#it’s giving ‘Hey Monday’ vibes | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

leclsrc · 2 years

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see it through ✴︎ cl16

genre: friends to lovers, fake dating au, fluff!, humor, slight angst, slow burn-ish, yearning

word count: 9k

“It’s a proposition for the fans.” She smiles. “It’s a fake relationship.” Or: you go from social media manager to girlfriend in under a day. Keeping up appearances for Charles’ family isn’t easy, until it is – and until they’re not really appearances anymore.

notes... internet translated italian ahaha

auds here... this fic is quite long! i hope you all like it. title from this bee gees song which reappears in the fic later. few music references here so if you like to listen to music, just look for the titles, they’re famous!

You’d gotten the phone call on a Saturday morning.

Barely morning, you realized when you were digging for your phone in the sheets, half-asleep—it’d been five minutes past noon. You’d swiped, pressed the phone to your ear, and waited for the other end to speak, eyes shut.

“Good morning,” a vague voice had said on the other said, distinctly American. “This is Jenna Griffin, newly appointed PR specialist for Ferrari. Your boss told me you were free for lunch on Monday, so can I pencil you in for a one-thirty meeting?”

You click your tongue. “Um, yeah.”

“Wonderful. Monday, one-thirty. Apologies for the weekend call, it’s for Mr. Leclerc.” The line buzzes dead after, and you flop backwards onto your bed, confused out of your mind.

Your job for Ferrari was simple—create social media content, do the occasional damage control, have a pre-interview discussion with journalists, and generally stay out of everyone’s hair. It’s not a high-maintenance job, but it pays well, and you get to travel; plus, you’re young, and you figure this is just a stepping stone for a more legitimate post. Your point is, you’ve never gotten into trouble before, and are only at meetings to take minutes or get assignments.

Which is why a Monday lunch meeting—on your vacation, nonetheless—seems so out of the ordinary. And arranged by a PR agent from Ferrari? Last you’d heard, cars were objects and didn’t need publicity. The whole affair gives off a vibe of semi-mystery, almost, like you’re in the MI6 and taking lucrative calls in alleyways.

You feel through your bag for your hotel key card, wallet, and phone, and finding them all there, you leave and make your way to the restaurant. You’re not too nervous; you’ve had to have your own sit-down talks with higher-ups and even Charles or Carlos before, but none of the “you’re fired” variety.

The restaurant isn’t far from where you’re staying, so you shove sunnies on and trek there, managing to make it inside unscathed.

Table 17, the text reads, and you’re quickly ushered into a private section of the place. It’s empty, save for a couple and a far-off table seating one guy, whose back is to you. You realize it’s Charles when you squint your eyes harder. The waitress doesn’t give you much of a choice and seats you across him, promising to return with noontime champagne.

You slide your sunglasses onto your hair and look up. “Hi,” you say politely.

“Hey,” Charles says back casually. He wears a Richard Mille and a few other bracelets, a linen blue polo, and jeans.

“New PR thing?”

Charles smiles, shrugging. “Man, I’ve no idea. Wake up on Saturday and I’m due for a meeting. Is this for social media?”

Huh, so he doesn’t know either. “I don’t know. It was a super random call for me, too.”

He shrugs. “Both clueless.”

“Right. So, to be clear, we’re waiting for—”

“I am so sorry I’m late,” a woman says sheepishly, her heels clicking along the tiled floor. She definitely looks the part for a PR officer: pantsuit, heels, a blond bob, ridiculously expensive handbag, eccentric sunglasses. “Scusami, really.” Her Italian apology has an American twang.

“All okay,” says Charles with a small smile. “We were barely waiting, no?”

You nod, offering a tight-lipped smile of your own. “Yeah, don’t worry about it.”

She slides into the seat beside him and waves a waiter over, ordering in quickfire English; clearly, she’s been here before. Absently, you wonder if her previous affairs in this restaurant were also to have clandestine meetings. Your reverie doesn’t last long, though, because immediately Jenna’s starting her agenda. “So, are introductions in order?”

“I, um,” you say, “I’d say so, yes.”

“Alright, spectacular. I’m Jenna Griffin, just moved to Monte Carlo after living and working in SoCal. I’ve been appointed as a PR manager for Charles here, but don’t worry. You’re in good hands. I’ve handled three Kardashians, two NBA players, two One Direction members, and a lot of nepo babies.”

“Wow,” you say, nodding.

“Cool.” Charles says, clearly impressed.

Jenna’s gaze flits between the two of you, both smiling at each other. “Right,” she says. “Let’s get down to business.” She clears her throat and pulls out her phone from her handbag, scrolling for a few moments. While the silence settles, you steal another glance at Charles, and hide a chuckle when you find his eyes already glancing back at you.

“Aren’t we waiting for Carlos?” He asks, taking a sip of water.

His PR agent looks up briefly, then answers. “Actually, it’s just you two today.”

You nod slowly, burrowing even further into the confusion you’d been feeling since Saturday. It wasn’t like you were expecting Carlos, per se, but a meeting with just you and him—now, that’s a bit strange.

“So, I know this is all very confusing. But it’s happening for a reason,” says Jenna. “Charles—and I really only feel qualified to say this because I’ve done my research—has been on a streak of…erm, well, lady-related scandals lately.”

“Oh, God,” Charles groans across you, and you chew your lip. You’ve seen the headlines, but you’re still clueless as to how this concerns you.

“As a PR agent, I think it won’t do good for his public image to be seen as somebody who sleeps around.”

“It was two headlines,” Charles cuts in with a laugh. “And they were both fake. Please don’t misunderstand.”

Jenna clicks her tongue. “Yeah, the public definitely has some thoughts.” She turns to her phone and reads off of it. “‘Charles is a playboy and not a driver’, ‘Leclerc is too busy pulling girls’… times ten thousand. So, yeah, it’s a bit of a smear.”

“Right, okay. Listen, I’m not sure I understand,” you say with a stuffy laugh. “What has all this got to do with me?”

“Everything,” she answers with a smile. You raise a brow. “Well, you see, we PR managers always have a network. We keep tabs on who’s who, and who needs what. As a new manager, I need to implement some of my strategies around here. Go digging, you know? Find something good. And when I found your pretty little face in the background of many of Charles’ paddock photos, I realized you could help create something newsworthy.”

“Are you talking about a PR stunt?” You ask, your frown deepening.

“Well—virtually, essentially, yes.” She opens her mouth to explain but is interrupted by the serving of champagne and appetizers. “Okay. Don’t think this is a haphazard decision. Naturally, we had to find out if this would even be a good idea…”

“Which it’s not,” you say, taking a swig of champagne.

She nods. “The thing is, your bosses and I really did go over several scenarios, and this one seems the most likely to keep your fans engaged. This way, the appearances won’t look so staged.”

“—Jenna,” Charles says, clearly having detected your hesitance, “I don’t think she’s interested.”

“It’s fine,” you say, but you still sound off-put. It’s not fine, not really. “I don’t see how this is going to help Charles, though. I’d think the idea of him being committed to somebody would just further alienate his fangirls.”

Jenna chuckles. “While that is, to some extent, true, the number of fans who would go gaga over the two of you far, far outweighs the opposing population. This is a special case. A girl next door social media manager with a social media presence—and a wildly popular, totally charming Formula One driver? I mean, talk about Harry and Meghan! Everybody loves love. And, might I add, Charles’ male fans might actually like seeing you two together.”

You sigh, a quick huff of frustrated air. “So, what is this then?”

“It’s a proposition for the fans.” She smiles. “It’s a fake relationship.”

You reach for champagne, but find you’ve totally drained your glass. The room falls into muted silence, and you can’t bring yourself to look at Charles. You didn’t expect this on a Monday afternoon. You thought maybe it was a job termination. Or a leaked text message. Somehow, this is the strangest of all possibilities.

“So, good?” She chirps. “I’ll send you the primer.”

You both stare at each other. “We’re not actually going to. Right?”

“Right. We are not dating.”

—

“We’re dating!” You chirp, practicing your appearances in front of Carlos and Lando, who had visited the former.

“You two look like two people dating pretending to be friends,” Lando observes.

You grumble. Many of your shots had been staged pap photos outside his apartment, or fans happening to catch you two together; no official statement had been released, according to Jenna’s “masterplan.” For the most part, it was a good dynamic of putting up a façade for the public and settling back into a platonic relationship within minutes.

Nothing really goes wrong at first—and then Charles ruins it.

It happens after a Ferrari event in spring. You’re in Monza again, weather humid when you re-shoot the fifth TikTok for the day with Carlos. There are celebrities to and fro, even more journalists and a shitload of fans crowding the perimeter of the area. You’ve successfully pulled off the fake dating stunt, keeping a lowkey profile and doing your job.

There’s a green room for the drivers and close managers to wait and rest, where you stow yourself away to avoid the crowds. You review the reels and stories for the day, and cap it off with a “goodbye, Tifosi!” post with Carlos that’s enough to quell the many notifications.

Granted, many of the said notifications are of the speculative nature. Some are wondering if it’s you posting or if a new hire was underway to make room for the new couple. You ignore them anyway and take a seat on the couch across Carlos, sighing with exhaustion.

“Where’s your boyfriend?” He teases.

“Ha-ha,” you say, unimpressed. You gesture to the TV behind him, showing a live feed of Charles’ last interview of the day with Natalie Pinkham. Once this is over, you’re free for the week: free of social media manager and fake girlfriend responsibilities. The thought alone makes you well up with relief.

You and Carlos both watch intently as Charles answers several event-related questions that, to your horror, simmer into personal ones. Natalie sounds excited when she goes, “Any plans for the week with a special someone?”

Charles has no thought behind his eyes, a muted wave of panic coming over him as he fumbles for a response. “My family’s staying up in Tuscany, in a farmhouse we own, stay in for spring and summer. We are actually visiting them for the week.”

We are actually visiting them for the week. Your look of pure, unadulterated shock doesn’t go unnoticed by Carlos, who’s quick to snap pictures of you on his phone. What the hell is Charles talking about? Tuscany? No, family?

“I take it you didn’t know about this,” Carlos says with a laugh.

“You think?!” You holler, still appalled. Charles has a lot of gall to spin this without your permission, or Jenna’s for that matter. You know she’ll love it, though; it’s really, mainly, you who has a problem with it. Anxious, you get up and watch the broadcast end; not a minute later, Charles enters and offers a can of sparkling water to you.

“Thirsty?” He asks casually.

“Very,” you pipe, taking a gulp.

“You’re welcome,” he says teasingly.

“Oh, thanks! I think I’ve been busy thinking about the fact that I’m meeting your family!”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” He yells, trying to match your agitated volume. ��I didn’t know you were watchi—I was nervous! I didn’t know what to say anymore! And—you kno—well—and Natalie kept asking a ton of questions!”

Your face of disbelief matches his of sheepish apology, facing each other frozen. Across you, Carlos lets out an incredulous laugh, mumbles something about wanting popcorn. You honestly can’t blame him. Had you been an outsider, you would’ve relished in Charles’ slip-up, too. Instead, you’re the one who’s apparently going to Tuscany on Friday to meet the extended Leclerc clan.

“It’s fine. It’s gonna be”—you attempt to find an appropriate adjective—“bearable. At least we don’t need to keep up appearances there.”

You’re met with disagreeable silence. When Charles doesn’t chime in with an agreement, you turn slowly back to him. “No.”

“It’s only for a week—”

“No!”

“A week!”

You’re both standing up, pacing around the other frantically. Pretending to suddenly be bumped up from social media manager to Charles’ girlfriend was a daunting enough proposition. Getting hate mail and death threats was enough incentive to let you want to leave. Timing exits and entrances was difficult. And now, pretending to be together in front of his family? His family.

“Why can’t you just tell them we’re not actually dating?!”

“It’s just—it’s complicated having to explain why.” You remember his assortment of man-whore scandals and realization sinks into you. You sit on the arm of the couch, deflated and contemplative. Despite your own knowledge of the scandals being totally baseless and false, you understand it’s difficult to explain the lengths of tabloids and online rumors to older family members.

You might have to grin and bear it.

“Fine.” You digress. He cheers silently. “One week. Once our quickie breakup is finalized, you’re telling them it ended well. I don’t want to be in anybody’s bad graces.”

“Yeah, yeah, okay.”

Tuscany won’t be so bad, you think. What’s the worst that could happen?

—

Charles’ extended family greets you at their farmhouse when you arrive heaving two pieces of luggage. It’s populated by two aunts, three uncles, and two younger cousins, and their hospitality is contagious. They all somehow remind you of Charles, their faces, their laughs, their easy attitudes.

His aunts, Mia and Giulia, are the first to pull you in for a hug and inspect your face. Good eyebrows! Good lips! Healthy attractive child for you both!

You have to pry yourself off of them with giggles and smiles and pretend the kid comment was never uttered for your own sake. They’re kind, ushering you inside and serving dinner immediately, inquiring about the drive and if it was bad, if Charles had spotted any dead sheep or cattle on the way (none.)

His cousins are both little boys, eleven and six, shy and with thick accents. Charles’ smile is huge when he speaks to them in Italian, eyes comical and animated. His three uncles all eat fairly quietly, talking about politics, or racing, only when they feel like it.

They ask many questions, and tell so many stories, over limoncello and rigatoni that leave you stuffed after two platefuls. You didn’t think you’d be satisfied so soon after the drive, but you’re grateful for it. His uncle Giorgio leads the tour of the house, his voice slow and constantly sliding into Italian, but Charles is quick to supply a translation into your ear. Lit by terrace lights, you get a night view of the house, surrounded by the hills, the lemon trees, and a swimming pool in the back. Further back, there are two horses for riding, and bicycles for easier transportation.

A vineyard borders the other side of the hill, owned by a different family. You can’t digest the beauty of this place, even without the sun to provide a better view. You’re back inside, being shown the rest of the wide dining room and kitchen that lead out onto a balcony-terrace area, and then clambering the stairs to be shown your room—a beautiful one on the second floor that overlooks the hills.

“This is so beautiful,” you say honestly. “Thank you so much. And Charles will be staying…?”

“In my childhood bedroom!” He quips excitedly, already halfway out the door to review his living situation.

Giulia and Mia share a look and then the former goes, “Wait, Charles!”

He slows to a halt and turns, awaiting their words. “Ay. Bambino, because you have been in Monaco so long these days, and we have gotten a lot of stuff, your childhood bedroom is now more of a… storage room.”

“A storage room?!” He sounds scandalized.

“Bambino, mi dispiace,” she continues. “But—let’s not be conservative! You two have been dating now for a year, correct? Surely, you’ve slept in one bed.”

Your face grows warm. “Um, actu—”

“Shh,” Mia says kindly. “No need to make excuses. Charles, stay with your girlfriend. And we will wake you both for breakfast. Ciao!”

You barely voice your assent, managing to wedge in a thank you! before the door closes and leaves you and Charles alone.

In a room without a single couch. The only non-bed “resting” space is a single chair, and as much as you want to, you don’t want Charles to break his spine trying to sleep on it. The situation is clear. You need to configure the bed.

“We cannot sleep on the same bed.”

“I’ll take the floor.”

“No! I mean—ugh. I don’t want to risk you pulling a muscle. Also, more importantly, if any of your family walks in and sees you sleeping on the floor, they’re going to think we’re freaks.”

“The bed is big enough for us both,” he says, gesticulating. You narrow your eyes. If you’re going to be avoiding physical contact, it definitely isn’t. It’s like the gods had decided to bless the room with a bed perfect for two people snuggling.

You place your hands on your hips, analyzing the best way to tackle the situation. You won’t lie, you’d thought about the possibility of sharing a room—but a bed was completely different. You’d expected a couch, a loveseat of some kind, both of which are woefully missing. Thinking fast, you take the three decorative, cylindrical pillows and place them vertically on the centre of the bed.

You step back. “Okay. That’s our boundary.”

Each side is a bit small, but it’s the price to pay, you think, taking a long look at your handiwork. Beside you, Charles snorts. “That is not going to work.”

“I’ll bet you it will,” you say matter-of-factly, retreating to the bathroom to get ready for bed. When you emerge, Charles is fast asleep, half his body on your side of the boundary. You have to pour water on his face to shoo him away, and that’s when you’re positive your creation will work.

You place yourself gingerly on your side of the border, remaining perfectly still as you drift off to sleep. You wake up the next day on Charles’ chest, pushing him away before admitting you’d been in that position in the first place.

You slide him five euros over breakfast.

—

Charles is a good driver, skier, and biker—you can attest to this from being by his side, reviewing pictures and videos of him for a living.

But there’s one thing he absolutely sucks at, and it’s teaching. You thought you’d never have to attest to this, but here you are, with scraped knees and a smudge of soil on the hem of your shorts, on your sixth attempt to learn how to ride a bike.

It’d been his idea, like many of the odd things you’d gotten yourself into. “Let me make up for dragging you along,” he’d said, and then proceeded to commit attempted murder every time he sent you away on the bicycle. Five tries did you no good; Charles’ directions contradicted each other and came much too fast, causing you to crash into the grass or skid yourself to a halt, your sneakers coated in a light layer of dust.

“Why are we still trying?” You ask woefully, examining the scratches on your calf. And to think you would’ve gotten to go truffle hunting with his uncle had Charles not swept you away to bike.

“It is an important life skill. Just—don’t look at the ground. Okay. Andiamo!” He sends you off again, watches as you twist and careen into a bush. Again. Your groan of pain matches the ooof he lets out, jogging to help you up. You turn away from the ground and toward his face. His laughing face.

“Ow. What?” You ask, raising a brow. You flex your fingers, waiting for him to pull you upwards.

“You smashed into a bush and a berry’s all over your cheek.” He says, still laughing when he helps you up. You hold the tip of your pinky to your face, press down, and sure enough, when you inspect it again, it’s stained a dark berry color.

“Is this toxic?!” You ask, agitated.

“Che? Toxic? No, no. It’s a juniper berry.” He reaches over and swipes his thumb across your face, sending you into a frozen state. Your hands remain at your sides while he focuses on wiping the rest of the fruit off of your cheek, showing you his stained finger afterwards with a proud smile. “All gone.”

You turn and pick up the bicycle. “One more for good luck,” you say, shaking off the nerves and gut churning feeling deep in your stomach. You situate yourself atop the bike, trying to remember and re-remember all the tips Charles had given you.

“Don’t look down, just breathe, keep your eyes trained straight. If you crash, on the grass always. Better than this path.”

“Got it,” you say breathlessly, determined. You take off, eyes trained on the landscape in front of you, leaving the house behind and gliding quickly downhill. It takes you a beat to realize, however, that you’re not falling. You’re doing it—properly. You turn to voice your pride, but that’s what gets you caught in your thoughts.

Charles is cheering behind you, but once he detects you’re stumbling, he runs the few metres over. Still, he can’t catch you fast enough; you do manage to turn right and land on the grass. In his own rush, Charles trips on the horizontal bike, and lands right beside you, atop your arm.

Eventually you’re both doubled over laughing, your fingers finding purchase on the blunt grass. You both only quiet down when you hear his aunt’s car, old and rickety, grow louder. You look up to find Giulia peeking out of the driver’s window, her face as amused as it is confused.

Beside her, Mia yells. “Buon lavoro, Charles!”

“What’d she say?” You ask, still half-laughing.

“Good job,” he replies, entertained. “She said good job.”

—

Charles takes Giorgio’s Vespa and rides you both to town two days later, even with the offer of a car. He claims the motor ride is the best way to experience Tuscany at its finest. Nothing about the two-seater bike on the pebbly road feels fine, though, and you’re seriously contemplating broken ribs when he makes a sharp turn. It’s only a ten, fifteen-minute ride, but the downhill slope makes it seem faster—and more dangerous.

Your grip on his waist had gone from loose and hesitant to tight and anxious, your voice a mantra of possible death in his ear. He can’t help but laugh, revving harder and chiming in with a biting remark of his own.

“You know who this is named after?” He shouts over the wind whipping both of you.

“Mmm?” You ask.

“Apollonia, from the Godfather.”

“Oh, Christ. The girl who died?”

“Hey, she was beautiful! My uncle loved the movies so much, his Vespa had to be named after her.” You lean onto his back for purchase, still unused to the speed at which he zips through the countryside. Eventually, after a few turns, the terrain turns from rough to smoother, and he parks at the busy-looking town square, populated by locals and tourists alike, but not with the traffic of more popular cities. Alleyways lead to smaller corner stores and cafés; a chapel overlooks the area, and a market populates the centre.

“What would you name your bike, if you had to?” You ask as a follow-up, removing your helmet and shaking your hair out. You pull at your dress to straighten it out.

“Well…” He takes both your helmets and stores them in the bike, leading the way toward the bustle. “My uncles, and my father—they always say we name our most precious things after beautiful women. Apollonia. My other uncle, Leo, he named his sailboat after his mother, Bianca. Even my dad would name few objects after my mother. It’s a way of honoring them, you know?”

You nod, stopping at a produce stall and examining a bunch of tomatoes. “I think that’s sweet.”

“Yes, so I guess… well, I don’t know, really. My mother’s name, maybe?”

“She’s got a beautiful one,” you comment offhandedly.

“Yeah. Or, if we go by appearances, I suppose your name.”

You ignore the flush of nerves that well up in you and turn back to face him, confused and amused. “My name? Why’s that?”

“I mean,” he coughs, crossing his arms and smiling, “people think we are together, so if I get a bike, and they ask for her name, I must say yours, no?”

“Only if you want to,” you chirp back, amused. What had possessed him to suddenly bring you into the discussion? Neither of you are pretending for all these strangers. Here in town, you’re friends again, browsing the market, walking around stalls, eating free samples of pesto and cheese.

“I do want to,” he says. It’s a joke, you’re sure. Half-sure. It’s a joke.

The town square’s noise begins to die when the sun sets. City-dwellers leave to take trips back to main hubs of Italy, and with no nightlife in the area, many in the square are families or couples sitting down for dinner. The ride back, while short, might be dangerous in the dark; you tug on Charles’ sleeve to relay your thoughts.

“Don’t worry,” he says dismissively. “I’ve biked here past midnight.”

“What were you even doing in town at midnight, hmm?” You tease lightly, following him around. There’s not much to do except eat at this point, judging by the way you’d both exhausted the stalls in the afternoon. He rolls his eyes, mumbling excuses.

“You womanizer,” you whisper in an exaggerated scandalous tone. You poke his bicep. “Bedding the locals.”

“I was not, ay!” He defends. You’ve noticed his accent is so much thicker here, where he has to speak Italian all the time, except with you. It sounds nice. “I would come to smoke weed.”

That’s even funnier, you think, throwing your head back to laugh. Thoughts of teenaged Charles, tinged pink and tan from summer, on a momentary break from a junior racing career, biking fast back and forth—for a joint no less—are both funny and endearing. “That is so cute, Charles. Drug virgin.”

“Don’t speak of those when we’re in front of the house of the Lord,” he says sarcastically, gesturing to where your cyclical walking had landed you: back in front of the town’s chapel. There’s a pot of holy water by the front doors and a rack of candles for lighting and offering. Besides that, there’s a coin drop box being manned by a priest.

In silent agreement, you walk in sync to the candles, lighting one each and whispering brief intentions. You’re not religious, you’ve never been; a church seemed foreign to you, always. But you figure there’s no harm in a candle and an offer to the big guy, if he’s there.

There’s a mural painted by the doors, which you observe silently while Charles goes to drop donations into the box. You catch bits of their conversation. Good evening. Are you a tourist. No, we live up the hill, visiting for spring, yes.

The rest you don’t catch, turning to Charles and watching him talk, animated as he is solemn. The priest smiles at you politely, turns to Charles, goes, “Siete qui insieme?” You rack your brain for the Italian you’d picked up recently but can’t match it to anything.

Charles nods. “Qui per cenare, ed esplorare.” Esplorare, explore? You fail again, but continue listening anyway, occupying your eyes with the mural.

“È la tua ragazza?” The priest asks with a soft chuckle.

“Oh, sì, sì.” Charles looks very sure of himself when he says so.

The priest nods once. “Se ti sposi, allora dovrebbe essere qui, no?”

Charles turns slowly, looks at you, then smiles. “Okay,” he says, still looking at you. “Farò in modo che accada.” Then they’re exchanging quick Italian goodbyes and he’s walking back to you, guiding you to a nearby restaurant for dinner.

“What was that about?” You ask, the curiosity getting the best of you. You don’t remember what they said, so you can’t plug it into Google Translate; your last hope is getting Charles to translate it for you. You figure it’s no problem. He’s always translated for you during your stay here so far, word-for-word recounts that have you feeling fluent in the language after decoding them. Whether it be a family anecdote or a market transaction, the language has never become an issue for you.

You walk beside him, awaiting the translation that never comes. Instead, he smiles, shakes his head, and says, “That was nothing.”

—

Your first, last, and only close call happens during a wine and poker night with Charles’ uncles and aunts. You’d spent the morning semi-cuddling (to beat the early a.m. cold, you both insisted), and then a majority of the afternoon in the nearby vineyard volunteering to help pick grapes, and they’d offered to let you wind down for the night inside.

It starts off well enough—you and Giorgio best the first two rounds, much to everyone else’s chagrin, and you rest on the sofa, reading Giulia’s cookbook with a glass of wine. At quarter to midnight, Charles’ six-year-old cousin, Marco, comes inside and slots himself beside Charles, eyes sleepy.

“Cugino,” he says. Cousin. His voice is squeaky and childish.

“Yes, Marco?” Charles asks, preoccupied with his cards.

“Put me to sleep,” he says in accented English.

“Later. You should wait.”

“Can she do it?” A chubby hand rises and points toward you. You offer a small wink, sipping wine.

“Only if she wants to,” Charles says, turning to face you. You chuckle.

“I’d be happy to, Marco.” You smile.

“Cugino.” Marco tugs on Charles’ sleeve to regain his attention. “What’s her favorite color?”

Oh, shit. Neither of you had really thought this would come up, so you hope Charles can fake it well. While you know everything about him, he knows not much about you, especially little niche facts like this one. Charles clears his throat and goes, “Blue.”

“Favorite song?”

“Uh. Marco, aspettare. OK?”

“Why should he wait?” Giorgio asks, gruff. “Your aunts and I are curious, too.”

Charles meets your eyes, and you try to signal for him to lie, which he ends up doing. “It’s Take a Chance on Me. ABBA, zio.”

You do know that song, but it’s definitely not your favorite. You close the cookbook and get up, pacing onto the seat beside Marco and leaning against it, smiling and nodding. Beside Giorgio, Mia asks sweetly, “Do you have any tattoos, dear?”

Just you, or are Italian aunts ridiculously straightforward? You open your mouth at the same time Charles does, and that’s what leads to your downfall. Yes, one, you say. No, none, Charles says at the same time. You both look at each other, eyes wide.

His uncle grunts. “Bambino, do you know nothing of this lovely girl?”

“You misunderstand,” Charles says. “I thought she wouldn’t want to share that yet, zio. I tried to cover for her, but, er—she seems okay with sharing it.”

It’s a flimsy excuse but it seems to work, and the poker game resumes without any more questions about you.

Still, you grow nervous, frustrated a bit, and, once you spot Marco asleep, you take him into your arms and mumble a polite goodnight, carrying him upstairs. The call was just too close. Why did Charles feel the need to interject like that? Had you been caught in such a lie, you’d need to reveal everything.

Something else tugs at your chest, but you refuse to admit it incites an unhappy feeling out of you. Charles’ lack of knowledge about you did nothing but remind you that in the end, he did know nothing about you, and this was just contractual and obligatory and for the press-turned-for the family. You pat Marco’s forehead, sighing. You shouldn’t be so upset, but you are.

You know a lot about Charles, but it’s a cold fact that he can’t say the same about you; at least, not to the extent that you know him. The doors and staircase creak, signifying the game’s end and everyone’s retreat to bed; you await Charles’ entrance, which comes after you hear him opening your room, finding it empty, and then—

“Sorry. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you say, hushed. You get up and walk past him, crossing the corridor and opening the door halfway into your room.

He says, then: “You really never tell me anything about yourself.”

You freeze, turn, suddenly frustrated all over again. Suddenly sad. “Yeah. You really know nothing about me.” It’s exaggerated, so it cuts deeper.

He’s upset, you realize. “Do I have to beg for these sorts of basic facts? I wa—I…” He pauses. “I want to know you more. I’ve always wanted to.”

“You didn’t even think to—to ask me the most basic questions before we got here.” You’re aware he didn’t owe you this, but your irritance doesn’t quell. “My favorite song, my favorite movie, color, anything. I could name all that on your behalf.”

“Every time I ask, you deflect. You never told me, either,” he says defiantly.

You scoff and ponder for a minute before shaking your head and clambering down the steps. You need some fresh air, having gotten mad so quickly. You know it makes no sense—he never needed to ask about you. Prior to last week, you worked with him. Still, everything’s changed now, and it feels hurtful knowing he can’t name these things about you.

You take a seat on the terrace chair, pretend not to notice when he sits beside you, separated by a table.

You hug your arms closer to yourself, sigh. “It’s, a koi fish on my hipbone. Hurt like a bitch.”

He looks at you, curious. You continue.

“My high school superlative was ‘most likely to be elected president’—embarrassing, I know. I won the local spelling bee. Thrice in a row. I love the color green, and the movie Fantastic Mr. Fox.”

You pretend you’re not feeling anxious from the sudden sharing, clearing your throat and keeping your gaze trained on the landscape of houses and hills around you.

“I love crosswords to a worrying degree, I’m a dog person but have never owned one, and my favorite song is Don’t Go Breaking My Heart. I kill it on karaoke.” Finally, your eyes slide slowly over to look at Charles. He’s already looking at you, smile soft on his flushed, pink face.

“I didn’t think of you as much of a singer,” he says, eyes crinkling from the size of his smile.

Huffing and stifling a laugh, you cross your arms defiantly over your torso. Your lips melt into a pout, and you flip him off in an attempt to stave him off. He just laughs harder, gulping the rest of his wine with ease.

“To be fair, I think I dance better,” you respond proudly. “It’s still bad, but it’s better. Better than you, anyway.”

“Is that a challenge?” He asks, mouth half-open, still caught in a laugh. “Wow. Okay, d’accord. It’s on.”

“It is most certainly not a challenge, Charles!” You object frustratedly.

“Challenge accepted!”

Against your vocal protests, he gets up from his chair and reenters the house, exiting with his phone in one hand and the rest of the wine in the other. He browses his selection of songs, humming until he seems satisfied with one of them. He pours you both a glass of preparatory red, a grin lighting up his face.

You burrow into the chair, unrelenting when he stretches out a hand to invite you to dance. You only end up giving in when you’ve successfully finished your wine, getting up and straightening out the wrinkles in your dress.

Your hand is still loosely clutched around his when he plays the Bee Gees song he’d queued up, and then both of you start dancing.

It’s a bit fast-paced, but you catch up well, letting yourself move fluidly to the song. All the while, your hand remains looped around his, like an anchor, a saving point. You shut your eyes to immerse yourself in the song, a smile on your face. When you crack them open, you watch Charles dance goofily, with moves you’d be totally embarrassed by otherwise. This time, you’re strangely endeared.

Where you expected yourself—the both of you, really—to be stiff and awkward, you’re both loose and easygoing, chuckling and laughing as the song progresses. Your dress swishes by your knees softly when you move, letting go of his hand momentarily. It flexes with the feeling of his absence. Charles dances like he has no care in the world, with movements that would rival a fifty-year-old’s. You find that you don’t have a care in the world either, watching him with a stupid grin on your features.

Your heart swells and seizes, and you swallow, not wanting to realize why yet. He reaches for your hand again, seeks it in the evening light. You give it to him easily, cut his search short. You’re what he looks for.

He lifts your linked hands right as the song starts its ending, and you realize you’re supposed to twirl around them. With a laugh, you follow, letting your arms stretch out when you’re done. He pulls you back, with strength that sends you barreling into his chest. “Dude,” you mumble, giggling. “Charles, you ruined my flow.”

You both part, but barely; your hands are still clasped, your distance barely increased. You stare up at him when the next song clicks on.

It’s slower this time, a song you recognize from films and novels. You remember this specific rendition from two years ago in Silverstone, when Charles had shared over a meeting that he’d been busy teaching himself the piano—specifically, The Way You Look Tonight.

The song continues, your hands still together, your eyes boring into his. The moon makes his light eyes a different shade, all green and soft edges rivaling the intensity of his stare. “Come on,” he says. “Why stop, no?”

He raises your hands, guides his vacant one to wrap around your waist. It’s warm there, secure, belonging. With all the hesitance in the world, you wrap a hand around his upper arm. Your gaze is unbreaking.

“Thank you,” he says, steering you both into a slow, easy rhythm. The nerves melt away slowly when you continue to sway. You cock a head to the side in a silent request for elaboration.

“For sharing.”

“Oh. It was only right,” you reply. “Considering you know nothing niche about me.”

“Tell me…” He starts, but the words tangle in his throat, lodge themselves there in a fit of nerves. He breathes, breaks the gaze. “I mean, I wouldn’t mind… if you told me more.”

A brief shine of surprise passes through your eyes, and you nod. “Alright.”

“Alright.” He smiles.

“Do you think, ” you say, swallowing the sorrow, “we’ll need to keep doing this when the week is ov—?”

“Let’s not dwell on that,” he says quickly. He sounds—sad, almost, at the thought of this being fake. In the days spent here, picking grapes, drinking wine, going on bike rides and practicing Italian, it was easy to let the lines blur. Perhaps he’d forgotten.

You realize, when he leans forward and slots his chin atop your head: you’d forgotten, too.

—

Despite the tension, the next day goes fairly normal, and Charles takes you to town on Apollonia late at night. The Tuscan air is crisp and clean when he parks by a pub, loud not with techno music or hip-hop, but Italians singing. Inside, it’s not so crowded, populated by regulars, few tourists, and several older people.

Charles orders himself a beer, and a cocktail for you after you request something sweet. The bartender gives you an extra one on the house, and you and Charles seat yourself in front, watching people sing on the stage.

“Vi piace cantare?” Someone asks, and Charles quickly supplies: he’s asking if we like to sing.

You wave your palm back and forth. So-so, you signal. Charles, of course, ever the social butterfly, slides into a natural conversation with him, about Italy, pubs, beer, and singing. The guy introduces himself as Antonio, owner of said pub and a man who is apparently more than happy to clear the queue of singers for you two.

“Wait, seriously?” You ask. Antonio nods, clapping Charles on the back. You’d have thought they’d been friends for years or something.

You immediately turn down the request, but Charles scrambles onstage, having downed two bottles of beer. You’re overcome with horror as you watch him walk across the small stage to the side of it to request a song, encouraging whoops from the crowd.

“Ohhhhh. Oh, no. This is not a good idea,” you say, gulping. “Plus, I’ve had a lot to drink. Your aperol spritzes have so much alcohol in them.”

Beside you, Antonio laughs. “Non si preoccupi—do not worry. He seems to be a confident guy. You’re in good hands.”

“Am I? He didn’t even ask if I wanted to sing. I don’t even know what to sing.” You watch him whisper a song to the guy in charge of the pub’s ancient karaoke system, half-sure that the song archive stops after 1990. The stage creaks when Charles reaches for another mic and then stretches his arm out to offer it to you.

You muster your best angry face, but he just laughs. “Come on. You will like it.”

Gulping the rest of your cocktail, you accept the mic, and then his hand, strong in yours as he helps you climb onstage. The crowd of locals and few tourists cheer for the both of you, and you don’t do much to hide your stage fright; even the buzz of alcohol can’t help you. You hope (and know, deep down) that Charles will.

“Buona sera a tutti,” Charles says, met with more raucous cheering. “Io e il mio amico cateremo per te stasera.” He bows, and you follow a bit stiffly, not knowing what he’s saying.

“Amico?” Someone jeers from the audience. “O fidanzata?!”

Charles laughs, and you know he’s truly entertained because his eyes crinkle the way they do. You fiddle with your dress, your hair, anything to channel the nerves. He waves the crowd off with a shush motion and then turns, gestures for the song to start. He catches your eye, anxious, quells your nerves by taking your hand and squeezing it. Don’t worry, he mouths. I’m here.

You identify the song before two seconds of it even play, and the realization is breathtaking: your favorite. You shut your eyes and let a huge smile come onto your face, laughing. You almost can’t believe him for this.

He starts off the song, taking your hand and leading you into a dance. Don’t go breaking my heart.

You twirl around him, exaggerating your movements and smiling. I couldn’t if I tried.

Somehow, you find dexterity, flow in the movements, the words. Maybe because you love the song so much. Charles matches your enthusiasm, singing loudly and exaggerating his accent to incite laughs from the onlookers. When he speeds up, so do you, allowing both of you to join in an upbeat rhythm that leaves you panting.

Ooh-hoo, nobody knows it, you both sing, laughing and shimmying toward each other. You both point and laugh, joining hands again when the chorus ends to sing your lines all over again. Charles always leads you well, alert as he is excited, letting you melt into him, adapt to the dance. You feel like you’re floating.

Don’t go breaking my heart, he sings.

I won’t go breaking your heart, you sing back, ducking underneath your hands, laughing.

The tension, warmth, spark between you grow as the song begins to close, your words breathless, faces flushed with alcohol and semi-exhaustion. Even if your face seems to show it, though, you find you’re not tired at all, smiling as your heart beats faster. You pull away, dancing to the last bits of the song, having let go of all your worries, nerves. Why were you ever nervous? You always trusted him.

The song fades to an end when you pull together, faces as close as they’d ever been. You’re both breathing heavy with the intensity of your dance, smiling. You shut your eyes, laugh, with the ecstasy of this moment. From the crowd, the bartender yells: “Ora bacia! Kiss!”

Both you and Charles turn to the crowd, who quickly cheer him on, and laugh. But they’re not kidding, you realize—they’re all yelling kiss in unison, intermittent whoops and cheers joining the chant. It’s like a rural Italian version of an MLB kiss cam.

You turn back to Charles, who’s looking at you already. His eyes dart to your lips. You’d never done it before—appearances never went that far—but the crowd is unrelenting, and you nod back when he cocks his head to the side in silent question. Like always, you’re nervous. And again, like always, he helps you through it.

Warmth blossoms through your chest when he leans in and presses your lips together.

That would’ve been enough to satisfy the crowd, you think, but neither of you pull away. Sparks ignite your stomach, your hands looping around his neck, his around your waist. You kiss him back effortlessly, like you’d done this a million times before. You feel him smile against your own smile, laugh when you laugh.

The kiss is nothing if not dizzying, the perfect kind, the kind of the fairytale variety. His lips are soft, a bit chapped, against yours; when your tongues meet, they taste like aperol spritz and beer. Your hands tighten around his neck, like you need him still against you, when you both pull away for air. The crowd cheers.

You barely even hear them, staring into his eyes.

—

The night becomes cloudy, raining softly over the hills when everybody’s done singing; Charles boards Apollonia and like always, you wrap your hands around him, leaning against his back. You’re a bit tipsy, but above all, you’re utterly conflicted with how everything’s seemed to turn in on itself within the last few days.

The rain only grows as Charles revs harder, and the Vespa skids to a screeching, horrible stop. Thankfully, you’re not far from the farmhouse, so you don’t walk much; still, both of you are drenched, Charles’ arms stained with motor oil that drips off with the force of the rain. He stows away the bike, turns back to you. You’re looking at him expectantly.

“What is this?” You demand, raising your voice.

“Rain,” he replies blankly.

“This.” You wag a finger in between you both. “We kissed in Antonio’s pub, Charles. And we might—we might tell ourselves it was because of the crowd’s pressure, but we know. We both know that kiss was for nobody but us.”

He wipes a hand over his face. “What do you want it to be?”

“I don’t know,” you say honestly, sighing. Your hair is dripping with rain. “I really don’t.”

“I’ll tell you what I want,” he says. And he pauses, like he always does when he’s unsure, nervous, bumbling, and then blurts it out. “You—I want you. I was a fool to realize it late. But years of being with you, around you… I should’ve known earlier, I—”

“Charles,” you cut in, not expecting the sudden rawness. “No, no.”

“You’ve got to realize,” he says desperately. “I do. I constantly think of you, feel for you, look for you, look at you. I’ve known you for so long, I always end up liking you all over again. Everything comes back to you. Seeing you here, a place I love—seeing you love it here—listening to you sing, dancing with you—don’t you—haven’t you gotten it yet—?”

You stare at him.

You’re faraway, on the clouds, dry from the rain, when he says it. I love you.

—

The morning after is quiet, muted. You drown in your own overbearing thoughts.

“Got a lot on your mind?” You emerge from them quick, eyes darting over to Charles’ two aunts leaning by the doorframe of the dining room. You offer a polite smile, hoping it hides the conflict in the recesses of your mind.

“A bit,” you reply.

“Come join us,” Mia offers. “We will pick lemons outside. For lunch.”

You take a basket from the entryway and follow them through the front door and onto the yard, matching their slow pace, relishing in the morning sun that hasn’t yet grown too hot.

Tuscany is beautiful. Despite your best efforts, you’d grown to love it here over the course of the week. The hilly terrain, the fruit, the constant goat sightings, the bike rides to town where you clutch Charles’ shirt out of fear you might fall off.

They seem to spot good lemons within milliseconds, balding the branches in minutes. Perhaps because of your own cloudy thoughts, or maybe their breakneck speed, you fail to catch up, and they notice.

Mia again brings you out of your thoughts, guiding you three to the next tree. “Are you upset, bambina? Is Charles being a pest?”

“Oh, God, no,” you say with a laugh. “We—he’s a great tour guide. I never explored Italy before, and it’s beautiful here. He bikes me to town, because I can’t, uh, ride, unfortunately. He transacts for me, because my Italian is hopeless. He buys wine and cheese and lets me pet sheep when we bike past them on the hills.”

“Bambini innamorati.” Mia sighs fondly. “What is it you like about Charles?”

You hum, thinking. There are lots of things you like about Charles, but surely his family share the same sentiments. What’s unique? What about him is just yours? “His humor, I suppose,” you say. “He finds the fun in everything, even in competition, in boredom. Everywhere else, his good traits—everyone knows them. A stellar driver, charming, kind. Good-looking. But his humor, I think… I think he reserves his weirdest jokes, his best laughs, for the best people in his life. I’m just glad I’m there.”

Giulia is the next to speak, slow and encouraging, prompting you with a question you’d once dreaded but now feel excitement to hear: “Tell me again, how you and Charles met?”

It’s a rehearsed story, with bits of lies that you and Charles had to insert to make it appear more romantic and less coworker-esque. But you’d only told the short version before. To some journalists, to his cousin. You figure you’ll lie less and tell a more unabridged version. “Oh, okay,” you say, nervous and collecting your thoughts.

“I work with Charles. I was spending time with him a lot, so naturally, we became somewhat friends. Not very close, but comfortable enough. I had to take pictures and videos for him and his teammate, so we really were together a lot. I suppose that’s how we met. How we became… something more, is a totally different story. I think the best thing about it was that neither of us were looking for it.”

You breathe, pausing. “It simply happened—despite both of us not expecting, not needing a relationship, it happened anyway. Almost funny, how young people like myself look for the moment of love at first sight. The staggering moment of eye contact and realizing you’ve met your soulmate. But—it wasn’t like that for me. It happened slowly, like I had to dissect what I felt. Like my heart had always known, so I had to catch up with myself and realize I…”

You pause. You really aren’t lying. “…I’m in love with him.”

Giulia and Mia exchange a knowing look over the branches.

—

“So, are you dating?” Natalie asks. It’s the first race of the season, and everyone’s excited—but this interview moves slowly, Charles dictating the flow of it himself. He smiles.

“Yes, we are.”

“Well, there’d been rumors a few months ago that this was a PR stunt, calculated by your new officer, Jenna Griffin. So, tell me again, are you dating? For real?”

Charles seeks you in the crowd of the meet-and-greet fans, finds you in the front row. You roll your eyes when he smiles fondly at you. A Tuscany trip and several months later, he thinks, has changed everything.

For the better. “For real.”

#f1 #charles leclerc #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc imagines #charles leclerc drabble #charles leclerc smut #charles leclerc imagine #f1 x reader

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steddieas-shegoes · 4 months

Note

CONGRATS ON 3000!!! ❤️ That’s so exciting!

For the ask game, I’d love to see your take on the song Heaven, Iowa by Fall Out Boy! (I vibe with “Scar-crossed lovers forever” as a Steddie-coded lyric but honestly whatever comes to mind for you when you hear the song is great!)

Congrats again!! 💕🎉

Thank you! I got a few different steddie-coded lyrics from this song, but the one you provided is good for something short, so I’m sticking with that! ♥️

〰️➿〰️➿〰️➿〰️➿〰️

He wasn’t even supposed to be here. Wayne specifically asked him to stop coming to the Harrington parties, didn’t want him to risk being caught when they inevitably got shut down.

He knows he’d be in deep shit if a cop managed to catch him and see what he had in his lunchbox.

But one of his best customers insisted he stop by, promising he knew enough people would buy his entire inventory. He wouldn’t have to stay long.

“That’ll be $30 for the bag, or $10 if you just want a joint,” Eddie told one of the girls who always gave him dirty looks in the hall to cover up the hungry look she gave him at parties.

“What about the harder stuff?” She asked, looking up at him through her eyelashes.

“Don’t have any on me,” he rolled his eyes. They should know by now he only handles those items when requested.

“Fine. Just a joint then.”

He exchanges his product for her money, another addition to his savings that seemed to constantly dwindle on useless. He never stopped trying though.

She was his last customer in the line that had built up in the kitchen, so he decided to make his way to the backyard to finish up. Not many people usually hung out there when it was this chilly outside, but he had to give it a shot.

The patio surrounding the pool was absent of people, but he decided to take that as a sign that he needed a minute alone.

He heard a sniffle and his head shot over to the table in the corner of the covered area.

“Harrington?”

What the hell was he even doing out here? Was he crying?

“I’ll be in in a minute.”

Jesus. He sounded like someone had tried to strangle him. Was he sick?

“Dude, you okay?” Eddie steps closer, hopes he doesn’t end up regretting choosing kindness. “It’s kinda cold out here.”

Steve was sitting in a chair, knees up to his chest, arms around his legs. His face was half-buried in his knees, but Eddie could still make out the shivering.

“Yeah. Just needed some air.”

“You shouldn’t stay out here long without a jacket, man.”

Steve didn’t respond.

Eddie was actually growing more concerned for him, like maybe he’d been drugged with something and couldn’t move.

“Hey, look at me,” Eddie snaps his fingers in Steve’s face, relaxing slightly when he glares up at him with surprisingly clear, but watery eyes. “You need a jacket.”

“I’m fine. Go back inside.”

“You won’t be if you sit out here much longer. You’ll freeze to death. And then I’ll have to live the rest of my life knowing I could have stopped it by making you go inside and I’ll die feeling guilty.”

Was it dramatic? Yes. Did it make Steve give the tiniest smile and lift his head to look at him completely? Also yes.

“It wouldn’t be your fault.”

There was a cut under Steve’s left eye, and as his eyes adjust to the light coming from the windows, he sees a purple bruise surrounding most of the left side of his face.

“What happened?”

“The crown was pretty heavy when it fell,” Steve laughs without humor.

Eddie feels his stomach sink further.

“Who did this?”

It’s not like Eddie could do much, but maybe he could at least make sure he didn’t sell to the guy.

“Doesn’t matter.” Steve placed his legs down, careful, like he was trying not to hurt himself more. “You got anything left?”

Eddie should say no. He should leave now, head to the comfort and warmth of the trailer, forget about this interaction entirely. Maybe give one awkward head nod to Steve at school on Monday as an acknowledgment he didn’t forget, but won’t say anything to anyone.

“Just the one joint. You want it?” Eddie set his lunchbox on the table across from Steve and sat down.

“How much?” Steve turned to face him, reaching into his pocket for his wallet.

“Free for the host.”

That’s not something Eddie ever did, but if anyone needed it, it was Steve.

“You don’t have to do that.”

“Well, I am. You got a lighter on you?”

Steve shook his head.

“Then I light it and get the first drag. Deal?”

Steve nodded.

Eddie is gonna regret this entire interaction, but of all his regrets, it’s probably pretty low on the list, so he pulls his lighter out and does exactly what he said he would.

Steve is watching him so intensely, it’s almost enough to make him blush. He won’t, he hopes, but it’s a hell of an effort.

“This why you’re sitting out here instead of enjoying your party?” Eddie asked as he hands over the joint.

“Part of it,” Steve takes a long drag. “Just tired of it.”

“Tired of what?”

“All of it.”

An alarm starts going off in Eddie’s head, a reminder that Steve may seem like he’s got the entire world, but those who hold the world tend to lose their grip.

“All of it meaning…”

“All of this. The parties, the people who only like me because I have money and throw parties, the popularity contest I didn’t even ask to participate in, the fucking concussions and nightmares. I’m just-“ Steve takes another drag. “I’m just tired. You should go back inside.”

Eddie watches him lean back in his chair, his shirt riding up and exposing just enough of his stomach to see a scar. The moonlight reflects off the lighter line of skin.

“Nah. Kinda like it out here. It’s quiet. Company ain’t bad either.”

Steve looks back at him with a frown. “Don’t have to pretend to like me, dude. Everyone else already does that enough.”

“Who said I like you? I’m tolerating you.” Eddie smirks, waits for Steve to recognize he’s joking. When Steve relaxes, he nods towards the scar on Steve’s stomach. “Appendix?”

“What?” Steve glances down. “Oh. Yeah. When I was 12.”

“I was 14 when I got mine out,” Eddie lifts his layers to show off his matching scar. “My Uncle Wayne thought I was dying. He didn’t even know what an appendix was, let alone that it can cause all this trouble.”

“Yeah. My parents weren’t home when mine ruptured so I had to call the neighbors.”

Eddie frowns down at the table. “They leave you alone a lot? Even then?”

“Yeah. Not a big deal. I made it through okay.”

Okay isn’t the word Eddie would describe, but Eddie didn’t wanna argue.

“You eat a ridiculous amount of ice cream after?” Eddie’s smile grew when Steve nodded. “I convinced Wayne it was the only thing I could eat for nearly a week after.”

Steve laughed, Eddie smiles.

“You got a nice laugh, Harrington.”

He watches as Steve gets red in the face, a beautiful blush covering his cheeks and spreading down his neck.

“Not sure the last time I really laughed,” Steve admitted.

“Shame.”

Eddie stood up, grabbed his lunchbox, and walked around to stand in front of Steve. Steve looked up at him with glassy eyes, the high already sinking in.

“Want me to clear everyone out?” Eddie shouldn’t offer that, or anything. But Steve looks so lost, so tired.

“Nah. It’s nice just not being alone, even if it’s people I don’t like.”

“That’s fucked, man.”

“Yeah, well,” Steve shrugged. “Thanks for the weed.”

“Anytime.”

Eddie doesn’t know what comes over him. Maybe it’s the one drag of the joint he’d taken, maybe it’s the cold air, or maybe it’s just that annoying crush he’s had on Steve Harrington for years.

He reaches out, cups Steve’s cheek in his hand, and holds him for just a moment.

Neither of them say anything when Steve leans into it.

They don’t say anything when Eddie pulls away with a sad smile.

They won’t talk about it again at school.

But when Steve saves Eddie from the Upside Down a full year later, when he’s sitting at his bedside cupping Eddie’s cheek in his hand, they both seem to remember at the same time.

“We’ve got two matching scars now, Harrington.”

“Don’t think the appendix has anything on demobat scars, Munson.”

“What happened to calling me honey? I liked that.”

“What happened to sweetheart?”

Eddie let out a small laugh. “You’re gonna be trouble, sweetheart.”

“But I’m gonna be your trouble, honey.”

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #drabble #follower celebration #asks #pre steddie #getting together #cw: recreational drug use

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the-mandawhor1an · 3 months

Text

Domestic God - Joel Miller x Reader drabble

Disclaimer: despite the pictures up here this can be read as gn!reader. The picture is more to invoke a vibe than a display of reader's appreance

Tags: Safe for work. One instance of cursing and that's it. pre-outbreak (or no outbreak, We’ll never know) Joel and you are in your 30s. You’re married. No Sarah (Sorry babygirl. Your dad loves you very much but this is a universe where you don’t exist) No use of Y/N, no descriptions of reader’s body or gender, pure fluff, just Joel being an absolute meow meow teddy bear

Synopsis: Instead of spending a week off with your husband, you’re forced to endure the stress of a work week while also dealing with your husband and his newest antics.

Words: 1.8k

A/N: It may be painfully apparent in this that I’m European. I’m sorry. This could lead up to smut one day. I'm not promising anything yet. Unbeta'd

Mondays… Monday is the worst day of the week as is, but today is particularly nasty. What is supposed to be the first day of your week-long time off turned into a nightmare. One call from your boss to ruin it all.

“Hey, so I know I approved your time off already but … I have to revoke that. The others have their time off planned for longer and we’re understaffed otherwise.” Oh how wonderful.

Translation: You and your one coworker are alone this week. On top of that you get grim reminders regularly that this week is supposed to be you week off. Joel, your lovely husband, better half and in general a lucky bastard, has the week off. He isn’t actively rubbing it in your face, but the sheer fact that he stayed in bed while you got ready for work was enough.

You promptly forgot to kiss him goodbye. Maybe this was a smart move, after all. If you had walked up the stairs again to give him a kiss, he would certainly have pulled you back into bed and held you close. Seeing him slumber peacefully, his pillow hugged close to his chest, was too much to handle today. That should be you, nestled into his embrace and staying there until noon.

Joel deserves the week off, no discussion there. He works so hard, day in, day out and barely taking a break. And when he’s home, he continues working on the multiple little projects he’s got going. You practically forced him to take the week off with your incessant asking. To spend time together. Now he has all the time for himself. You know, maybe he even pulls out his guitar again. You haven’t seen him play since you got married.

Your car stops on your driveway. Thoughts rush through your mind, how you’ll most likely spend your evening cooking dinner for you and Joel, clean the kitchen, and then take a shower and go to bed. Not something you look forward to, to be honest. Having little free time that you spend for chores, only to repeat the same tomorrow. This whole situation isn’t your husband’s fault, you don’t blame him and you’re not really mad at him either. It’s simply… unfair. He gets a whole week for himself and you have to work for 3 people. All further thoughts halt as suddenly the front door opens.

Joel scratches the back of his head and yawns. As soon as he sees you in your car, a smile creeps up to his lips. Judging by his demeanor and his unruly hair, he has just woken up. Oh what a life you have, Miller. He approaches the car and opens the door for you, his favorite person. His greeting is the same it always is. “Hey, Sugar,” he purrs towards you. How can you be mad at that? Especially if he kisses you the way he does right now? It’s short and sweet, but it still conveys the love he has for you. He plants a second kiss on your temple. “Missed ya, Baby.” There it is: The salt in your wound. This should be your time off too, cuddling up to him and staying in bed all day.

“Missed you too. Work was a fucking mess,” you reply with a sigh, melting into his chest as you feel his lips graze your face. The groceries wait in the trunk and you are about to get them, but Joel takes that task off of your hands. “You went grocery shopping after work? Sugar, I could’a done that.” Yeah, sure, while in bed all day? You take a deep breath. The bottled up frustration is still lingering. “Don’t worry. I needed to let off some steam and what better way to do that than fighting with a middle-aged woman over the last pack of coffee that’s on sale.” He chuckles as he carries the groceries inside. God, you love that man.

When you enter the house, a pleasant surprise awaits you. The floor is suspiciously shiny and it smells wonderful. Apparently someone has cleaned the house. The living room looks tidy, as does the kitchen. “Wow,” you comment on the state of the house. Joel brings the groceries to the kitchen. Setting down the bags, he gives you a questioning look. You’re still in the entrance, looking around as if this is the first time entering the house. “You’ve cleaned.” “I did,” he nods. The groceries are slowly unpacked and put away by Joel, who continues. “Well, I had time. Tidied up, vacuumed and mopped the floors. The wood really needed some love. I’m making your favorite food for dinner. C'mere and tell me about your day. You want some tea?” You unload your bag, take off your shoes and shuffle over to the kitchen. “Please. But I have to ask, who are you and where is my husband?” Laughter erupts from him as you approach. You’re handed a warm cup of tea but you set it down on the counter, a little off to the side to give him space.

“S’that so out of character for me?” he asks as you pull the cup closer. You think for a moment and play with the string on the tea bag. It’s not, Joel isn’t a lazy man at all. “Not in particular… but you waiting for me by the door is new.” He shrugs. “Heard the car, thought I’d greet you. And the look you gave me was scary, Sugar. Do you want to talk abut what happened?” He switches on the stove, but he walks behind you to wrap his arms around you for a while. He peppers soft kisses on the back of your neck. He always knows how to comfort you after a long day. With every kiss a little bit of your frustration leaves. “Ah, just work,” you explain, taking a careful sip of your tea. “It’s just two of us working and, well, after lunch break I was alone. Honestly I wanted to just call my boss and tell him that I’m going home. “ Joel rests his head on your shoulder and nuzzles into your neck. “I’m sorry, Baby. You’ve been looking forward to this more than I did. Could’a went on a vacation together.” He kisses your cheek, making you sigh softly. A vacation would’ve been so nice. Just a few days with him, maybe a road trip to one of the coasts.

“A beach trip would be nice. It’s not warm enough yet. Maybe I’ll try to get time off in the summer so we can have some quality time.” “Sugar, we can have some quality time now. I’m taking care of the house so you can relax after work. Maybe I can even get the garden ready by the weekend.” You turn your head to face him. “You sure you’re my husband?” You share a grin before he kisses you again. The stove calls for his attention. You watch him cooking and let your gaze linger on his back, up to his broad shoulders and back down to his waist. He continues to tell you what he’s done in the home today. The whole ground level is spotless. “To be honest when I saw you open the door I thought you’d slept all day,” you confess finally. “Maybe that’s also why I was looking at you like that. Sorry, Honey.” “Don’t worry. I can handle you having a bad day.”

Although you enjoy not moving a finger while Joel cooks, you set the table. The now empty tea cup sits in the sink, you’ll wash it later, when you’re sure you don’t want another. Dinner gets served and you ogle at the food before you. “Thank you so much, it looks great,” you tell Joel, he smiles back at you. “Of course, Sugar.” “Should I be worried that you broke something?” The jokes won’t end. But by now you realize you’re probably being a bit mean. You continue. “It’s just… you have the week off and I don’t expect you to work in the house all day just so I can relax after work. Especially not on the first day. I’m very grateful, obviously, but you should relax as well.” Sitting down, Joel sighs. “I know. It’s just that I can focus better when stuff is neat. At least anywhere besides the workshop.” He watches you take the first bite. Your face lights up and so does his. “Is it good?” “Yes. It’s wonderful.” “You’ve worked so hard leading up to this week and now you’re stuck working. Ain’t fair. And mopping the floor’s easier when no one’s home.” It makes sense, you think. To be honest the floor needed a good cleaning and you never seem to get to that.

Joel grabs hold of your hand for a second and gently stroked over your skin with his thumb

Some of your neighbors are jealous of your relationship. You and Joel still behave like the freshly in love young adults you once were. Your love for one another has only grown since then. He really is your everything and you’re his. “What’s the plan after dinner?” you ask. Has he planned more? Not that you expect him to, but you are curious. Joel has thought about a lot today, it seems. “Your choice, Sugar. You can either take a bubble bath and read your little romance novel or I make some popcorn and we watch a movie.” With that outlook your choice is easy. “Let’s watch a movie.”

After dinner is eaten and the dishes clean, you and Joel cuddle up on the sofa. Nestled into his side, you watch the TV. The popcorn is barely touched, only Joel reaches into the bowl every now and then. All the frustration over work is gone. Only the comfort you feel in your husband’s presence remains. A fuzzy blanket covers you two, encapsulating you two in that little bubble of coziness. Your eyes are heavy, the stress of today weighing down on them. For a moment you look at Joel.

You’re so lucky to have such a handsome husband and the thought makes a smile creep up to your lips. He notices and nudges you with his nose. “What’s up?” “I’m thinking how lucky I am to have such a sexy man by my side, that’s all. Thank you for taking care of me.” “Of course,” he kisses your forehead and gently strokes over your shoulder. “I’ll always take care of you, Sugar.”

Spring is just around the corner in Texas. As much as you’d like to think that Joel is simply turning into a housewife on his time off and doing some spring cleaning, you suspect he does it for a different reason. He probably doesn’t even realize it, but that’s what you’re here for. He’s preparing a nest.

You’ve talked about children before, but it always felt like you’re not ready. Maybe the time’s now. You sigh with contentedness and cuddle more into his side. He pulls you closer and you kiss.

#joel miller fluff #joel miller fanfic #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fic #the last of us hbo #the last of us #the last of us fanfiction #joel tlou #tlou fanfiction #gn reader #gender neutral reader #wolke schreibt

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munson-blurbs · 2 years

Note

Hello! Could I possibly request something with a lovesick Eddie trying to win over the reader? He’s watched and studied rom-coms with Dustin to get his plan in action doing the basics of walking her to class, carrying her books, complimenting her, etc. but it typically ends with him inadvertently embarrassing himself. Super fluffy ending though!

This is adorable and I loved writing it <3

Warnings: angst-to-fluff, some language, spoilers for 80s movies

WC: 2.4k

Divider credit: @firefly-graphics

“You coming to Hellfire today?” Eddie asks you, munching on a pretzel. You weren’t an official member, but you like sitting in and watching campaigns, sometimes secretly helping the freshmen defeat their sadistic Dungeon Master.

You shake your head. “Sorry, Eds,” you shrug apologetically, “Robin, Nancy, and I are gonna catch a movie.”

His eyes widen and he grins excitedly. “Oh, shit! Which one? Eliminators?”

The prospect of the three of you watching an over-the-top sci-fi movie–without Eddie or Dustin nagging you–sends you into a fit of laughter. “Uh, no,” you manage between giggles. “We’re seeing Pretty in Pink.”

Eddie wrinkles his nose. “Isn’t that, like, a chick flick?”

“Yes, and we are chicks,” you say slowly, enunciating each word like it’s a novel concept for him. “Why, did you wanna join?”

Eddie would watch paint dry if it meant spending time with you, but he doesn’t say that. Instead, he rolls his eyes. “Not a chance,” he scoffs. “You girls enjoy your Molly Ringworm.”

“It’s Ringwald, dingus,” you retort, borrowing Robin’s favorite insult for the occasion. “And we will. It’s nice to pretend that guys can actually care about a girl beyond getting in her pants.”

He’s about to ask you if you lump him into that category when Dustin, Lucas, and Mike plop their trays onto the table. They’re chatting excitedly about the upcoming campaign, a conversation Eddie usually never shuts up about, but the older boy is uncharacteristically quiet.

“Hey, Y/N,” Nancy taps you on the shoulder with a smile. “Robs and I were just about to finalize our plans for tonight, if you wanna sit with us.”

You nod enthusiastically, eager to leave the table now that the topic has switched to which cheerleaders are the easiest. “See you perverts on Monday!” you call out behind you, walking side by side with Nancy.

“Hey, sheep,” Eddie interrupts their riveting conversation suddenly. “Do I give off ‘douchebag’ vibes? Like, ‘only being nice to chicks for sex’ vibes?”

“If you are, it’s not working very well,” Mike snorts, only to have a pretzel lobbed at his head.

Dustin, however, is more perceptive to Eddie’s concerns. “Did something happen with Y/N?” he asks, glancing over at you.

“Don’t stare at her!” Eddie hisses, pressing his fingers over his eyes in exasperation. How do these two have girlfriends and I don’t? he wonders silently. “She mentioned something about liking chick flicks because that’s the only time guys treat girls nicely without trying to sleep with them.”

“Okay, and…?” Mike responds, earning him another pretzel to the head. This one lands in his mop of hair.

“And, what if she thinks that’s the only reason I’m nice to her?”

“To be fair,” Lucas pipes up between bites of pizza, “you do wanna sleep with her.” He quickly joins Mike as one of Eddie’s snack throwing targets. “Dude, you’re not gonna have any pretzels left if you keep chucking them at us!”

“Can someone just answer my question?” Eddie growls, standing up and pacing around the table. “Because if I’m gonna ask her out–”

“Not gonna happen,” Dustin mumbles under his breath. Eddie glares at him. “What? You’ve been saying that you’re gonna ask her out for ages now, but you never do!”

“Well, now I’m not, if she thinks I’m just some creep,” the metalhead grumbles. “I’d have to be one of those corny idiots from those movies for her to take me seriously.”

Dustin slams his hands on the table, startling everyone. “So be one of those corny idiots!” he exclaims. “Do you think I wanna sing The Neverending Story every time I talk to Suzie? No, I do not. But I do it because it makes her feel special and loved.”

“How would I even do that?” Eddie throws his hands up in frustration. “I’ve never watched any of those dumb movies.”

Dustin’s grin spans his entire face. “Oh, don’t you worry, my friend,” he says. “I’ve got a secret weapon.”

Turns out, Dustin’s secret weapon is Steve Harrington. More specifically, using him to check out as many romantic comedies as the boy can carry, completely ignoring the three movie maximum policy.

“Okay,” Dustin begins, pushing his way into Eddie’s trailer. “We’ve got The Breakfast Club, Sixteen Candles, Footloose, Terms of Endearment, and Y/N’s favorite, Grease.” He plops the video cassettes onto the table with a thwack.

“Jesus Christ.” Eddie buries his head in his hands. “What did I get myself into?”

“You can thank me later when you finally have a girlfriend,” Dustin retorts, ignoring his friend’s mild irritation. “Now, where should we start?”

By Monday morning, Eddie’s brain is buzzing with ideas to be the perfect rom-com boyfriend. He waits for you at your locker before first period, leaning up against it as you approach.

“How was your movie night with the girls?” He remembers Dustin’s advice to ask you questions about yourself, rather than launching into another story about his DnD campaigns.

“Good…” You eye him suspiciously. “Is there a reason why you’re blocking me from opening my locker?”

“Oh, shit, sorry,” he sputters, jumping back and smacking into another student passing by. “Son of a–”

You grab your math textbook from the top shelf, rolling your eyes at his antics. “Well, nice talking to you.” You’re not sure what’s gotten into him, but it’s weirding you out.

“Wait!” he calls out, and you turn back around slowly.

“What is it?” you ask crossly, “I’m gonna be late for class.”

Eddie rubs the nape of his neck with his palm, unable to make eye contact with you. “Jus’ wanted to say that you’re pretty…” When you don’t reply within a nanosecond, he starts stumbling over his words. “Pretty nice, and stuff. No, just pretty. You’re pretty. N-not that you’re not nice, b’cause you are; you’re, like, really nice. But you’re also pretty. So, yeah. You’re pretty.”

Your brows furrow in confusion. “Are you okay?” What you really want to ask is, is this some kind of prank?

Eddie nods, fidgeting with the frayed edges of his denim jacket. “Y-yeah, I’m okay. Are you, uh, okay?”

“Mhmmm,” you stretch out your response, backing away. “I’m gonna head to math before I get detention.”

What the hell was that? You wonder incredulously. The only time you’ve ever witnessed him being so tongue-tied was when he was paired with Chrissy Cunningham on a science project. But he was hopelessly in love with her; you were just his best friend. You’d have to ask one of the Hellfire freshmen what was going on. Maybe they’d have some insight.

You don’t get a chance to talk to Dustin, Mike, or Lucas before Eddie’s trying out his next move. He’s at your locker again between third and fourth period, desperate to redeem himself after his flustered performance this morning.

“Lemme walk you to class,” he blurts out.

“Eddie,” you laugh, “we have the same class now. You’d know this if you bothered to show up.”

“Oh. Right.” Actually, he has been showing up, partially because of his determination to graduate, but mostly because you’re there. “Then, can I carry your books for you?” He reaches for your composition book and pencil case before you have the chance to answer, and you pull away from him.

“Are you gonna throw my stuff in the trash or something?” You warily cock your eyebrow.

“No!” He seems genuinely confused and slightly offended at your assumption. “Why would I do that?”

“I dunno,” you shrug. “Why else would you do nice things for me?”

Eddie crosses his arms over his chest. “So that’s what you think of me, huh?” His eyes mist over, so angry that he’s about to cry. “Just another dumb guy who’s either trying to fuck you or fuck you over?”

“What are you talk—“ you start, but he cuts you off.

“Forget it,” he mutters under his breath, walking in the opposite direction. “Told Henderson this was a stupid idea.”

“Where are you going?” you call after him. “Class is the other way.”

“‘M ditching!” Eddie retorts, pulling out a cigarette and lighting in before he even reaches the doors.

You’re sitting in your room, highlighting and writing in the margins of the tattered copy of The Grapes of Wrath you’ve been assigned for English class. You can barely concentrate, though; your mind is consumed with thoughts of Eddie’s string of bizarre behavior.

The compliments, offering to walk you to class, trying to carry your books—what was that all about?

You vaguely remember him mentioning something about Dustin; the two of them were thick as thieves and basically attached at the hip. Eddie was the older brother Dustin never had. If anyone knows what was going on with him, it’s Dustin Henderson.

“Hello?” Dustin’s bored voice comes through the receiver, probably expecting the call to be for his mom.

“Hey, Dustin. It’s Y/N,” you begin nervously. “Do you have a sec to talk about Eddie?”

“Um, yeah,” he replies, caution evident in his tone. “He seemed really upset at lunch today. Did something happen?”

You exhale, a bitter laugh escaping your chest. “That’s what I was calling about. He was being super weird this morning, and then he got mad at me, like, out of nowhere.”

“Weird…how?”

Starting at the beginning, you recall everything that occurred, emphasizing the babbling that was supposed to constitute a compliment and his explosion when you didn’t let him hold your books. “He’s always playing little jokes on me; what was I supposed to think?” you finish.

“Aw, shit,” Dustin muses. “Okay, I wasn’t supposed to say anything, but—“

“Please,” you beg him, “I just need to know what I did wrong.”

“No, it’s not something you did—well, maybe, kinda—but not on purpose,” he explains. “On Friday, when you told him about seeing Pretty in Pink, did you say something about guys in chick flicks being better than actual guys because they want more than just sex?”

“Yeah…” you say, confused. “What does this have to do with Eddie?”

“I’m getting to that part, jeez!” Dustin quips, and you roll your eyes at his attitude. “Well, when you said that, Eddie got all worried that you felt that way about him.”

“Of course I don’t!” you reply incredulously. “He’s…he’s Eddie! I know he would never use me for sex.”

Dustin presses on. “He didn’t realize that. So we watched those stupid movies all weekend, just so he could learn how you want a guy to show interest in you.”

Oh. Oh.

“Because Eddie…” you trail off, your mouth going dry.

“Yeah, the dude’s, like, in love with you.” Dustin spells it out. “He tries to act like nothing bothers him, but he really cares about what you think of him.”

“Shit,” you murmur. “I mean, thanks, Dustin. I’m gonna go fix this.”

“Any time,” he replies, then quickly adds, “don’t tell him I told you, or he’ll give me wedgies for the rest of my life!”

You knock on the Munson trailer door. Wayne’s already left for his night shift at the plant, and you hear the sounds of Eddie’s guitar, so you know he’s home.

“Who is it?” he calls from his room, still strumming.

“It’s me,” you answer, hoping he’ll let you in. “And I come bearing gifts.”

The guitar playing stops, and you breathe a sigh of relief when his heavy footsteps come closer.

“‘S not my birthday,” he narrows his eyes at the treat in your hand.

“I know. I wanted to recreate the ending scene in Sixteen Candles where Jake Ryan goes over to Sam’s house, but a whole cake was too expensive.” You smile warmly at him. “I hope a cupcake will suffice.”

Eddie returns your grin, leaning against the doorframe. “Depends. What flavor is it?”

“Chocolate cake, chocolate frosting.” It’s his favorite; the man has a mean sweet tooth. “Eddie, I’m sorry that I accused you of having some sort of ulterior motive for being nice to me. But when I said that stuff on Friday—about guys using girls—I wasn’t talking about you,” you tell him. “I was thinking about the Jason Carvers of the world, not the Eddie Munsons.”

He takes a big bite of cupcake. “Apology accepted,” he says, mouth still full. He swallows before speaking again. “How did you know that’s why I was upset?”

“Psychic powers,” you tease. “And a certain meddling, curly-haired nerd who just wants you to be happy.”

“Dammit, Henderson!” Eddie groans. “Little shit can never keep a secret—“

You interrupt him, pressing your lips to his chocolate-covered ones. The kiss doesn’t last long because the two of you can’t stop smiling.

“That’s for calling me pretty,” you tell him. “At least, I think that’s what you said; you kinda rambled on there for awhile.”

Now it’s Eddie’s turn to cut you off. “Then let me make it clear,” he says softly, running his thumb over your jawline. “Pretty, pretty, pretty. Prettiest girl I’ve ever seen.” He places a kiss on your forehead, and you feel yourself melt.

“No more trying to be some corny movie character,” you instruct him, wrapping your arms around his waist. “I like you just as you are, Eddie Munson.”

He laughs. “Got it, boss.” He twitches his nose. “Actually, there’s one more thing I wanted to do.” When you look at him quizzically, he continues. “You know that part in The Breakfast Club, where Bender gives Claire his earring?”

“Yeah?”

“Well,” Eddie says shyly, “I don’t have an earring, but I do have this.” He pulls his thin black ring off of his finger and holds it up. “Prob’ly be too big on you, but maybe you could wear it on a chain? And you could be my girlfriend, if you want?”

You press on your tiptoes, pecking another kiss on his lips. “Yes, Eds. To both questions.”

He throws his fist in the air á la Judd Nelson as he kisses you back, making you cackle with laughter.

“I can’t believe you actually watched that movie,” you tease.

He shakes his head, as though he can’t believe it himself. “‘S all right,” he says. “You can make it up to me by seeing Eliminators on our first date.”

“Oh, absolutely not.”

#eddie munson #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson angst #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x f!reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie x reader #eddie x you #eddie x y/n #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things fanfic #fanfic #eddie munson stranger things #eddie stranger things #stranger things #requests

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willowsnook · 10 days

Text

Right Place, Right Time (LN pt. 2)

pt. 1, pt. 2, pt. 3, pt. 4

@seasonswinter @drdbnkl2008

It'd been a couple of months since the Dutch Grand Prix and your life went back to normal. Work, hanging out with friends, watching sports, walking your dog, the usual. The weather was starting to get nicer in Austin so you were in a good mental spot.

You and Lily had checked in every couple of weeks to chat and you had grown to really like her. About a month ago you had gotten a text from an unknown number.

L: Hey, this is Lando. Lily gave me your number I hope that's okay

Y/N: Lando who?

L: 🙄 very funny

Y/n: How do I even know this isn't spam???

L: [video attachement]

"Hey y/n, it's Lando Norris. You know the driver for McLaren that you met in August. Just wanted to say hi, okay bye."

Since then you had been casually texting, nothing crazy just pretty much sending memes back and forth. The Austin GP was coming up and your whole team was going much to Lando's delight.

The Monday of race week, you were in your office working when you looked down to see Lando calling.

Y/n: What's up?

LN: Nothing much just packing. I'm flying in on Wednesday.

Y/n: Coolio, I hate to do this but I have a meeting in 5 minutes. Can I call you later?

LN: No no it's okay. I was calling to see if maybe you could give me a little tour of Austin when I get in?

Y/N: Hmmm I am pretty packed this week hanging with Lily.

LN: Yeah but you can hang out with her when Osc and I are doing stuff.

Y/n: Fine, text me when you land and i'll figure something out.

LN: Cool, I'll see you then.

You said goodbye and hung up, leaning back in your chair. This whole situation was very strange to you considering you and Lando had spoken one time in person. But maybe he just needed a friend.

You were at happy hour later than day with two of your friends when the subject came up.

"So yeah, I'm picking him up from his hotel and going sight seeing and eating I guess," you said nonchalantly as you finished the story to your two best friends, Maggie and Jaelen.

"Oh yeah so casual," Jaelen said. "Just hanging out with a famous F1 driver. Nothing odd about that." You rolled her eyes and Maggie snickered.

"Did you like put a spell on him when you were there and now he's in love with you?" She asked and you flipped her off.

"I literally didn't do anything!" You exclaimed. "We just talked for a bit and I was being nice."

"You're just not like other girls," Jaelen mocked and you groaned. This whole thing was getting out of hand.

"I am excited for you guys to meet Lily though," you said. "She's cool."

"Sounds like it," Maggie said. "Girls night on Thursday right?" You nodded. You had planned a little girls night slumber party with them and Lily to just hang and watch movies and gossip. The usual activities.

------wednesday---------

The day had flown by at work and before you knew it you were heading out the door to pick up Lando. Your hair sat in waves down your back and you decided on a casual cute vibe wearing a cropped knit brown tank top paired with light baggy jeans. It wasn't that far of a drive to his hotel and you texted him when you got there.

Glued to your phone, you didn't see him walk up and jumped a little when the passenger door opened. He gave you a big smile as your eyes raked over him in a big gray t-shirt and black jeans.

"You are totally checking me out," he said and you huffed.

"I am not," you replied and he laughed.

"It's good to see you," he said sweetly and you smiled.

"You too, are you hungry?"

"Starving."

You pulled out and headed towards the restaurant, the two of you casually chatting about his travel and your work day. You found parking at the place and you both jumped out and headed in.

"Tex mex," Lando said looking at the menu with his face scrunched. "Isn't it just like Mexican food?"

"Yes and no," you said. "It's like American Mexican food so it uses more beef and yellow cheese vs. what you would get in an authentic mexican restaurant."

"What do they mean by a bowl of queso?" He asked and your eyes snapped up to him.

"It's just like a bowl of cheese that you eat with chips," you said slowly.

"And that's good?" he asked innocently.

"You are going to make me cry in public right now," you warned. When your waiter came over it was the first thing you ordered for the two of you.

"How long have you lived here?" Lando asked after you put in your orders.

"A couple of years actually," you said. "I grew up a couple of states north of here, went to college up there, and then moved down when I got the job at Monster."

"Do you have family here?"

"A couple of second cousins but my parents still live where I grew up," you replied. "You live in Monaco now right?" He smirked.

"Looking me up online now are you?" He teased and you blushed.

"I had to make sure you weren't crazy if I was going to show you around my city," you defended and he laughed.

"Yeah I'm in Monaco, I grew up in Glastonbury though," he said and you nodded.

"Is it hard being away from your family?" You asked and he shrugged.

"Yes and no. I miss them a lot but a lot of people involved in F1 live in Monaco so I'm not totally alone. It can be lonely though." You smiled sympathetically.

When your food arrived you waited patiently for Lando to try the infamous queso.

"Well?" You asked nervously. This was very important to you.

"It's pretty good," he said taking another bite.

"Just pretty good?" You questioned.

"It's like exotic," he said and you choked on the sip of water you had just taken a drink of.

"Exotic?? It's melted cheese buddy." Lando blushed and you laughed.

"Are you like a picky eater?" You asked and he nodded.

"Yeah I get a lot of shit for it," he admitted.

"I can't imagine why."

Conversation flowed over the next half hour while you ate, trading childhood stories and hobbies. Lando picked up the bill much to your protest and you headed out to your next stop.

"Mini golf? You really did stalk me online," Lando said as you pulled up to your favorite mini golf course that was peter pan themed.

"Yeah yeah, I wanted to make sure you had fun," you said.

"I would have fun with you even if we did nothing but stare at each other for two hours," he said cheekily.

"Yeah because I'm hot," you replied with a wink and he laughed.

Lando quickly realized that you were a pretty competitive mini golfer so there wasn't much conversation even though he tried. You complained about him distracting you multiple times which made him giggle.

In the end it did not pay off as he beat you by 5 strokes causing you to pout in the car.

"You realize I play golf like all the time," he said looking at you with amusement.

"Yeah whatever," you muttered and he laughed. As you pulled up to his hotel he turned to you.

"Come have a drink to end the night," he said pleading.

"I don't want to pay for parking," you countered and he waved his hand.

"I'll pay for valet come on," he said and got out of the car. You waited while he talked to the valet guy and then followed him in and towards the bar. You got a vodka soda and you found some comfy chairs to sit in. Right when Lando started to say something, someone sunk into the third chair by you guys.

"Mind if I join you guys?" You looked to see Max Verstappen with a drink in his hand casually sitting back.

"Not at all," you said.

"Max, this is Y/n, y/n this is Max," Lando introduced and Max nodded.

"Ahh the mysterious y/n," he said smirking and you turned to Lando who was looking anywhere else but you. The three of you chatted as you got to know Max a little more and the conversation naturally turned to the upcoming race.

"Are you ready for the race this week?" You asked and Max nodded.

"Yeah, don't have really any expectations so we will just see what happens," he said nonchalantly.

"Why not?" You asked.

"The car sucks so who cares," he said and you snorted.

"What?" He asked with an eyebrow raise.

"You've won the championship how many times now? And you expect me to believe that you really just don't care?" You asked incredulously. Lando leaned up about to say something but Max beat him to it.

"Tell me what you really think then," he challenged.

"I think it's so easy for you to fall into this nonchalant attitude because you're Max Verstappen," you said and he raised his eyebrows. "You've painted yourself as this self-assured confident guy so of course you wouldn't be worked up. But how did you get to where you are? By not caring? By not having passion? I don't believe it for one second."

He sat thoughtfully for a moment before speaking again.

"You know my dad used to always tell me that if I'm not winning, then what's the point," he said.

"I think the point is that you are doing what you love and trying to get better everytime because you love the sport," you said sadly. "Winning is just a bonus. And it's you in the car not him."

Max looked at you for a second before turning his attention to Lando.

"I can see why you like her," he said before turning again to you. He reached out and grabbed your hand, caressing his thumb over the back. "It was nice meeting you and thank you."

You bid him farewell before turning back to Lando who was lost in thought.

"I think I'm going to head home," you told him and he nodded. His hand rested on the bottom of your back as you walked back towards the entrance. Lando paid the valet guy and the two of you waited for your car.

"When can I see you again?" He asked.

"I'll probably be there Saturday for qualifying," you said and he frowned.

"That's a long time from now," he said and you smirked looking away.

"I'm hanging out with Lily buddy, she's my main priority not you," you teased and he huffed.

"I want to see you sooner," he complained.

"We'll see," you replied. Your car came back into your vision and you wrapped your arms around Lando's neck pulling him in for a hug. HIs arms wrapped around your waist and he kissed your cheek before letting go.

"I had fun tonight," he said.

"Me too," you replied. "See you Saturday."

"See you Friday," he said waving and you rolled your eyes but smiled as you got in your car.

#f1 imagine #lando norris #lando x reader #lando norris x reader

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xzinbdg · 1 month

Text

boynextdoor as songs from my playlist!

ᯓ★ sungho

daydreamin' - ariana grande

this song just feels like sungho! and he definitely got me daydreaming about him 😭😭😭

you're here that's the thing - beabadoobee

i have this habit of looking for sungho when there's all six of them like he just catches my eye easily

les - childish gambino

"baby you're the baddest" and damn right he is! sungho is one of the prettiest men i have ever seen 🥹 yeppi indeed 🤭

ᯓ★ riwoo

get into it (yuh) - doja cat

i honestly could watch riwoo dancing for 24/7 it's so good like get it babe!!! slay the dance floor!!!

darling - taeyang

are we surprised? this song is his atp everytime I hear it i just hear his voice 😭 drop the full cover pls

nervous - the neighborhood

idk what it is about riwoo but he makes me immensely nervous 😭 like i don't think I would ever be able to look this man in the eyes....

ᯓ★ jaehyun

mamacita - chase atlantic

the vibes!!!!!! this song is so myungjae coded!!! honestly i can see him listening to it!

standing next to you - jungkook

again are we suprised? this man takes being a jk stan to another level 🥹 and his cover was so good oh lord

monster - lady gaga

"he ate my heart" he ate not only my heart but also every stage he's been on 😋 but he really is like a monster the way he keeps coming for my heart and bias line

ᯓ★ taesan

blue monday' 88 - new order

especially this version of this song is so taesan! like the little guitar funk added to it 😩 god i love this song

alien blues - vundabar

I can see taesan making a song like this one! not only the beat but also the lyrics are so his style

t r a n s p a r e n t s o u l - willow, travis baker

taesan where's the cover??? like pls i would love to hear him cover this song 😭

ᯓ★ leehan

turn it up - pinkpantheress

"hey it's me, we've been talking twice a week" like the song gives me big leehan vibes 😭

art - tyla

hes the art here let's be honest.....and i totally see him being a muse to others not only in the art of painting 😌

fabulous - nimstarr

this whole song screams leehan to me!!!! like the lyrics, the beat, and nimstarr's voice is so leehan like wtf

ᯓ★ woonhak

go (xtayalive 2) - kanii

GO! JUST GO!!! it's so unagi! even though he hates acting cute to me it comes naturally for him 🥹

yale - ken carson

i feel like this song is kinda his style...like he definitely would listen to it and vibe 😌

nightclawler - travis scott, swae lee, chief keef

"young, free and wildin'" YUPPPP!!!! this song just comes to mind with woonhak and no one else for me!!!

boynextdoor masterlist

#em's✉️#boynextdoor fluff #boynextdoor x reader #boynextdoor imagines #boynextdoor headcanons #boynextdoor as songs #boynextdoor sungho #boynextdoor riwoo #boynextdoor jaehyun #boynextdoor taesan #boynextdoor leehan #boynextdoor woonhak #boynextdoor au #boynextdoor scenarios #bnd scenarios #bnd x reader #bnd fluff #bnd imagines

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allmoshnobrain · 6 months

Text

𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐫: 𝐞𝐩𝐢𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

part 05 of 06 | masterpost

word count: 8,2k | ao3 link | fic's playlist

I sighed, feeling heat rise to my cheeks as I sensed a kind of understanding forming between the three of us, albeit slowly; Dave and James were like two sides of the same coin, always had been, brothers of fire and anger even before all their pain had driven them apart. Was it such a shocker that they'd both end up falling for the same woman? Was it such a surprise that I'd end up loving them both? Maybe we always knew it would eventually lead to this.

✦ on this chapter: NSFW!!!, threesome, mxfxm sex, dave mustaine x female!oc, james hetfield x female!oc, oc is cliff's cousin, +18, language, slice of life, unprotected sex, oral sex, drug issues mentioned, alcoholism, drinking

✦ a/n: Hey, everyone! So, this chapter turned out a bit longer too, but I couldn't wrap up the fic without throwing in this smut scene at least once. Honestly, it's one of my favorites in the whole story! Oh, and in case you haven't noticed - yeah, Leanne's husband is Joe Sinclair. He popped up in some earlier chapters as Lea's friend who had that cool beach house where they celebrated Cliff's birthday and where James first kissed Nore at Lea's birthday party. Next part's gonna be the finale, and I swear we're finally getting a happy ending after all the drama lol Thanks for sticking around and reading, feedback is appreciated! ❤

April 6, 1992

Dave and I came back from our weekend getaway even more head over heels for each other, if that was even possible. Now that our feelings were out in the open, any walls between us just crumbled away, leaving us with one undeniable truth: I was crazy about him, and he felt the same way about me. Life had never felt so simple.

Life had also never felt so damn complicated; come Monday, things took an unexpected turn when Lars unexpectedly dropped by. He showed up at my place bright and early, his usual chill vibe replaced with a hint of worry that had me wondering what was up.

"Hey, Lars. Come on in, I was just munching on some breakfast," I gestured for him to enter, stepping aside. He gave a somewhat tense smile and took a seat at the kitchen table, setting his backpack down. "Hungry? I've got pancakes, orange juice, some fresh sliced watermelon..."

"Just water, thanks. I grabbed a bite earlier," he replied, flashing a quick smile when he noticed my concern.

"If you're all fueled up, what's with the serious face?" I inquired. "Something happened?"

"Actually..." he trailed off. I plopped down at the table, sliding a glass of water his way and pouring myself some juice, giving him a curious glance. "You catch the news today?"

"News?" I furrowed my brow, and Lars let out a sigh, seeming resigned. He unzipped his backpack, pulling out a magazine and passing it over to me. I blinked at him, puzzled, before focusing on the publication.

What I saw left me gaping in disbelief.

The magazine was one of those gossip rags, the kind I never bought because I had never been interested in such stuff. If I didn't expect Lars to read this kind of thing, I certainly didn't expect to see myself on the cover. The photo showed a painfully familiar scene; Dave and I getting off at the airport together the night before, him with an arm around my waist, pulling me close as he whispered something in my ear and I smiled. We both looked happy; happy and at peace, like I hadn't felt in a long time.

The photo didn't take up the whole cover; there was some other Hollywood gossip splashed across it that I barely paid attention to as I zeroed in on the caption beneath my picture with Dave.

SHE’S GOT A TYPE? Get the lowdown on Nore Burton and her new metalhead boyfriend, snapped in LA yesterday, on page 30.

I hurriedly flipped through the magazine, landing on the page mentioned and scanning through it, feeling my face flush hotter with every word.

Lately, there's been a buzz among Hollywood bigwigs and celebs about a fresh face on the scene: Eleanore Burton (27), aka Nore Burton. The actress, with a theater background and gearing up for her small-screen debut, turned heads by snagging the lead in Pacific Coast Television's (PCT) latest romance series, sharing the screen with some seasoned industry pros.

What's not widely known is that the actress is actually cousins with late Metallica bassist, Cliff Burton. And then there's the rollercoaster romance between her and the band's frontman and guitarist, James Hetfield (28). They've been on and off since way before they hit the big time, dabbling with other flings whenever they hit a rough patch.

But what really caught our eye was spotting the actress getting cozy with a new flame: Dave Mustaine (30), infamous for his sharp tongue and ongoing feud with Metallica after getting kicked out of the band in '83. A trusted source confided that they were actually together for a few months earlier that same year, but things fizzled out shortly after Metallica dropped their debut album, Kill 'em All.

It's anyone's guess how James Hetfield feels about his sweetheart's new fling. How's he gonna take the news that she's back in touch with an old flame he's not too keen on? We tried reaching out to Hetfield via Metallica's reps, but no word back yet as of press time.

"They went after him?" I shouted, eyebrows raised, looking at Lars in shock. "Lars, I had no clue about this pic! I..." I shook my head, too stunned to finish.

"Yeah, welcome to the club, babe," Lars quipped, snatching the magazine from me. "Just wait till you need bodyguards for your Bloomingdale's run. Fame's got its downsides, no doubt." He glanced up, frowning. "When were you planning to spill the beans about getting back with Mustaine?"

"I was going to, I swear," I said, feeling a blush creeping up my cheeks. Lars just huffed, giving me an incredulous look. I couldn't blame him for being peeved; maybe I should've looped them in sooner. But I didn’t expect my personal life would become front-page news like that. "Seriously, Lars. Dave and I just reconnected last month, but everything happened so fast..."

"And what about James? Did he get the memo, or did he find out through the grapevine?"

"He knows Dave and I crossed paths again. But..." I paused, feeling a lump form in my throat, my voice trailing off as memories of James' silent treatment flooded back. "He's been avoiding me for weeks. I've called, but no answer. It's like I'm invisible to him," I finished in a mumble, blinking back a lone tear rolling down my cheek.

Lars gazed at me for a beat, then let out a sigh, opening his arms for a hug. I blinked back tears, feeling them well up despite my efforts, and eased myself into his embrace.

"You know you could've spilled this to us, me and Kirk," he said softly. "You could've mentioned James was giving you the silent treatment again. We would've had your back."

"I didn't want to be a burden," I murmured, and he scoffed.

"You're not a burden. We're family; we look out for each other, got it?"

"Thanks," I choked out, my voice thick with emotion, as I stepped back. I straightened up, brushing my hair back and sniffing, wiping away the tears that had slipped down my cheeks. "I... I'll give him a call. And if he doesn't pick up, I'll swing by his place after today's shoot. We gotta talk things out; it ain't cool for him to shut himself off like this."

"You want me to come along?" Lars offered, rising from his seat, and I shook my head no. I'd rather handle this on my own. "Okay; I got some stuff to sort out myself. We're hitting the road soon for a tour, won't be back till August for Lea's wedding. If James pops up, I'll call you, alright? And let him know you're looking to chat."

"Sure thing, Lars," I smiled softly as he clasped my hand, giving it a comforting squeeze. "Appreciate it."

As expected, I couldn't get hold of James; every call went straight to voicemail. I got swept back into my daily grind, a hectic day of non-stop shooting. Word about me and Dave must've spread like wildfire; some colleagues offered sympathetic words, but I also caught plenty of curious looks and hushed chatter whenever I was on set during the day.

I left the studio totally beat; all I craved was getting home, hitting the shower, and crashing out. But, sticking to my morning promise, I made my way to James' place. I stood at the door, debating whether to ring the bell. After a moment, I went for it, but got no response. I fidgeted nervously, wondering if I'd picked a lousy time to drop by; I wasn't even sure he'd be home. I hit the bell again and waited. Just when I was about to bail, James finally swung open the door.

The moment I laid eyes on him, I could tell he wasn't okay; his disheveled hair, creased forehead, and bloodshot eyes gave away recent drinking. He just stood there, staring at me, before stepping aside silently to let me in. I winced at the sight of his living room, a mess that brought back memories of our wild party days back when we were younger; empty beer bottles littered the floor, clothes tossed haphazardly on the couch, and a stack of pizza boxes sitting on the corner table.

"You showed up," James muttered hoarsely, and I turned to him. He gazed at me, a mix of pain and bitterness flashing in his blue eyes, sending a wave of discomfort through me. "Finally remembered I'm alive? Or did your boyfriend not want you around today?"

"James..." I started, my tone a mix of caution and desperation. I wasn't looking for a fight. All I wanted was to talk things out with him. He snorted before heading to the kitchen, and I trailed after him. I watched with worry as he opened the fridge, reaching for a beer. "I... I don't think booze is the answer right now."

"Thanks for the tip, but I'll pass," he smirked, sarcastically. "What brings you here, Nore? Suddenly worried about my feelings now that the whole world knows you're with someone else?"

"James, that's not fair," I said, my voice choking up. "I've been trying to reach out to you for weeks. You've been ignoring my calls, you didn't answer any of my voicemails, and now I'm the one who doesn't care?"

He shot me an annoyed look but stayed silent. I sighed, blinking away the forming tears as I looked away from him, trying to swallow down the lump in my throat. Maybe coming after him wasn't such a great idea after all.

"Lars mentioned you're hitting the road soon. How are you planning to handle that if you're in this state?" I questioned weakly, and he just rolled his eyes.

"And what's it to you?"

"I do care about you, James. Even if you can't see it," I answered, my voice dropping, feeling the weight of his anger. Whenever James got like this, I felt lost, like a ship tossed at sea, struggling to find solid ground but always drifting. It was like he was slipping further away, and I couldn't reel him back in. I couldn't handle it — his distance or the hurt it caused.

"Why'd you go back to him, Nore?" he questioned suddenly, his voice now filled with anguish. "Wasn't I good enough for you?"

"James, please," I implored, taking a step forward, but he shook his head, backing away. "Come on. You know I care about you..."

"Don't say that while I have to watch you happy with him," James snapped. "Really, Nore? Fucking Mustaine? I can handle you seeing other people when we're not good, but did it have to be him ? The one person I know I can't measure up to?"

"James," I begged, my voice catching. "I didn't plan for this. But I can't ignore how I feel. It wouldn’t be fair to any of us. But you don't have to push me away. Please, let me help..."

" Stop it ," he interrupted, his voice sharp and icy. I flinched, holding back tears, feeling a pang of sadness as I watched James' expression turn hostile. "I told you not to come crying to me, didn't I? I don't want to fucking see you, I don't want to hear about your life. I don't know why you still think I give a shit," he snarled, his words laced with venomous anger.

I gaped at him, stunned, my heart pounding painfully in my chest as I watched the realization of what he'd just said sinking in, the hostility melting into regret in his blue eyes. He reached out, but it was too late; the damage was done, my heart shattered, and I knew I couldn't stand to be near James for another second right then, no matter how hard I tried.

As he came closer, I swatted his hand away, tears streaming down my face. I backed off quick, just needing to get away, to put as much space between my pain and James' rising temper as I could, even if that meant widening the gap between us even more.

I got home feeling totally crushed, tears still streaking down my cheeks as I flopped onto the couch with a heavy sigh, and caught sight of the blinking light on the phone, telling me I had messages waiting. I grabbed the phone and held it up to my ear, tapping the button to listen to the voicemails. A faint smile crept onto my face as Dave's voice came through.

Hey, babe. How's it going? Just saw that article they threw out about us. Give me a call, alright?

I let out a sigh. Even though I was feeling pretty down, I knew chatting with Dave would lift my spirits, so I quickly dialed up his number.

"Hey."

"Hi, Dave," I said, trying to put on a smile even though my voice was still a bit wobbly.

"Hey, sweetheart. You alright?" Dave asked, sounding all worried. Of course he'd pick up on my mood instantly; nobody read me like Dave did.

"I..." I let out a sigh; I didn't wanna stress him out, but I also couldn't keep everything that went down with James from him. "No, I'm not," I confessed. "I... I went to see James, Dave. He's not in a good place... We had a huge fight, he said some nasty stuff, and I..."

"It's because of that stupid article, right?" he said, his voice tense. I agreed, and he let out a sigh. "Hey, wanna swing by my place? I don't want you to be alone if you're feeling this bummed out. I'll whip up some dinner for us."

"Wait, you actually know how to cook?" I asked, my genuine curiosity distracting me from my sadness for a moment, and he chuckled softly.

"I'm getting there. Can't survive on fast food forever, you know. But I can always order in if you're not convinced by my culinary skills," he said, and I giggled.

"No need. I'm game to try your cooking. I'll just change and head over there, then."

I showed up at Dave's home not long after, carrying a backpack slung over my shoulder packed with all the stuff I figured I'd need for the next day. When he swung the door open, I wrapped my arms around him, burying my face in his chest.

"Hey," he chuckled softly, running his fingers through my hair. I glanced up, standing on my toes to plant a kiss on his lips. He grinned, his hands cradling my face gently. "C'mon, let's head inside."

I smiled softly when I stepped into Dave's place and noticed the living room, dimly lit and cozy, lit up with just a small lamp while some soft tunes played in the background. Not the usual heavy metal songs I was used to enjoying with him, but instead, a nice, slow piano melody. The dining table was all set with red candles flickering, some spaghetti bolognese, and a bottle of red wine.

Dave snuck up behind me, wrapping his arms around me and resting his chin on my shoulder, swaying along to the music. I couldn't help but let out a soft giggle. I turned around to wrap my arms around his neck; he slid his hands down to my waist, giving me a light kiss on the lips before resting his forehead against mine.

"A candlelit dinner and some music? You're pulling out all the stops this time, Mustaine," I remarked, and he grinned.

"Just wait 'til you see what I've got planned for after we go to bed."

"You didn't go all out with rose petals and stuff, did you?" I teased, and he chuckled, giving me a tight hug and a light kiss on the lips.

"I'd do anything to see you smile. You know that, right?" he asked, softly.

How could I feel anything but pure joy hearing that? Having Dave back in my life felt like a dream, one that just kept getting sweeter by the day. I could see it in his eyes he meant it, despite all the mess with James, despite all the baggage from my past. He loved me, plain and simple. What more could I ask for?

Instead of answering, I simply leaned in and planted another kiss on his lips.

August 15, 1992

The next few months flew by in a blur. Between my jam-packed schedule and all my commitments, things slowly started shifting. Dave and I made it official, letting everyone know we were back on, and sure, at first, it caused a bit of a stir with the gossip mags and our circle of friends. But soon enough, the novelty wore off, and we got our privacy back.

The moments I spent with him were just something else; every day, our bond got stronger, and I couldn't get enough of Dave - his smile, the feel of his skin on mine, the taste of his kiss, and how his eyes softened whenever they locked with mine.

Dave kept fighting to stay clear of falling back into addiction, even though some days were really tough on him. I did what I could to support him, even if I knew deep down that I couldn't fix everything. But Dave always made sure to let me know that just having me around made things a whole lot easier.

Having him around definitely helped ease my load too; getting back with Dave kind of lifted some of the heaviness I'd been carrying around for the past few years. Sure, I knew I'd always have to deal with the sadness that came with losing Cliff. But the pain of having lost Dave in the past bit by bit was slowly being replaced by love - real, deep love that filled up my chest almost entirely.

Almost entirely, except for the part that still hurt because of my messed-up relationship with James. We'd been in this complicated dance for a few years now, but lately, he'd been more distant than ever. I mean, I get it, being a big-time artist, time works a bit differently, right? It wasn’t unusual for us to go ages without seeing each other when the band was out on their never-ending tours, but usually, we'd at least keep some kind of contact going.

But lately, it felt like he was going out of his way to steer clear of me, and honestly, I wasn't really feeling the urge to patch things up after the nasty stuff he'd flung my way last time we talked. I'd still give Lars and Kirk quick calls to check in on them every now and then, but I made sure to steer clear of bringing up James, and they didn't mention him either.

I figured I'd bump into him sooner or later. I mean, with Leanne's wedding creeping up, it was bound to happen. Lea and Joe had settled on tying the knot down in New Orleans and had snagged a whole hotel to fit everyone in. I caught up with them the day before the big party, when they swung by to greet us at the airport and give us a ride to the hotel.

The moment I laid eyes on Lea, a huge smile spread across my face; she was just like I remembered her, with her dark locks and sparkly eyes, but I couldn't help but do a double-take at the little bump showing she was expecting. As for Lea, she didn't seem at all shocked to see Dave tagging along with me for the event. Despite the miles between us, Leanne and I always made sure to keep each other in the loop about what was going on in our lives.

"You’re pregnant? " I blurted out, all wide-eyed and grinning as she pulled me into a hug. She laughed.

"Yeah, I am! Joe and I were just as shocked, believe me. I'm at 19 weeks... Oh, sorry, that's like 4 months, right? I didn't spill the beans sooner 'cause I wanted to tell you face-to-face."

"Wow, Lea. That's amazing news, congrats!" I gushed, beaming at her, and she beamed right back.

Man, I was beyond thrilled for her. Even though Leanne and I hadn't been as close lately, I still saw her as one of my ride-or-die besties, and I knew she felt the same way. Losing Cliff had changed a lot of stuff, but it didn't touch the bond we had. Seeing her all glowing and living her best life, well, it warmed my heart more than words could say.

Dave and I tagged along with Leanne to the airport parking lot, and there was Joe, leaning against the car, waiting for us. His face lit up with a smile when he spotted us. While Leanne hadn't changed much, Joe was a whole new dude compared to the long-haired blondie I knew back in my San Francisco days. These days, he kept his hair super short, almost buzzed, and sported a full beard. But that friendly grin of his was still exactly the same.

"Hey, Nore, Dave! Been ages!" he said, giving us a hug before unlocking the car. "How've you been? Pumped for the party?"

"I'm counting down the minutes," I grinned, and Leanne let out a soft chuckle. "But you two must be over the moon, right? Tomorrow's your big day!"

"Oh, you have no idea," Leanne said, all hyped up. "We've been waiting for this forever, and now that it's finally happening, it's like pinch-me-I'm-dreaming territory."

We pulled up at the hotel before we knew it. Dave and I gave Leanne and Joe a big thanks for the lift, then headed inside to check-in and crash for a bit. I mean, the next day was gonna be huge. Finally, we made it to our room, and I let out a sigh of relief, humming a little as I started unpacking. Dave glanced over at me, a small smile playing on his lips.

"You're looking pretty happy," he observed, moving in closer and resting a hand on my waist. I let out a soft chuckle as he planted a kiss on my cheek, his lips brushing lightly against my skin before meeting mine. "I love seeing you like this."

"Isn't it crazy that Lea's gonna have a baby? That's awesome," I remarked, grinning. Dave chuckled softly, pulling me into a hug before his lips found mine once more. I let out a contented sigh as he gently gripped my hips, drawing me closer.

"You ever thought about having one?" he murmured, his voice low and a hint of a smile on his lips as he leaned in close to my ear. I pulled back a bit, feeling a blush creep up on my cheeks as I looked at him, surprised. "We could have a little one someday. You know, down the road. Or two. Or ten ."

"How'd we jump from two to ten?" I giggled, and he let out a big laugh.

"Just throwing it out there. If you want, I’d love to have a future with you."

Those words from Dave kept swirling around in my head all night, even after we'd settled into bed. Ever since Cliff had passed, I'd been steering clear of making any big plans for the future. Losing him had hit me hard, wrecking any dreams I used to have. For a while, I’d just let life happen, rolling with the punches as they came. I was so, so terrified of hoping for anything and ending up crushed and broken again. But with Dave by my side, everything felt different, like the world was painted in brighter colors. Was it okay to start thinking about a future where we wouldn't ever have to be distant again? Was it okay to start thinking about a future with him?

A future with him. Just the thought made my stomach tie up in knots, all tangled up with the fear that it could all go south one day. But deep down, I knew I craved it with every fiber of my being.

Maybe I wasn't exactly brimming with courage right then, but one thing I knew for sure: for as long as I lived, I never wanted to be apart from Dave again.

August 16, 1992

Leanne's wedding ceremony was short and sweet, but emotional. I'll admit, I got a bit teary-eyed watching her stroll down that aisle, all choked up with happy tears but still beaming. On the downside, being a bridesmaid meant I couldn't shake the feeling of James' eyes on me the whole time. Him, Lars, and Kirk were all groomsmen at the wedding too.

James and I had crossed paths real quick at the hotel during breakfast, but it was like we were total strangers. Not a single word passed between us. Maybe I was being a bit stubborn, but after the nasty stuff he'd flung at me months back, I wasn't about to be the one to make the first move and patch things up.

The wedding’s reception kicked off pretty quickly, held at a beautiful historical mansion not far from our hotel. I snagged a seat at the table set aside for me, Dave, and a bunch of other folks while he headed off to grab some food. I glanced up with a grin when I noticed a familiar face plop down beside me.

"Hey, Kirk," I greeted, and he flashed me a warm smile.

"Hey, Nore! Finally tracked you down. So, I noticed Lea moved you to a different table... Is it 'cause you and James had a spat or 'cause your boyfriend's not our biggest fan?" he quipped, and I chuckled.

"Maybe a bit of both. But don't sweat it, Dave won't mind me hanging with you guys. As for James..." I let out a sigh. "How's he holding up?"

Kirk grimaced.

"The usual drill, ya know. Him and Lars got into it like three times on the tour... Lars keeps pushing him to hit up rehab, but James insists he’s good," he sighed, then flashed a grin. "Sorry 'bout the tiff you guys had. But he'll bounce back, trust me."

"I know. It's just frustrating when you wanna lend a hand but the other person isn’t having it," I admitted with a sigh, then glanced up as Dave strolled over with two plates of food. "Red alert, Dave's on the scene," I joked, and Kirk chuckled before standing up.

"I'll bail for now. Don't wanna ruffle your boyfriend's feathers too much. We'll chat later, Nore."

I flashed Kirk a smile as he headed off to join Lars and James at their table. Heat rushed to my cheeks when I sensed James looking my way, so I quickly turned my attention to Dave.

"Brought food," Dave grinned, sliding a plate in front of me before settling down beside me. "So, what was up with Hammett?"

"Just chatting. You know we haven’t seen each other in a while," I answered, a small smile playing on my lips. He scoffed, rolling his eyes, but didn't seem too bothered. "Jealous, much?" I teased.

"No need for jealousy, sweetheart. I know you're madly in love with me," he grinned, and I playfully nudged his arm, chuckling.

We wrapped up our meal, happily chatting the whole time. Once dinner was done, a sweet tune started playing, and I couldn't help but grin as I watched Leanne and Joe twirling around the dance floor. Leanne looked stunning in her fancy dress, her hair all dolled up with twinkling little gems. Joe looked like he was on cloud nine, beaming at her like she’d hung the moon. I felt Dave slide an arm around my waist, planting a soft kiss on my temple, and I melted into his embrace.

The party flowed like honey, with drinks pouring freely, mouthwatering meals, and catching up with old friends. Leanne had rounded up a bunch of folks from our San Francisco days, so mingling was easy. Dave and I bounced around, shooting the breeze with different faces, and as the booze kicked in, things got looser. I ended up deep in conversation with Lars at one point, while Dave snuck up behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist and resting his chin on my shoulder. I couldn't help but chuckle at how unexpected and unlikely the moment felt.

The only person I hardly even crossed paths with was James. I mean, there was this one time when I was heading back from the bathroom and accidentally plowed right into him. He caught me, his hands gripping my shoulders tight, and I couldn't help but blush when I looked up and saw it was him. I took a step back, my face probably as red as a tomato, while he just stood there, all serious, not saying a word.

"What?" I snapped, my voice a bit sharper than I meant it to be. He just kept on staring at me, like he was trying to figure out what to say, but I wasn't in the mood to hash things out with him. I spun on my heel and headed back to Dave, who was busy grabbing us a couple of drinks at the bar.

“Hey, babe. You good?" Dave asked, passing me a glass filled with a drink. I took a sip and nodded, shooting a quick glance over at James, who was still eyeing me from afar. We locked eyes for a sec, both of us clearly ticked off, until Dave caught on and followed my gaze. He frowned, grabbing my hand. "C'mon, let's go somewhere else."

I tore my gaze away from James, ditching my drink on some random table as I trailed after Dave, feeling kinda intrigued. The way Dave's shoulders tensed up told me he wasn't exactly thrilled about the silent stare-down I just had with James.

He led me through the mansion's hall and out the back door, where we found ourselves in a huge, empty garden since most of the guests were still inside. I raised an eyebrow, wondering what he was up to, as he guided me to a secluded spot in the garden. My eyes widened in surprise when he pulled me close, wrapping his arms around me before planting a harsh kiss on my lips.

"What's the deal with you and James?" he growled, catching me off guard with the intensity in his voice.

"Dave, it’s nothing," I murmured, but he just grunted in response, kissing me again with a bit too much force, his tongue pushing into my mouth without any of the usual gentleness. I let out a little moan, taken aback, gripping onto his arms as his hold on my waist tightened.

"He's been eyeing you all night, and now you can't seem to take your eyes off him," he murmured, giving my lip a light nip as he backed me against the wall. He slid one knee between my legs and his hand rested lightly on my neck. "You gonna clue me in on why you're giving him all this attention?"

"He's just being a jerk. I'm not giving him the time of day, I... Oh!" I gasped when Dave spun me around, pressing my back against him and pulling me close, letting me feel his hard-on as he started kissing my neck. "Dave, hold on, you're drunk..."

"And what if I am? You are too," he grunted, but eased up on his hold a bit. His lips, however, kept on working their magic on my skin, planting soft kisses that sent shivers down my spine. "What's wrong? You wanna go back to him?"

"It's not that," I murmured, daring to turn to face him again. Dave looked at me, his eyes filled with turmoil as I gripped onto his arms, feeling my heart pounding and my cheeks heating up. "I want you, Dave," I declared, reaching up to his face and wiping away the lipstick that had smeared from my lips to his. He grunted, grabbing my wrist before pressing me back against the wall, his lips finding my neck once more as he nibbled and sucked gently. I let out a little moan, caught off guard, closing my eyes. "Dave..."

"If I make it crystal clear to everyone that you're mine, will that jerk finally back off?" he growled, nipping at my neck again in a way that I knew would leave a mark. I gasped, clutching onto his shirt and shutting my eyes. "You know I'm planning to fuck you stupid all night long, right?"

"Hmm... Dave, please..." I begged, not entirely sure if I wanted him to stop or to keep going. He grunted, but pulled back, leaving me with one last kiss on my neck before stepping away, his cheeks flushed and his gaze burning with intensity.

"We should head back," he suggested, his voice low and husky, his fingers intertwining with mine. I nodded, my heart still pounding, feeling a jolt of electricity shoot through me at his touch.

We made our way back to the party; Dave and I ducked into the bathrooms to freshen up before rejoining the crowd. I blushed when I caught sight of myself in the mirror: flushed cheeks, smudged lipstick, hair slightly tousled, and two distinct red marks on my neck's smooth skin. I did my best to fix my hair and makeup, dabbing at the hickeys with cold water in a vain attempt to reduce the bruises that I knew would linger for days.

I headed to the bar, grabbing a glass of water to cool down. I glanced around, searching for Dave, but he was nowhere to be seen. Maybe he hadn’t left the bathroom yet. I settled at a table with a sigh, my heart still fluttering a bit.

"Your guy's a bit possessive, huh?" a voice chimed in, and I glanced up to see James with that familiar smirk on his face, his blue eyes sparkling with mischief and bitterness.

"After all this time, that's your opening line?" I shot back, my tone icy. He took a seat beside me, his gaze fixating on the marks on my neck. His fingers traced the edges of the redness softly, sending a shiver down my spine.

"You're enjoying this, aren't you?" he muttered, "You love having him under your spell. And me too," he added, lifting his gaze to meet mine, his eyes flickering with anger and something else, a mix of emotions I couldn't quite pin down, but definitely edged with desire.

"You're not even gonna say sorry? Just gonna stay there spewing out this nonsense?" I shot back, aiming for hostility but only managing to sound wounded. He scoffed, leaning in closer, his lips pressing against the bruises, kissing and biting them softly before he murmured against my skin:

"I'm sorry." Then he straightened up, leaving me stunned, heart racing and face flushed as I watched him walk away without a backward glance.

After the party wrapped up, Dave and I hopped in a taxi back to the hotel. We were quiet on the ride, his fingertips tracing little circles on my inner thigh, sending shivers up my spine. Once we got to our room, I headed to the bathroom, flicking on the tap to start filling the bathtub while Dave took his clothes off. Leaning against the door frame, I watched him kick off his shoes, feeling the buzz from the drinks at the party making me even more eager to pick up where we’d left off with that kiss.

"Are you hopping in the bath with me?" I asked, shooting Dave a coy smile as he loosened his tie. He smiled back and walked over, wrapping his arms around my waist and planting a soft kiss on my lips, while his hand fumbled for the zipper of my dress.

He paused when we heard knocks on the door. I frowned, wondering if it could be hotel staff or something. Dave sighed, annoyed, as the knocking continued.

"Better shut off the tap before we flood the room," he remarked, and I chuckled softly. "Let me handle this while you do it."

I headed into the bathroom, shutting off the tap as I listened to Dave dealing with whoever was at the door. I perked up, intrigued, when I heard a familiar voice followed by Dave's tense and irritated tone:

"You've got some guts showing up here, huh?"

I furrowed my brow, puzzled, and went back to the room, my jaw dropped in confusion when I spotted James at the door, locking eyes with Dave in a standoff.

"James?" I blurted out, taken aback, and both men turned to look at me, frustration and anger etched on both their faces. "What the hell are you doing here?"

He eyed me for a beat, tension thickening as Dave's gaze drilled into him. It was like mixing gasoline with a lit match; all of us were already worked up and intoxicated after a night of partying, and James clearly had some bones to pick with both Dave and me. James made a move to step into the room, but Dave cut him off, blocking the entrance with his arm.

"She asked you a fucking question," Dave growled, and James finally glanced at him, a sarcastic smirk creeping onto his lips.

"I came here to talk to her, not to you," James slurred, his voice thick with alcohol. Dave looked ready to snap, his free hand balling into a fist.

"Dave," I stepped in, grabbing his arm and easing it down. He turned to me, and I placed my hand on his chest. "It's alright. Let him in."

Dave sighed heavily but reluctantly moved aside, his face tight with tension, his eyes burning with anger and his lips pressed into a thin line.

"You're like her little lapdog, aren't you? Whatever she wants, you jump, just to keep her happy," James remarked, his tone dripping with sarcasm. I shot him a disapproving look, furrowing my brow, but before I could respond, Dave interrupted with a growl:

"And what about you, huh? You're here to grovel for her forgiveness?" Dave stepped forward, confronting James with a challenging glare. I glanced nervously between them, reaching out to touch Dave's arm in a futile attempt to calm him, but he shrugged me off. "I see the way you look at her, Hetfield. You think I don't notice? You're pathetic."

"That's the crux of it, isn't it?" James snarled. "You and I, we're cut from the same cloth. We both crave her love, her attention, hoping we'll be the lucky one she picks in this messed-up game."

"Except she already chose me," Dave shot back. "Game over. And you know I don't like sharing what's mine."

"Maybe you guys should give it a shot," I blurted out, without really thinking, eager to diffuse the tension between them, but instantly regretting it. Dave and James both turned to look at me, wearing expressions of disbelief, while I felt my cheeks flush with embarrassment. "Um... I just meant..."

"Try sharing you?" Dave chuckled, as if what I’d said was totally nonsensical. I blushed when he gently lifted my chin with his hand, locking eyes with me as he leaned in close, his words a soft whisper, "You don't even know what you're asking for, do you, sweetheart?"

"I just don't want you guys fighting," I murmured, pleadingly. "Please, Dave. You know I care about both of you."

James chuckled, shifting our focus away from each other. Leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed, he had that same intense look in his eyes as when we’d talked earlier — anger, jealousy, and something else I couldn't quite put my finger on at first, but then recognized: longing.

"You always play nice with everyone and it drives me fucking crazy," he remarked, moving closer and closing the door behind him. My heart raced as his hand trailed down my neck to collarbone, all while Dave kept a close eye on him. "There's no escaping this, Nore. Choosing one means hurting the other. And he's got a point." James shot a glance at Dave, who raised an eyebrow. "I'm not exactly great at sharing what's mine either. You know you can't have us both, right?"

"I know. But I don't wanna lose either of you," I admitted, feeling my cheeks heat up as James came closer with a growl, planting his lips on mine. I gasped in surprise, and he seized the moment to slip his tongue into my mouth, his hands firm on my waist. I let out a soft moan as I felt Dave's lips on my neck, planting slow kisses until he reached my ear.

"You sure about this?" he questioned, and I nodded, shutting my eyes and yielding to James' kiss, eliciting a soft growl from him as I tangled my fingers in his hair. "Didn't know you were this greedy, babe," Dave murmured, but he didn't seem upset, more like amused.

Was this really happening? It was hard to wrap my head around it, hard to think straight as the lips of the two men I loved roamed over my mouth, my neck, my skin, igniting sensations that made my whole body tingle. Dave's fingers deftly unzipped my dress.

"Talk to me," James whispered in my ear, and I shut my eyes, my lips parting slightly as I exhaled, Dave still planting kisses on my neck as he eased down my dress. "Tell me you want this, I gotta hear it from you."

"Please, I want both of you," I breathed out, and Dave tightened his grip around my waist, pulling me snug against his body while James teased my earlobe.

I let out a sigh as Dave tilted my head, locking his lips with mine, our tongues moving together while James worked on unclasping my bra and took a nipple into his mouth, giving it a playful nip before leaving small hickeys all over my soft skin. I couldn't help but moan, the sensations overwhelming me. I was completely lost in the moment, swept away by the touch of both of them. It was beyond anything I'd ever dared to dream.

James backed off a bit, his hands resting gently on my hips while Dave went back to peppering my neck with kisses, his hardness pressed against my butt. I stole a glance at James, noticing his distant gaze and flushed cheeks as he watched me, his fingers tracing my cheek softly.

"How do you pull it off? You're still perfect even when you're messing with my head," James muttered, and Dave snarled softly, leaning his head on my shoulder, their eyes locking for a moment. James' expression was hard, revealing a blend of frustration and reluctant acceptance.

"Why do you think I'm crazy about her?" Dave murmured, his lips trailing from my neck up to my jawline in a slow, deliberate path.

I sighed, feeling the heat rise to my cheeks as I sensed a kind of understanding forming between the three of us, albeit slowly; Dave and James were like two sides of the same coin, always had been, brothers of fire and anger even before all their pain had driven them apart. Was it such a shocker that they'd both end up falling for the same woman? Was it such a surprise that I'd end up loving them both?

Maybe we always knew it would eventually lead to this. Maybe we’d all been waiting for this moment, a collision of stars, like waves crashing on the shore on a rainy day. It was dangerous, but exhilarating — so much so that I almost wished we wouldn't cross this line, because I knew I could never come back.

But, at least from now, it seemed good enough to be worth it.

James took a step back, loosening his shirt’s buttons and slipping it off gradually, working on undoing his pants next. I watched him, feeling a shiver run down my spine as Dave's hands caressed my breasts softly. I let out a sigh as James came closer, and reached out, my fingers tracing the edge of his underwear slowly. James grunted, grabbing my hand on his and pressing it against the outline of his erection.

"No way," Dave grunted, clutching my wrist tightly, while James arched an eyebrow. "She's mine first. You can watch," he declared, and James chuckled, rolling his eyes with a smirk. Dave wrapped his arm around my waist, pivoting me to face him, and planted a slow kiss on my lips as I unfastened his shirt.

"Is this your way of proving I'm yours?" I whispered, and he grunted against my lips. "By fucking me in front of him?"

Dave didn't say a word; he guided me to the bed, laying me down and sliding off my panties before undoing his pants and lowering them. James joined us on the bed, shedding his underwear and stretching out, placing my head on his thigh and tenderly running his fingers through my hair, his gaze fixed on my face as he caressed it. Dave finished stripping, then climbed on top of me; I shut my eyes, letting out a soft moan as he pushed into me and I felt him spread me open. James let out a low, rough sound, leisurely stroking my hair. When I looked at him, I saw he held his hard cock in his hand, jerking it softly.

I shifted my gaze to Dave, who kissed me slowly, his intense hazel eyes serious as he pushed into me. His lips moved against mine, his tongue intertwining with mine as he thrust forcefully. I let out soft moans against his mouth, tears brimming in my eyes from the pleasure of feeling him inside me.

"Dave…" I whispered, and he groaned, pulling me close, our gazes locking in a heated embrace.

I wrapped my legs around his hips, urging him to go deeper, gripping his hair tightly. James growled, tilting my face up and guiding his cock to my lips. I eagerly opened my mouth, taking him in, and he moaned softly. Dave kissed my neck, sucking on the tender skin, leaving even more bruises that sent shivers down my spine, but I didn't mind. In that moment, all I could focus on was the sensation of James and Dave, both of them, with me, together.

"Fuck," Dave whispered in my ear, his actions growing more fervent. "If I knew it felt this good to have you with an audience, I would've suggested it ages ago."

"If I knew you'd be into it, I would've brought it up sooner," I whispered back, stroking James' cock slowly with my hand and sighing when Dave started to massage my clit with his fingertips. I moaned, gripping him tightly, and he shut his eyes, thrusting into me with more vigor.

"You're almost there, aren't you?" Dave whispered, and I nodded, unable to form words. James gently brushed away the tears of ecstasy that welled in my eyes, his touch so tender it sent shivers down my spine. I took him back into my mouth, and he let out a soft groan, moving slowly as I continued to pleasure him.

I let out a long, satisfied moan, tightening around Dave as waves of pleasure washed over me, leaving me trembling and breathless. Dave groaned, his face buried in my neck as he reached his own climax, his release flooding into me with a low grunt.

Taking a moment to catch my breath, I pulled James out of my mouth, my lips meeting Dave’s as he shifted beside me. He brushed the hair away from my face, planting gentle kisses along my neck and shoulders as I took James back in my mouth, meeting his gaze with a mixture of desire and satisfaction.

James tangled his fingers in my hair, guiding my movements as his hips rocked gently. His flushed face and parted lips revealed his arousal as I worked my tongue, eliciting soft sighs from him. Meanwhile, Dave's kisses grew more fervent, his hand trailing down to where my body was still slick with our fluids. His touch on my already overstimulated clit made me shiver, and I couldn't help but moan in response. James then bucked his hips forward with a moan, tightening his grip on my head, his release filling my mouth with a warmth that sent a thrill through me.

"Good girl," Dave murmured approvingly as James pulled away from my mouth, running a finger along my slightly swollen lips. I swallowed, feeling a rush of warmth and satisfaction. I turned to Dave, and he leaned in, planting slow kisses along my jawline. I closed my eyes, savoring the moment, but Dave gently cupped my face, urging me to look at him. "Don't shut your eyes, sweetheart," he whispered, his breath tickling my ear. "We're not done with you yet."

I nodded, feeling my cheeks flush and my heart beat faster as Dave shifted away and James pulled me onto his lap, my legs wrapping around his hips as I sensed him growing hard once more. Dave let out a sigh, positioning himself behind me, his hands firmly on my waist providing support as he nibbled on my earlobe. I closed my eyes, nestling my face into James' neck and wrapping my arms around it as Dave raised my hips, allowing James to enter me with deliberate slowness.

This was gonna be a long, long night.

✧ if you'd like to be tagged on the next parts, let me know and I'll add you to the tag list! ❤ ✧

tag list: @killazilla777 @whatsupvic @70srogah @genswine9 @twice360noscope @ilovepapahet @decemberm0on

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jungshookz · 1 year

Note

y/n is some rich badass boss of some huuuugge corporation and bts is working under her (reception, assistants, janitors, errand boys)......valet!tae and valet!jin are DOWN BAD and one day y/n pulls in and one of them makes a sly comment about y/n stepping on them OR about ruining/ripping her clothes

➺ wordcount; 1.2k

➺ currently spinning on the record player; i know this is such a short little drabble but it’s really giving be mean by DNCE

»»————- ⚡ ————-««

“i desperately need coffee,” jin’s mouth opens in an obnoxious yawn as he turns his head so that taehyung doesn’t have to look into the depths of his giant mouth, “how are you never tired in the morning? our shift starts at six and i’ve never seen you yawn, ever. it’s actually kind of concerning.” he exhales slowly, blowing out his lips as he tries to shake the sleepiness out of his system

“maybe i’m just more suited for this job than you are,” taehyung whistles, dancing along to the music crackling out of the little radio sitting on the podium (taylor swift’s new album just came out and even he has to admit some of the songs on there are a vibe), “but also i chugged, like, two redbulls before the start of our shift, so there’s that, too-"

“okay, well, that’s just cheating and it doesn’t mean you’re more qualified for the job, it just means you’re more insane and you treat your body like a dumpyard-" jin snorts, standing with his hands behind his back as he looks up at the early morning sky, the soft shade of blue nice and easy on his sleepy eyes, “what time do you think the boss’ll be here? i’m wondering if i have enough time to run in and get a coffee for myself before she gets here…”

“well, you’re more than welcome to go and get a coffee while i help y/n with her car,” taehyung flashes jin a boyish grin, “i hope she comes in her mclaren today. i love driving the mclaren.”

“hey, you got to drive the mclaren last time, it’s my turn if she comes in it today!” jin frowns, eyebrows furrowing before he shakes his head, “her new BMW is nice, too. it’s the new electric one. i drove it the other day and it rides like a dream… but the mclaren, i haven’t tested out yet. it’s only fair that i get a turn!”

“why don’t you just stick to the cute little mini cooper she has? you can’t handle the mclaren,” taehyung scoffs, reaching up to adjust his tie, “besides, it’s my sexy little car and she only responds to daddy-"

“okay, that-“ seokjin immediately makes a face and rolls his eyes, “jesus, keep it in your pants-"

the sound of an engine purring smoothly and bright headlights rounding the corner makes the both of them stand up straight immediately because it’s seven o’clock on the dot and you always come on time, taehyung elbowing jin excitedly when he sees that you decided that it was mclaren day today and he has to stop himself from bouncing up and down on his heels excitedly like a little boy on christmas because it’s mclaren day today

“i know exactly what you’re going to do and i already told you it’s my turn-“ seokjin says through gritted teeth while keeping the smile on his face, already walking closer to the edge of the sidewalk so that he can get to your door before taehyung can, “you got to park it last time, it’s my turn-"

“you can literally suck my dick, i’m not passing up the opportunity to get my hands on my mclaren- good morning, boss!” taehyung chirps, shoving seokjin out of the way to open the door up for you, “mclaren monday, hey?”

seokjin resists the urge to tackle taehyung from behind as he shakes his head subtly, taking a few steps back and maintaining his professional composure

whatever

but next time the mclaren is definitely going to be his

“your favourite day, i know,” you laugh lightly, “morning, you two-“ you swing both legs out of the car and seokjin feels his nose twitch slightly at the pleasant scent of what he’s pretty sure is a mixture of vanilla and sandalwood emanating from your hair (you always smell so insanely sexy and it drives him crazy)

“good morning, y/n-“ seokjin bows his head politely, “new shoes?”

“how very observant of you, seokjin!” you toss your keys up in the air behind you with a jingle and taehyung catches them in one swift swoop, wriggling his eyebrows at seokjin teasingly because ha-ha, he got the mclaren, “you like them?” you pause, lifting the back of your leg for a second to flash the sexy red bottoms before raising a shoulder with a laugh, “i don’t usually gravitate towards platforms, but i do love a bratz doll moment-"

“oh, i-“ seokjin chokes for a second before letting out a laugh, “no, i love them- they’re- they look great, boss. they make you look- tall. very tall.”

“mm.”

seokjin’s eyes widen a little when you take a step towards him, reaching over to adjust the collar of his shirt and smoothing it out before patting his chest, “there you go. still a little sleepy this morning, aren’t you? collar wasn’t sitting right.”

“i guess so, yes.” seokjin smiles sheepishly, hands clenched like crazy behind his back because he just got a full whiff of your perfume and you just smell so damn good

you twist around on your heels to look at taehyung, tilting your head with a teasing smile, “you gonna take care of my baby, taehyung?”

“oh, i’ll take care of you, baby,” taehyung purrs, his cheeks heating up when he realises that that wasn’t just an intrusive thought and he actually said it out loud, “i mean-" he laughs, reaching up to rub the back of his neck, “i’ll take care of your baby.”

“alright, baby, i’ll see you two when i go out for lunch later-" you turn back around and head towards the large revolving doors where namjoon is waiting patiently for you with his iPad tucked under his armpit and an iced coffee in one hand and a paper bag with a random pastry in the other hand (he likes to surprise you every day with something new), “be good while i’m gone!”

“…i want her to step on me.” seokjin blurts out as soon as you’re out of earshot, his jaw hanging open slightly as he reaches up to smooth out his own collar, “like i- my god, she could do anything to me and i’d thank her for it.”

“tell me about it,” taehyung murmurs, body slumped over the open car door as he takes his bottom lip in between his teeth, “she called me baby. the crimes i would commit to get her to call me other names…” he stands up straight again when he sees you turn to glance at the two of them over your shoulder, flashing them another one of your signature smiles and a flirty little wave

…god, he loves this job.

🎙️ tell jin to close his mouth or tell taehyung to get out of the mclaren (talk to my characters!)

📚 why not explore the rest of the library while you're here? (full fics!)

💫 or perhaps you want something shorter to read? (drabbles and mini series!)

🌟 or something even shorter? (teeny tidbits like this!)

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itstheghostofmypast · 6 months

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MOOT GAME: " make up a trope for your moots and their biases. doesn’t need to be romantic. can be crackfic/funny/anything you want ^ㅇ(๑>◡<๑)ㅇ^ "

Okay- so, first of all, thank you so much Anon, for this ask and I'm sorry I responded to late, but I had to take my time with this one.😭💖.

So here it goes, (i know i said i'd do two biases, im sorry guys, i love yall too much and i get too invested the word count was killing me)

1) @edenesth

Park Seonghwa- Rivals to Lovers

Here me out, he owns an old book shop across the street, he's been there longer than you too. This was his turf, his town, his people, people who loved to read in his cozy library, with its olden print books, worn out pages, read through by generations of the same family.

All was great until one spring she shows up, with her whole pastel plus minimalistic vibes, all with the cutesy trinkets and plants, with warm lights- he noticed some books too, but they were only for show- in conclusion it was a horrid place.

A horrid place where most teens would go to after school now, no longer going to his bookshop, where they'd gossip, read novels or mangas, or even look at pretty pictured magazines (the safe kind, mind you he kept nothing nasty). What's worse was that the older folk began to go there, too! Especially because of how nice she was to them, so polite and so pretty and - ANNOYING.

He even went to 'inspect' the place, with a sour mood and an ill intention, though he was greeted with a burst of sweet aroma, one that had his stomach growling and his inner foodie, begging him to pick at least one of the many pastries or have a cup of steaming, delicious coffee. What came next was worst, her, with her gentle smile and angelic features.

"Hello! Welcome to Spring Avenue, how may we help you today?"

"You're taking my traffic."

"I'm sorry, I don't understand."

"Of course you don't."

With that he had walked out, starting a cold war, between the two. Ironically, she was a pacifist, never a fighter, but boy, did he piss her off, he knew all those buttons that would have her steaming like a hot latte.

The war had begun;

It all began when he put a " 10% off sign on Mangas, Fashion Magazines and Manhwas" that took a god chunk of her traffic.

In retaliation, she launched a "Friendship campaign, any customer that brings a friend gets a cake slice free."

Spend 2 hours reading here and leave with a borrowed book/novel of your choice."

"Buy a coffee and get a cookie free."

This continued throughout the season, so did their rivalry, to an extent that led their divided customers sense the tension. And like usual, highschoolers are escapists and this little feud of Seonghwa and her's was a problem they'd like to avoid, from her cafe they could see their beloved bookshop owner Seonghwa scowl at them, and if they were leaving the bookshop, the kids could feel the uneasiness in her smile that she give them once they'd pass her by.

"Congratulations, you're in loss." She sighed, closing the file, earning a scowl from the cafe owner, "Hey, I'm just here to check your bills, loss, and profit stuff, don't shoot the messenger."

"Alexia, come on." She whined, this was her dream, she'd put in her life's savings for this, "What should I do, Lexi?"

"Gosh, maybe not give out stupid discounts four times in a month?" Alexia sighed, rubbing her face, leaning back to stare at the bookshop across the street, "San said he knows the owner, maybe you guys could do a collab, instead of trying to each other's traffic."

"Who's San?" She asked her best friend, slash account manager and Public Relations officer- wait, was she dating!?

"Oh- uh- hey would you look at the time?" Alexia got up, grabbing her disposable coffee cup and bag, "Tell you what, you ask the bookshop owner dude about this? Okay? I'll get back with the details on Monday!" She called out as she walked towards the door, ignoring the cafe owner's questions about this San, "BYE LOVE YOU!"

That's how she found herself standing Infront of his bookshop that evening, still debating if she should go in or not? Was this idea even worth it, the guy was rude, annoying, stupid, incredibly handsome and sweet with kids and- the hell.

"Can I help you?" His deep voice came out of no where

She almost jumped out of her skin, only to turn around and spot the man she had been hating for the past ten months, standing there in all his angleic glory, with that ugly sweater and that overly comfortable scarf, not to mention his hair, his undercut had grown, quiet well too, perhaps he really was blessed with good genes.

"I uh..." she trailed off, pouting to herself, thinking of how he'd react, maybe he would make fun of her, or insult her or even go as far as to tell the town about her poor business management skills.

"Are you still open?" his question had caught her off guard, staring at him quietly wanting to see if this was a trick, only it wasn't, for when she nodded, he had looked around and then asked if he could...get a cup of coffee from there.

Of course she had said yes, why on earth would she say no to a customer, she needed the business. Unfortunately, that one cup of coffee, turned into two, then three, well- not as unfortunate as she would like it to be.

The two, mind you, who still didnt like each other, began to learn a lot about each other. He learnt how she was genuinely a sweet, caring and gentle person, her persona was indeed not fake but very real, this is who she was. She on the other hand, learned that he had inherited this business from his family, and he was an avid reader- sort a geek, a cute geek, a cute geek that could eat a whole chocolate cake with three mugs off coffee like it was nothing.

It wasn't until the third week of him visiting her cafe, that when he had stepped out to go there, he had bumped into her. She had almost fallen, but he was quick, gripping her wrist and pulling her into his chest, only to laugh when she mumbled an excuse, though he was glad she couldn't hear how his heart was hammering against his chest, wanting to stuff itself in the breast pocket of her coat.

That day she had asked him if she could check out his book shop, because she had been looking for old English bakery recipes and she couldn't find it anywhere, not any store around or online. Of course he had taken her to the right isle, in the right section in no time, this bookshop was his life and collecting and sifting through books was his passion, that day he had seen her passion, she had sat there, on the floor the entire night, reading book after book, mumbling to herself as she noted down recipes. He had sat next to her, helping her jot down notes, bringing her coffee- well not as good as hers, but good enough. At one point he had even ordered them a late night snack, well snacks, because he's a growing boy. He had closed the shop with the two inside, even pulled out a blanket and some cushions from the lounging area so she could comfortably work- she was a passionate girl and ironically he had realised something that night, only it turned into a full blown epiphany in the morning.

Next morning she had woken up right next to him, her head on his shoulder, his arm wrapped around her as the blanket was draped over the two, they had fallen asleep while reading- oh my, he really was pretty up close.

Though the two pretended nothing had happened, nothing had changed, however, everyone around them had noticed, the highschoolers would giggle when he'd come to her cafe for a cup of coffee, or how the older folk would pat him on the back when she'd step into the bookshop calling him out for help, with her little, "Hwa?"

Neither really knew how it happened, but one night while closing up he had waited outside for her, telling her he'd drop her home, even though she lived close by. Slowly this had become part of their routine, he'd often talk about the latest manga or an issue to the Star Wars comics or whatever on earth he'd talk about, but she'd always listen. Always smile and laugh at his jokes, while he'd readily accept any test recipes she'd try, telling her that his stomach was like a blackhole.

But when do the two get together? Simple, on New Years Eve, when he had to close his shop but she had decided to leave her cafe open, wanting to cater to all those who were celebrating the arrival of the new year with their loved ones, she knew Seonghwa had to go home anyway and she didn't want to spend the night alone since her family was out of town. What she did not expect was a few minutes before the strike of midnight, the cafe door chimed open as she turned to greet the customer, only to freeze at the sight before her- Seonghwa entering with a bouqet of origami flowers, smiling at her as he slowly walked to her;

"I- I know you don't like plucking flowers or bouqets, so I made you these."

"You...made these?"

"Ofcourse."

"W-why?"

"I...because I..." but before he could finish his sentence his ears picked up the count down, causing him to quickly place the flowers on the counter and as soon as the fireworks rang in her ears, it was as if she could feel the burning warmth in her body, taking a second to process how his lips were on hers, his hands cupping her face as her hands instinctively went up to grip his coat, pulling him even closer. Who knew that one day she'll end up opening a cafe that also served as a bookstore, who knew that one day, her little, evil, handsome rival bookseller, would be the New Year's kiss she never knew she needed, the man she never knew she needed, the lover that she was blessed to have.

2) @yessa-vie

Jeong Yunho- Neighbors to Lovers

No, she was not the new tenant, he was, and for some ungodly reason he was also extremely ill-prepared to live alone. Like any other weekend, she was leaving her apartment to go to the cafe to sit in peace and finish her novel, but God had other plans. She had opened the door to come face to face with a tall, good-looking man, though the smile he wore scared her- he was one of those extroverts.

No, he was not mean at all, nor was he the manipulative kind, Jeong Yunho really didn't know how the pre-installed dishwasher worked, that's why he had come to her that fateful weekend, about to knock on the door but she had beat him to it, opening the door before he could, earning a sheepish smile in return- who knew his neighbour would be so gorgeous, who knew purple could look so good on someone?

"Hey, I- I moved in across the hall, apartment 19, lol, I guess we're neighbours, huh?"

She had only nodded meekly at his question, pulling her satchel closer to her person, not because she didn't like him, no, but because she wasn't much of a talker anymore, not so confident either and also- because regardless of how good looking this stranger was, he was still a stranger.

"I'm Yunho- Sorry to bother you, I know you must be going somewhere, but I- I uh- I wanted to know if you know how to operate the dishwasher?"

That's how she found herself in his apartment, leaving the maindoor wide open, so she could escape if something were to happen, but to her surprise he was just a regular idiot, one who thought the dishwasher was a rack used to dry the dishes- men.

That night Yunho met an angel, one who seemingly had her life planned out, held together well, while he was still trying to build something out of his- data analyst or not, living alone was not the easiest thing to do, yet, she seemed so nonchalant about it.

Overtime however, she noticed how he would come over to ask her for help often, sometimes it was the 'fridge isn't working right' other times it was the 'how much water do you add to rice while boiling it?' Honestly, she would've told him to piss off if it were anyone else, but it was her polite neighbour, her sweet polite, new neighbour who would pass her by in the corridor every morning, smiling at her and wishing her a good morning- even if she wasn't a morning person.

Ironically, he continued to ensure they cross paths, only because he wanted to get to know her, to talk to her, he really needed a friend, and since moving here meant Mingi and him could no longer hang out 24/7, he really needed another person to talk to, someone who was not Hongjoong from the finance department.

Ironically, she did not protest or tell him to get lost, instead she's quietly help him whenever he'd approach her, giving him a shy smile then going back to her apartment. That purple door tempting him to go back and knock on the old wood, wanting to know what Narnia like secrets she hid behind.

She let it be, truthfully, she wanted fo befriended him, but during these little adventures, she realised she had begun to neglect her book, the same book she had a deadline for, the same book she had been working on day and night, and now this puppy pops up and takes all her attention?

So what does she do? Simple, she starts to create some form of distance, leave before he'd be awake, come back home later too, also even if he did come to knock on her purple door, she wouldn't be there to answer it, so technically she wouldn't feel guilty right?

Wrong, instead God had punished her with a severe writer's block, one so bad that she had missed two of her deadlines, and according to her publisher, she was on her last chance. That's how she found herself at the very cafe where she would find solace, now on the verge of tears, staring at the laptop in pure agony, maybe this was payback for leaving him unattended and ignoring him or maybe she was never meant to be a writer.

A fresh cup of coffee was placed next to her hand, causing her to quickly pull back and look at the stranger, only her panicked eyes met a softer, more timid gaze, a gentle smile gracing her presence.

"Hey... you looked like you needed the juice." He smiled, gesturing towards the chair, as if asking for permission to sit down next to her, to which she nodded.

"I uh..." she paused. Should she even be asking him how he's been? Does she have the right to do so, or are they just neighbours- well, at this point, two strangers living across each other.

"I read your books by the way," he began, giving her a gentle smile, as he felt the way she had tensed up, honestly, initially he thought she was like that because his presence made her uncomfortable, but he soon realised it wasn't him, but she usually was this tensed all the time, this nervous and unsure, which made no sense to him because she was one of the most well functioning person he had met in the city, and he was glad to have moved in next to her, "It's great, the plotline is amazing and the details- you really captured the essence, I particularly liked the world you created, honestly, when I moved here I thought everyone wore those 'blockers' too. To not...feel stuff you know," he turned to look at her, only to catch her staring at him, a small chuckle escaping him when she cleared her throat, averting her gaze, "You were the only one who was nice enough to help me, even for the stupidest of tasks...it means a lot."

She stared at him in awe and disbelief. She had been trying to avoid him for almost a month now, couldn't he tell? Or was he just playing dumb- I mean he totally could be dumb, he didn't know a toaster comes with settings, just thought the numbers were there for the appeal.

After that the two began to "spend time together", it was strictly casual mind you, nothing personal, though he would drop by more often than usual, sometimes after work, sometimes on the weekends- to have dinner with her, he'd bring dessert, or to watch a movie with her, he'd bring the snacks- no, nothing domestic at all.

Or so they thought, because a few months in, he had come over by swinging the door open, yes he had the keys and she had his keys, only to find her standing there all dressed up.

"Where are you off to? What about movie night?"

"Oh no..." she gasped, "Yuyu, I forgot to tell you I had a date tonight." A date? Why? With whom?

"Wait, why?"

"What do you mean why?"

"Why would you go on a date when we- I mean...isn't it weird? Shouldn't you be more focused on your book, instead of this temporary romance?"

"Temporary romance?!"

"W-wait, I didn't mean it like that. It came out wrong-"

"Out."

"W-what?"

"I said get out!"

That happened a week ago, she had been avoiding him for a whole week, she had been ignoring his calls, his texts, his knocks- no he didn't barge into her apartment, it took him a great amount of time to get her to open up to him and he idiotically clowned himself. So he decided to go to the next thing, go to the official reading of her book launch.

He waited there at the back, listening to her intently, taking in each word, who knew he would ever fall in love with, her neighbour, the same girl who had helped with the dishwasher, brought him dinner at night, spent time teaching him the usual ropes of living alone- who knew the very same girl had changed the plot of the book, basing it on her life, expressing how the shy, depressed protagonist, who thought dying her hair purple would make her feel better, realised that the only thing that would make her feel better would be a companion, a tall, handsome man, with a heart of gold- it was not that she needed a man, no, she just needed a friend, and she had finally found one, the inspiration to her writer's block, the Chandler to her Monica, the- HE DIES!?

He gasped, appalled at the way she had ended the story, where at the end, on his deathbed the man tells his beloved how she never needed him, but he needed her to function, to live through each day- bloody hell.

He waited for them to leave when he finally approached her, somewhat upset-no, he was very upset, as she stopped cleaning up to look at him, raising a questioning brow, "What?"

"I can't believe you!"

"Funny, Jeong, I should be the one saying that."

"What!? You killed me!?"

"What?"

"I come here to declare my undying love- no I come here to tell you how much you mean to me and apologise for never asking you out but getting upset when someone actually asked you out and you KILL ME IN YOUR NOVE?"

"First of all, I accept your apology, secondly, the protagonist was DEFINITELY NOT YOU, I made him up WAY BEFORE I met you."

"Oh..." he stared at her then looked around the almost empty bookshop, maybe he should just leave-

"So...Will you ask me out properly now or...'l"

"Move in with me."

"Too fast."

"Was worth a shot." He smiled when she let out a small laugh shaking her head at his antics, "Take me to dinner, Yunho." She smiled watching him lean closer then pause, as if asking for her permission, "Can I...?" His question was answered when she gripped him by the lapels of his coat, pulling him closer to crash her lips against his, smiling when he wrapped his arms around her, pulling back only to press his forehead against hers,

"We move into my apartment..."

"What? Mine's great-"

"Yunho, have you seen the window and the balcony on mine?"

"Your apartment it is boss."

3) @jaehunnyy

Choi San- Bestfriends to Lovers

Idiots, these two were complete idiots who were utterly in love with each other but were also too blind to realise that - why? Simple, because both feared that confessing to the other may ruin the long-held, deep bond.

A bond that had developed at the ripe age of childhood, middle school, to be more accurate. The day he had come to school, bored out of his mind, staring outside the window, wondering if he could jump on the closest tree to escape this prison. What he had not expected was an angel to come and sit beside him, well technically, the teacher had made her sit next to him, and he hadn't noticed her until she poked his shoulder lighter, causing him to jerk back and gasp, earning a few chuckles from the glass as the teacher just sighed in defeat.

"Wh-Hello."

"Do you need help with that?" She asked, pointing at the math equation in front of him. He looked at his notebook and remembered that's what they were supposed to me doing- damn that was a lot of daydreaming.

"Yeah, I guess...do you... know how to solve it?" He asked the new girl, too afraid to make eyecontact.

"Here, I'll show you." Turning to face him, she pulled his scribbled notebook closer.

"I'm San by the way."

That day onwards, a nice and quiet introvert at the back of the class finally began to crack open. From time to time, you'd hear him whispering to her, talking about some anime or a film. Often, he'd be telling her about his cat, Byeol, and how pretty she was. During break you wouldn't see San next to her for the first five minutes, no, he'd be sprinting across the campus,jumping down the stairs to go to the canteen to get her something to drink with her lunch, or a sweet snack, regardless of how many times she'd say 'it's fine.' During self study hours, she wouldn't be studying, no, she'd be busy tutoring her athletically gifted friend, he was...a little dumb, but that's okay, he was hardworking and she'd tell him she'd help him where he'd get stuck, explain and tutor where needed- especially in math.

As they grew older, he grew into his body, his self-esteem issues slowly subsiding, his feelings for her deepening, yet, never enough to tip the scale, at the bring of an edge but never enough to flow out he had to keep it all under control, because that's just how San was, patient and calm, he would never take a step if there was an ounce of the doubt when it came to how she felt about him. Though watching her spread her wings into the beauty she was, well, was somewhat problematic for him. Especially when she'd come to him, smiling like that, greeting him with the gentle voice of hers, asking him if he liked her haircut.

"What do you think?"

"It's...very nice."

"Just very nice?"

"You'd look pretty to me even if you were bald."

Conversations like these would have her heart hammering against her ribcage, and she'd pray to God that he couldn't hear it. She'd pray for it when he'd be walking home side by side, his shoulder bumping into hers, or his hand brushing against hers, when he'd take her bag from her, clicking his tongue at how heavy it would be,

"You trynna' build muscles like me?" He'd ask, though he was still very fragile, he'd only started going to the gym when he noticed how the 'basketball team captain', had decided to ask her to 'help tutor him too', though she had politely declined.

"Hmm? Of course not, Advanced Math books are just big like that..."

"Why do you do this to yourself, dove?" A nickname she had gained over the time, one used only by him.

"Because I wanna teach one day, I love teaching, I want to make sure people realise subjects aren't difficult or they aren't dumb, it's just that they're not taught properly."

Yup, he was smitten, on his knees, begging for her please ( he was also an idiot).

Ended up in college with her, though in a different major, like hell the now 'mountain of a man', no longer the kitten-like fragile boy, was going to major in math- business was a way better option.

This wasn't a bad situation, though they rarely had a few classes together, she'd still make time to see him, to text him as soon as class would end, but he'd already be standing at the exit, waiting for her with a coffee in hand and a dimpled smile, reserved just for her.

In no means was Choi San an extrovert, but somehow along the line he had met one, who later claimed that his MBTI had changed to an introvert too, though he doubted that notion- Jung Wooyoung.

Boistorous, noisy, obnoxious but a genuinely nice person at heart, Wooyoung was his companion in his major's classes, he was also the first person to know about San's little secret, since San trusted him enough to know, though Wooyoung assured him he had figured it out as soon as San introduced him to her as his "bestfriend".

"You're an idiot." Wooyoung snorted, taking off his shoes as he walked into the 4th years tiny apartment.

"What? Why?"

"You really think I didn't know?"

"How did you kno-'

"You can be bestfriends with a girl since childhood, unless a) one of you confessed to the other and got friendzoned but still chose friendship or b) neither of you confessed but are secretly crushing over the other."

"Wow, should've been a psychologist instead of a business major."

"What can I say, Sannie? I am a man of many talents."

Things progressed like this for a long time, Wooyoung watched from the sidelines how the two would basically act like a couple that was not a couple- almost everyone at campus thought they were a couple and Wooyoung was basically the third wheel. Not that he minded, and San appreciated him for that, he was glad Wooyoung's relationship with his dove was platonic- borderline sibling-like.

But Choi San was a fool, one that Choi San, at the fresh age of 25 wished that perhaps he'd be able to take the next steps, but something at the back of his mind held him back, were his personal desires as important as this friendship?

Which is why he stood there watching his best friend get ready for her date, her date with Wooyoung. After a conversation he did not like, but what could he say? He was too afraid to even confess, and well, Wooyoung wasn't a bad guy, and technically, he was his friend.

"I'm gonna ask her out, Sannie." The brunnet sighed, before taking a sip of his coffee, humming at the bitterness, perhaps this bitterness was sweeter than the bitter taste that had developed in San's mouth at the statement.

"W-why?" The bigger man with the fragile heart whispered.

"Because...I like her...I'm sorry but...I gave you time, so much of it and...I just wanted you to be the first one to know...if she says no, we'll all still be friends, but if she says yes...San, I won't hold back."

That had led to her first anniversary with Wooyoung, then the second and finally a day before their third anniversary San had texted the couple how he wouldn't be able to make it to their anniversary party because he had work that day and he wished them the best.

What he did not expect was someone knocking on his door at 2 am, opening the door to find a tear stained Wooyoung, only for him to punch the taller man in the face, watching him stumble backwards then wipe his eyes and sigh, "I swear- if you weren't such a great guy, I would've stabbed you."

"What the F*CK WOOYOUNG?"

That night was the first time he had seen Wooyoung cry, cry about how when she read the message she had become a mess, one that even Wooyoung couldn't fix, begging him for forgiveness how she made a mistake, how even though she was happy with Wooyoung, her heart belonged to someone else, someone who she thought she could move on from since he never confessed, since he never liked her back the way she did, and though the text was a confirmation of that, she couldn't bear lying to Wooyoung, to give him only half the love of what he deserved, knowing he deserved someone who would teach him the true meaning of love, because she was a teacher with only one student in mind, the idiot of a man- Choi San.

That night San couldn't sleep, not a wink, he processed the words over and over again, so did she like him? Should he confess to her? Now? Wouldn't that make it awkward? Or should he wait? Would that be a mistake?

Though his questions were answered in the morning when the doorbell rang at 7 am, making the sleepy man sigh as he stumbled to the door with blurry eyes, opening it still half asleep, only the slap he received woke sobered him up quickly,

"OW- WH- WHY ARE YOU JUST LIKE WOOYOUNG!?"

"SHUT UP! DONT TAKE HIS NAME! I HURT HIM BECAUSE OF YOU!" Never in the many years of knowing her, had she raised her voice like that.

"I-"

"NO! LISTEN TO ME!" She yelled before shoving him inside so she could continue yelling inside, "I like you- and you- you d*ck you could tell him you liked me but you couldn't tell me!? All those horrible dates you watched me go to, but you couldn't stop me?! You knew you liked me yet you let Woo ask me out!?"

"I- I didn't wanna ruin what we had..."

"San, I- what if I had married Woo? Huh? Then what? When you already had half my heart, I-"

She couldn't finish her sentence though, because the next thing she knew, he was smothering her with all that pent up love, his lips pressing against hers with a ferocity she had ever seen in her gentle Sannie, wanting to claim what he was too scared to touch before.

He only pulled back when she lightly pushed him back, gasping for air, looking up at him all flushed and pink, her swollen lips just enticing him even more,

"W-what was that?" She breathed out.

"Never say you're marrying anyone but me, I would've ruined the wedding even if it meant being thrown out."

"You're an idiot Sannie."

"No, I just had a teacher who could teach me math, but couldn't teach me how to love properly - guess she was learning too."

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