hard it starts to hurt. When it finally slows to a stop, his entire body is buzzing. Eddie opens his wet eyes and looks up at Steve in awe. “On your back. Now.”

They roll over without dislodging and Eddie pumps his softening cock in and out as he kisses Steve hard and deep. He works his way down his boyfriend’s neck and chest. His cock slips out and Eddie is quick to get between his legs so he can spread his cheeks. He groans when sees his cum starting to leak out of Steve’s ass. Eddie doesn’t want to waste any of it, pushing it back in with two fingers.

“Oh my god! Eddie…that’s so fucking hot.”

“Yeah, babydoll? You like that? Fuck, you’re so wet now.” He smirks as he rubs his cum into Steve’s prostate and the man’s whole body jolts. “Want me to fuck you with my fingers while I suck you dry?”

Steve practically sobs as Eddie focuses all his attention on that spot. “Yes! Please, fuck!”

Eddie licks all over Steve’s balls, sucking one into his mouth, then the other. His fingers don’t stop as he kitten licks his way up the length of Steve’s cock, finally - finally - getting to taste what he’s been craving since their first night together. Eddie teases his slit, lapping up the salty precum, and wraps his lips around the head of Steve’s cock. The man is a mouthful, and Eddie happily takes in as much as his throat will allow.

Steve is a fucking mess above him, gripping Eddie’s hair, kicking his legs, writhing in the sheets, and making the most pathetic fucking sounds Eddie’s ever heard. God, he loves this.

It doesn’t take long, the perfect rhythm of his mouth sucking Steve in, and rubbing the tips of his fingers in just the right spot. Steve sobs as he cums, his whole body tensing up, and Eddie takes it all. He’s never been a huge fan of swallowing, but this is Steve. It’s different with him.

Eddie slows his ministrations as Steve’s body melts into the sheets. The man is a puddle. Eddie licks him clean and gently removes his fingers before wiping him down and climbing back up the bed. He collapses in a heap next to his boyfriend and sighs. “That…was so fucking good.”

With a Herculean effort, Steve rolls over and tucks himself into Eddie’s side. “We’re doing that again. Just gimme like…half an hour.”

Eddie snorts and wraps his arms around this incredible man. “God damn right we are.”

They spend the whole weekend in bed.

Eddie steps out of his apartment in his favorite Armani suit just as the private car rolls to a stop at the curb. He’s in all black tonight, from his jacket, to his shirt, and tie, and shoes. He looks fucking slick and he hopes his date thinks so as well. The driver opens the door and his date steps out wearing a well fitted suit in a deep red, with a white shirt and black tie. He’s fucking gorgeous.

He looks Eddie up and down as he approaches the car. “Wow, you look…stunning. Are you ready to go?”

Eddie smiles, cups his cheek, and kisses him. “For you? I’m always ready to go.”

Steve blushes and shakes his head “Get in the car, you flirt. We’re gonna be late.”

It’s a big night and Steve is a little nervous as they head to Chicago Winery. It’s his dad’s 60th birthday and the company is throwing a black tie party with all the rich assholes they can fit into one room. It’s also the first time he’s bringing Eddie as a date to something like this. They’ve been together for almost five months now and Steve has actively been avoiding having to come clean to his father about a few things. But time is up and tonight apparently is going to be the night.

He holds tight to his boyfriend’s hand as they enter the venue and Steve’s eyes are already darting around the room looking for the man of the hour. He freezes when he spots him, and Eddie gives his hand a squeeze.

“It’s going to be alright, sweetheart. I’m right here. You aren’t going into the lion’s den alone, ok?” Steve nods and gulps, and Eddie tugs his arm to get him to move. “Come on, baby boy. Let’s get a glass of wine, I heard they have some of that here.”

That at least gets Steve to crack a smile and they head over to the bar to get a couple glasses of Pinot Noir. Eddie’s just taking his first sip when he hears from behind him, “Steven. So glad you could make it.”

Steve turns first and greets his father. “Hey dad. Happy birthday. I uh…wanted to introduce you to my boyfriend. This is Eddie.”

Eddie turns around and smiles brightly. “Richard! It’s lovely to see you again!”

Richard’s eyes widen as he looks Eddie up and down. He steps close to Steve and hisses, “What the fuck is he doing here? Is this some kind of sick joke?”

“No, dad. Eddie’s my date. We’ve been seeing each other for months.”

Richard’s face is slowly turning red as he looks back and forth between them. Eddie moves closer and wraps his arm around Steve’s waist.

“It’s bad enough that you brought a hooker with you, don’t embarrass me any further by pretending that you two are actually dating.”

“Don’t call him that,” Steve seethes. “And don’t act like you didn’t do the same thing. Eddie is my boyfriend and he has every right to be here with me.”

Richard scoffs and shakes his head. “You expect me to believe that? That my own son would sink so low as to get involved with someone who sells themselves like he does?”

“Did,” Eddie interrupts. “I did. I’m only with the agency part time now, and I stopped ‘selling myself’ when I met Steve. Thanks for putting it so kindly, by the way.”

The look of disdain he gets in return would bother him if he gave a shit about this guy’s opinion. “I see. So what’s your plan then? To leech off my son while you work part time as a former hooker?”

“You’ve got some nerve-“

“Dad, stop! He’s not leeching off of me, Jesus Christ! If anything he’s helping me.”

Richard looks back at his son in confusion. “What the hell does that mean?”

Steve takes a breath and Eddie squeezes his hip reassuringly. “I wanted to tell you before you find out from HR. I’m quitting. I want to go back to school and get my teaching degree.”

“Your what? Steven if you think I’m going to foot the bill for you little flight of fancy-“

“God, stop it! I don’t expect anything from you! I’ve got money saved up, I can afford tuition on my own.”

Richard rubs his forehead and puts a hand on his hip. “Sure. Fine. But do you really expect to afford that high rise apartment on a teacher’s salary? You won’t be able to do this, Steven.”

“I know. I’m not as stupid as you think I am, ok? Eddie and I talked a lot about it…I’m moving in with him.”

Silence.

Richard looks even more baffled than before. “So let me get this straight. You’re quitting your high paying job, and slumming it with a part time escort, so you can work a thankless job that will barely be able to pay the bills?”

“Stop talking about him like that!”

“Then smarten up and stop acting like a child!”

Eddie’s had enough. He promised Steve he would keep his cool and let him handle it. But he can’t stand hearing Steve’s dad talk to him like this.

“Do you even know your son?” Richard looks at him like a bug he wants to stomp under his shoe. “Do you have any idea what an incredible person he is? How kind he is? How loving, and selfless-“

“Selfless! Sure,” Richard laughs. “He’s so selfless that he's willing to give up everything he’s worked for so he can live in poverty with someone who can’t even hold down a real job! What, was the agency running out of men who would want to date you?”

Eddie has to clench his fist to keep from decking this asshole. “Yeah, you’ve got it all figured out, don’t you? Except the part where I co-own a pretty successful gaming store downtown. Soon-to-be record store too, actually!"

“Babe, are you serious?!”

Eddie tears his icy glare away from Richard and looks softly at his boyfriend. Steve introduced him to Dustin a couple months into their relationship, and they brought him with them to this cool little gaming shop to check out their DnD selection. Eddie hit it off with the owner, and was asked if he had any interest in a management position the guy was looking to fill. With Steve’s encouragement, he took the job and only escorts once or twice a week now.

“Sure am, honey. I was going to save the good news for later in case tonight went to shit. I talked to Bob about the space for sale next door and how we could knock down a wall and expand it to include records and stuff. He’s bringing me on as an owner. Made it official yesterday. We can even make a space in the back so we can run campaigns with the kids if they want.”

Steve nearly knocks him off his feet with how hard he hugs him. “Eddie, that’s amazing! I’m so fucking proud of you!” When he lets go, he holds Eddie’s face and God he looks so happy. “Baby…you’re getting one of your dream jobs.”

Eddie wraps an arm around his waist and pulls him in close. “So are you, my love. You’re gonna be the best teacher.”

Steve’s face goes all soft and Eddie can’t not kiss him. Fuck anyone here who doesn’t like it. He sighs against Steve’s lips. They still give him butterflies every time. It’s not until after he’s kissed his boyfriend breathless that he realizes they’re alone. Richard must have stormed off as some point and Eddie’s fucking glad for it.

“You want to get out of here, angel?”

“Yeah,” Steve nods. “Take me home.”

Eddie kisses him one more time, how can he not, and leads him back out the door. He couldn’t be more proud to have this man by his side.

It wasn’t that long ago that Steve just wanted him for the night. Now he’s got Eddie forever.

Chapter 5<<Masterlist

Thank you so much for all the love!! I really enjoyed writing this, I hope you liked it!

@mrsjellymunson @the-unforgivenn @watermelonmite @micheledawn1975 @wordynerdygurl @live-laugh-love-dietrich @connected-dots-st-reblogger @airen256 @wheneverfeasible @cheersdannyx2 @stellashades @renfrisol @soulsofstarsliveinyourveins @stedestielfrattficlover

#steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #stranger things #steddie au #steddie smut #modern steddie #steddie fic #steddie fanfiction #escort!eddie #rich steve #sex worker eddie

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tackminyard · 1 year ago

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show tempe gang crossover with the morris islanders would actually have been the best episode of bones ever. btw

#please ignore the rest of the tags i will just be making things up #okay they start out in carolina but at least half the episode takes place in dc. do not ask me how travel logistics would work #tory spends the entire episode off with tempe doing bone stuff. booth feels upstaged by a 16-year-old girl #so he goes and hangs out with ben who does NOT trust him right off the bat #ben ends up having to run him over to liri at some point because there's crime afoot and tom is busy. they spend most of the ride in silenc #ofc they end up bonding Eventually because they are both obsessed with crazy emotionally stunted redheads named t brennan #tory is more effective than any of the squinterns and manages to piss hodgins off so bad just by existing #coop hangs out in the lab as saroyan tries to kick him out thirty times. he just keeps showing up and she can't prove who's letting him in #(it's tempe.) angela loves tory but tory does not love angela back. saroyan tolerates her. sweets likes her but knows she's hiding somethin #comes to the conclusion that she can read her friends minds and slowly drives himself crazy because obviously that can't be true #tory brings hi along whenever she needs someone with people skills and he is MORE than happy to participate in a hodgins experiment #hi gets to be king of the lab for about ten minutes. shelton hits it off with angela immediately and they solve half the case together #booth fucking HATES hi because he's evasive and really good at the manipulation thing. booth can't win verbal sparring and he gets Big Mad #at one point the four of them are in an interrogation room together (MISTAKE) because tory had them meddling a little too close to the sun #and booth is trying so hard to question them which didn't work even when they COULDN'T read each other's minds #tory figures out who did it and hi steals her thunder a la shrek wasnt vandalized he gave birth #temperance tells tory 'i know you've got a secret sweets told me and even though i don't trust psychology i find he's insightful' etc etc #tory's like well i might be but i can't tell you it's not just my secret and you wouldn't believe me anyway #because let's be real tempe WOULDNT believe her #meanwhile saroyan convinced by sweets paranoia managed to get a sample of tory's blood and test it and is like HEY WHAT THE FUCK #gets hodgins and they just stare at the results together and delve into conspiracy theories. he's like i KNEW there were werewolves #they debate telling tempe but know it wouldnt end well for the kids and decide to get rid of the evidence. but hodgins is SO smug #also angela spends the whole episode trying to convince everyone hi and shelton are dating and no one believes her #they finally see them kiss or something and they're all somehow floored and angela's just like yeah? duh?#if anyone read this i'm sorry and why

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knataa · 1 year ago

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NEVER thought I'd live to see the day Chuuya Nakahara and Nikacado Avocado fight for Dazai Osamu's love in tomodachi life AND for Dazai to choose NIKACADO AVOCADO over CHUUYA

yet here I am!!

#immediately told them to not date (obviously)#poor chuuya man #but this IS hilarious #tomodachi life #bsd #bungou stray dogs #bungo stray dogs #chuuya nakahara #dazai osamu #nikocado avocado #skk #i guess??#knata stuffs #random

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plethorawrites · 6 months ago

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Oh, I really, really like your recent blurb! Jason having a secret girlfriend/family is my favorite trope, but it is so hard to find!

Would you write about silly instances where Jason spots his family in public and tries to shuffle and guide you away without you noticing?

Ahh! I feel that validated in both my love of Jason and my love of the secret relationship trope! (This might not be exactly what you were looking for, but I hope you like it anyway!)

The first time it happened was a few weeks into your relationship, back When the two of you would meet for breakfast or brunch at the little cafe, a few blocks away from where you worked.

Jason Todd would always show up, yawning and exhausted from how tired he always was since he hadn't told you about his night job yet. But he was still on time, excited to see you even if he would go straight home and nap immediately afterwards.

The two of you would always spend more time talking getting to know one another than actually looking over the menu and ordering something to eat, but neither of you minded.

Then, one day, while he was looking away from you to hide the smile you had caused, he caught sight of Tim waiting in line to order a coffee.

Without really thinking about it, he grabbed both of your menus, propping them up and leaning over the table, trying to hide both your faces.

You frowned in confusion but leaned in too, until your faces were close together. "What are you doing?" You whispered.

"Nothing," he lied poorly, being his head over the top of a menu to see if his brother was still there and darting his head back down when Tim walked past the table. He let out a breath of relief, staring at you. "You look really pretty this close."

With an amused eye roll you leaned back in your chair, folding your arms and waiting for a better explanation. "You just wanted to talk really close for a moment?"

"Okay, fine," he sighed heavily. "I wanted to look at your freckles, alright? They're adorable. The ones on your nose are really cute."

It wasn't a lie, technically. He did love them. And you actually believed him, he thought. Or if you didn't, you didn't push the topic.

The next time you accidentally ran into somebody was at the mall, when you had dragged Jason along to help you look for a dress for a mystery date night he said nothing about, except for the fact that you had to wear something nice.

It was just his luck that you had picked the same store Stephanie happened to be shopping in as well. In most circumstances, she might not even notice him when they crossed paths in public, but in a woman's clothing store which was relatively empty, there was no way she wouldn't see him when she turned around.

Without warning, he tugged you away from rack you were looking at, pulling you into a cramped dressing room, locking it behind you.

"Wha-" You stared at him like he had lost his mind. "Why are we the dressing room?"

"How do women try stuff on when they can't turn around?" He countered, ignoring your question and planting his hand on the wall by your head to try to give himself more room in the tight space.

"It's typically not made for two people," you explained "Especially not 6'2 men."

He grinned a bit. "Do you like my height?" He asked, enjoying the proximity a bit more than he would admit.

Yes. Obviously. Who wouldn't? He towered over you. His arms could wrap around your entire body without even straining to cover more skin. Plus, he could reach the top shelf so you didn't have to climb on a chair.

But it was still too early in the relationship to tell him that.

"That's besides the point," you muttered. " Why are we in the dressing room?" You repeated.

"I just...always wanted to see a woman's dressing room," he told you, frowning at his own lie.

"Seriously?" You questioned. "You could have at least picked the big one at the end. And you didn't even let me pick anything to try on."

"Right, well..I figured we could try a different store," Jason explained, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear. "Nothing here would do you justice."

You huffed, finding it slightly amusing how foolish he was acting. But frankly, it wasn't terribly bad to be stuck in a tight space with him. So, you waited a moment longer before unlocking the stall.

You still had to find a dress.

Things were peaceful for a bit, you and Jason seemed to be growing stronger in your relationship and things began to get a little bit more serious. Jason seemed to be growing stronger in your relationship and things began to get a little bit more intense.

He knew that eventually he'd have to tell his family about you, but the next time he saw one of his brothers in public, he couldn't help but shy away from the task of introducing you.

In his defense, Damian really wasn't the first sibling you would want to meet.

He'd taken you to a nature preserve, because you said you used to go all the time as a kid but stopped after getting older.

You were practically giddy, feeding the animals from your palm, scrunching your nose when their whiskers ticked you. Jason was enjoying it too, more so because of you than the animals.

But while he was mocking you for your squeals, he heard a familiar voice having a one sided conversation with a lemur.

He turned and there was Damian, having his biweekly visit to see the animals that Father wouldn't let him bring home.

Jason cursed internally, pulling you away from the animals, accidentally spilling the feed from your hand.

"Hey, I stillwanted to see the—"

"I'll bring you back, I promise," he said, cutting you off as he dragged you behind a tree.

You wiped off your hand on your jeans and tilted your head. "What is it?"

"I just think you've been giving the animals too much attention," Jason noted. "I feel left out."

"Oh, c'mon," you rolled your eyes.

"Really," he insisted. "You kissed a sloth and a goat but not me."

He pouted a bit and leaned back against the tree, still holding you arm, though loosening his grip before running his hand up and down your arm apologetically.

You sighed, glancing around briefly, not really taking notice of the small, angry child, yelling at some poor worker, before leaning up on your tip toes to kiss his lips very quickly. "Satisfied?"

He smiled softly. "No." He shook his head, pointing to the exit. "Can we leave?" He asked gently.

"Will you bring me back?"

Jason nodded immediately. "Whenever you want," he said.

You gave up and left with him.

Now, if you really thought about it, you could easily put two and two together, but really, the instances were so far apart that you didn't really question the strange behavior.

He had managed to be, for the most part, pretty subtle about pulling you away from his family whenever he encountered them, as few and far between as those moments were.

Like the time you were walking down the street while it was raining and he spotted Duke crossing the street towards your direction. Even though he knew you loved the rain and hated umbrellas, he still pulled his jacket off, covering your head.

"Jay, I told you, I'm fine," you assured him, trying to move it off of you.

"Yeah, but you'll catch a cold," he insisted, pulling even further over your head while blatantly stealing an umbrella from a small stand that was selling them.

He popped it open, covering his own face as you walked past Duke.

"I will not," you told him, finally tugging it off. You frowned, not feeling any rain on your skin. "Where the hell did the umbrella come from?"

"Uh- someone handed it to me," Jason muttered. "Nice man."

And even though he despised running into people he knew because it always put him on high alert, trying to figure out what to do or where to go to keep whoever they ran into from spotting them, sometimes, he actually rather enjoyed the chance to pull you away from the rest of the world.

For instance, when you insisted on going to a carnival, which he wasn't a big fan of at first, until you guys got there and he saw your eyes twinkling at all the lights.

Any thoughts of boredom were quickly drowned out by the sound of your screams on the scarier rides, when you'd reach for his hand. And he bought every single treat you so much as looked at— the funnel cakes, the fresh lemonade, the Carmel corn.

He was watching you pull fresh cotton candy from the stick it was spun around when out of the corner of his eye he caught his brother Dick, along with Wally walking across the fair grounds.

Jason was sure they wouldn't notice you with how far away they were, but he refused to take the chance. So, he interlocked your hands, tugging you into a nearby photo booth as you made a sound of confusion.

"Just thought we should grab a souvenir," he said, beating you to the punch before you could ask what he was doing.

"I'm still eating my cotton candy," You told him. "I should fix my hair too."

Jason got a devilish glint in his eye and ran his hand through your hair jostling it further as you screeched in disbelief. "I think it looks good like that," he admitted, staring at you now that it had a bit more volume.

You blew a loose strand from your face. "I can't believe you did that," you stated. "It's all disheveled."

He nodded, still thinking it looked beautiful. Sort of like how it was when you woke up next to him.

"C'mon," he urged, pulling you into his lap. "I like you this way." He threw a few quarters in the slot and before you knew it you had a strip of three pictures, none of which were appropriate to show to anyone.

A picture of him stealing your cotton candy, a picture of him nuzzling your neck while you scrunched your nose in the way that made his heart clench, and a picture of him tasting said cotton candy on your tongue.

So, maybe it was an over reaction to pull you away from the rest of his carnival when it was huge and chances were Dick never would have even seen you. But God, did he enjoy it.

Then, there were, of course, the far less subtle times which didn't end quite as well.

Like when you just so happened to be walking out of a movie at the same time Cassandra and Barbara were heading into one.

"I think the sequel might actually be better than the original," you told him, arms interlinked as you walked.

"Uh huh," he wasn't paying attention anymore after seeing his sister and Babs at the soda machine, filling up their drinks.

He couldn't exactly pull you into a different theater, especially since he didn't know which one they would be going into.

The next best option? Throwing the empty popcorn bucket over your head.

"Jay?!" You exclaimed.

"It's a discount thing," he muttered vaguely, grimacing at his own excuse. "Wear the bucket out and you get a free movie."

Okay, not the next best, probably. Maybe like...sixth best? Seventh at most.

He pulled you past them, keeping his hand on the top of the bucket to keep it in place while raising his hoodie and keeping on the 3D glasses from the movie until you were past them both.

Once you were, he pulled it off and you were...well, fuming. Rightfully so.

"What the hell was that?" You asked, a bit bitterly, not buying his excuse for a second. "I'm covered in popcorn butter.

He cleared his throat, kissing your greasy cheek and licking his lips tasting a salty popcorn and butter on your skin. "Tastes good, though," he mumbled.

You stormed out on him.

And then, when you chose to walk all the way back to your apartment in frustration, both with his actions and lies, he finally came clean.

"I just... don't want my family to mess anything up between us," he confessed, barely even looking at you.

Vulnerability wasn't his strongest asset, but he was trying. For you.

You washed your face off in the sink for the third time and still felt greasy. Even if you got it all off your face, you'd need a shower to get it out of your hair.

"Why couldn't you just tell me that?" You asked, still confused. It wasn't like you didn't already know who his family was.

"I just- I didn't want you to think I was hiding you," he muttered.

"Jason, you put a bowl of popcorn over my head so your sister wouldn't see me. That's hiding," you stated firmly.

"Yes but it's not hiding out of embarrassment!" He clarified. "My family can be a lot to handle and they might scare you off and they'd definitely mock me endlessly for being in love with you."

His eyes went wide. That...was an accident. He didn't mean to confess that.

You stared at him for a moment, blinking. "Did you just say what I think you did?"

"I uh- well that wasn't..." He cleared his throat. "Yeah," he finally agreed with a slight nod. "But you don't have to say it back or anything, I know I'm not the easiest person to love and it—"

You were already kissing him, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him closer. He was caught off guard, but it didn't take him long before he kissed you back, his hands finding your waist and steadying you both.

"You're stupidly easy to love," you told him, resting your forehead on his.

(+Bonus)

It was a quiet Friday night when the two of you were at a nice restaurant, celebrating a year of being together. The food was good, the music was soft and nice, and Jason was practically a drooling mess over you, like usual.

So much so, he didn't even notice when his father walked into the restaurant with a date of his own.

You did, though. And in keeping with the spirit of what had apparently been a pretty large part of your relationship, even without you knowing it, you slid out of the booth quickly grabbing his hand and pulling him from his chair.

"Hey, wait a second!" He exclaimed as you rushed him out of the restaurant before he got to finish his dessert. "We still have to pay."

"We'll come back tomorrow and pay," you assured him, pushing open the door, into the cold evening.

"What the hell was that about?" Jason asked once you were outside and seemingly slowed down.

You pointed towards the window. "Your dad," you muttered.

He could see Bruce sitting at a table across from Selina, his eyes scanning a menu while occasionally looking up, probably to compliment her or something.

He huffed. "Add that restaurant to the list of places we can't go," he mumbled, shrugging off his jacket and handing it to you. "It got cold outside," he simply said when you frowned in confusion.

You pulled on the nice jacket that matched his suit. "Thanks," you said, wrapping your arm around his, tugging him away from the restaurant. "C'mon, I'll buy some more dessert."

He hummed, and pressed a kiss against your head. "Alright," he agreed, letting you lead him away from the restaurant and down the street.

#x reader #headcanon #jason todd #jason todd imagine #jason todd x reader #batboys #jason todd x you #dc comics #plethorawrites

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pucksandpower · 2 months ago

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Mon Soleil

Charles Leclerc x high school sweetheart!Reader

Summary: you don’t belong in the shadows, but selfishly Charles loves that you’re only his there (in which Charles Leclerc has kept his girlfriend hidden from the world for years and years … until he didn’t)

The door shuts softly behind him.

That in itself is telling — Charles always shuts it gently when he’s trying not to bring the world inside with him. Shoes scuffed, travel-worn jacket slung over one shoulder, eyes a little too tired to be young, he exhales like the weight of the grid is still pressing against his spine.

Silence greets him, familiar and warm. It’s not the absence of noise, but the presence of peace.

He walks through the apartment slowly, like something might break if he moves too fast. The city hums outside, Monaco golden and quiet beneath the early evening sky. From the living room, the sliding balcony doors are cracked open just enough to let in the scent of sea salt and sun-warmed stone.

That’s where you are.

Curled up on the balcony chaise, legs tucked beneath you, a loose cardigan slipping off one shoulder. There’s a book in your lap, but it’s long since fallen shut. Your eyes are closed, head tipped toward the sky like you’re soaking in the last of the daylight. Hair soft, skin glowing in the low sun — it hits him all at once, how desperately he’s missed you.

Charles leans against the doorframe, watching for a moment, throat tight.

“Mon soleil,” he says softly, barely more than breath.

You blink your eyes open, slow and sleepy, like your mind’s still somewhere inside the pages or the sunlight or the quiet. Then you smile.

“Hey,” you say, voice rough with rest.

He crosses the distance in seconds. The moment his lips brush your temple, everything else dissolves — the cameras, the interviews, the brutal double-header, the fake smiles. All of it gone. You tilt your head so he can press a second kiss just under your ear, and his arms wrap around you from behind, grounding.

“You’re home early,” you murmur.

Charles huffs a quiet laugh against your skin. “It’s nine.”

Your fingers find his. “Early for you.”

He exhales, forehead pressed to your shoulder. “Didn’t want to go to the after-party. Couldn’t take another question about the championship.”

“Did you win?”

“Yeah.”

There’s a pause.

“I’m proud of you,” you say, simply, gently. Like you mean it and nothing else. No noise. No expectations.

He closes his eyes.

“You know they had me filming a social media bit with Lewis twenty minutes after I crossed the finish line?” He says, muffled against your collarbone. “I was still sweating. I hadn’t even called Maman yet.”

“Sounds like a dream job.”

Charles snorts. “Yeah. The dream.”

You twist a little to look at him. There’s a faint crease between his brows, like something he hasn’t said yet is still sitting there, waiting.

“What is it?”

He doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, he brushes your hair back, fingers gentle at your temple, then your jaw. The kind of touch that says you’re real. I need that right now. You lean into it.

“They want me to fake date someone,” he says finally, eyes fixed on yours. “For a brand thing. PR stunt. ‘Broaden my audience appeal.’ Some model who’s apparently very into vintage cars and barely has a pulse.”

You blink.

He watches you, gauging the flicker of emotion across your face. “I said no,” he adds, quickly. “Obviously. I didn’t even let them finish the pitch.”

Your voice is dry. “But you told me anyway.”

“I had to,” Charles says. “It’s your life too.”

You’re quiet for a moment. “Do you think they’d actually push it?”

He sighs. “They’re not stupid. They know I’d walk before I let them touch this.” His thumb presses to the space over your heart. “But they’re not used to me saying no to everything else.”

“You’ve said no to a lot.”

He smiles faintly. “Yeah, but only when it’s worth it.”

You reach for his hand, the one still resting on your shoulder. Your fingers link instinctively.

“Was it hard?” You ask. “To say no?”

“No,” he says immediately. “What’s hard is not being able to tell the world why.”

There’s something deeper in that — something that aches.

You look at him. “You’d want to?”

He hesitates.

“I would,” Charles says quietly. “But I know what it would do to you.”

That stings, a little. Not because it’s wrong, but because it’s true.

He sees it in your expression. “Hey,” he says, gently. “I didn’t mean that like — like you can’t handle it. I know you could. I just … I like this. Us. The quiet. The privacy.”

“I like it too,” you admit, leaning your cheek into his shoulder. “But sometimes I think … maybe I’m hiding.”

“You’re not,” he says immediately, and there’s something fierce about it, the way his arms tighten around you. “You’re not. You just like peace. And that doesn’t mean you’re hiding.”

You shrug.

He shifts to face you more directly, hands cupping your jaw now. “You don’t belong in the shadows,” Charles murmurs, brushing his thumbs across your cheeks. “But selfishly, I love that you’re only mine there.”

You exhale a shaky little laugh. “That’s kind of possessive.”

He smiles. “Yeah. It is.”

“You’re usually not.”

“Not with the world, no,” he says. “But with you? Yeah. I am. I want to be.”

You look at him for a long time.

There’s still sea breeze in the air, warm and thick with salt. The sun is low now, slipping behind the hills. The light on your skin is rose-gold, and he looks at you like you hung the sun there yourself.

“I wrote today,” you say finally.

His eyes brighten. “Yeah?”

You nod. “Couple thousand words. Not great ones. But better than the last few days.”

“I want to read them.”

You raise a brow. “You always say that.”

“And I always mean it.”

“I’m not ready.”

He doesn’t push. “Okay.”

You smile, just a little. “But I like that you ask.”

Charles leans forward, brushing his lips across your forehead. “Always will.”

The wind stirs a strand of hair across your cheek, and he tucks it behind your ear with a kind of reverence.

“How long are you home for?” You ask.

“Five days.”

“Before Spain?”

“Yeah. I was going to train tomorrow, but I think I’ll take the morning off.”

Your voice is quiet. “For rest?”

“For you,” he says, and the way he says it makes your heart stumble.

“Charles-”

“No,” he says, gently. “You don’t have to earn it. I want time with you. You’re the only place I feel human lately.”

You swallow.

He leans in and kisses your cheek, slow and warm. Then your jaw. Then your neck, just above your pulse. You shiver slightly, but it’s comfort more than anything else — being found, being known.

“You want to go to bed?” He asks quietly.

You nod.

So he takes your hand, and it’s not rushed — it’s not hungry or dramatic. It’s grounding. Soft. He guides you inside, flicking off lights as you go, easing you into your shared room like he’s placing you somewhere safe.

In the bedroom, he pulls off your cardigan for you, brushing your shoulders with his hands. He peels back the covers, helps you climb in, then joins you. Not an inch of space between your bodies. His arms come around your waist from behind, holding you steady.

He presses a kiss to the back of your neck. “You’re not hiding,” he whispers. “You’re home.”

You reach back for his hand under the sheets. “Even when I’m quiet?”

“Especially when you’re quiet.”

He’s tracing patterns across your ribs now, soothing. Breathing slow. The world doesn’t exist here.

“Mon soleil,” he murmurs again, a little sleepier this time. “Even when the lights go out.”

You hum. “I’m glad you’re home.”

“I always come back to you.”

And in the hush of the room, you believe him.

He holds you closer.

Outside, Monaco sleeps.

Inside, he dreams only of you.

***

The car pulls up to the curb in front of the Palais de Tokyo, slow and deliberate like it knows what’s waiting outside.

Flashes ignite immediately — paparazzi like moths drawn to the promise of fame. The bulbs flicker against the polished black of the car, against the glittering heels stepping out before them, against the tension sitting thick in Charles’ chest.

He glances over at you.

“You sure?” He murmurs.

You nod, hands smoothed over the deep navy fabric of your dress. His fingers brush over yours where they rest in your lap — one soft, grounding touch.

“Okay,” he breathes. Then he adds, a little lower, “Stay close to me.”

The door opens.

The noise hits first — camera shutters, yelling voices, someone shouting his name in five different accents. It’s not unusual. It’s just … amplified. Paris amplifies everything. This isn’t a race weekend. This is Fashion Week. Which means the crowd outside isn’t just motorsport fans — it’s models, influencers, press junkies, people who invent rumors for fun and watch them come to life in real time.

You step out first.

And it’s small, the moment. Barely three seconds between your heels touching pavement and Charles following behind you, hand briefly ghosting the small of your back.

But it’s enough.

The buzz changes pitch the second he emerges.

There’s a flicker — a sharp inhale among the crowd, someone saying “Wait, who is that?” and another whispering your name as a question. Not as a fact. Just an idea. But ideas are dangerous here. Ideas spark headlines.

“Keep walking,” Charles mutters under his breath, close enough for only you to hear. “Just smile. Straight through.”

You nod. You’ve done this before — stepped through this minefield together. But something feels different tonight. Sharper.

Inside, the noise doesn’t follow. The air changes. The show hasn’t started yet, and the room is full of champagne flutes, soft designer scents, the low hum of fashion people pretending not to care who else is watching. You don’t drink — your fingers toy with the stem of a glass while Charles excuses himself for a brief interview across the room.

You watch him go.

He’s good at this. Too good. Easy smile, charming accent, sharp tux — he blends in so well it’s almost hard to remember how badly he used to flinch under attention.

The memory hits like a whisper.

***

It was at school, back in Monaco. He’d shown up to class ten minutes late, hair still wet from training, a smudge of grease on his collar. You were already sitting near the back, half-hiding behind a copy of Little Women.

He slid into the seat next to you, awkward and quiet. Everyone knew who he was. Charles Leclerc — the golden boy. The kid with the karting trophies and the tragic backstory. But up close, he didn’t seem golden. He seemed … tired.

He hadn’t spoken until three days later, when you’d accidentally left your notebook behind after class. He ran it out to you — literally ran. You were already halfway down the hall when he called your name.

You turned.

He held it out. “You forgot this.”

You took it, quietly. “Thanks.”

He hesitated, then blurted, “You write poems in the margins.”

Your eyes narrowed. “You read it?”

“No, I mean, just that one page. The one on the train. It was … good.”

You tilted your head. “You read poetry?”

“No,” he said, too quickly. Then, “Sometimes. I don’t understand most of it.”

You smiled. “That’s okay. Most people don’t.”

He paused. “Can I sit next to you again tomorrow?”

You nodded.

That was it. That was the moment it began.

Not with a spark. But a softness.

***

Now, across the room, Charles finishes his interview and makes his way back to you, expression slightly tight.

“Are we okay?” You ask under your breath.

He kisses your cheek. “Fine. One of the photographers caught a weird angle of us getting out of the car. It’ll blow over.”

You nod slowly. “You sure?”

“No,” he admits, low. “But I’m pretending.”

The lights dim then, and conversation dissolves into applause as the show begins. Your friend’s collection floats down the runway — fluid and sharp, dramatic and quiet all at once. You squeeze Charles’ hand, and he leans in to whisper, “He’ll be huge after this.”

You smile. “I know.”

But it doesn’t last.

After the show, as the crowd floods the exit, there’s a moment — a flash of something too fast to be fully seen. A journalist stepping forward, recorder in hand.

“Charles, Charles, one question?”

He stops out of habit. You hesitate beside him.

The journalist glances at you, sharp and curious. “Is this your girlfriend?”

Silence.

For a second �� just one — he doesn’t say anything. The beat stretches, too long, too brittle.

Then, “No comment.”

You flinch, barely. But he feels it. Of course he does.

He wraps a protective arm around your waist, not possessive but anchoring. “We’re here supporting a friend.”

The journalist tilts her head, eyes narrowing. “Right. So the matching entrance was just coincidence?”

Charles doesn’t answer.

You can feel the tension in his body, coiled and barely held.

He pulls you away before it escalates. No scene. Just a quick exit, one hand in yours as you disappear back into the private car waiting in the alley.

The moment the doors shut, the silence is deafening.

You stare out the window.

He speaks first. “I didn’t mean-”

“I know,” you say, too quickly.

“But it didn’t sound like-”

“I know, Charles.”

Another pause.

“I just …” he sighs. “It wasn’t the moment.”

You nod. “It never is.”

He closes his eyes. “That’s not fair.”

“Maybe not. But it’s true.”

There’s a sharp quiet between you now, the kind that doesn’t come from anger but from ache.

Charles leans forward, elbows on his knees, hands in his hair. “I’m trying to protect you.”

You stare at him. “And I love you for it. But I’m not breakable.”

“I know that.”

You exhale, soft. “Do you?”

He turns to face you fully. “I do. But you didn’t see the headlines they almost ran after Monaco. They twist everything. I don’t want you swallowed up in that circus. I want you safe.”

“And I want you honest.”

His jaw tightens.

You look away. “This is the first time in months we’ve fought.”

“I hate it.”

“Me too.”

The car pulls up to the hotel. You walk inside together, quiet, each step heavy with words unspoken. You ride the elevator without touching. Not out of distance, but because neither of you knows how to fix this yet.

The second the hotel door clicks shut, Charles exhales.

You kick off your shoes, walk toward the window. The Paris skyline is lit in gold and white. The Eiffel Tower gleams in the distance, unbothered.

You don’t hear him cross the room, but you feel it when his hands come to your waist.

“I didn’t say it,” he murmurs, voice rough. “But I thought it.”

You swallow.

His lips brush your shoulder. “I always think it.”

“I know.”

His hands move slowly, drawing you back into him, arms around your waist. His voice dips lower. “I’m yours. Always. Even when I can’t say it out loud.”

You turn in his arms, looking up at him. “You shouldn’t have to hide the things you love.”

“I’m not hiding,” Charles says, quiet but certain. “I’m guarding. There’s a difference.”

Your eyes search his.

He leans in, forehead resting against yours. “Don’t shrink from the light,” you whisper.

“I don’t,” he breathes. “I just want the light to stay mine.”

You kiss him first.

And then everything slows.

There’s no rush in the way he undresses you — just reverence. His fingers skim your spine, your ribs, the sides of your thighs. You feel his breath at your neck, his lips brushing over your skin like apology and promise all at once.

He lifts you gently, lays you back against the sheets with a kind of sacred care. Like the whole world could fall apart and he’d still hold you steady. Every movement is deliberate, grounding. He touches you like you’re sunlight made tangible — something fleeting he wants to memorize again and again.

His hands stay on your hips, firm and steady, even as his mouth whispers over your skin — your collarbone, your chest, your stomach.

“I don’t need the world to know,” he murmurs, voice thick. “But I need you to know.”

“I do,” you breathe. “I’ve always known.”

He kisses you like that’s the only answer he’ll ever need.

When it’s over, your limbs tangled, breath synced, he brushes a strand of hair off your forehead.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “For freezing.”

You shake your head. “You were scared.”

He holds you tighter. “I just want to keep you.”

“You have me.”

He nods.

Outside, Paris lives loud. Inside, Charles stays quiet — arms around you like gravity.

He says it again, barely audible.

“Mon soleil.”

And you fall asleep knowing he means it.

***

It’s early when Charles wakes, the sky outside a soft watercolor of dawn. The city’s barely breathing yet, Paris muted under pale blue and silver. The sheets are warm. You’re tucked against him, one arm slung across his ribs, your face buried somewhere near his collarbone.

He stays still for a moment.

Watches you.

You’re beautiful in the way only people at rest can be — unguarded, soft-edged, not thinking of the world or the weight of it. And Charles, for all his fame, for all his speed, has always worshipped slowness with you. He memorizes the shape of your mouth, the curve of your spine under the duvet. It makes him ache, how safe you look here, next to him. Like maybe, just maybe, he hasn’t ruined that yet.

He slips out of bed carefully, not waking you. Pads across the hotel room barefoot, dragging his fingers through sleep-mussed hair. There’s a note of stillness in him this morning, unusual but welcome. The weight of last night is still there, but it’s different now. Muted.

Your suitcase sits open in the corner, a paperback wedged between layers of clothing. The spine cracked, corners worn.

But it’s not the book that stops him.

It’s the manila folder on the desk.

The pages are stacked neatly, a thick rubber band holding them together. His name’s not on the front, and you haven’t told him much — only that it’s your second book, slower going than the first. But the edges are filled with your handwriting, your margin notes, your scratched-out titles.

He tells himself not to look.

Then he does.

Just one page, he promises.

Then two.

Then-

A line.

To the boy who lives at 320 km/h but holds me like I’m fragile porcelain.

Charles stops breathing for a second.

The words blur.

He sinks into the desk chair, pages cradled in his hands like they might shatter. He flips through more — just a few at first, then faster, scanning blocks of dialogue and prose, your voice echoing in every line. It’s fiction. Of course it is. But he knows himself in the spaces between. In the way the protagonist runs from everything except her. In the way he comes back. Always.

There’s a passage — midway through — that hits too close.

He doesn’t know how to rest. His body hums even in sleep. But when he touches her, something changes. It’s not desperation — it’s reverence. He holds her like she’s a map, and he’s finally found home.

Charles exhales, long and slow.

He reads on.

The world never asked him who he was. They only told him what to be. But with her, he can become something else. Someone honest. Someone flawed. Someone who doesn’t always win but is still worth loving.

He closes the manuscript after that, heart pounding. A different kind of pressure — intimate, unbearable, right under his ribs.

You see him.

You always have.

And suddenly, he wants to speak. To tell you everything he never quite knows how to say out loud.

So he finds a notepad in the hotel drawer. Quietly, without thinking too much, he writes.

***

Letter one.

Found tucked inside your book the next morning.

I am so tired of being the world’s Charles Leclerc. But I never tire of being yours.

***

Letter two.

Slipped between your sketchbook pages a few days later.

Sometimes I think you’re a quiet kind of genius. The world sees flashes, but I get the whole storm. You make me want to be more than fast. You make me want to be still.

***

Letter three.

Folded into the pocket of your jacket before he leaves for Spain.

I dreamt once that we lived in a house by the sea. No press. No racing. Just your words, my hands, and time. I don’t know if I’ll ever deserve that. But I want it.

***

He doesn’t sign them.

Doesn’t say they’re from him. Doesn’t need to.

You’d know his handwriting anywhere.

***

The morning after you return from Paris, you find the first one.

It’s there, plain as anything, pressed between two chapters of the book you’ve been reading for weeks. You weren’t even sure where you’d packed it. But it finds you.

You don’t say anything.

You just … sit with it.

Read it twice. Three times.

Then you place the paper back inside the pages and slide the book onto the nightstand like nothing happened.

When Charles stirs, you’re already watching him.

He groans a little, stretching. “What time is it?”

“Still early,” you murmur.

“Mm,” he rolls closer, eyes half-lidded. “You’re staring.”

“Maybe.”

He grins. “Lucky me.”

You lean in and kiss him.

It’s longer than usual. Slower. More certain. His hands come up to cradle your face, a little confused but not resisting.

When you pull back, he’s blinking at you. “What was that for?”

You shrug. “Felt like it.”

He hums, pulling you in again. “Do it again.”

So you do.

***

That day, he flies out for a press shoot in Spain. You stay in Monaco, returning to your writing, to your own quiet world.

But something’s shifted.

You start noticing the notes.

They don’t come every day. They’re not dramatic or poetic. They’re just him. Honest. Raw. Tucked where you least expect them — inside your journal, between the receipts in your wallet, once even in the fridge, stuck to the almond milk.

And still, you don’t mention them.

Because that’s the thing about Charles.

He’s loud on track. Loud when he’s winning. Loud when he’s fighting.

But when he loves — it’s quiet.

***

A few nights later, you’re on FaceTime. He’s sprawled across a hotel bed, hair wet from a shower, wearing a T-shirt that used to be yours.

“You find any new letters?” He asks, casual, but you see the corner of his mouth twitch.

You tilt your head. “Should I be looking?”

He smirks. “Maybe.”

You smile. “No new ones today.”

He feigns offense. “That you found.”

“Exactly.”

He laughs, soft and real. “You like them?”

“I do.”

There’s a pause.

“Even when I’m not good at saying it out loud,” Charles murmurs, “I’m thinking about you.”

“I know.”

He leans back, arms crossed under his head. “I think about how we met, sometimes. How I didn’t talk for like two weeks. You probably thought I was an idiot.”

“I thought you were shy.”

He blinks. “Really?”

“Yeah. You were always rushing somewhere, but you looked like you were trying not to bump into anyone.”

He laughs. “Because I was. Monaco’s small but brutal.”

You soften. “You’ve always been good at seeing everything.”

He nods. “But you were the first person who saw me. Before the racing. Before the trophies.”

“I still do.”

He swallows hard.

***

Later that week, another letter finds you inside your typewriter cover.

Letter four.

I don’t always know who I am to the world. Sometimes it changes by the hour. But with you, I never have to wonder. You anchor me. You make the noise stop. I hope I do the same for you. Even if I don’t say it, I’m trying.

You fold it gently, slide it under your pillow.

He’s not with you tonight, but the space beside you feels a little less empty.

***

A few days later, you call him out of the blue.

He answers on the second ring, breathless. “Everything okay?”

You smile. “Yeah. Just wanted to hear your voice.”

He sighs, soft and happy. “I miss you.”

“I miss you too.”

There’s a pause. Then:

“Do you want me to stop?” He asks.

You blink. “Stop what?”

“The notes. The letters. If it’s too much.”

Your heart twists. “Charles. No. I love them.”

He lets out a breath. “Okay.”

You add, quieter, “I keep them. All of them.”

“I know,” he says, and you can hear the smile in his voice. “I figured.”

***

That weekend, he comes home.

No cameras. No entourage. Just him, shoulders looser than they’ve been in months.

You open the door in sweatpants, hair still damp from a shower, and he smiles like it’s the only thing he’s been waiting for all week.

“Hi,” you say.

He drops his bag and kisses you before you can say anything else.

Later, curled up on the couch, his head in your lap, he murmurs, “You wrote about me.”

You pretend not to know what he means. “Everyone writes about you.”

“No,” he says, tilting his head to look up at you. “You wrote about me.”

You brush your fingers through his hair. “I write about what matters.”

He closes his eyes. “I hope you always do.”

You kiss his forehead. “And you’ll keep writing letters?”

He grins. “Until I run out of hiding spots.”

You smile. “Then you’ll just have to start saying them.”

He nods. “I will. One day.”

But until then-

The notes are enough.

***

He sounds like someone else on the phone.

The call comes after the sprint race in Miami, crackling with poor reception and exhaustion. He’s finished P2, and the media's already torn him apart for not converting pole into a win. Again. You can hear it in his voice — the frayed edges, the clipped tone he tries to soften for you.

“They said I’m not aggressive enough,” Charles mutters. “That I’m too emotional. That I’m-” he breaks off, breathing hard. “That I don’t have the killer instinct.”

You’re silent for a moment. “Do you believe them?”

“No,” he says, too fast. “But maybe … I don’t know. Maybe they’re right. Maybe I’m-” he trails off again, breath catching in his throat.

You sit up straighter, your grip on the phone tightening. “Charles.”

He doesn’t respond right away.

“Charles, look at me.”

“I can’t,” he whispers. “You’re not here.”

And that’s all it takes.

You’re already moving, throwing clothes into a carry-on bag with more purpose than coordination. You book a last-minute flight while brushing your teeth, your laptop balanced on the bathroom counter. The Miami heat feels a world away, but you can already see it — the chaos of the paddock, the swarm of cameras, the sound bites dissecting his every word.

And underneath it all: him.

Raw. Alone.

Not anymore.

***

By the time you arrive, the Sunday sun is already bruising the skyline, and you haven’t slept in seventeen hours. But the moment you step through the paddock gates, heart pounding behind your lanyard and sunglasses, you know exactly what you’re looking for.

He doesn’t see you at first.

He’s talking to an engineer, brow furrowed, body wound tight like wire. But then someone taps his shoulder, nods in your direction, and Charles turns.

His whole face shifts.

Like breathing after holding it too long.

He doesn’t say anything. Just strides across the paddock like the ground might collapse between you if he doesn’t close the distance fast enough. And then he’s there — eyes wild, chest rising and falling fast.

“You’re here,” he breathes, voice cracked.

You nod. “Of course I am.”

He grabs your wrist — not roughly, but with urgency. “Come with me.”

He pulls you through a back hallway you’ve never seen before, past mechanics and closed doors, until he finds an unlocked storage closet that smells like tires and adrenaline. He drags you in, shuts the door behind him, and exhales like he’s finally allowed to fall apart.

And then-

His arms are around you.

Just like that.

He buries his face in your neck, hands shaking at your waist. “I couldn’t do it anymore,” he whispers. “I tried. I really tried.”

“I know,” you say, threading your fingers into his hair. “I know you did.”

“They said so many things,” he murmurs against your skin. “Not just about driving. About who I am. About what I’m not. It was so loud, and I just — I needed you.”

You pull back just enough to cup his face, forcing him to look at you. “Charles. Listen to me. You are not what they say. You’re still my Charles. Not just Ferrari’s. Not theirs.”

His eyes close, a single tear slipping down. “You always say the right thing.”

“No,” you say, brushing it away. “I just say what’s true.”

He looks at you then, really looks at you — hair a mess from travel, skin tired from the flight, sunglasses still tangled in your hair. And he kisses you like he’s afraid you’ll vanish.

Like if he doesn’t hold you tight enough, the world will take you too.

Your back hits the supply shelf with a soft thud, and his hands are on your jaw, your shoulders, your waist — everywhere at once. You kiss him back just as fiercely, anchoring him with every breath.

“Say it again,” he murmurs, lips brushing yours.

“You’re still mine,” you whisper. “Always mine.”

***

That night, the hotel room is dark and quiet, lit only by the faint glow of Miami’s skyline outside the floor-to-ceiling windows. You’re on the bed, curled up in one of his shirts, freshly showered, still buzzing from the day.

He sits on the edge, towel around his neck, hands braced on his knees like he’s holding himself together.

You crawl over to him slowly, wrapping your arms around his torso from behind.

“Hey,” you murmur against his shoulder.

He exhales. “I keep thinking I have to be perfect. Not just on track. Everywhere.”

“You don’t.”

“I know,” he says. “But they make it feel like I do. Like if I’m not smiling enough, or fast enough, or hard enough, I’m … replaceable.”

You press a kiss between his shoulder blades. “You’re not.”

He turns to face you, eyes dark and heavy with everything he’s been carrying.

“You always know how to make it stop hurting,” he whispers.

You crawl into his lap, straddling him slowly, hands cupping his cheeks.

“Because I love you,” you say simply.

His lips find yours again, slower this time. Less desperation. More reverence. His hands slide under your thighs, then up your back, anchoring you to him like you’re the only solid thing he has left.

“You’re my girl,” he murmurs, voice hoarse. “My warmth. My sun.”

You kiss his temple. “Then let me be.”

And he does.

He lays you back on the sheets like you’re fragile and sacred all at once. His touch is soft but sure, worshipful, his hands tracing every inch of skin like it’s familiar scripture. He whispers in French sometimes, half-prayer, half-plea. His mouth brushes over your collarbone, your ribs, the inside of your wrist.

“Mon soleil,” he says again and again. “My girl. My warmth. My sun.”

You thread your fingers through his hair, breath catching as he kisses a slow trail along your sternum.

“You don’t have to prove anything here,” you whisper.

“I know,” he says. “But I still want to show you.”

His voice trembles — not from nerves, but from feeling. Too much of it, barely contained.

“If I crash out of everything,” he says, forehead resting against yours, “I want to crash into you.”

Your heart stutters.

“I’d catch you,” you breathe.

His lips find yours again, and this time it’s softer. Slower. Full of promises neither of you speak aloud. He moves like he’s memorizing you. Not rushing. Not conquering. Just … loving. Tracing you with quiet devotion.

When it’s over, he doesn’t let go. Just holds you to his chest, face buried in your hair.

Neither of you speaks for a while.

Eventually, you say into the silence, “I’m coming to the next race.”

He nods, arm tightening around you. “Good.”

“I’ll be at the track. No press. Just watching.”

He kisses the crown of your head. “Knowing you’re there changes everything.”

You press a hand to his heart. “It’s still yours, you know. Even when you think you’ve lost yourself.”

He closes his eyes. “You always bring me back.”

***

And in the morning, before you leave for the airport, you find another note.

Folded into the pocket of your hoodie.

His handwriting, scrawled but certain.

You saved me this weekend. You keep saving me. I love you more than the silence between races, more than the moments I win. You are the only finish line that matters.

You don’t cry.

But you hold it to your chest for a long time before tucking it into your wallet.

Where all the others live.

***

The mirror glints with a kind of reverence.

Your reflection blurs around the edges, not because of the makeup or the soft updo or the silk pooling at your ankles, but because tonight — the first time ever — you are not just his secret. You’re stepping into the light with him.

He’s behind you in the hotel room, shirtless and warm from the shower, towel still low on his hips. His eyes are on you like you’re something he dreamed up. Slowly, he crosses the floor, wrapping his arms around your waist from behind and resting his chin on your shoulder.

“You look like starlight,” Charles murmurs against your skin.

You smile softly. “That’s poetic.”

“It’s just true.”

Your fingers rest lightly over his. “You still sure about this? We can still back out. Stay here. Order room service. Watch old races until you fall asleep in your pasta again.”

He laughs quietly, that low, melted sound. “And miss the chance to show you off? No, mon solei.”

He kisses your shoulder, breath warm. “Besides,” he says, voice dropping to a whisper, “you’ve been mine in the shadows for too long.”

***

The carpet is a blur of white lights and velvet ropes, of camera flashes and murmured names, but his hand never leaves yours.

Not once.

You step out of the car together, and everything slows.

You feel the collective intake of breath from the press line, from the onlookers who’ve speculated, dissected, whispered. Your dress shimmers under the strobes, and his tux is impeccable — tailored like the life he lives — but it’s the way he looks at you that steals the attention.

Not just affection. Not even pride.

A kind of awe. Like he can’t believe you’re real, and that you chose him.

It’s the kind of look that writes headlines before they’re even typed.

Charles doesn't falter. He doesn’t glance around to see who’s watching. His eyes are only for you. Fingers laced, thumb rubbing the inside of your wrist in slow, grounding circles.

You hear one journalist gasp softly into her mic, like she’s realizing it in real time.

“That’s her,” someone murmurs. “The girl Charles Leclerc looks at like she hung the stars.”

And still, his eyes don’t leave yours.

“Too late to run?” You whisper as cameras flash like lightning.

He grins. “You run, I follow.”

A dozen questions are hurled in your direction as you move down the carpet together.

“Is this your girlfriend?”

“Are you official?”

“When did it start?”

Charles only smiles — polite but cool. Still untouchable. But his hand never wavers in yours. He lets the silence answer for him.

A look. A touch. A truth held in the space between bodies.

The world sees it.

And for once, you let them.

***

Later, when the speeches are done and the champagne has long gone warm, you both slip away.

Charles leads you up to the rooftop of the venue — one of those quiet, off-limits spots only someone like him could access without question. The wind brushes against your skin, and the lights of Monaco twinkle in the distance, reflected on the sea like fallen stars.

You kick off your heels the second the door closes behind you.

“God, I thought I was going to trip over a camera cable and faceplant into Toto Wolff,” you mutter.

Charles laughs, pulling off his bowtie and pocketing it. “I was watching your feet the entire time, just in case.”

You walk to the edge of the rooftop together, city stretched out below you like something painted. He stands behind you again, wrapping his arms around your waist, just like in the mirror hours ago.

“Everyone was staring,” you say, voice quieter now.

“Good,” he murmurs.

You turn your head, just enough to see him. “Not too much?”

He shakes his head. “I wanted them to see. Finally.”

There’s a silence — comfortable, but heavy with something unsaid. You rest your head against his shoulder and close your eyes, letting the night soak into your skin.

“I’m proud of you,” you whisper.

“For what?”

“For being brave. For letting them see the real thing.”

He exhales slowly. “It wasn’t hard. Not with you next to me.”

You feel him shift behind you, hands moving, and then he’s stepping around to face you. His expression is unreadable — tender but serious, eyes darker than usual under the moonlight.

Then he pulls something from his jacket pocket.

A ring.

Small. Delicate. Not flashy.

Two stones nestled together, pressed into a slim gold band.

One for his birth month. One for yours.

Not a proposal.

But something more sacred, somehow.

A promise.

“Charles-”

“I don’t want headlines,” he says quietly. “I don’t want statements. I don’t even want to trend on Twitter.”

He takes your hand.

“I want you to know, here and now, that even if no one ever saw us, if this had stayed ours forever — I would still love you like this. With everything.”

He slides the ring onto your finger. It fits perfectly.

“It’s not for the world,” he adds. “It’s for you. For us. For the days you stayed when I gave you nothing but exhaustion and travel and chaos. For the nights you held me when I came home empty. It’s a reminder. That no matter where I am, what I win, how loud it gets …”

He cups your cheek.

“You are still the only thing I want to come home to.”

You’re crying before you can stop it.

He pulls you into his chest, rocking you gently as you try to speak.

“You always make me feel like I’m not just … orbiting your world,” you manage. “Like I belong.”

He pulls back just enough to look at you, thumbs brushing the corners of your eyes.

“You are my world.”

You shake your head slowly, overwhelmed. “You’re always giving and giving. Aren’t you tired?”

His expression softens. “I am,” he admits. “But I’m less tired when I’m with you.”

You lean your forehead against his, the ring cool against his skin.

“I’ll wear this every day,” you whisper. “Even if it’s just for me.”

He smiles. “It’s always just for you.”

***

Much later, back in the hotel room, you sit on the balcony while he undresses inside. The city hums below, faint and electric. The air smells like salt and roses.

He comes out in soft cotton and bare feet, moving quietly.

And he sees you — bathed in the golden spill of the balcony lights, skin glowing, hair a little undone from the night, ring catching the faint glint of stars.

It mirrors the first night you sat like this, back at the beginning.

When he came home unraveling and found you, grounding him without even trying.

Now, he stops in the doorway, watching you like he’s memorizing it.

Like if he looks away, the light might disappear.

You glance up. “What?”

He smiles, slow and quiet. Walks over and leans down to kiss the top of your head.

“Mon soleil.”

You tilt your face toward him, teasing. “You’re really not gonna retire that nickname, huh?”

“Never,” he says simply, kissing your temple again. “Because it’s still true.”

You shift so he can sit behind you, and he wraps his arms around your waist, legs bracketing yours as you both look out at the water.

“The world saw you tonight,” he says after a long silence.

“And?” You murmur.

He presses his lips to the curve of your neck.

“And they finally know what I’ve always known,” he whispers.

You turn to look at him.

“That I revolve around you.”

The wind tugs gently at your hair, and his hands find yours again. His grip is warm. Steady.

You lean into him and close your eyes.

And for once, the world doesn’t feel too loud.

Because it’s not just you in the shadows anymore.

It’s you, glowing.

And him — right where he’s always been.

Yours.

2K notes · View notes

dokyumms · 5 months ago

Text

seventeen's reaction to you overworking yourself (hyung line) !

pairings: hyung line x reader (find maknae ver. here)

genre: fluff, angst

word count: 1.6k

cw: light cursing, overworking, fatigue, fainting

a/n: i had to cut this in half since it was getting too long and i wanted to make sure i posted today! i have NO idea why i made seungcheol's so long lmao. hope you enjoy kings ᕙ( •̀ ᗜ •́ )ᕗ also, i will be closing my requests so i can catch up on them over the weekend, i'll try to get them done by monday! thank you for all the support, it means so much to me ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡

seungcheol - seungcheol is livid. you're still at your second part-time job when seungcheol calls you, "send me your location, y/n." you didn't tell seungcheol you had taken on a second job. you've never been comfortable with money, always having to work multiple jobs to stay afloat. that was until you met seungcheol, and since then he's always taken care of your expenses, even offering to pay for part of your tuition, and you decided it was enough. you didn't want for your (millionaire) boyfriend to think you were using him, so you told him you took on some evening classes.

today, you're covering someone else's shift. originally, you weren't going to, but after their promise of sending you a little extra money for it, you accepted.

"cheol, i told you i'm-"

"at class still? don't bullshit me, y/n. you didn't take on any new classes, you left your paper schedule on the counter."

your stomach drops. ah hell, you must be stupid. "y/n, what are you really doing?" he asks, almost pleading. there's absolutely no fighting it at that point, "i'm... at work. shift just ended, i'll send you my location." in defeat, you sit on a barstool at the restaurant and wait for seungcheol.

when he walks in, his eyes are immediately on you, walking over and grabbing your hand. "let's go," is all he says. the car ride is silent with tension; he only asks about it once you two are both home. "why? y/n there's no reason for you to be working another job. i'm right here; if you needed financial help, i could've helped you." he says gently, trying to maintain his frustration, but his brows are furrowed, exposing his true emotions.

"that's just the thing seungcheol, you're always here to help me. i don't want to use you because i can't support myself." you reason, but seungcheol obviously isn't buying it. "y/n, you're not using me, even if you did i wouldn't care. i don't want to watch you struggle when i know i can help." he takes your hand into his own. "don't do this to yourself, please. i love you too much to let this keep going." looks like you're quitting that job.

jeonghan - you and jeonghan are walking home from your date night. it's supposed to be romantic, you two walking hand in hand, but you're feeling the weight of the all nighters you've been pulling all week to finish your project, walking wobbily on the side walk.

"did you drink or something? you're walking a little funny babe." jeonghan teases before giving you a genuine look of concern. you try to laugh it off, "hah, maybe." but then your eyes start to droop ever so slowly. jeonghan notices, "have you been sleeping?" damn. did your concealer wear off or something? you're about to respond, but your legs give out and jeonghan catches you before everything goes dark.

you wake up on the couch, tucked in with a blanket with jeonghan caressing your forehead lovingly. "so i'm guessing the answer to my question is no," jeonghan murmurs, giggiling. "but seriously y/n- don't scare me like that," he adds. "i know i know, sorry-" you say, trying to sit up, but jeonghan interupts. "i don't think so, you need to rest baby," he gently pushes you back down before joining you on the couch. "we'll talk about this seriously later, let's just sleep for now." wrapping his arms around you, leaving you no choice but to comply.

joshua - joshua wants to trust you, knowing that you're fully capable of taking care of yourself, but he can't help but worry when he looks over at you. you've been sitting at your desk for hours now, trying to finish all your assignments before the end of the grading period.

he walks over, putting his hands on your shoulders and massaging them. "you've been working for a bit, love. how about a break?" he suggests. you turn around, giving him a small smile, "i really would shua, but i've got like 2 hours till this is due. just let me finish this and i'll take a break." he frowns, "you promise?" "i promise," he hums in response, giving you a quick peck on the cheek before retreating to whatever he was doing.

2 hours later, joshua is back at your desk, only to find you slumped over your papers. he sighs, shaking his head before taking a look at your laptop. "hm, looks like you made the deadline," he says softly, gently shaking you awake.

"you did it, love. i'm proud of you, but i don't want you doing this often- it makes me worried." he murmurs, "come on, you need to take your well deserved break in a more comfortable space," taking your hand and guiding you to your room.

jun - honestly he gets it, between his singing and acting career, he knows what it's like to always feel like you're on the clock. he still doesn't approve of this though.

you just got home from working over time, it's 11:35- you both should be asleep, but he's waiting for you on the couch. looking at you, his heart breaks, noticing the eyebags, the bad posture, the way you're barely holding onto your bag, all of it. he makes his way over to you.

"oh, y/n," you don't process what's happening, about 30 seconds from fall asleep as he holds you. taking your bag from your hand, he then ushers you toward the couch. he helps you take off your jacket and shoes.

"do you want something to eat? water?" he asks while laying you down. you shake your head, but he still hands you a waterbottle anyway. "i'm always scared when you're like this bǎo bèi," he comments softly. "please take care of yourself, but if you can't, i'll be here." he gives you a kiss before laying your head down, falling asleep almost immediately.

hoshi - hoshi is nothing short of assertive, literally showing up to your job. "soonyoung, what are you-" "do you know what time it is? i'm taking you home." he leaves no room for argument as he drags you out of your work place. you're going to need to explain this to your manager.

"i'm not letting you do this to yourself, y/n. it's late. why are you still trying to work at this hour?" he asks, frustrated. "soonyoung, you know why. i don't have a roommate anymore; i can't pay rent with one income." he sighs, "i know, but you just look so- i don't know- tired now. i can help y/n, just let me."

there's no talking your way out of this, you just let him drag you all the way back to your apartment while rambling about how bad working late could be for your health: what if someone kidnaps you on the way home? what if you faint while you're walking up the stairs because you're so tired? what if you're so sleepy you don't notice someone walking by and you run into them and fall into a storm drain?

wonwoo - he doesn't scold you, but he'll get all nerdy and tell you terrible facts about not taking care of yourself.

you're bent over your laptop, trying to finish a whole group project on your own since you got assigned terrible partners. he sits down besides you, whispering in your ear, "keep sitting like that, and you won't be able to walk properly at 40," you scoff, but adjust your posture anyway, you don't want to test this guy. smiling in victory, he kisses you before walking away, reminding you to take a break.

you don't listen to him though, getting carried away in your work. wonwoo comes back every so often to tell you that your brain will start eating itself because you haven't eaten, you'll get terrible wrinkles because you're dehydrated, all that stuff.

once you're finally done and in bed, he scolds you, of course. "i know you think i'm joking, but i'm not y/n. this isn't good for you, next time you do this, i'm forcing you to stop, okay?" he strokes your hair and gives you a kiss. "i love you a lot, so take good care of yourself, can't have you dying on me."

woozi - out of all the members, he's definitely the one who relates to you the most. he knows you'll drown out the sound of people telling you to take breaks, so he takes things into his own hands.

you're working at your desk when woozi turns your chair around and grabs your hand, dragging you to the couch. you try to argue, you really need to finish this so your group doesn't fall behind on the project, but he doesn't take no for an answer.

"shush y/n, just let me talk." he starts, "i know what it's like, i really do. you feel like everyone is depending on you, and maybe they are, but you don't have to do it all alone," when you try to dismiss him and get back to work, he's actually pinning you to the couch. in any other circumstance, you'd be turned the hell on... but he's serious about this. "listen, stop trying to shut me out y/n. i'm someone you can rely on, and i want you to. don't do this to yourself, i won't let you."

you nod in agreement. "good, now let's just stay here for a second," he lays on top of you, trapping you under him so there's nothing you can do but rest.

#seventeen #svt #seventeen reactions #svt reactions #seventeen x y/n #seventeen x reader #svt x y/n #svt x reader #seventeen imagines #svt imagines #seventeen headcanons #svt headcanons #seventeen fluff #svt fluff #seventeen scenarios #svt scenarios #seventeen angst #svt angst #dokyumms

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formulafanfics13 · 11 days ago

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Can you please do Samsung heiress reader with Lando. Where she is a billionaire and richer than him. But the public believes that she’s only dating him for money and is a gold digger. They love to hate her but can’t since she is so elegant and always has a birkin. Truly believing that they are from Lando. Then it’s this big reveal of her identity and her worth. Even Lando stating that she has more money than him.

Gold digger - LN4

Masterlist

SUMMARY The reader is a secret heiress dating Lando Norris, publicly mistaken for a gold digger until Lando reveals she’s wealthier than him. The internet explodes when the truth comes out, and she doubles down with iconic fashion, dominance, and a mic-drop quote that cements her power.

WARNINGS Explicit sexual content, power dynamics, wealth kink, public misconception, degradation kink (light), praise kink, dominant reader, social media chaos, billionaire lifestyle, mild possessiveness.

They call you a gold digger. Not to your face, obviously. To your face, they smile tight-lipped and say things like “You look amazing, where’s your outfit from?” and “God, that bag is everything.”

Online, it’s worse.

She’s clearly just with him for the lifestyle. Another clout-chasing girlfriend. Does she even work? Why does she have a new Birkin every weekend? It’s giving social climber. Lando deserves better.

You never respond. You don’t need to. Because while they’re talking shit in comment sections, you’re on a private jet to Mykonos. In Dior sunglasses. Legs folded. Skin bare. Lando’s hand resting on your thigh.

And the Birkin? The one the internet swears he bought you?

You bought it. Along with six others. One in every pastel tone.

Not with his card. With yours.

You were born into money. Raised in boardrooms. Schooled in Switzerland. Heiress to Samsung, eldest daughter of the real empire. The one with a net worth that makes every billionaire’s son look like a child at a lemonade stand.

But you don’t flaunt it. Not directly.

You wear silk like it’s cotton. Custom Alaïa on race weekends. Diamond studs that never leave your ears. You never say much, never smile for paparazzi, never give them the angle they want.

You play the villain perfectly. The ice queen. The high-maintenance girlfriend who looks bored at the paddock and makes Lando carry her umbrella.

They think you’re a parasite.

Lando thinks you’re perfect.

He never corrects the narrative.

Because you told him not to.

“Let them talk,” you said once, legs over his lap in Monaco, sipping champagne on the penthouse balcony. “It’s easier that way.”

He’d kissed your ankle. “You’re so sick.”

“Only for you.”

But it all unravels at Silverstone.

Because someone, probably a jealous sponsor wife with too much filler and too little discretion, makes a comment near the media pen. Loud enough for the wrong people to hear.

“Is she even contributing to anything? Or just buying bags with his salary?”

You don’t flinch.

Lando does.

And for the first time in public, he doesn’t stay quiet.

“She makes more money than me,” he says flatly. “Way more.”

The woman blinks. Laughs nervously. “Well, I doubt that.”

He shrugs. “Don’t care if you believe me. She could buy 4 McLarens if she wanted to.”

Silence.

Someone captures the moment on camera.

The quote goes viral.

"She could buy 4 McLarens if she wanted to." — Lando Norris defends girlfriend

The comments lose their minds.

wait what what do you mean she makes more than him IS SHE ACTUALLY RICH?? no cause the birkins weren’t from HIM SHE’S THE RICH ONE???? she’s a samsung heiress??????? THAT samsung?? like GALAXY and FRIDGES??? someone do a net worth check immediately she’s worth HOW MUCH??? billionaire pussy. makes sense now.

You don’t acknowledge it.

Not directly.

But at the next race, you arrive in head-to-toe Chanel couture.

The Birkin is Himalayan crocodile. The rarest one. The kind you don’t even find in stores. The kind Hermès offers to clients who’ve already spent millions.

You walk past the cameras with Lando beside you. He’s in sunglasses. Smirking.

You don’t even blink.

A reporter tries to ask you a question.

You pause. Let them wait. Then speak, cool and slow.

“I’m not his accessory,” you say. “He’s mine.”

Mic drop.

The internet explodes.

#samsungheiress #queenbehavior #richgirlsoftiktok #thebirkinwasHERS #accessorylando

Yuki reposts it with the caption: “she scares me and I love her.” Lewis likes the post and comments, “icon.” Pierre posts a photo of himself holding a microwave like a bag with the caption: “trying to impress her.” Max texts Lando: does she have a sister Oscar says nothing, but is later seen googling “how to get into Korean tech dynasties.”

You spend the night in a private villa. Lando between your thighs.

“Did you like that?” he murmurs, kissing your stomach. “Me telling the world you’re richer than me?”

You hum, eyes heavy. “Turned me on a little.”

He grins. “A little?”

You pull him up by the chain on his neck. “Shut up and fuck me like I’m a peasant.”

He does.

#f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #f1 fanfiction #f1 smut #formula 1 fanfic #f1 fic #lando norris x reader #lando norris fanfic #lando norris imagine #lando norris x you

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deliwrites · 4 days ago

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𝕐𝕠𝕦'𝕣𝕖 𝕆𝕦𝕣𝕤 // Saja Boys & Huntr/x

// DATE // 7th of July 2025 → 11th of July 2025 // PAIRING // Huntr/x x Fem!Reader x Saja Boys // WARNING // Protective demon squad planning murder like it's bruch. Excessive blushing but when does reader not, Possessiveness(obviously), feeling rejected // WORDS // 2.3k+ // SUMMARY // After a nightmare, Y/n wakes in Rumi’s arms—but something deeper stirs when Rumi suspects Jaewon might be a demon. With the group ready to protect her, Y/n’s life begins to shift—sealed with... a contract, and the quiet promise of a new beginning.

// Previous // Part Six // Next //

Waking up in Rumi’s arms was nice. She had turned in her sleep, my head laid on her chest. My arm across her waist, her left arm around my back. My thigh over hers.

Blinking slowly, my eyes adjust to the light coming through the window. A moment later Rumi’s right arm comes up and slides over the arm across her waist.

“Morning, nae byeol,” her voice gentle. “Sleep alright?”

“Morning,” reluctantly moving off her chest, I lay beside her to look at her. “Yes, thank you for letting me stay,” a smile graces her lips. Turning sideways she pulls me in for a hug.

“Of course,” she pecks my forehead sweetly. “Let’s get up, there is something we gotta do.”

“Oh, what are we gonna do?” I ask, slowly letting go of the hug to get out of bed.

“You’ll see,” she winks, walking to her own closet. “I’m gonna go take a shower and then I’ll be down for some breakfast.”

“Alright, I could use one myself,” I giggle, before exiting the room and going back to my own.

While Rumi definitely wants to shower. She first needs to get rid of the burning on her ribcage. Taking her phone off the charger, she walks out to the balcony - just in case. - and calls the group chat.

“Come on, come on,” she mutters under her breath, pressing a palm to her side in hopes of soothing the sting. It does nothing. Her skin feels like it’s on fire.

“What’s up?” Jinu is the first to answer.

“Are you with the others?” she blurts immediately, nearly begging for a ‘yes’.

“Yeah… you okay?”

“Get them on the phone. Now!” her eyes flash golden, and Jinu doesn’t waste another second. He speed-walks out of the dance studio, giving the choreographer a quick signal to take a break. The others are already grouped in the center of the room, and he beckons them closer, phone on speaker.

“I need you all to listen to me,” Rumi demands their attention. Shocked by her tone they nod to let her know they’re listening. “Y/n spend the night with me. She had a nightmare. I think Jaewon might be a demon. And he- he used to assault her,” she says it all in one breath, like if she stops, the burn will return. But with every word, the pain softens.

“Jaewon… a demon?” Abby echoes, his brows furrowing in confusion. Which makes sense, really. Demons like them could usually feel each other out. Especially the human-looking kind. There weren’t many of them left anyway. Sure, water demons still existed—lurking in swamps or singing sailors to their death in the ocean. But ones like them? Quiet. Rare. And they didn’t just go unnoticed. “Why do you think that?”

Rumi exhales shakily. “Y/n told me... she’d wake up with bruises. No memory of how she got them. But she always remembered his eyes. She said they glowed. Not from reflected light, actually glowed. Bright. With anger.”

“Sorry, sorry,” Zoey’s voice joins the call, Mira right behind her. “What’s going on?” Rumi recaps the same information. Now with the guys agreeing to the possibility of Jaewon being a demon. “Okay,” Zoey chirps sweetly, a bit too sweetly. “Can we kill him now?” the fact that Zoey’s voice sounds innocent makes everyone laugh.

“Yes, we can,” Mystery says with a gentle gin on his face. “But we should plan it properly.”

“Ugh. Fine,” Zoey pouts, clearly ready to find the bastard tonight. Rumi grins, the ache on her ribs finally gone.

“Okay, now that the burning is gone. I’m going to take a shower and spent time with nae byeol,” she smiles almost dreamily which earns her amused chuckles.

“I want pics,” Jinu smirks devilishly.

“Me toooo,” Zoey gushes at the thought of pics of Y/n and them spending the day together.

“I don’t think you’re asking for the same kind of pics, love,” Baby teases, smirking as Zoey blinks in innocent confusion. It makes them grin adoringly.

“Just watch the feed,” Rumi chuckles. “I know you put at least one camera in there, even if I haven’t checked.”

“She’s not wrong,” Romance mutters without shame.

“I gotta hurry, don’t want to leave Y/n waiting,” they agree and allow her to leave. She quickly hops in the shower, hurrying to meet Y/n.

Rumi came down, fully dressed but with her hair still in a towel. The share amount of hair made it look massive. I couldn’t help but giggle at the sight.

She walks over to me, pecks my cheek before going to the fridge. My cheeks flush, quickly taking a scoop of my fresh fruit filled yogurt. Hoping to tone down the color in my cheeks. I finish cutting the fruits for Rumi. Dropping them in her bowl, gliding the bowl to her once she is seated on one of the barstools.

She glides one of the bottles she had grabbed from the fridge to me once I sit down beside her.

“So where are we going?” I ask again, hoping she might tell me this time.

She only peeks at me out of the corner of her eye with a smirk playing on her lips as she eats. “Not far,” is her answer, making me pout at the lack of information.

“Do we have time to go grocery shopping?” I ask instead, knowing there was no point pushing her further. “I just-” my cheeks grow warm just thinking about it. “I just want to thank you… for… letting me stay here, for helping me. I want to bake something.”

“Nae byeol, you don’t have to do that-”

“I know,” I cut her off. “But I want to,” my voice grows softer.

“Okay,” Rumi nods, placing a gentle hand on my back. “We’ll find time,” I nod in thanks.

Finishing our breakfast, I ask if she needs help with her hair before we leave. We end in the living room. Me on the couch, she on the rug in front of me after swiftly blow drying her hair.

“Your hair is so pretty,” I murmur, running my fingers through her surprisingly straight hair. It spills into my lap like a magical purple waterfall. Rumi huffs a laugh, nudging my knee softly.

“You’re the pretty one, nae byeol,” my cheeks heat, but I don’t stop weaving my fingers through the thick strands. I gently part her hair, fingers sinking into the heavy locks, starting from the top of her head. It’s so much hair it feels like it could swallow me whole, not that I would mind.

It’s oddly soothing, this slow rhythm of weaving and crossing, the occasional gentle tug making her moan in contentment. Which does not help my case with the crush that’s forming. She is just a friend, Y/n! Maybe I should get it tattooed. Somewhere I can always see it, as a reminder of what I can’t have.

“You’ve done this before,” she murmurs.

“A few times,” I smile, focused. “Used to braid the hair of other girls when I was a trainee… they distanced from me when we became idols,” I tell her honestly, smile falter. “I haven’t spoken to them in years.”

Rumi doesn’t say anything, just reaches up and rests her hand on my knee. No questions, no pressure, just silent comfort.

I finish the braid slowly, tying it off with a hair tie. I take the thick braid in my hands once more. Admiring her gorgeous hair.

“There, all done,” I swing the braid over her shoulder playfully. She stands, turning around, her braid swinging like a rope behind her back.

“How do I look?” she asks, soft and playful.

“Like someone the stars would kneel for,” funny enough, was literally sitting on my knees on the couch. And she always calls me her star.

She steps closer, her knees pressing to the couch on either side of mine. Her hands brace against the backrest, caging me in. Her face so close to mine, I try to back up but there is nowhere to go. A flush blooms under my skin, heat rushing through me at the intensity in her gaze.

“I would sooner kneel for you, nae byeol, than ever let you kneel for me,” her voice is filled with desire, deep and suggestive. I don’t even get the chance to respond.

She kisses me. Just once. Soft. Gentle. Leaning her forehead against mine after. I’m in a trance, it feels. I feel like I’m fifteen all over again with a crush on someone unreachable. On the inside I’m practically screaming. On the outside, I’m a damn tomato.

“Let’s go,” she says, and I swear my knees are still shaking when I stand.

In the elevator down Rumi holds my hand. Her fingers are warm, threaded between mine. With a slight possessive grip. It’s comforting. Makes me feel like I belong right there, next to her. Like I’m hers.

Maybe I am.

But the moment the doors slide open with a soft chime, her fingers slip away. Quick. Like we were never holding hands to begin with.

It shouldn’t sting. I know I don’t deserve any of the attention she’s given me. Still, the absence of her hand feels like rejection.

I look at her out of the corner of my eye, but she’s already stepped ahead, her expression neutral. The version of her the world knows. I walk behind her. Following her like a lost puppy. And all I can think of is the kiss we just shared and how easily she seemingly tossed it aside.

I mask the hurt the moment she waltzes into a double doored office. The office is cold in a polished way—steel accents, floor-to-ceiling windows, a sleek desk with everything precisely arranged. No warmth. No clutter. Just power. Peeking around Rumi I realize it’s Celine’s office.

Celine doesn’t look up when we walk in. “This better be important,” she says, still typing something on her tablet.

“It is,” Rumi replies, without hesitation. “It’s about Y/n.”

That gets Celine’s attention. She glances up, eyes sharp. Calculating. Landing on me like she’s measuring risk. “The idol,” she says. My stomach twists. I stand straighter without meaning to.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“You’re the one who disappeared.” Her voice doesn’t soften, doesn’t ask. “Dropped by your label. No follow-up. No clarification. No counteroffers.”

I open my mouth, then close it. Rumi looks at me like she wants to answer for me, but I shake my head gently.

“I didn’t disappear,” I say, voice quiet but steady. “They dropped me. Out of nowhere.”

“Why?” Celine asks.

I swallow. “I don’t know. They said it was due to ‘recent controversies.’ But there weren’t any. Nothing happened,” Celine tilts her head slightly. She’s still assessing. Still deciding if I’m worth her time.

“It happened right after I won that award. Three days after, actually,” Celine raises a brow. “I didn’t think I was meant to be nominated. But two days before the event, I got called that I was. And then suddenly I’m there, seated between Huntr/x and the Saja boys.”

“Jaewon, from NIOR7,” Celine nods in understanding. “He arranged it,” I say, eyes down for a moment. “He told me after. The nomination, the seat. He wanted to watch me lose,” Celine says nothing, but her expression hardens. Like the gears are turning in her head as she figures out what went down. “Jaewon had been behaving weirdly all night. Huntr/x and the Saja boys noticed. So I told them about Jaewon, how he is my ex and that I didn’t think I should be nominated. They asked what I was nominated for and the song and suddenly without me asking they start posting on social media. Encouraging fans to listen to my songs and vote. If it wasn’t for them, I wouldn’t have won,” I blink slowly, the scene from that night playing out in my head. “Jaewon was furious, he told me when I returned from the bathroom that is was him,” Rumi’s hand finds mine. Squeezing in both comfort and frustration that she wasn’t able to get me out of that situation herself.

“The next day I get ignored by my manager, yesterday I want to Luminara Entertainment to get some answers and I get told I’m dropped. No explanation other than controversies that didn’t happen and a deadline to move out of the dorms within 24 hours.”

“And you didn’t approach any other labels?” Celine asks, I shake my head.

“I didn’t get the chance. The girls told me I was coming here before I could even think about what to do,” Celine’s eyes shift to Rumi. There’s something like amusement in her eyes, the corner of her lip slightly turned up.

“You really don’t ask permission, do you?”

Rumi only shrugs, smug. “Never needed to,” another long pause. Then Celine nods once, sharply. Opening a drawer in her desk, she places a crisp folder on the desk.

“No trainee clause. Artist contract. One year term with full backing. Studio access, housing, protection. Quiet reintegration. We release the news when we’re ready.”

“Housing is not needed,” Rumi cuts in. “She’s staying with me, Mira and Zoey,” I can see a flash of annoyance on Celine’s face but she sighs and lets it go. She slides the folder to me. I stare at it like it might vanish if I take my eyes off of it. She nods once I take it. “We’ll get you a new bank account set up. You’ll need a new phone too.”

“I’m taking her,” Rumi says immediately. “We’ll buy one today. I’ll handle the plan and phone number for a clean slate,” Celine nods, turning back to her work in a way that dismisses us.

“That was easier than I thought,” I murmur once the doors to the office are closed behind us. Holding the folder in front of me in disbelief. Rumi chuckles softly. “Did I over do the explanation? I feel like I rambled too much.”

“You did great,” she smiles reassuringly. “Besides, she already knew, but wanted to make sure she heard it from you too,” I nod in understanding. “Okay, let’s bring that upstairs and then we’ll go get you a new phone! Oh and groceries!”

// Previous // Part Six // Next //

I hope you enjoyed! I know you guys told me to take my time but I still didn't want to disappoint. Sorry that I guess it's a bit of a recap? Cause she tells everything to Celine. But I hope it was still worth the read!

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@cupidletterss @tatsuri-zomushiki @haru-ka09 @3vrenie @renchai @imawhore @yumi-does-stuff @spacelesbianfanclub @queenofdragons12 @s3ungm1nxxl0ve @7amshow

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lazysoulwriter · 1 month ago

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soft launch sabotage - pedro pascal. ── .✦

requested! thank you. content: fluff, social media reveal, anxious Pedro, established but secret relationship

---

It wasn’t like you and Pedro had planned to keep your relationship a secret forever.

But it was new, and you were both a little drunk on each other. The kind of drunk where even going to the grocery store together felt too intimate to risk. Too good. Too delicate. And Pedro, bless him, had been so respectful of that — always checking before posting, always turning a soft smile toward you when someone asked about his love life and saying something vague like, “I'm very loved up lately, let’s say that.”

But then the awards show happened.

And Pedro, in a sharp navy suit and those glasses you loved, was practically glowing with nervous excitement as he stepped onto the red carpet. He was halfway through an interview when it happened. The reporter said, “You look incredible, Pedro. Who helped you pick out the suit tonight?”

And without thinking — not even pausing — he said: “My girlfriend. She has this eye for tones, and she—she’s amazing. She said this color makes my eyes look 'less tired in photos.’”

He blinked. The reporter blinked. The camera operator did not blink.

Pedro’s smile froze slightly as his brain caught up with his mouth, and he tried to chuckle it off. “I mean, my...stylist. I call her that sometimes. You know. Fashion girlfriend. Fashion ghost. Ha.”

It didn’t work. It definitely didn’t work.

By the time he made it off the carpet, your names were trending together on Twitter. People had screen-recorded the interview in HD and were doing TikTok deep dives on your recent vacation photos. Somehow, a blurry pic he’d taken of your legs on a hammock two weeks ago had resurfaced. The caption — “Heaven looks like this.” — was now very much in question.

Pedro’s anxiety had kicked in full force. He didn’t even go to the afterparty. He just went home and called you the second he walked in the door, pulling off his tie with trembling fingers.

“I fucked up,” he said immediately. “Baby, I fucked up so bad. I'm so sorry. You didn’t even get a say in this and I just—blurted it. I opened the gates and now they’re gonna find everything. I didn’t mean to out us, I swear, I wasn’t thinking, it was—”

“Pedro,” you said gently, trying not to smile.

“I should've kept it to myself. I just—I was thinking about you. I always think about you. And they asked and it just came out and—fuck, you hate this kind of attention. I ruined it, didn’t I?”

“Pedro.” You laughed now, full and warm. “I don’t care.”

He blinked, and your voice came through the phone like balm. “I mean, maybe I would’ve liked to post a really cute soft-launch first. You in the kitchen with that ridiculous apron you wear. Or me in your hoodie. But... it’s fine. It’s you. And I love you. I’m not mad.”

He was quiet for a second.

Then: “You love me?”

“Oh my God,” you rolled your eyes. “Yes. Obviously. I just thought I’d wait to say it until after you accidentally told the entire entertainment industry we’re dating.”

Pedro’s breath caught in his throat — and then the nervous wreck of a man melted. He was giggling, pacing around the living room with a hand on his chest like you’d hit him with a tranquilizer dart made of love. “Fuck. I love you too. You’re sure you're okay?”

“Yes, Pascal. In fact—” you grinned. “Now you have to post me. No turning back.”

So the next morning, he did.

pascalispunk 📸 a carousel of you and him — the first one was a candid: you curled into his lap, laughing in a sunbeam, his sunglasses half off your face. The second was blurrier, you kissing his temple while he cooked. The third was that same hammock photo — but this time, he tagged you.

Caption: Guess the secret’s out. Best accident I ever made. 💛

The comments were unhinged. The internet fully lost its mind. But Pedro didn’t care — not with you curled into his chest, hand tucked under his shirt, scrolling through them with a lazy grin and whispering, “They’re right, you do look less tired in that suit.”

---

✦ please do not copy, repost, or translate this work. © lazysoulwriter // i write with a lot of love and care, so please respect that.

---

taglist: @sarahhxx03 @lloydmustache @lolareadsimagines @greenwitchfromthewoods @silksepia @pascalswiftie @itstokyo-cos @mani-pedro @llsister @authorbriannarae13 @introvrtedjellyfish @aj0elap0l0gist @spencercmlover @cixrosie @cherrqbaby @cup-half-full-of-anxiety @joelmillerpascal @freakbobcult @sunlightpleasure@barnes70stark @mooniscrying @ohnaurshayla @croissantbakerylws @nellispunk @kasienka @taylorswiftsrep-blog @emerencedaily @byzyz @noovaarq @kristend512 @alltounwell @libbyaller @beaagiannelli @broad-shouldrs @oceanmcu @kysosa @melloispunk @jollycupcakeblizzard @angvlicsoulll @needz1nk @daddypascal17 @agustdpeach @mrsbilicablog @k4t13ispunk @hotdadlvr95 @lnnysnts @pedropascalfan221 @queenofklonnie22 @christinamadsen @ilovecheriies @stvr-bloom

---

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cuteandhughesy · 19 days ago

Text

It’s You. ╰┈➤ AS37

summary: when your best friend needs a fake girlfriend for his cousins wedding, you are the girl he claims is his. after all, what’s the worse than can happen? well, after sharing a bed, an awkward conversation about sex with his family and an unexpected kiss, you and andrei are forced to confront feelings you thought you had been repressing.

[word count] 10.9k

a/n: the end of 2024, I put out a poll asking which players you wanted to see my write for (that I haven’t done yet) and svechy was one of the players you guys wanted to see! so I hope you guys love this 💋 this uses some scenes from a no-longer published fic—if it looks familiar, that’s because it is ❤️

🎵 perfect places by lorde, scared of my guitar by olivia rodrigo, must be nice by ruel, breakfast in bed by nessa barrett, carry you home by alex warren, it's you by zayn, best friends by 5 seconds of summer, delicate by taylor swift, + always been you by shawn mendes

andrei already knows that it's not the brightest idea he's ever had. actually, refrain that, it's quite possibly the worst idea he's ever had.

it's just—the idea passed through his system and fell out of his mouth before he could even blink. andrei's mother and aunt had practically ambushed him on a three way call just over three weeks ago—8 a.m in russia, 1 a.m. in carolina—which already had him in a frazzle. but then they immediately started asking about the dreaded (dreaded for andrei, more so than anyone else, obviously) plus one attached to his cousins wedding invitation.

the wedding that yes, was in fact only three weeks away. and a plus one attachment that andrei still hadn't confirmed or denied if he needed. because according to his very empty left side of the bed, and the singular toothbrush on his bathroom counter, andrei svechnikov is very much single and very much not needing a plus one.

but it just came out before he could stop it.

‘of course i'll be bringing someone to the wedding mama and tetr! in fact, i'll be bringing my girlfriend!’

and know here he is, 2 hours into an 18 hour flight from raleigh to his hometown in a first class seat that, despite its expanse of leg room, feels all too small. it's suffocating for no other reason than his own doing and sneakiness that he’s drowning in.

because you're next to him, happy and sipping on your third glass of champagne—skin radiating heat with the bubbly alcohol running through your bloodstream. you're halfway to tipsy and somehow completely oblivious to the way andrei's shoulders are still tight and ridged, something that normally subsides after take off.

as far as you know—because it's what your best friend told you, mind you—you're attending andrei's cousins wedding as his best friend. because since 2019, where you meet the russian hurricanes rookie downtown at a shitty dive bar playing music far too loud, you and andrei have been just that. best friends.

you suppose the friendship blossomed because of your common interests of sports and adam sandler movies and how the smell of coconut is one of your favourite things in the entire world. or perhaps it was your differences that had you and andrei forming such a strong friendship.

you hate rollercoasters, but andrei loves them.

you love tequila, but when andrei drinks tequila he ends up with his head inside a toilet bowl.

you would rather eat rubber than an olive, but andrei puts olives on everything he eats—much to his dietary staffs displeasure. salt is a killer people.

regardless, the both of you bonded over shitty honey garlic wings served with a side of ranch—sauce on the side per your request, to which he called you a weirdo for. whatever—and became fast friends.

so obviously three weeks ago when andrei asked if you wanted to come to the wedding so he, you and quote, 'doesn't have to be alone while he young cousins force him to play around the yard, and his distant family talks his ear off the entire weekend,' you easily complied. you booked the time off work that afternoon before leaving the office without so much as a second thought.

but andrei didn't tell you why he needed you to join him. not the real reason anyways. because what? he's just supposed to say, 'oh by the way, this weekend I need you to be my fake girlfriend because I told my family that's what we have become. boyfriend and fucking girlfriend.'

yeah, unfucking likely. and andrei knows that you're not going to kill him over his little lie. that's just not you. he's also sure that if he was truthful from the beginning with you, you would've agreed to the whole fake in love act with the snap of a finger. because you're giving and caring and so damn compassionate that it's almost sickly.

but andrei just couldn't. he kept pushing the truth back, telling himself that the moment would come and that’s when he would come clean. but now you're both on the plane to russia, wedding just a few days away, and you still have no idea that in 16 hours you're going to be sharing a bed and holding hands and maybe even needing to show a few kisses.

god, it's a mess.

"do you feel sick?" your smooth voice breaks andrei out of his stress whirling thoughts, lifting his palm off his sweaty forehead like he's been caught stealing candy. it's then when andrei realizes he audibly groaned out loud, which obviously did it’s part in grabbing your attention.

he swallows and sends you an unconvincing smile. "no, i'm fine." andrei feels sick alright, just not in the way you're picturing.

you blink like a baby deer at him from over the adjustable wall between your scoop like seats—your champagne glass abandoned on the fold away table in favour of clutching the edge of the wall between your manicured fingers.

a pout pulls at your lips before you reach out, touching his forehead with the back of your hand. "are you warm?"

andrei jerks back, worried that you’ll notice the misting of sweat dusting his hairline. "no, what? I'm fine, y/n."

you send him a skeptical look, "you look like you're about to blow chunks everywhere."

"that's gross."

"it's true," you chime. a beat passes, your gaze never wavering from andrei's wound up, tight expression, while the plane continues to easily glide through the clouds.

you take your bottom lip between your teeth, gnawing on the plump skin until it will undoubtedly go raw. andrei has to stop himself from reaching over to pull your lip out with his thumb.

"are you mad about something? nervous?" you push, determined to get your best friend to spill regardless of how tightly wound up he is. and obviously you've noticed that he's been a little...off, for lack of a better word, the past three weeks. andrei is your best friend, of course you noticed.

but you know better than to push him, and that andrei will open up when he's ready—like usual. but the champagne floating around in your head has your tongue slipping, and curiosity has gotten the best of you.

"is it something I did?" you swallow, something tentative in your tone that makes andrei's belly clench with guilt.

"no," he breathes before running a calloused hand down the front of his flushed face. andrei looks back over to you, eyes flickering between your wide and sad ones, and he just breaks. "I fucked up."

ever amused by his dramatics, you quirk a brow at his distress. the drunk haze has you unable to see his actual, very real, distress. "you get the sushi from that airport kiosk after I went to the bathroom, didn't you?"

but it's then —when andrei looks over at you with a guilt ridden, pouty raw lip, that you blink. hard. a wave of hot sweat rushing over your skin as every possible problem arises in your body.

andrei mutters your name in that deep, gravelly way and you think you might be the one who ends up puking.

"what is it?" you swallow, "what happened? are you okay?"

he groans again, no less dramatic than the previous display, head falling back against the plush first class cushioned head rest, giving himself a nice view of the hard plastic roof above.

andrei thinks back to the phone call with his family—more specifically, how pleased they sounded when he told them that you were the girl he was bringing home.

you, the girl he's cared for since before he could string a cohesive english scentence together.

you, the girl who his mom facetimes more than she facetimes her own son.

you, the best friend his family has had the pleasure of falling in love with and accepting as one of their own. but left disappointed when andrei said, no, nothings there between you.

just friends.

it's too late to back out now—for obvious reasons, clearly—but also for the fact that he can't take this away from his family now. not when his mother had said she's been waiting for the two of you to fall in love.

so fall in love you must. even if it's fake.

andrei's head lols against the headrest over in your direction, and he gulps slowly, adam's apple bobbing largely. before he can chicken out and do something crazy like jump out of the emergency exit, andrei's lips part with hesitation.

"we have to pretend to be in love," he pauses, "like in love."

at first you just blink at him, face completely flat and void of emotion, and then every so subtly, your brows draw together. "...why?"

"I just," andrei hesitates like he's not quite sure exactly what to say to you. he chalks it up to the way your soft eyes are unwavering—patient, even—and that's the reason andrei just spews.

he tells you everything. from the wedding invitation with the accompanying plus one he got in the mail a year prior, and all the way through the conversation with his mom and his aunt just a few weeks ago. the taunting plus one and lack of girlfriend that just bubbled up in his chest until the lie just fell off his tongue.

andrei takes a much needed inhale, his cheeks flushed like a little boys in the summer heat. "and when my mom asked for my girlfriends name...I don't know? you were the first person I thought of."

you nod after a beat, every so slightly that andrei is not sure if he's imagining it. you fall back into the large seat with a fluttering sigh, "oh fuck."

andrei can't help the disbelief laced laughter that rumbles through his broad chest, because, yeah, oh fuck is right.

you turn to look at him, face a little less flushed than the last time you did.

"if it makes you feel any better," he continues awkwardly, scratching the spot next to his heart like a nervous habit. "my mom was really excited that we're together now."

"andrei."

he winces, "are you mad at me?"

the question prompts a flash of deja vu from meer minutes ago, when the question was flipped between you. "no," you tell him after a beat, running a clammy hand over your untamed hair. "i'm just...trying to digest it all."

"right, of course." andrei swallows and sits up straighter in his seat, "and I know i'm springing this on you very last fucking minute. but i've already figured it all out, and i've got some sort of a game plan for us."

"a game plan?"

"yeah," he nods, "I've called it the 'andrei and y/n love affair 2025.'"

"that's good," you gulp, pulling your knees up against your chest. your matching cream sweat set all blends together in this position, and andrei thinks you look like a cute marshmallow—but he chooses to not verbalize that right now, because it may just push you over the edge.

even though right now, you're surprisingly calm and it's kind of freaking him out even further.

you continue, "I hope you have this said love affair plan written down because we really gotta figure this out before we get to russia."

instinctively his chocolate eyes flicker towards the map screen, stealing a glance at the ETA of the touchdown. andrei looks back at you, "oh, we've got time."

for the next hour and forty five minutes, you and andrei go through every possible nook and cranny of your fake relationship and nail it down. from the beginning right until the very end, the plan has been polished and repeated between you over 20 times. each.

throughout the conversation you started to come a little more to. it helped that andrei asked if you were okay every fifteen seconds—which any other time may be a little annoying—but right now, you accept his persistent with open arms.

knowing that he feels bad about the situation is enough, even though you could never actually be mad at him. not over something as simple as this. the amount of times andrei has picked your drunk ass up from a variety of different carolina bars over the years—or took care of you the next morning—let's just say you definitely owe him a favour or two.

besides, it's not like you're really worried about faking a romantic relationship with andrei. most of the time it feels like andrei is already your boyfriend, just without the kissing and…stuff. now that's making you a bit nervous. but you digress.

you've both had a few glasses of champagne now, allowing yourselves to relax a bit more—which was much needed. it also allows your usual banter and teasing to return between you and andrei, hushed laughter falling from your lips under the dim lights of the cabin.

"so," you muse, a little slurred. "when did you realize you liked me?"

"you're ridiculous," andrei snorts, earning a cautious look from the old lady on the other side of the plane. neither of you notice.

"what," you laugh, "i'm prepping you for the questions." you reach over and push his thick thigh with the tips of your fingers. he barley budges.

"'nobody is going to ask me that." andrei counters teasingly, nudging you back.

"they might!" you counter, a teasing smile still tugging at your lips, a sight that has andrei following suit with his own boyish grin.

"if they ask...i'll say," he pauses, making you wait with half baited breath, tucked under the first class blankets that andrei always thinks feel like toothbrush bristles. andrei shrugs casually, "i'll say always."

your head whips in his direction from where you previously started to flip through the dinner menu—always so easily distracted—so fast that andrei gets a whiff of your raspberry shampoo. it's a pleasant smell, one that reminds him of coming home after a road trip to you sleeping on his apartment couch.

his words settle over your skin like a prickling whisper, and you blink a few times in surprise.

but then, like he didn't just say something so heartfelt and beautiful, turns towards the airplane dinner menu, humming thoughtfully as he reads the three options. "I think i'm gunna get the steak."

—

carefully, but with precision, you roll your shoulders, bones and vertebrae squeaking and cracking in—a much needed, mind you—protest.

you can still smell the lingering champagne and the scent of plane on your skin, and on andrei's as he walks back towards you from where’d he’d been in the heart of baggage claim, both of your suitcases in tow—wheels squeaking along the weathered floor tiles.

andrei looks all but awake as he raises his eyebrows in question, "all ready?"

you groan sleepily as a form of answer, raising your arms in a limb stretching pull, tank top risings and exposing your lower belly to the bustling airport. you removed your fluffy hoodie as soon as you stepped onto the hot, sticky tarmac and it's now sitting comfortably around your best friends broad shoulders, making him look like he belongs in a country club.

oddly enough it suits him—when you said that though he gave you a look.

despite the way andrei urges you along, he too is fighting exhaustion. changing time zones is always a struggle no matter how many times a year andrei does it, and this weekend trip is no exception. there's matching eye bags under both of your eyes, and even though andrei knows that his family is waiting for your arrival, all he wants to do is climb into his small double childhood bed and pass out.

and you're in the same boat it seems, ugg slippered feet dragging on the ground beside andrei as you both step onto the descending escalator—suitcases clinging annoyingly at the change of surface.

the ride down is held for nothing but the whirling sound of the machinery as you and andrei stay quiet. not only are you both on the brink of falling asleep while up right, but you're both so damn nervous about perfecting your plan that speaking about it will only make it worse.

and if you panic, andrei will panic and it will just go to shit.

so silence is good.

once you're stepping off the escalator and onto the ground level of the airport, andrei automatically places his large palm on your lower back, steadying you as you both make your way towards the large exit doors that lead to the even larger parking lot.

a parking lot that undeniably has his family waiting for the both of you. suddenly you’re wishing you guys just called and uber.

your heart flutters anxiously, feet coming to an abrupt stop at the thought of the days ahead. you're supposed to be a girlfriend from here on out, and that has your tongue molding into a sheet of sand paper.

once he notices you’ve stopped walking, andrei spins to look back at you, his brows pulled in the concerned way he always seems to have when it comes to your well being.

"do I look okay?" you ask frantically, running your hands over your oily, yet somehow also frizzy, hair.

"you look fine," andrei soothes, pulling your hands away from your head and holding both of your clammy hands in one of his. stupid giant boy. "stop playing with it though, or else we will really have a problem "

you send him a deadpan look. "you're not funny."

andrei grins despite the sleep lacing his expression. he easily tugs you back into his side as you both begin to short walk towards the doors. finally. "you're right. i'm actually hilarious."

you roll your eyes and push the door open, a wave of heat washing over your already dewy skin and making you feel a bit woozy. andrei reaches over your head and pushes it open further, holding the door and allowing you to easily slip outside.

he continues, "you don't need to be nervous, y/n. you've met my family before and they are already obsessed with you." andrei makes a noise between an amused scoff and a laugh, "my mom texted me yesterday and said she's already changed your contact name to, future daughter in law."

"jesus christ," you exhale shakily, pressing a hand to your forehead. your eyes flicker up to his, "don't say that or i'll start feeling bad."

andrei holds off from smirking, "don't feel bad."

"too late."

"hey, just stop for a second." andrei gently takes ahold of your wrist, his index finger automatically stroking the outer part of your forearm. you know he's doing it to calm you, but unfortunately it only turns your stomach flutters up to a maximum.

andrei swallows, and all signs of his playfulness from mere seconds ago fades. his eyes swim with sincerity as he continues, "if this is too much just tell me and i'll handle it. I don't care if my mom whoops me with her shoe—if you're uncomfortable with this plan, i'll make sure it doesn't move forward."

you blink before managing to give one firm shake of your head. obviously you're nervous, but not enough to ruin your best friends entire trip. not over this. "i'm fine."

he looks skeptical, "promise me?"

"we're not 5." you deadpan.

"promise me."

you sigh—a mixture of reluctance and amusement. "I promise. i'm just...nervous. and overthinking everything. i’ll be fine once I get some sleep."

andrei's response comes easily, like he doesn't even need to think about reassuring you. "that's okay. just be you." he squeezes your wrist. "seriously."

your lips part in an attempt to deflect the wave of tenderness rushing between you and andrei—some sarcastic remark about him becoming a softly, surely. but the excitable gasp from across the surprisingly calm parking lot halts you.

"andrei!" his mothers voice is full of excitement as elena svechnikov bounces on her heels. both you and andrei look towards the commotion and find not only his mother, but his father, igor, and for some reason the family dog.

your best friend grumbles under his breath. "oh god."

you squint through the sunshine reflecting on the cars and distorting your vision. "is that a sign?"

he matches your squinty expression, even going as fair to shield his eyes from the sun with his gigantic hand. "that's definitely a sign."

his mother, ever to sweetest lady—seriously like purse candy, shirt of her back, treats you like her own kind of sweet—is clutching a piece of red and black decorated bristol board. canes colours obviously. a big and bold font that says welcome home smack dab in the middle.

you're pretty sure there are even a few pictures of you and andrei accompanying the words.

andrei's shoulders fall in what is probably exhaustion and the act of giving up. his eyes flicker towards your side profile, a careful expression on his face as he asses yours.

"we got this," you mutter after a beat, squinting through the blistering sun and away from his parents—up at your best friend.

"I hope so." without another passing second, andrei interlocks your fingers together, a soft yet confident smile overtaking his face as he pulls you both across the parking lot and in the direction of his family.

you don't even register the feeling of his hand in yours until his mother is greeting you both happily, pulling you into a bone crushing embrace that has the potential to crack your ribs.

"wow mom," andrei snickers playfully, ruffling the dogs overrun head of curls as it jumps up his thighs. "you must love y/n more than me if you’re greeting her first."

elena waves of his teasing before pulling andrei into a hug that mimics the one you just received. andries father gives you a polite hug and then takes one of the suitcases andrei wheeled up to the side of the car.

"how was the flight?" his mom questions, eyes darting between you both with the upmost twinkle of curiosity.

"long," you breathe a laugh.

andrei grins, "but we were fine. lots of talking to pass the time."

you shoot him a look, and andrei winks at you in response.

this guy.

registering your voice, the family dog bounds towards you next, its chubby legs and paws scratching at your legs, tail wagging happily while it pants up at you—clearly seeking affection. affection that you're happy to provide. always a sucker for animals, you crouch down and scrub behind the dogs ears. it earns you a satisfied rumble from its tiny body.

"you guys are definitely tired," elena clicks her tongue in displeasure, running a knuckle over her sons cheek like he’s a kid. "let's get you two home."

she gently pets your head before making sure her husband is packing the luggage in the car correctly—even though igor claims there's no correct way to pack a trunk. andrei's mother begs to differ.

the dog follows in her footsteps, leaving you. with a sigh, you place your hands on your knees and push up from your crouched position.

clearly you should've checked how close andrei was standing behind you, because your proximity has you completely grinding your ass against his crotch as you move to stand.

you gasp as andrei lets out a gentle grunt.

"sorry!" you wince quietly, but before you can move away, andrei arm wraps around your waist, fingers flexing against your lower stomach as he pulls you back into his chest, holding you in place and not allowing you to escape.

"it's okay baby." he says. you try not let your eyes widen at the nickname or the way you can feel his semi poking at your lower back. you're sure the blush you're now sporting is visible by anyone in the general vicinity and that's embarrassing enough.

elena hearing your voices, turns away from her husband and looks towards you. the sight of you embraced has her cooing, hands held to her chest like she's just seen the rebirth of christ himself.

"aren't you too so cute, I'm glad you two are finally together." it's clear she's not seeking any kind of response with her admiration because she turns and gets into the passenger seat before either you or andrei can attempt at closing your gaping mouths. you seriously look like fish.

the car door slamming shut has andrei blinking. he clears his throat once, and drops his arm from around your waist, and despite the heat of the sun, his lack of touch leaves you feeling cool.

you quickly move away from andrei and his...situation, allowing him the space to subtly fix his problem before anything else. you try not to think about it and pass your backpack to andrei's father, who is waiting patiently for the last bit of luggage.

"you okay sweetie?" igor sends you a weary coupled with amused glance, placing your pink bag on top of andrei's green suitcase. "you're looking flushed."

your eyes widen into saucers as your skin only warms further. jesus christ.

thankfully, ever your savour, andrei saunters up next to you, shoving his own carry on into the trunk with anything less than grace. he laughs, "it is summer, dad. we're both roasting." andrei jerks his head towards the front of the suv while the dog barks happily from his mothers lap. "go ahead and get in dad, run the air conditioner for a second. i've got the rest of the bags."

as soon as igor gets into the driver's seat, your both whipping in each others direction, looks of bewilderment on your faces as the last 5 minutes linger in the air.

"fuck i'm sorry," andrei whispers frantically, pretending to adjust the suitcases to not draw too much attention to either of you. "I don't know what came over me there. are you okay?"

you can't help your eyes from flickering towards his crotch. "are you okay?"

"I will be as soon as we stop talking about it."

you snort a laugh before quickly covering your mouth with your hand, concealing the sound. andrei sends you a harsh look which only makes you giggle more.

he shuts the trunk. "just...get in the car."

"such a gentlemen."

all earlier teasing and playfulness comes to a lull as the cool and plush leather seat envelopes you—the lack of rest and pure exhaustion quickly creeping back into your bones. it's truly game over when the car starts moving, lulling you into a much needed sleep.

not even the smell of airplane and greasy hair can stop the comfort of your best friends thick body pressed against yours, providing you with the most perfect pillow as you knock out, the beautiful city of barnaul passing through the window panes.

— day 1 BREAKFAST

you have very faint memory of climbing up the stairs of the svechnikov home after arriving back from the airport. andrei helped you out the car—sleep still clouding your eyes and your legs wobbly like a brand new baby giraffe.

the next thing you know, you're blinking awake, the sun shining through the sheer blue curtains and assaulting your eyes. you're not sure exactly what time it is, but based on the light and the smell of breakfast food wafting up the stairs, you can only assume you've slept through yesterday afternoon and night.

you blink a few times, squinting at the alarm clock on the bedside table until it becomes clear—7:08 a.m. you groan into the quiet room, the mattress squeaking under your weight while you shift into a more upright position. the navy blue plaid duvet falls to your hips. it unmistakably smells like andrei, and although it's a room you've stayed in before, being in here never fails to make you feel all warm and fuzzy.

there are posters up on his wall of ovechkin and a few other russian nhl stars. old hockey sticks sit collecting dust in the corner of his room, and next to them is your suitcase. andrei must've rolled it in after you got into the bed, where you undoubtedly knocked right back out.

you stretch the stiffness from your limbs before slipping out of bed. you're still in your travel clothes, so you make quick work of changing into something a little more appropriate—cut offs and an old shirt of andrei's because you really can't be bothered to dress up for 7 am breakfast—and cleaning yourself up.

after a quick trip to the bathroom where you speed run brushing your teeth and washing your face, you timidly make your way down the stairs, the noise of bacon sizzling on the stove and gentle chatter becoming louder as you enter the room.

evgeny, andrei's brother, spots you first from his spot already sitting at the dining table. he quickly swallows his gulp of tea before calling your name in welcome greeting, "hey, you're up. how was the flight?"

it causes a chain reaction really. elena and igor turn to look in your direction from where they're fussing over scrambled eggs and various meats in the frying pan—both greeting you warmly in a way that just sounds like one long jumbled scentence. evgeny's fiancee, sara, smiles and says your name in the bubbly way she does, patting the chair next to her as an invitation.

the dogs loudly barking and it's kind of a lot for this early, but you've done it all before, and easily navigate through the bustling kitchen, and the happy dog weaving through your legs, to take a seat beside sara.

"it was alright," you answer evgeny's question while sara wordlessly pours you some orange juice. it's your favourite, and elena always makes sure it's made fresh anytime you and andrei come visit. the thought of that alone has any lingering tiredness disappearing, and a absentminded smile blossoming on your face at the simple gesture.

he snickers and shoves some bacon into his mouth. "long, huh?"

"you can say that."

"sausage or bacon, y/n?" igor glances at you over his shoulder.

you hum, "bacon, thank you."

"you and andrei," his mother woos knowingly, "you're both the only people I know who love bacon as much as you do." elena holds a plate towards her husband, and once he piles some bacon beside the gooey eggs, she's placing it on the woven placemat in front of you.

"speaking of sleeping beauty," evgeny's playfully tone has you looking away from your breakfast and towards the archway that sits between the kitchen and family room. and there stands andrei, sweatpants hung low on his hips, and hair messy like he's been running his hand through it.

you heart ticks as you lock eyes and the corner of andrei's lips turn upwards into a lazy smile.

"get enough beauty rest?" his older brother continues to tease him, earning evgeny a flick to his bicep courtesy of elena.

your brows furrow, as its only then you realize andrei wasn't in his childhood bed, but in fact, you were. "where'd you sleep?" it's not uncommon for you and andrei to share a sleeping place, even if he's on a half deflated air mattress, grumbling like a baby, while you snuggle in the cozy bed.

"the guest room — although," he shoots his mother a look, "it was hard with all the clothes that have seemingly taken over that bed." andrei rounds to the back of your chair, hovering over you while he playfully scolds his mother.

naturally you tilt your head back to continue looking at him, his mothers rebuttal comforting background noise.

he looks down at you, a half frown settling over his face. "you're squinting. you forgot your glasses, didn't you?" he reaches out and runs his thumb along the crease between your eyebrows.

the action is so soft and so sincere that you almost forget you need to reply like a normal person. "oh, right. yeah, I did."

you didn’t even realize you’d forgotten them.

andrei always notices.

he hums in what sounds like displeasure, taking his thumb off your face in favour of moving to sit on the unoocupied chair to the other side of you and sara. then andrei gulps down three huge gulps of your orange juice and just like that you forget about the butterflies in your stomach—snatching back the glass and shoving at his shoulder.

elena sits down across the table, breakfast plate piled high with eggs and fruit and sausage. it's just as mouth watering as your own plate. "you know," she starts, "you don't have to sleep in the guest room, andrei."

he shrugs, the kind of shrug that tells you he's listening to his mother but he's not actually hearing her. no, he’s too busy shoving eggs covered in pepper into his mouth. "it's no big deal," andrei stays through bites.

elena waves a dismissive hand, while she forks some cantaloupe with the other. "oh don't spare me son, I know you two share a bed, and It's alright to sleep upstairs with y/n." she pauses, a half amused and half concerned drawn look at her face. "well, I can imagine you do more than just share the bed."

you choke on your sip of juice at the same time andrei almost spits out the piece of bacon he just greedily scarfed. it earns you both curious looks from around the table. well, curious for everyone except evgeny, who looks all too amused with the way this conversation is headed.

"oh, that's okay-"

andrei cuts you off, a blush settling high over his cheeks. "mom, do not continue that thought."

"what?" she squawks, "it's completely normal for people who are together to make love."

"make love!" evengey relates with a laugh.

sara hides her face.

igor, used to his wife's antics, just stays silent. but the half smile on his face lets you know that he too is amused.

but you and andrei are like statues.

elena continues, "although i'd prefer if you didn't do anything in your childhood room, andrei. it's too nostalgic for you to just...strip it of its innocence." she forks some more egg onto her utensil, "but as soon as you guys get back to carolina, please, get to making me some grand babies."

"okay," andrei cuts her off before either of you can truly die from embarrassment. he scratches the spot near his heart awkwardly, and even in your own state of despair, you have to resist the urge to distract him. "can we save the sex talks until dinner." he trails off, muttering under his breath, "and the babies until the wedding."

it's sara who clears her throat, clearly also feeling the laughable tension—and snickering from her husband—tainting breakfast. she plasters on a smile, before shifting the conversation. thank god.

"I can't believe it took you guys so long."

you tilt your head, "what do you mean?"

sara laughs in a way that tells you she finds this whole ordeal cute. not sure if that’s the word you would use to describe it, but anyways. “to get together. you know, dating.”

"right!" you almost shout, blinking fast. without thinking, you toss your hand on andrei’s thick thigh, rubbing it briefly like some weird form of possessive affection.

at your touch, andrei tenses. you can feel it under your palm. if it wasn’t for his family all around, you would’ve face palmed right in that very moment. is this a normal thing girls do with their boyfriend? grope his thigh during family breakfast?

before you can remove your grip and regret your entire existence, andrei casually tosses his thick arm over the back of your dining room chair. his fingers stroke your shoulder over your (his) oversized shirt, wordlessly reassuring you that everything is fine.

it feels far from fine, especially with your hand starting to sweat.

“yeah,” andrei shrugs the shoulder that’s not beside yours, “guess I finally realized what was right in front of me.”

you shove some more eggs into your mouth, chewing slowly while your try to not freak out. and then andrei’s hand is on the back of your head, scratching your scalp like it’s an everyday occurrence.

why are you kind of wishing it was?

sara and elena gush, sharing knowing looks over the table. a look that says yeah, I remember falling in love with a svechnikov.

which on one hand is great—they are truly buying the whole fake dating thing.

but on the other hand—fuck, do you look like you’re actually in love with your best friend?

"I always thought the two of you would be cute together.” sara notes after swallowing her bite of whole wheat toast. “i've been telling y/n that since, what, like our engagement party in september?"

andrei makes a light noise, “is that so?” he tugs at the roots of your hair, “you never told me that.”

“mhmm,” you hum noncommittally, finishing off your glass of orange juice. you barley remembered that conversation with, at the time, newly engaged fiancée until this moment. you briefly recall you and sara, wine drunk and with a ring glittering on her finger—her smooth voice talking about you and andrei and how she thinks he’s in love with you.

you look at andrei, “didn’t cross my mind.”

“oh no?” he murmurs, voice all low and syrupy.

evgeny snorts, “get a room.”

you let out a laugh that sounds a lot like a grumbly breath, retracting your hand from andrei’s leg. you attempt to get the pitcher of orange juice but your best friend beats you to it, refilling your glass almost dangerously full—no doubt planning on stealing some more.

then andrei takes your hand in his, interlocking your fingers and then resting them on top the table. it so sweet and domestic and if it wasn’t doing funny things to your head, you’d probably melt at the sight.

elena grins, “awe, they’re holding hands.”

and then—

“yeah soon enough they’ll be making babies in the bathroom.”

— day 2 REHEARSAL DINNER

andrei check his watch, not impatiently mind you, because when it comes to waiting for you, andrei has all the patience in the world.

plus his mother would kick him in the butt if andrei even breathed the wrong way right now about your current lack of presence. his cousins rehearsal dinner starts in an hour, and with a 45 minute drive to the vineyard, andrei is looking to leave like, 2 minutes ago.

which is fine, because he's not just waiting on you. sara is still upstairs with you, and his mother is changing out her purse on the kitchen island because her usual handbag isn't the right shade. andrei didn't even realize there were different shades of black. but whatever.

it’s just about as andrei is about to climb up the stairs and make sure you haven't burned all your hair off and are having a breakdown in his dinosaur themed bathroom , the sound of shoes clicking on the floorboards echo through the home.

and then you're appearing, in some breezy conversation with his brothers wife while you descend down the stairs. your dress, which is the perfect shade of summer blue, swooshes coolly around your ankles, making you look like a real life princess. your hair is styled perfectly, and you've even added a little extra glitter to your eyelids and andrei thinks you look fucking ridiculously pretty.

your eyes catch his, and you falter. time slows down like honey between you and andrei, warming your skin and making your knees feel heavy.

andrei's lips part like he's going to say something, but elena waltzes into the room, igor just being her—both sporting wide smiles as the height of the evening approaches.

his mother spots you and inhales sharply. "oh wow, don't you look beautiful. andrei, honey, doesn’t she look beautiful?"

it seems to break you both out of your locked, heated gaze. you smile naturally like being polite is second nature, closed mouth and with glossy lips as you continue the rest of the way down the stairs. you gravitate next to andrei instinctively.

"yeah," andrei breathes, a half smile on his face that says something words can't yet. "she does."

and then he ruffles your hair and everything shifts again. you smack him away form your freshly done hair, but andrei just takes your hand in his, interlocking your fingers as his parents usher everyone out the door.

—

the speeches go by in a flurry of laughter and emotion, warming your chest in a longing way you didn't release you held. there was one point when the best man started talking about how lovely the bride to be was, and your eyes got a little misty. which meant that there were fat tears rolling down your cheeks. andrei caught it, and instead of snickering at your emotion, he tugged you into his side, wiping your tears before they could continue to fall with his thumb, before turning his attention back to the speeches.

somehow, that was worse than him laughing.

thankfully as soon as the food came around, your stomach growled and the tears and sudden feeling of impending doom towards being single forever, disappeared. it's delicious and perfect and andrei keeps purposefully nudging his knee against yours under the table when someone makes a loud, stupid joke.

and that always ends up with you hiding your grin in his shoulder.

andrei, long clearing his own plate, snatches one of your brussels with his silver fork. right off your plate without a care.

your mouth goes agape, a half laugh falling from your lips. "hey!" you scold, "those are mine."

"sharing is caring," he reminds you, stabbing two more from the pile before raising them to his mouth.

"so?"

"so, do you want me to starve or something?"

you quirk a teasing brow, "maybe if you savoured the taste of your own dinner, instead of scarfing it down like a neanderthal, you would actually be full."

"I can help it," andrei says around chewing, leaning in real close before continuing. "they're so buttery and delicious." clearly, andrei is trying to sound sudective and wind you up, but all you can hear is his chewing and it has you laughing, pushing him away as his voice tickles your neck.

"you're so gross." you laugh, grabbing the last full brussel that andrei was hoarding on the prongs of his fork, and then pop it into your own mouth.

he tongues his cheek as you chew up at him, a shake to his head so slow and soft that you're not even sure he's done. it's admiration, and amusement, and care—and it sends your heart into cardiac arrest.

andrei's gaze is so intense that it has a shiver running up your spine. the feeling making you straighten your posture and force yourself to look away. you don't see the way his face falls, or feel the way his heart drops.

and andrei doesn't know the way your heart has completely opened up to him in a different way. a way that reminds you of the feeling of home. of the past. of love.

"so, how'd you two meet?"

someone who you're pretty sure is a college friend of the groom, asks from across the table, looking between you and andrei curiously. his girlfriend has the same look on her face, hugging her man's arm fondly.

their display of affection makes you feel a bit funny considering you and andrei are supposed to look in love, but aren't even cuddling with one another at the dman rehearsal dinner like the very real couple.

so—awkwardly—you lean through the space between you and andrei, and wrap your arms around his bicep, your cheek resting against the crisp linen button up decorating his shoulder.

andrei shoots you a curious yet amused look. clearly he knows what you're trying to do, because he doesn't bring attention to your sudden affection. instead, he plays into it, large hand coming over your knee like this is something you two do all the time.

it must look natural enough because no one around the two of you bat an eye.

"we met at a bar." andrei says, "around the time I was drafted to the NHL."

"we've been friends for years." you add on without thinking.

a bridesmaid next to the couple nods, "and when did you realize you were in love?"

andrei laughs softly, rubbing that spot on his chest with his free hand. he swallows gently before answering the loaded question. "her laugh. that night at the bar, she was laughing at something one of her friends had said. I was naturally attracted to the sound. it was loud and real- it matched her perfectly."

andrei pauses, thumb twitching over the material of your blue dress. "and then when we started to chat, she was so patient with my broken english and bad flirting that I just..." he trails off, meeting your eyes from where you're softly peering up at him. "I fell for her that very same night."

you're pretty sure you stop breathing, and if you weren't surrounded by a bunch of strangers, you probably would've audibly gasped at that.

andrei blinks sheepishly, like he's only just taking account of what he's actually just said. he looks away form your gentle gaze and back towards the member of his cousins wedding party—who is staring at the two of you with a look he can't decipher.

andrei forces a chuckle and it's like a cold water bucket over your head. "only took me 7 years to admit it." he squeezes your knee in a way that feels like an apology mixed with truth. "but we're here now. right baby?"

"yeah," you clear your throat, his words and admission laying heavy on your heart. "we are."

—day 3 THE WEDDING

okay so you've kind of been avoiding andrei since the rehearsal dinner. and that was yesterday. it's just—you don't really know where to go from that.

even if andrei was trying to play into the whole fake relationship scheme, he literally admitted that he's been into since the night you met in that dingy raleigh bar almost 8 years ago. even if he didn't actually mean it, hearing him say those words cracked open the locked box in your chest.

when you met andrei many moons ago, you were quickly drawn to his dorky smile and shy persona. it was almost instantly that you developed some form of infatuation. and back then—drunk of course. you were in college. in a bar after all—you were much more confident.

you weren't going to let the russian slip away. not when the guy had you flustered and dipping your chin after two minutes of a half strung together conversation.

so you made sure to stay in touch. texting and calling and making andrei download snapchat so he could see how dolled up you'd get. for him.

you went out for drive thru dinners before andrei’s athletic trainer cared too much about the food he was consuming, and you watched movies with your legs tangled together in his apartment. fuck you even helped him learn english outside of his lessons.

but nothing ever happened. no moves were made because frankly, you weren't sure if he possessed the same kind of romantic interest in you.

so you pushed those feeling away. deep, deep, deep down into the spot in your heart you keep concealed to everyone, even to yourself. and you threw that damn metaphorical key in the toilet it and flushed it. twice.

friendship was good. and easy. and you could accept a friendship with him. because you still had him, regardless of your hidden feelings.

and you thought your feelings for your best friend had completely vanished in the last 8 years. until last night. when andrei and his sweet words and large mitt on your leg—stroking you and squeezing your flesh—started taking about falling for you the same night you fell for him.

surprise! feelings are coming back up the drain and soaking you.

and, oh god, the wedding. the venue which was stupidly packed and even more beautiful, decorated in lavender and baby pink, only made your feelings amplify.

because your avoidance for andrei didn't stop him from being the most patient and sweetest guy. he could tell you needed space as soon as you woke up this morning, and he walked into the bathroom to find you angrily brushing your teeth—and when you didn't send him a foamy smile from around the handle, andrei just knew something was up.

so he just sat beside you silently during the ceremony, wordlessly handing you a few tissues from his suit jacket when you began to cry during the vows. even when he didn't know your tears had nothing to do with the happy couple up at the altar, but instead the guy you've been in love with since before you knew the difference between tequila and vodka.

"you okay?" andrei asks during the journey to the ceremony outside, to the reception inside, words hushed against your ear while his hand hovers your lower back.

you nod, too quick and ridged. "just need a drink."

and drink did you ever. because two hours later once the sun has long set, and your shoes have been abandoned under the dinner table in favour of dancing, you can barley contain your drunken laughter and poorly timed singing.

you've probably had two bottles of wine to yourself.

and andrei can tell because your skin has changed shades and you no longer seem upset. which andrei knows is only because the liquor has coated your bloodstream, allowing you to forget whatever—or whoever—had upset you.

even though andrei is 99.9% positive that the reason for your cold shoulder is him. that, or the oyster joke evgeny made yesterday afternoon, but that was a long shot. it was most certainly him.

andrei watches with what he doesn't realize is a full blown pout on his face—like glistening, down turned lips, chin resting on his knuckles pouting—as you spin around with his sister in law.

not even the sound of your previous seat scraping against the floor pulls andrei out of his sad stare. it’s only when his brother nudges him that andrei blinks.

“so,” evgeny starts, voice low enough to keep the conversation between them, but still loud enough to be heard over the music. “y/n, huh?

“yeah,” andrei breathes, “y/n.” your name taste like sugar on his tongue.

evgeny nods in approval, but his lips are pursed in thought. a beat passes between them, nothing but the laughter of guests and synth pop song playing from the dj booth to be heard.

“can't say I'm suprised,” his brother eventually settles on, making andrei’s brows turn upwards in question while a rush of ice shoots through his veins. the inquiry and tone of evgeny’s statement has andrei feeling weary.

simply due to the fact that his older brother has always known andrei better than andrei knows himself.

he’s scratching at his chest again, but evgeny notices the nervous tic before andrei notices it himself. once andrei sees his brothers knowing glance though, andrei pulls his hand away so fast it’s like he’s been burnt, choosing to rap his knuckles against the table cloth instead.

andrei lick his lower lip before speaking. lis that a bad thing?”

“absolutely not,” evgeny reassures at the speed of light, voice steady. “it's just...I could tell that you loved her. always have.”

andrei laughs once—low and breathy—despite the way the words weigh on his chest. “I haven't always loved her. you're making me sound like a sad puppy or something equally as...” andrei trails off, but his brother is quick to fill the silence.

“pathetic?”

“yeah.”

“well, you are pathetic.” evgeny snorts, a playful edge to his voice that makes andrei sweaty. nervous. “when it came to her. always watching her, not subtly at all. and the flowers, and the birthdays, and that one year you couldn’t come home for christmas because y/n had the flu and you wanted to make sure she was okay.”

andrei shrugs causally, all while the weight of the truth sits like thick fog in the air. suffocating him. andrei doesn’t dare look over at you. not now. not when it will make him crumble and spill everything. “well i'm a good friend-and boyfriend.”

his brother doesn’t comment on the slip up. “I know that. but when it came to taking care of y/n and just being with her, it wasn't just about you being a good friend. it was about you loving her.”

fuck.

evgeny watches his brother carefully. he can see the way his words are affecting andrei, and the emotion pricking the heart on his sleeve.

it’s only then, when the conversation comes to another brief pause, does evgeny see the way andrei’s eyes flicker back towards your dancing, carefree frame. and instantly, he watches his younger brothers face changes.

it’s hurt.

it’s longing.

it’s unspoken love.

“it's okay to be in love andrei.” evgeny breathes slowly as if not to startle. “you've got a good one.”

a rough swallow and then andrei nods. “yeah. I do.”

“and mom loves her.”

that seems to do the trick, and it illicit a rough chuckle from andrei’s chest. “you don't say.”

“definitely more than you.”

andrei looks back at his brother, the start of an amused smile beginning to pull at his lips. “thanks dick.”

“you're welcome. and hey—now that you finally have her, never let her go.”

andrei isn’t oblivious to the underlying meaning of evgeny’s words. like he’s said, his older brother knows him well. but it doesn’t stop the panic creeping up andrei’s sternum, and the urge to deflect and deny is uncanny.

just as andrei goes to respond, you stumble into his eyesight, tripping over the air like it was a curb, and completely stealing andrei’s attention. thankfully you catch yourself before falling to the ground, but it still sends andrei’s heart into over drive.

"you okay?" evgeny asks you, his amusement clear. almost as clear as your level of intoxication.

andrei is on his feet before he even realizes that he’s stood up from the upholstered chair, standing next to you with his hand hovering over your back.

you nod with a lazy smile on your face, and your eyes completely glossed over. slowly, because you’re not completely all there, your eyes trail towards andrei. your smile grows tenfold while you grab onto his hips. “hey there. come dance with me?"

"I don't know," he breathes softly, eyes moving over your body as if he’s trying to assess you. regardless, he can’t stop the smile that blossoms across his lips. “I think it’s probably time we go? no?”

you frown playfully, swaying until your chest is pushed against his. "please? just one dance. please, I love this song."

andrei doesn’t recognize the song, and considering you play him every single song you like at least 20 times in a row, he knows you’re lying, and this is just an excuse to get him on the dance floor.

because you have seemingly pushed away your vendetta with him for the moment, andrei decides that he’s taking this opportunity to be with you while things are normal. andrei sighs reluctantly, yet with a hint of enjoyment, and that has your face lighting up—because you can see the answer before he says it.

andrei lets you lead him into the middle of the crowded dance floor and to a spot you seem acceptable before turning in his arms, wrapping your own around his shoulders while his find your waist, completely enveloping you.

the music has slowed down, casting the room with a slow, romantic haze that makes your limbs tingle.

"if you're sick of me after this week and never want to see me again, I understand." andrei mutters after a minute, thick fingers flexing around your body, like he’s fighting an internal battle. one that he seems to win, because he then is pulling you flush against him.

your eyebrows pull towards your nose. "what? no. nothing could make me never want to see you again."

“I hope this weekend hasn’t been too overwhelming,” andrei starts, voice no higher than a whisper due to your proximity. “and i’m sorry again for…springing all this on you—quite literally last minute.”

you shake your head. “i’m not upset, andrei. i’m fine, you really don’t have to worry about me.”

this time, it’s andrei’s brows that turn down. “i’m always going to worry about you, y/n,” he swallows thickly, knees bending ever so slightly so he can better peer into your drunken eyes. “you’re my best friend.”

maybe it’s the liquor, or maybe it’s pure exhaustion of fighting your feelings off for 8 years, but your bold question comes before you can deflect it. “and?”

your prompt makes andrei halt.

a beat passes and then andrei’s hand is running down the back of your head, smoothing your hair and you heart. “and.”

and right now—that unspoken knowing—is enough.

—

andrei brings you up the stairs of his childhood home two hours—and two chugged bottles of water—later. he gently guides you up the walkway, slowly and with his hand on your hip, guiding you and keeping somewhat of your stability in tact—your heels dangling from his index finger of his opposite hand.

he sits you on the edge of his navy bed once you’re back in the comfort of his old bedroom, ensuring that you’re okay before turning and shutting the bedroom door. your heels thump to the floor as he drops them next to the dresser.

andrei pulls his tie loose while spinning back on his heels. instead of the upright position he left you in, you’re now flat on your back, limbs all spread out and starfish like.

you’re not asleep. not yet. but rather grinning like a naughty child at andrei. your hair is fanned out against the covers, and there’s still some sweat lingering on your hair line from all the dancing and alcohol.

you’re quite literally glistening and andrei feels light headed.

"you can't fall asleep yet," he tells you, walking over to stand above you. with a delicate touch, he traces a finger over your thigh, and even through the material of your pale lemon dress, andrei can feel your body heat. "you have to change out of your dress, or else you’ll be mad at me when you wake up because it’s wrinkled."

you whine, "can you do it for me?”

your words are nothing but innocent, but his sex deprived brain doesn’t think the same way, and your whiny tone shoots right down to his dick. andrei swallows roughly, scratching at his chest twice before running his hand through his tousled hair.

you shift, the strapless hem of your dress slipping down just enough that it’s dangerous. andrei’s eyes instinctively dart away—just like the time they did three years ago when you’d been swimming at his place and your nipples got all pebbled under your bikini.

andrei curses under his breath.

you call his name and like the hopeless man he is, looks back at you. "please, i'm tired."

so, so hopeless.

andrei nods, grabbing ahold of your outstretched hands before pulling you back into your previous sitting position. your smile thickens and it has him feeling incredibly nervous.

"stand up for me." andrei requests quietly, and thankfully you agree with a simple nod, moving to stand on unsteady feet at the foit of the bed.

andrei doesn’t dare break eye contact. not when you’re so close that your scent is intoxicating and your bulging breasts are practically calling his name. without blinking or tearing his gaze from yours, his shaky hands reach around your body, blindly finding the clasp of your gown.

the clasp pops open, and you almost don’t catch the dress in time before it falls away to reveal your chest.

but andrei doesn’t stop there, his breathing heavy against you as he begins pulling down the small, yellow zipper. as andrei slowly begins tugging the zipper, revealing more and more of your bare skin, the more your breathing catches.

his knuckles graze against your skin, ilicting a hitched sigh from your plump, wine stained lips.

this exchange is quite possibly the hottest and most intimate thing either of you have every experienced, and nothing really has even happened. perhaps it the hesitant yet eager brushing touches that are making you light head. or perhaps it’s the eye contact between you.

it’s definitely the way your nipples have turned to diamonds, and andrei’s dick is sitting hot and heavy beneath his slacks though.

the zipper hits the end of the track with a soft clinking sound. andrei slowly lets the tag go, his hand smoothing over your hip as he begins to retract his touch.

you can feel his restraint. you can feel his desire.

"andrei," you whisper his name like a prayer. like a mantra. like it’s the password to the 8 year long puzzle between you. “i’m going to let the dress fall now.”

his gaze flickers. just far enough down to see the start of your dress and your barley concealed breasts. then, like gravity, andrei’s eyes find yours again.

“okay.” his voice is hoarse in a way that’s undeniable.

and then the dress hits the floor, the smell of your perfume puffing around you like a cloud as the material falls away. not even the smell of wine could over power your fruity scent.

he doesn’t look. he can’t. not when you’re still a little tipsy and he’s barley holding onto himself. instead, andrei brushes your hair away from your face, lingering on your cheek.

you swallow, “what are you thinking about?”

his answer comes like clockwork. “you.” andrei’s voice falters as you reach out, your much smaller fingers clumsily pulling at the buttons of his dress shirt. like your bodies know what happening before your heads do. as his summer skin becomes exposed, your hands find new home against his flesh.

andrei lick his lower lip and tilts your face up, towards his. "i'm always thinking about you."

and then, without hesitation or reluctance or anything else he’s been fronting since that night in that bar years ago, andrei slots his mouth against yours.

pushing up onto your toes, your grasp at his sides under his unbuttoned shirt, sighing against andrei’s mouth just as he does yours.

with his free hand, andrei grabs your hip, pulling your naked body flush against his, all while he expertly kisses and licks into your awaiting mouth.

after what feels like an eternity of switching between languid, slow kisses and heated hands and desperate kisses, andrei slowly guides you back down to his childhood bed, slotting between your open legs like it’s where he’s meant to be.

and perhaps, it is.

— day 4 THE MORNING AFTER

the sun beating on your back is what wakes you up the next morning. its bright and hot and too much for just opening your eyes. you groan out like a baby, pulling the covers up and over your head to further bury yourself in the cocoon of andrei’s bedding.

andrei.

your eyes snap open at a comical pace, and you sit up even quicker if that’s somehow possible. your eyes flicker towards the right side of the bed where just hours ago, andrei was curled against you. skin warm and bare against yours.

the spot is now empty.

the night comes back to you in movie like flashes. the drinking and the dancing. andrei’s calloused hands on your zipper and even more so on your skin. you sit there, still as a statue, as you remember how andrei kissed you—all over—and how his body rutted into yours like second nature.

the whispered praises and pleasure filled moans.

you remember it all.

and you remember, most of all, that you love him.

you don’t know if you should puke, cry, scream or just jump out the window. maybe all four.

you slip on the housecoat hung over the bed post, tying the string uncomfortably tight, just before slipping out of the bedroom. with last night still fresh, and your feelings practically drowning you, you know you need to find andrei—like yesterday—and tell him.

well, tell him as much as you can without choking on your own tears.

the smell of freshly brewed coffee hits your nostrils before anything else. you round into the kitchen and see elena and igor. they both grin politely, one of them offering you a drink—you’re not sure who because you’re too busy wondering where the hell andrei is to notice anything else.

the words tumble from you without a second thought, interrupting the dogs happy hopping at your ankles. “where's andrei?” and of course the cherry on top is your voice wavering.

elena’s eyes draw in confusion, her lips parting in wordless question.

“i'm here,” andrei’s familiar voice sounds from behind you. and instantly you feel like crying. he rounds to your front, looking freshly showered and clean in his shirt and athletic shorts. “you okay?”

“I just, I thought you left.” you admit, wrapping your arms around yourself as embarrassment washes over you.

“no moya lyubov,” andrei coos with his native tongue, brows pulled tight in concern. he brings you into his arms despite the way your self hug makes it a little awkward. “just putting our bags in the car so it’s all ready to go for tonight.”

“oh right,” you nod, a little dumb. you lower your voice even more before continuing. “we should talk, right?”

“yeah, we should.”

you nod again, manoeuvring in andrei’s arms until you’re able to grasp at his fingers. “come upstairs with me? please.”

he hums. “of course.”

as soon as you’re back in his navy bedroom, and the door is heard softly shutting behind you, you’re nervously wringing your hands out. “you're my best friend.” you blurt out, robe slipping off your shoulder as it is inevitably, too big. as it is obviously andrei’s robe.

he fixes the shoulder so you’re covered again. “I know.”

you continue, heart racing and voice cracking despite andrei’s calm demeanour. “and I thought that these feelings I was pushing down were unreciprocated.”

“I know,” he mumbles, pushing your hair away from your neck. “me too.”

its something in the way he’s touching you—looking at you—that has you faltering. it’s like you’re his. like he’s in—oh.

“and now.” andrei continues.

“and now,” you breathe, “and now I want to kiss you again.”

andrei legs out a laugh. “you can.”

“but not just today,” you interrupt, “I want to kiss you everyday and wake up next to you everyday because I really fucking like you.”

“well,” andrei breathes, chest puffing as he takes an impossible step closer to you. he gently but confidently takes ahold of your face in his hands. caressing you like a porcelain toy. like a prized possession. like the greatest trophy in sports. “I really fucking like you too.”

you exhale.

but he’s not quite done with his love confession. after all, he has been thinking about it since 2018. “and I always have.”

your breath catches, curiously and hope gnawing at you like a moth to a flame. “since the bar?”

“since the second you stepped foot into that bar, y/n.”

a beat passes.

“this is kind of crazy, right? is this crazy?” you laugh in disbelief, continuing to look up at him like he’s hung the stars in the sky.

“absolutely,” andrei nods, thumbs brushing over your cheek bones. “but it's a good crazy. don't you think?”

“definitely.” you mumble through the beginning stages of a sheepish smile. your fingers itch to reach out and touch andrei, and unlike everyday before this one, you allow them to.

“okay then let’s bask in the crazy, yeah?”

A/N: okay. so! this definitely got a little rushed and I can only hopes this flows well enough to follow along with. and hopefully it makes sense and you catch the drift! I went through a writers block through this fic so a lot of the parts were spaced out (writing wise.

on another note—the rom com series is still happening. i’m just not sure when it will be out. i’m hoping for at least one before the summer ends, along with a few other goodies.

jo will girls and wyjo girls, get excited.

anyways this is just to say thank you for your patience and support like always.

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taintedtort · 9 months ago

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"Kyotani!"

your voice rings through the gym, stopping the conversation that Seijoh‘s team was having. said boy turns his head to look at you, a scowl pulling on his lips when you shouted his name like that in front of everyone. he can’t be too mad though, not when you’re waving so enthusiastically, obviously happy to see him.

he grumbles something under his breath before breaking apart from the group to walk over to you, ignoring the gazes of his nosey teammates. they’ve never seen you before, and he certainly hasn’t said anything about you. they’d definitely remember if the Mad Dog had mentioned someone, especially someone as attractive as you.

in reality, you two have been dating for a few months now, though you’re keeping it quiet. he doesn’t necessarily mind anyone knowing, he just hasn’t specifically told his team because he doesn’t want them teasing him about it.

when he reaches you, he grunts in greeting, and you smile as you extend his jacket he lent to you the other day.

"here, i washed it," you chirp, looking much too nice to be talking to someone like Kyotani. he shakes his head at your offer though, waving off the jacket.

"keep it, i never wear it anyway," he grumbles, keeping his voice low so his teammates don’t overhear. his words make you smile though, and you nod eagerly, holding the clothing to your chest.

he can hear his teammates whispering amongst themselves, trying to guess the relationship between the two of you and how you know him. it irks him, and he’s trying his best not to just drag you off somewhere a bit more private to talk to you. he knows that would only make them even more curious though, so he’s stuck standing a respectable distance away from you while listening to his teammates gossip.

"do you wanna walk home together?"

your voice brings his attention back to you, his ears drowning them out as he listens to your sweet request. practice is nearly over anyway, and he knows you were probably waiting for him in the first place, which makes his chest feel… funny.

he only nods in response, gesturing for you to wait outside so he can grab his stuff. there’s no way he’s letting his teammates near you, they’d only bombard you with stupid questions.

"okay! hurry up," you urge, smiling at him in a way that makes his earlier annoyance immediately melt away.

before you turn to leave, you tip toe and give him a quick peck on the cheek, one that has nearly his whole team gawking and gasping. it leaves him a bit surprised too, and he can feel his ears get warm from embarrassment. you look cheeky though, practically skipping out of the gym to wait outside for him like you didn’t just shell shock half the team.

as soon as you’re out of sight, an uproar follows as his teammates surround him, immediately asking questions and demanding details. he just rolls his eyes, huffing out short answers as he goes to gather his stuff.

…brat. ♡

sort of a start of my kyotani series, which will honestly just consist of random drabbles and whatever else i can think of.

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illbegottenfaith · 1 month ago

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fml (a Manchild by Sabrina Carpenter inspired fic)

you rope theo into going to a party with you and accidentally fall for his juvenile mannerisms (theo nott x ravenclaw!reader)

a/n - decided to polish this up and publish it in honour of the man's best friend announcement!! I know how controversial the title and cover art has been but i have Thoughts about it if anyone wants to hear them/discuss hehe (I rlly need to stop using this as my sabrina sideblog help) also lets pretend u can actually see shit from alllll the way up in the Ravenclaw towers and the 'decent' joke is (quite obviously) plagiarised from tumblr I think, I did not come up with that lmao

tropes/warnings - fluff, comedy, technicallyyy fake dating? but it's not the focus here

word count - 3.7k

taglist - @kandralice @justme989898 @iamheretoread1234 @allie-sturns @hzdhrtss @friedfreyfries @bushnellswife @rose-of-the-grave @thaliashifts @pariahsparadise @babene-e @fratbrochrisgf @user089167

Theo pushed his hair off his clammy forehead for the hundredth time that morning. He was long overdue for a haircut he kept forgetting about except on mornings like these, when his overly long fringe kept falling in his eyes during the laps he ran with the rest of the Quidditch team around the perimeter of the pitch. It was barely 9 am when most students were still enjoying breakfast. It was far too early for him to already be sweating buckets.

Theo slowed to a stop, pushing his hair back once again as he seriously considered ripping it from his skull. He scanned the pitch. It was barely 9 am, and he could hear the usual faint murmur of students having breakfast in the Great Hall. There was a diffused quality to the light of the cloudy day and the grass was still damp with morning dew. It was peaceful. Typical. Calm.

And yet.

Theo looked around, an uneasy feeling in his gut. Something felt...off. He gently rolled out the ankle he had strained last week, starining his ears. It felt fine. It didn't even ache from the humidity of the morning. He watched his teammates jogging along the other side of the field. The pitch was quiet, but no quieter than it usually was. He felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, the way they did in Quidditch games when he would sense rather than see a Bludger coming his way.

Mattheo jogged past, pausing briefly.

"Ankle?" he asked breathlessly.

Theo shook his head mutely, still thinking hard to the sound of Mattheo's panting as he caught his breath. Just as he gave up on figuring out the strange feeling, he noticed Mattheo frowning at something over his shoulder.

Theo was beginning to hear a set of quick, light footsteps distinct from the rest of the team's sluggish yet relentless footfalls. He turned and immediately got barrelled over by a blur of white and navy blue, knocked flat on his back with a tongue stuck down his throat.

Blinding sunlight rushed in as the figure pulled away. Dazed, Theo was distantly aware of Mattheo gawking at the sight while someone told him off in a waspish tone. He regained his wits just as Mattheo jogged off, sniggering under his breath. Tentatively, he turned his sight to the Ravenclaw girl peering down at him.

"If anyone asks, we were celebrating our 1-month anniversary last night."

Theo shut his eyes briefly, willing himself not to pass out. There was an awful ringing echoing in his skull. Was this what a concussion felt like? And what was that about a one-month -

His eyes popped open despite the searing pain. "Month?"

The girl gave him an impatient look. "Yes. As far as anyone is concerned, we've been dating for the past month."

Theo gaped at you. He had to be hallucinating. How much pain medication did he take last night?

"We have?"

Her lips thinned into a line.

"I can't tell if you're being purposefully dense," she muttered, sitting back on her heels. Theo propped himself up on skinned elbows.

"You, and I," her silhouette repeated, stabbing a finger between the two of you, "one month."

Theo squinted up at her through the sunlight she wasn't blocking. "W-"

"One. Month." she repeated firmly as she stood, brushing imaginary dirt off her pants. She scanned the pitch casually, appraising the rest of the team with a mildly critical look.

"That is all. Enjoy your laps."

Theo watched her walk off back to the castle, befuddled.

After feeding Madam Pomfrey some fib about running laps the wrong way, Theo had his elbows bandaged up. He was barely in time for Ancient Runes and was too restless to pay attention. By the time class finished, all Theo wanted was to tuck into a warm, comforting lunch, even if it was a little early.

He walked into the Great Hall and there you were, like a bad penny, already halfway through a bowl of soup at the Ravenclaw table.

He visibly winced. You had the gall to look cluelessly concerned.

"Merlin, what happened to your elbows?"

Theo just about had an aneurysm.

"You," he forced out through clenched teeth. "You happened."

You looked genuinely surprised.

"Don't tell me you're still upset about this morning?" When Theo remained stony-faced, you rolled your eyes, turning back to your lunch. "God, that was so three hours ago."

Theo stared at you, speechless.

"Don't you think you owe me some kind of explanation?"

You glanced at your watch impatiently. "Fine. I've got 20 minutes before Transfiguration anyway. Sit down."

He didn't. You cleared your throat anyway.

"So, I have this stupid roommate who will not get off my back about bringing someone to this 80s-themed party her cousin's hosting at Hogsmeade this weekend, because she's convinced I'm still hung up on my ex from 5 months ago."

You didn't sound like you were going to be done anytime soon. Theo reluctantly slid into the seat opposite yours.

"Are you still hung up on your - ?"

You nodded, waving a hand carelessly. "Oh, yeah, totally. The pining - it's a whole thing. Don't worry about that. Anyways, she was going at me again last night, and the only way I could get her to shut up was to say that I was bringing someone. So, obviously, she asked who, and - now this part is kind of your fault - and I looked out the window, and there you were, decked out in your Quidditch gear and whatnot, and I thought you were as good of a choice as any. So I said I was bringing you."

Theo blinked at you.

"You told your roommate you're bringing me to a party I'm only just hearing about."

"Mhm."

"And it's my fault," Theo continued tonelessly, trying to make sense of what you were saying, "for going to Quidditch practice...as part of the Quidditch team."

You shrugged. "Yeah, I 'spose. Anyway, she was like, no way, and I was like, way, and I knew she wouldn't believe me if I said we had only just started seeing each other, so I had to say it was, like, our one-month anniversary. But she was still watching me like a hawk, so I had to spend half the night outside of our room. And I think she could still tell I was lying - "

"Still? Are your lies always this elaborate?"

You looked a little embarrassed. "I might have a bit of a problem with...telling the truth, or the whole truth, sometimes." You tucked a lock of hair behind your ear.

"Anyway, I had to get to you before she did, but you both take Ancient Runes together on Thursday mornings, so I had to catch you before then, so..." you gestured vaguely. Theo raised his eyebrows.

"That's it? She's never seen the two of us in the same room, but my word is enough to convince her we've been dating?"

"Oh, please. She hardly sees me. I've got quite a bit on my plate."

Theo eyed your book bag, bursting at the seams with textbooks and parchment.

"I'll say. When do you even find the time to, er, pine after your ex?"

You shot him a withering look. "Whose side are you on, anyway?"

"Right now? The person who didn't tackle me at eight in the morning."

You rolled your eyes. "I can't believe you're still going on about that," you muttered. "It wasn't even eight."

You continued eating your food while Theo mulled over your story. His mind drifted to your face, to the sharp, strong cut of your nose and the plain, straightforward edge to your words. You had a bit of a problem with the truth, there was no denying that, but something about your story didn't seem fabricated or exaggerated. It was a largely unappealing scenario that would only be too easy to refute, which made it all the more convincing.

Theo tilted his head. Huh. Maybe it was the concussion talking, but you were starting to seem a little less insane. He shook his head, clearing his thoughts.

"Why don't you tell your stupid roommate to pi- erm, go away?"

You glared at Theo.

"Stupid Roommate is my best friend. I would kill for her."

It was like he couldn't say anything right. Theo sighed, massaging his temples.

"...okay. What's stopping me from telling her I don't know you?"

You put on a pained look.

"Babe. You can't be saying those things about your one-month girlfriend."

"You're not my - "

"Besides," you continued, finishing up your soup, "we've been holding hands for, like, the past fifteen minutes."

Theo glanced around at the students filing into the Great Hall for lunch, some of whom were eyeing your clasped hands with interest. He yanked his hand away.

"So good luck explaining that to...literally everyone here." You stood, gathering your things. Theo marvelled at the resilience of your book bag when it didn't split open as you pulled it up to your shoulder.

"I'm off for Transfiguration. See you Saturday at 6."

And when you bent to press a kiss to Theo's cheek, he didn't bother leaning away.

Theo was staring into a mirror, hair slick with gel, trying to fix this cowlick that kept falling right in the middle of his forehead. Around him, chaos ensued.

Enzo was studying a retro muggle video game for his Muggle Studies project and, naturally, Mattheo had to screw with him as much as he could. All the while, Blaise was yelling at them to take their scuffle elsewhere, telling them off for crumpling the plastic sheaves of his good binder. Somewhere in the background, there was a knocking sound. Did ankle sprains cause tinnitus?

Empty weekends like these were always rough, but they were especially so when all four of the boys were cooped up together. The air outside was heavy and sticky with the week-long drizzle that refused to let up, making the walk to Hogsmeade downright unbearable.

Theo shook his head, separating his curls. The knocking got louder. It was definitely real, presumably by someone coming to tell them to keep it down. The cowlick fell stubbornly against his forehead once again. From outside the bathroom, there was a violent crash.

That was it. After multiple warnings and 'don't make me come over there's, Theo had finally reached the end of his fuse. He stepped out of the bathroom.

"Oi! Cut it out, all of you. Mattheo, give Enzo his game back. Enzo, go sit in the corner 'til you've calmed down. Blaise, get over yourself and get a new binder."

The thudding on the door increased in volume.

"And somebody get the fucking door!"

Theo retreated back into the bathroom. The noise immediately ceased. He sighed in relief. Finally, some peace and quiet.

There was a soft knock on the bathroom door.

"Theo, someone's here for you."

Theo fiddled with his hair, only half-listening. "Tell them to go away."

"It's a girl."

"Tell her to go away."

"Are you decent?"

Theo looked up at the sound of the striking voice. He had only heard it a couple of times, and never before this week, but it had the kind of piercing quality that made it stand out in a crowd. He glanced at the clock. You were 15 minutes early.

And too impatient to wait for a reply, apparently. The door swung open to reveal you, dressed in frills and ribbons with gigantic hair, carefully shielding your eyes, next to a shit-eating-grin-wearing Mattheo.

"Is he decent?" you asked Mattheo.

"Morally? Debatable. But he has pants on if that's what you're asking."

You dropped your hand. Your eyes swept his outfit. You didn't look too pleased.

"You're not even dressed yet?"

Theo looked down and scanned the very outfit you were eyeing disapprovingly.

"This is what I'm wearing."

He looked up and caught a glimpse of your face.

"Why? What's wrong with it?"

You looked visibly aggrieved by his fashion choice.

"It's so...boring. I said '80s' and you thought black shirt, black jeans?"

"What's wrong with a black shirt, black jeans?"

"Nothing. Unless you're going to an 80s-themed party."

You stepped away from the bathroom's threshold while Theo frowned over what he had thought was a simple, perfectly acceptable outfit.

"This was the best I could come up w - yeah, sure. Go ahead. Go through my clothes. Turn my wardrobe upside down. Go right ahead. It's not like this is my room. Or my clothes. Merlin forbid I claim an inch of this space as m- "

"Are you done?" You asked, extricating yourself from the recesses of Theo's wardrobe. He couldn't tell if your hair looked more or less frizzy. You held out a frilly, powder blue suit Mattheo had bought him as a gag gift for his seventeenth birthday.

"No."

"Just try it on!"

"Absolutely not."

"Come on, please? I probably won't even like the look of it."

"Brilliant. Then what I'm wearing is perfect."

You gave him a look. "But I have to make sure that I won't like it."

Between his roommates and you, Theo's resolve was worn out. Grudgingly, he changed into the suit. If anything, his cowlick made him look even more stupid in this get-up.

"You look so much better," you chirped happily, approvingly examining the patterned insides of the jacket's pockets. "Don't you think?"

Theo narrowed his eyes at your too-innocent smile.

"I think," he said, "you're wasted in Ravenclaw."

"It's just one night, Theo," you continued, like you hadn't heard him. "I don't even have a camera or anything."

"But I do. Smile."

Theo was blinded by a flash from Mattheo's camera from behind you. He scowled at Mattheo, who was too busy pulling out the printed polaroid. He eyed it with satisfaction as it began to develop. "I always knew this day would come," he murmured.

Meanwhile, you doubled your wheedling efforts.

"Please? For me? The girl who knocked you down in front of all of your teammates and won't hesitate to do it again?"

Theo glared at you. "You're not helping your case, you know."

But you must have been doing something right, because five minutes later, he was waving goodbye to his roommates in the powder blue suit. The two of you walked up to the castle's gates into the Muggle car Theo had rented for the evening. As Theo turned the key in the ignition, adjusting his mirrors and seat, you reached over to fix his hair.

"Don't touch my - " Theo swatted your hand away, warily checking his reflection in the rearview mirror. Shockingly, his cowlick was gone. His hair was exactly how he wanted it.

"Long hair suits you. Did you know that?" you said, following his gaze into the mirror, in that assertive, know-it-all tone of yours, like it was a universally agreed-upon fact that Theo looked good with long hair. Grumbling, Theo shifted the gearstick into drive, turning down the road to Hogsmeade.

"Can I try?" you asked for the sixth time, perched on the boot of the Cadillac convertible. Theo pushed his fringe out of his eyes, feeling the back of his neck grow moist.

"I've almost got it," he replied from somewhere underneath the hood for the sixth time.

You rolled your eyes, fanning yourself with a magazine you had found in the backseat. Halfway to Hogsmeade, the car decided to sputter and choke to a stop. What Theo had initially diagnosed as a five-minute problem had grown into a twenty-minute problem and showed no sign of ending.

“I thought you said it was the carburettor,” you called out, already feeling sluggish in the heat of the setting sun.

“I said I think it’s the carburettor.”

You rolled your eyes.

There was a loud clang, a muffled curse, and an alarming hissing sound. Sighing, you abandoned your magazine and hopped off the boot. You came around the hood to see Theo shaking out his hand, like he had been burned, swearing colourfully under his breath.

While he had the sense to leave his jacket in the car, the front of his shirt was splattered with windshield wiper fluid. A rogue curl had escaped and was now sticking to his forehead. His collar had wilted in the heat, and half of his sleeves were probably crumpled beyond help from where they had been folded to his elbow.

And yet, infuriatingly, he still managed to look good. Good in that maddening, ravenous way where you couldn't decide if you wanted to ditch him on the side of the road or climb him like a tree.

Theo tapped at a knob tentatively with his wrench, dropping it when the knob sparked. You had to physically shut your eyes. He was so pathetic, so hot.

“I'm pretty sure I’ve isolated the issue,” Theo was saying, wiping his hands on a cloth. “Definitely a leak of the, erm, braking fluid.”

You fixed Theo with a look. You narrowed his eyes at him.

“You made that up just now.”

“Did not,” he replied, a little too fast.

“Did so.”

Theo frowned, squinting into the hood. “Just five more minutes,” he mumbled, picking up his wrench again.

You muttered something rude under your breath and pushed him out of the way gently, not that he resisted much. You pushed back your hair and studied the interior of the hood.

"See?" came Theo's slightly whiny voice from somewhere cooler. "There's too many fiddly things, it's impossib-"

You pulled out your wand. After a little trial and error, a few whispered spells, the engine gave a healthy sputter and purred back to life.

You stepped back and closed the hood. Theo blinked.

“Huh.”

“Huh,” you repeated mockingly.

You examined your watch and hurried back to the passenger seat. "Now let's get going before it gets too dark."

"Yes, ma'am," Theo said, climbing into the driver's seat.

You flicked his ear in response. You could see the smile biting into his cheek as he checked his mirrors, not noticing that his cowlick was back with a vengeance.

You looked out the windshield, watching the trees go by as you tried to ignore how you were half in love him.

The party was more fun than you expected. And it did feel a little less lonely having someone to drive you there and back, all the while patiently taking the brunt of your teasing. Theo took you back to the castle, walked you up to your common room with surprising stamina (he didn't run all those laps for nothing, then) and bid you goodnight.

And that was the end of that.

Only, you were realising, part of you didn't want it to end. Against your will, everywhere you looked, Theo kept catching your eye - in the corridors, on the staircases, in the Great Hall, on the pitch. It was his fault, really, taking up so much space with all that height. Taking up so much of your mind with all those lazy half-smiles and crinkled eyes.

A couple of mornings later, Theo was jogging laps on the Quidditch pitch again. His grey shirt was soaked in sweat, his fringe falling into his eyes. The early morning air had that familiar crisp edge and the rhythmic murmur of his teammate's footfalls. Theo slowed to a walk, wiping his face with his shirt, when he felt it - that same pricking at the back of his neck. That same unease. He looked in the direction of the Great Hall warily.

“Stopping so soon?” you called out suddenly, from where you had been watching him in the stands.

Theo startled so hard he almost tripped.

“Fuck - how long have you been there?”

"Long enough," you replied languidly, taking in the endearing rosy flush of his cheeks. You waved Mattheo's Potions textbook in the air as Theo walked towards you.

"You can't be doing that to people with already elevated heart rates," he scolded weakly, taking the book you were holding out to him.

You grinned. “Mattheo’s. Try not to get too much sweat on it.”

Theo nodded. "Thanks. I've been needing to level my bed with something."

You swallowed the smile that threatened to break across your face. Merlin forbid he realised you found him funny. You tried to keep your tone light, casual.

“So… what’re you reading these days? Anything interesting?”

Theo looked a little lost. “Like...books?"

You held back an eye roll. “Yeah, I guess.”

"Oh. I've been re-reading Gatsby lately."

You nodded. “Classic. You should tell me about it sometime, over coffee."

Theo’s brow furrowed.

“You've never read The Great Gatsby?"

You gave Theo a dirty look, unable to maintain your polite veneer. "Of course I've read The Great Gatsby. I just wanted to hear your take on it."

Theo stared at you some more. "You want to hear...what I think, about Gatsby?"

"Yeah, sure." It was almost insulting, really, of how disbelieving he appeared of your good, perfectly innocent intentions.

“Uh… okay?” Theo said cautiously.

You stood, partly disappointed, partly peeved. “Great," you said flatly. "Good chat, then.”

You turned away and started walking back to the Great Hall, kicking yourself. How much plainer did you have to make the invitation?

Theo watched you walk off, still a little confused. He jogged back to the pitch, resuming his laps. What was all that about? You wanted to hear what he thought about Gatsby? Not much, especially in comparison to you. He'd hardly have anything to contribute to the conversation that you didn't already know. Why, the two of you would be better off talking about literally anything else.

Theo stopped. The realisation hit him like a ton of bricks.

"WAIT - talk - coffee - yes, Y/N, YE- "

#i initally had it as a 70s themed party but changed it to 80s themed to honour the 80s inspired beat of the song woooo #also a second sabrina carpenter easter egg was the 15 minutes heheh #polaroids was another 80s easter egg #also had to crack out the vehicle repair part of my driving lessons so hopefully i remembered the anatomy of whats under the hood correctly #theo nott #theo nott x reader #theodore nott #theodore nott x reader #theodore nott x you #theodore nott x y/n #theodore nott fluff

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plethorawrites · 5 months ago

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How long does it take them to get engaged and married???

---___---___---___---___---___---___---___---___---_

Bruce: Long time to get engaged, long time to get married. He's traditional, to an extent. And wanted to do things right. He takes a respectable amount of time to court you, publicly. To make sure his kids approve. To make sure your family approves. Hell, to make sure you approve. And then, it takes forever to plan the wedding. It has to be elaborate, an event the entire city gathers for since it will be on every magazine and news channel. But once it is happening, it's perfect. Of course.

Jason: Long time to get engaged, quick to get married. He's hesitant to even start dating and doubts anyone would ever put up with him long enough to want to live together, let alone marry him. But things, somehow, manage to go well and even though your relationship moves at a much much slower pace than other couples, once he knows for sure he wants to get married, he wants it to happen without any waiting. It's an elopement, obviously. If anyone, he'd reluctantly have his brother's and dad there with Alfred to officiate. The man can do anything.

Tim: Quick to get engaged, long time to get married. He's always had good instincts and knows immediately when you trust his gut. It had never told him that he'd found someone to spend forever with, but when it did, he knew it wasn't lying. He trusted himself. And he trusted you, too. Enough to propose right before or shortly after one year. That said, you don't need to rush into anything and don't start planning the wedding for another two or three years.

Dick: Long time to get engaged, quick to get married. He has bad luck in love, always falling hard and fast in a way that never lasts. So this time, he waits. A while. For an impatient man who's always moving, that's tough. But he manages. And once he knows for sure that your relationship is stable, he wants to be married as soon as possible. A decently large wedding, too. So he can show you off properly.

Damian: Quick to get engaged, quick to get married. He's always upfront about what he wants so it's understandable that he knew immediately he wanted to marry you. You weren't just a suitable match, you were perfect. Challenged him, supported him, knew him in every way. He proposes within six months, even though his whole family said not to. And you, not to his surprise, accept. His family tells him to wait to get married but you don't. The wedding, while extravagant, is quickly planned within the next three months after that. Few thought it would last given the lack of actual time during the relationship. But somehow, it does.

#headcanon #x reader #jason todd #jason todd x reader #plethorawrites #batboys #dc comics #dick grayson x reader #tim drake x you #bruce wayne x you #damian wayne x you #damian wayne x reader #bruce wayne x reader #tim drake x reader #dick grayson x you #jason todd x you

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the-shedevil-writes · 1 month ago

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Drunk on You (Bob Floyd x Reader)

DESCRIPTION: Bob rarely drinks. But after losing a bet with Phoenix, he ends up downing five drinks of her choice—none of them realizing just how absurdly strong they are. Leaving you to take care of your sweet and very drunken boyfriend as he fights for his life. WORD COUNT: 3.3k WARNINGS: Drinking/Accidental Drunkenness, Cussing

MY MASTERLIST - READ ON AO3!

Friday nights were reserved for drunken pool games at The Hard Deck with Y/n’s favorite squad of pilots. But by the end of the week, she was exhausted. Work, for some reason, had been a much bigger load to bear. People were just much more forgetful, rude, and critical this week, leaving her to pick up the pieces. She just wanted to stay in, maybe watch a movie, and sleep.

When she told her boyfriend, Bob, this over the phone, he immediately stepped in. “Do you want me to stay back with you? I know you’ve had a hard week.” He said sweetly.

She shook her head, “No, you’re all good. If you wanna swing by after, go ahead though.” She reassured. Though she’d love to just lie in bed with Bob, and hold each other till they were fast asleep and drooling. The TV always ended up playing the ‘continue watching?’ screen.

“Okay, I shouldn’t be out too late. Might have a few drinks because I lost a bet to Phoenix.” He said, sighing.

That made her chuckle. She was not surprised by that in the slightest. Bob wasn’t a huge drinker. He’d have a beer every once and a while and call it a night. But that just made it easier for the dagger squad to have leverage against him.

“That’s fine. Be safe.” She said into the phone

“I always am.”

Well, it was 11 PM. She was in the middle of her millionth Friends rewatch, and she was bored out of her mind. Maybe she should’ve gone to Hard Deck. She took a handful of popcorn and shoved it in her mouth.

Then her phone rang. Caller ID: Chicken. Obviously, her screen name for Rooster. Her brows furrowed, but she shrugged as she reached for her phone. It was probably going to be just him grumbling about how she didn’t come out and how much fun she was missing. She pressed the green answer button.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Y/n- Uh- We’ve got a situation,” Rooster said over the speaker.

Oh god. What happened? A million different possibilities played through her mind. Did Bob get hurt? Did someone hit on him? Did he die in some freak accident? There were too many ‘situations’ that this could be. And it was only 11 PM.

“What do you mean?” She asked worriedly.

“IS THAT Y/N?” A familiar voice echoed faintly in the back… Was that?

“Bud, go- go sit in Jake’s truck.” Rooster said off to the side, “So, Phoenix brought this new daiquiri seltzer thing for Bob to drink as part of their bet. And neither of them realized it had a 70% alcohol content.” He sounded like he was wincing, as if waiting to hear her yell at him.

“Jesus Christ! Is he okay?” She asked, more worried than anything else.

“Yeah, he only had a couple, but for a guy who barely drinks… He’s pretty gone. We were talking about having him just stay at my place, but we didn’t know if you guys had plans.”

She immediately jumped into action, “Bring him to mine. He has a bunch of his stuff here.” She said firmly. “How’s Phoenix? Does she need anything?”

“She’s fine. She had a lot less. We’re getting Bob water, then we’ll be on our way.”

“Alrighty. Sounds good.”

She hung up the phone and started prepping for his arrival. Usually, it was the other way around. On a crazy Friday night, it was Bob taking care of her drunken mess. So even though she was tired, she wasn’t mad. It’s not like he had planned on this.

She grabbed a bunch of plastic water bottles and put them on her bedside table. There were some extra clothes he kept in a drawer in her closet. She loved that drawer. She loved the fact that it existed. That he felt comfortable enough dating her to leave his things there.

Ibuprofen for when he was hungover the next day. Snacks for if he needed something to soak everything up. And an extra blanket for if he got the chills.

Yeah, it was safe to say that she was very experienced in being dysfunctionally drunk… Was that a problem? She dusted her hands off. Oh well, it just meant that she knew exactly how to take care of Bob, who was probably getting his world fucking rocked.

A knock on the door broke her out of her thoughts, and she ran over to open it. When she did, she found a sober Hangman and Rooster holding up a disheveled Bob. His glasses were crooked on his face, and his typically tidy hair was pushed back and standing up. A red drunken flush crossed his cheeks. She had never seen him so wrecked.

“Hey, party animals,” She said, trying to keep the atmosphere light, letting them in.

“Hey… Sorry to crash your night in.” Rooster said with a guilty expression.

“Oh, it’s no problem. This is kind of an emergency.”

Meanwhile, Bob looked up at Hangman with a hazy smile. “That’s my girlfriend.” He slurred, nodding proudly. She broke into a smile.

Hangman nodded, pretending to be entertained, “Yeah, buddy. Very astute.” He dropped his smile and looked over at her, “He has not shut up about you, all freaking night.”

She gave a smile that said ‘awww’. Poor Bob. Even in his inebriated state, he was still thinking about her.

“Where do you want us to put him?” Rooster asked, still holding onto Bob, who looked like he was doing his best to be present… but failing.

“Here, we’ll take him to my room.” She said, leading them in.

After they got Bob lying on the bed, she walked them to the door. The two lieutenants walked out with their tails between their legs, saying their sorrys. She tried to reassure them that it was completely fine. But they were good guys. It was clear they felt bad for crashing her night, and also probably for not reading the tiny wording on the front of the bottle.

She walked back into her bedroom to find Bob lying on top of the blankets. His cheek pressed up against the pillow, and his legs sprawled out.

“Baby… I’m drunk.” He cried out.

That made her heart hurt. She knew he didn’t like to drink very much. That he didn’t like the feeling of it. She walked over to the bed and gently sat by his feet. Reaching out to hold his ankle.

“I know. I can see that. Let’s get you out of this uniform and into something comfy.” Her voice was softer than normal.

He nodded, slowly blinking. She moved over to the floor and knelt by his face so she could take his glasses off. The wire frames were currently being crushed between his face and the bed. She reached out to grab the arms of it, and he sighed just looking at her.

“My god, you’re so pretty.” He slurred. His blue eyes looked up at her. Pupils huge enough that she could see her reflection in them. “Don’t- Don’t take my glasses off. I wanna see my pretty girl.”

She couldn’t help the smile that grew on her face. Taking care of Bob really wasn’t bad at all. “Thank you. But you’re crushing your glasses. The arms might get all bent.”

His eyes widened in understanding. “Oh yeah.” He said, sitting up clumsily to avoid that. His body swayed, as if he were sitting on a ship.

She stood back up and gently took the glasses off his face. He looked up at her with his big doe eyes. After some admiring, he reached out his arms and looked up at her, as if asking for permission. She chuckled and walked in between his legs so he could wrap his arms around her waist. His face pressed up against her stomach. ��I missed you. I just wanted to go home.”

She stretched over and put his glasses on the bedside table before hugging him back and scratching the back of his head. He let out a shaky exhale at that. It made her heart skip a beat that he called her house ‘home’. Or maybe it wasn’t the house. Maybe she was his home.

“Yeah, I know. We’re gonna get you sober soon.” She reassured. She left his arms and grabbed the shirt and boxers that she had picked out and left on the dresser. Returning to him, sitting obediently on the bed, she began to unbutton his khaki shirt.

He giggled, “I always- I always like it when you do that.” He stammered while squinting his eyes, as if he was trying to get the best view of her without his glasses.

“I know you do. But tonight we’re just sleeping, mister.” She teased

“That’s my favorite.” He said, happily nodding as she took off the overshirt.

“Arms up for me, baby.” She said, and he did it, letting her slip the white T-shirt underneath over his head, “You’re a very easy drunk to take care of.” She commented.

He smiled to himself as she helped him put on the old Lemoore Union High School shirt he used for pajamas. “I-I don’t wanna make your week worse.” He admitted softly.

Oh yeah. The horrible week had slipped her mind. She had told him so so many times over the phone about it in the past few days. There were a few times she’d sniffle and tear up on their phone calls, out of frustration built up. And he’d always try and be right over because that was just Bob. He never wanted to see his girl upset.

And it was clear he was worried about upsetting her right then.

“Bob, any time I spend with you is the best part of my week.” She said truthfully, “This included.” She kissed his head, and he closed his eyes, just letting himself feel the bliss for a moment.

After Bob was done changing into some fresher boxers, she had him sit up against the bed frame. She handed him a water bottle, which he accepted eagerly.

“Don’t drink too fast or you’ll throw up.” She said, “You’ve seen me do it.”

He chuckled at that and took a slow sip of water. She crawled onto the bed and sat next to him, checking her phone and reading the group texts from Rooster and Hangman teasing everybody about the night.

Chicken: Well, that’s the last time Phoenix ever brings a drink to the function. Jesus Christ.

Bagman: Will send all blackmail here in the morning so it hits you harder hungover. Take a shot every time Bob talks about his girlfriend in the videos.

“You are so pretty, Y/n.”

She turned her attention back to him, “You’ve said that quite a lot tonight.” She said, raising her brows. The constant repeats made her wonder what exactly he was saying to Hangman all night.

“You should- you should be a model.” He hiccuped, “Like those girls on Hangman’s w-all.”

The water had given him a bad case of the hiccups, but he seemed just eager to talk to her now with a little more energy.

She furrowed her brows and smirked. “Who are the girls on Hangman’s wall?”

He closed his eyes and nodded at nothing. “When we share a stateroom, he’s got these big p-osters. With- with these ladies on it.”

She was trying to stifle her laugh as he talked with his eyes closed.

“And they’re all in like red bikinis on the beach or- or on the American flag… I don’t think that’s allowed.” He said, sadly shaking his head, which made her laugh out loud. She couldn’t hold it in at what looked like his genuine disappointment about a violation of The Flag Code.

He blinked his eyes open at her laugh. His favorite sound in the whole world. A bashful look went over his face. “But none of them are prettier than you.”

“You’re crazy, baby. Thank you. Maybe at some point I’ll do a photoshoot like that and print you a poster.” She offered.

His eyes practically bugged out of his head at the thought. A surprised cough came from his throat as he pointed up to the ceiling. “But I-IIIIIII wouldn’t put it on the bunk wall. That’s just for me.” He said, nodding and leaning over so he could lie in her lap. Even though the subject matter was scandalous, he wasn’t touchy. He wasn’t trying to start anything. He just wanted to spend this horribly sloshed time with his girl.

“Oh, that’s just for you?” She repeated, teasingly looking down at him, as she brushed her fingers through his hair. He looked up at her with half-lidded eyes. “How are you feeling? Are you feeling dizzy? Thirsty? Hungry?”

He shook his head. “I feel better. I’m gonna feel bad tomorrow though.” He groaned.

She nodded, “But that’s why I’m here. I’m gonna make us breakfast, and get you lots of water and ibuprofen.” She sang softly.

The blissed smile returned to his face. “You’re an angel. A literal angel.” He reached out and held her hand.

She squeezed his hand back. “What even happened? What was the bet?”

He groaned again. His face crumpling up and it was simply adorable. “So, so there’s this strike we’re training for. And- and the target is like… It’s like…”

She did her best to seem attentive and listen, but she was fighting the urge to smile. Playing with his messed-up sandy blonde hair between her fingers, she found it interesting how he struggled to speak. Usually, when he explained missions to her, he was able to explain it straight to the point… Not tonight.

“The target is like… super duper tiny. And I was like, heyyyy no problem. Nooooo problem for Bob. No, no.” He said, giggling to himself in her lap, “But Phoenix said I couldn’t do it. And I was like- that’s mean.”

“So you bet that you could do it.” She finished his story.

He nodded, “Mmmhmm, I-I bet that I could do it first try. Which was stupid. And my punishment was drinking 5 drinks of Phoenix’s choice.”

“Why’d she choose that one?” She asked curiously

“LOOK!” He said suddenly, very loudly with his eyes shot open, which made her laugh, “Sheee thought that she was doing me a favor. She had heard that this brand tasted like juice. So it’d be easier for me, ya know.”

She nodded, listening. It was sweet that he was still defending his pilot. Even though he was absolutely wrecked, he wasn’t angry at Phoenix.

“And it did. It tasted like strawberry juice. Like your favorite. But the percentage was so high.” Bob whined, “Per can.”

“70% per CAN? These were canned drinks?” She groaned

He nodded, clearly regretting. “Not fun. Not fun at all.”

After a little bit of just talking, he started drifting off on her lap. She gently moved him off of her, just so she could lie down next to him. He grumbled, but he was too exhausted and dizzy to protest. She tucked him in under the blanket and turned off the bedside lamp.

When she shifted onto her side, she felt Bob scooch over and wrap his arms around her. He squeezed her against him like a teddy bear, looking for comfort. She sighed, relaxed, and smiled to herself. She did a good job. He’s gonna be just fine.

The next morning, Bob woke up with a loud groan. His head felt like it was being split open with an axe. Sitting up, he looked around dazed and blind for a second before remembering that he was in his girlfriend’s bedroom. He reached for his glasses on the bedside table, putting them on.

He found a sticky note next to a water bottle and painkillers,

‘Picking up eggs for breakfast. Drink the water and ibuprofen… Don’t throw up in bed, please :)’

He did so. He chugged the water and threw back the pills now that his stomach wasn’t as sensitive. A queasy feeling took over him, but he was used to it. He flew jets after all, so nausea didn’t often get him to throw up. After some deep breaths, the feeling subsided.

After that, he checked his phone to see that the group chat had blown up.

The most recent messages were from 2 AM, and it was a picture of Phoenix passed out on Rooster’s couch. A blanket draped over her as her mouth hung open with a little drool on her chin.

Rooster: Get this woman her car keys.

A groan mixed with a laugh escaped him right as Y/n walked in.

“Morning, baby. How’s the hangover?”

God, he was so glad to see her. He was so happy to be in his girlfriend’s room, and not on Rooster’s couch.

“Bad. So bad.” He sighed, rubbing his face.

“You feeling good enough to eat? I’m gonna just make some quick eggs and toast.”

With a tired nod, he got out of bed. He walked over to her and silently wrapped his arms around her. “Yes, please.” He rested his chin on top of her head. “Thank you for taking care of me.”

She sighed into his neck. “Any time… You’re always taking care of me when I’m drunk anyway. It’s about time I redid the favor.” She chuckled.

A little bit later, they sat at her kitchen counter, eating their eggs and toast. Bob picked at his slowly, wary of making himself sick. She had her phone out and scrolled through the various videos Hangman sent. Starting from the beginning of the night, there was a video of a sober Bob sitting in a booth and looking at the camera with dread.

“My name is Bob Floyd. And this video is to document that Natasha Trace was completely and utterly right.” He said before opening a white can with a strawberry label and cheering it to the camera.

The next video was Bob, a little gone, but not as bad as the state she saw him in. “My name is Robert. And- and I’m three drinks in… These are kinda strong, Hangman.” He burped.

“They’re the most girly drink she could find, Bob,” Hangman said off-camera.

“Anyway. I miss my girlfriend, and I wanna go home.” He said before taking a sip of his fourth can.

The last video was chaotic and shaky footage of Bob being helped into Hangman’s truck. In the background, they could hear Rooster on the phone with her. He scooched in and lay across the back seat. “Where’s Y/n? How come she’s not here?” He asked confused, making her laugh as she watched back the footage. Bob couldn’t even watch it; he just groaned, listening to the audio.

“She’s at home. We’re taking you to her, I think.” Hangman said.

“I love her so much.” He slurred, “I’m gonna- ’m gonna marry that girl. She’s so smart. And so pretty.”

She gasped and laughed out loud watching that back. Bob’s eyes shot open. He said that?!

Hangman turned the camera to himself, revealing a monotone expression. He looked pissed off before turning the camera back to show Bob again.

“Hangman, where’s my phone? I- I wanna call her.”

“I have it so you don’t, dumbass.”

Then the recording ended, and she looked over at Bob, who had his head in his hands.

“You’re so sweet.” She said, leaning over to poke at his shoulder

“I hope you know that I’d say it all again sober.” He said nervously. He didn’t want her to think that it was just a drunk accident. All of what he said was true; he just didn’t say it so pointedly all the time. Some liquid convincing just made all his feelings burst out.

“I know.” She said confidently, “I love you, too.”

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